“Gold was seldom generous in victory. The genocide that followed the Battle of Peitho consisted not just of mass culling, but social and cultural reengineering. A domestication of a wild breed into a more…sustainable and predictable stock. Technophobia was introduced as well as other paradigm alterations. Allfather became Allmother. Mongol sociological structure became Norse. Patriarchy became matriarchy, an inversion of the division protocol they used on Reds.”
My skin begins to crawl. “And now you speak their language. That’s gotta be all sorts of bad luck.”
He smiles, captivated by the subject. “Some of my mother’s more fanciful theorists think that the Ascomanni speak it. Or at least parts.”
“Aren’t they just assholes from the ice tribes who didn’t follow Sefi?”
“Sure, but their correspondences are odd if that’s the case. For instance, they allude to a central figure, a Volsung Fá—it means ‘Volsung the Taker,’ sort of like a king.” He pauses when Ozgard murmurs something in his sleep, and lowers his voice to a whisper. “You know, not all the warlords of the Dark Revolt were captured.”
I moan. “Gods, now you sound like a legion drunk.”
“Shh. It’s true. Some hid in the Belt. Some were chased to Neptune, where their fleet was smashed. The stragglers were believed to have been hunted and killed to the last warband. But…about a hundred years preceding the reign of Octarius au Lune, ships began to go missing in the Kuiper Belt. They would simply vanish. Common consensus was pilot error or environmental degradation on equipment. Then one vessel escaped.”
“Go on.”
“I thought I sounded like a legion drunk.”
“Pax.”
“They reported a loss in artificial gravity, followed by light failure, and sounds from outside the hull. Later welding patterns were found outside. Diamond drill marks.”
“Creepy.”
“It wasn’t until Octarius that the first Kuiper Obsidian was spotted, and the name Ascomanni began to circulate. At first, they were of little concern. Further reconnaissance suggested nomadic caravans of ice miners, subterranean dwellings, sparse populations, and fractious tribal dynamics. It seems the Ascomanni even managed to take some carvers with them. Their skin was said to be red, possibly from genetic sculpting with Deinococcus radiodurans, an extremophilic bacterium highly resistant to deepspace radiation, vacuum, dehydration, and cold.
“Closer to the reign of Octavia, they became bolder and began to raid at will. After the death of her daughter, around fifteen y
ears ago, Octavia sent the Fear Knight on an expeditionary campaign when terraforming on Pluto was threatened by the raids.”
“Why didn’t Octavia simply send out the Sword Armada and finish them off?” I ask. “Seems like something she’d enjoy.”
“Cost, benefit.” He looks annoyed by my vacant expression. “At times, it frightens me how little people care about the tiny corner of the galaxy they inhabit. Earth is one AU from the sun. Neptune is thirty. The Kuiper Belt is fifty. It is twenty times as wide and almost two hundred times as massive as the Inner Belt. Moira’s estimates suggested it would take the Sword Armada five thousand years to search half the Kuiper Belt. Octavia had other things on her plate.
“Back to the Fear Knight. One year in, he reported back that the situation was untenable. He’d been ambushed and lost all but two ships. Octavia told him to go radio silent until the operation was complete. It was an execution. But seven years ago, he returned. And at about the same time that deepspace miners began to suggest the Ascomanni had united under a single ruler. An outlander they called Volsung—‘He Who Walks the Void.’…Obviously, our treaty with the Rim makes further inquiry…difficult.”
“An outlander from where?” Electra asks. She’s been listening from her little nest in the top bunk above Ozgard’s. The psycho’s eyes gleam at the idea of evil, red-skinned, far-flung Obsidian warlords.
Pax shrugs. “Could be someone the Fear Knight helped to power. A translation discrepancy. Or maybe Atlas’s ships were damaged and he lost coms for ten years and tucked tail. Whatever the case, if this Volsung Fá exists, it would be highly unlikely Martian or Terran Obsidians who turned raiders would have any interaction with true Ascomanni. They’re years away on the ships they have. People just gave the pirates the name because people like legends. But it makes you wonder, what if they have met with their long lost brethren? What if they are coordinating and Volsung Fá rules not just the far Obsidian, but the pirates too?”
Electra leans back in her bunk, no doubt eager to dream of nightmares beyond the void. I lie back in mine, thoroughly disturbed.
“You’re shit at bedtime stories,” I say.
“Apologies. Next time I’ll tell you the tale of Sophocles the clone, a creature so noble and so wise he learned to cheat death.” He rolls over to go to sleep. I lie awake for a while, and roll on my side. Ozgard stares at me from his adjacent bunk. His eyes like two black mirrors. He was listening the whole time.
On the fourth day, the vibration of landing gears reverberates through the ship. The shuttle makes contact with a metal hull outside, and I feel the more substantial pull of capital ship gravity.
“We’ve rendezvoused with their fleet,” Electra guesses. Pax shakes his head, but doesn’t correct her. I don’t know how or when he figured it out, but he alone is not surprised when we step out into the VIP hangar of an old baroque cruise liner.
Thousands of bloodbraves prepare for war in the hangar. I don’t recognize these men or women from Olympia, because they aren’t from Olympia. These are the frontline veterans, still wearing the deep sunburns of Mercury. Jogging troops carry tattered war standards of the tribes Sefi formed into her forward legions: the Ice Ravens, the River, the Blackhearts. Pax stares at his father’s former soldiers. They should be on Mercury, or in the lands the Republic gave them for barracks on Earth. Somehow they’re here, and I think I know why.
“Horn!” Freihild calls as we descend the landing ramp. Ten of my skuggi are arrayed beneath a giant coral archway gilded with golden letters reading Heart of Venus. I thought the design looked familiar. It’s an old luxury cruise ship.
“So this is where you snuck off to,” I say as we are herded toward them.
“We’ve been preparing for your arrival, sir,” Freihild says with a crooked smile for Ozgard.
“Where’s the rest of the skuggi?” I ask.