Noble V: Greylancer (6 page)

Inside the halls of the Privy Council Ministry, ten members of the council, awaiting
Greylancer’s arrival, were discussing matters of the war against the OSB. Two members
were not present. They had gone missing several days ago.

Moonlight flooded in from the narrowly cut windows, and flames flickered in the bronze
candle holders affixed throughout the hall. The artificial lighting was more of a
habit than a natural predilection of Nobles endowed with night vision.

“Any progress in developing the technology to detect the OSB transformations or to
prevent them outright?”

“We haven’t heard anything more from the Central Research Center.”

“The attack against the enemy’s moon base?”

“We’ve been systematically attacking the base with unmanned aerial vehicles and long-range
missiles but have not been able to penetrate the enemy’s upgraded barriers. The best
course of action would be a manned attack exploiting any momentary tears in the barrier.
Aside from wooden stakes and steel blades, the OSB have yet to discover any weapons
we’re not proof against. In hand-to-hand combat, we will be victorious. Their shape-shifting
attacks will be ineffective against us. Even if they take another form, we will simply
destroy everything in our path. Even their atomic cannons will be useless.”

“What about signs of religious behavior? Both the Theological Institute and Phenomena
Bureau report that if the OSB find spirituality, their god might be able to discover
our weaknesses.”

“We needn’t concern ourselves just yet. Their religion has only achieved a penetration
factor of twenty percent to eighty percent for a scientific worldview. It will take
some time before they consider the supernatural.”

“How long?”

“Perhaps a millennium.”

“Hmph, the blink of an eye.”

“Still, time enough to devise a strategy to annihilate the enemy. We need only blast
a hole in the wall and send in the infantry. When their current deployment does not
return, their home planet will think twice about invading this solar system. Then
we shall only be too glad to return the favor.”

“With regard to the war on this planet, what do you know about the number of OSB incursions,
their incursion route, and rate of human transformation?”

“I’ll answer in order. To date, there have been seven reported incursions within fifty
kilometers of the Capital, all of which have been neutralized. Rather like parachuting
into the middle of our military. Based on the knowledge acquired from the humans they
assimilated, they naturally narrowed the incursion point to the Frontier. There have
been sixty-six confirmed incursions this month. The four overseers reported that every
invader had been neutralized, but given how members of the Statistics Bureau have
been attacked in the field, no doubt many more OSB have infiltrated the Frontier and
taken human form than have been reported.”

“What are the overseers doing?”

“Overseeing the Frontier sectors carries with it difficulties unimaginable to those
of us here in the Capital. Which is precisely the reason why the overseers have been
given a wider reach of powers than we wield over the Capital.”

“If it is a matter of competence, why do we not replace them?”

“The current overseers have achieved the highest success among any of their predecessors.
None of the four are easily replaced.”

“What about the trouble in the Western Frontier sector?”

“Are you referring to Mayerling? The South and East report that he has become too
involved with the humans.”

“Any reports from the North?”

“The Noble Greylancer.” Silence enveloped the spacious hall as soon as the name was
expelled into the air. “He has reported nothing. You’re aware as well as I, he is
not given to exposing the misdeeds of others.”

“Indeed, he is a born warrior. Were he here, this war would not have lasted as long
as it has. Though were he in command, every one of us would be sent to the front lines.”

Another silence fell over the council members, one of universal agreement this time.

“No matter, he is presently in the Frontier. Now that these old bones have escaped
being sent to the battlefield, let us lay out a strategy against the OSB, shall we?”

And then a synthetic voice announced, “Lord Greylancer is here.”

As tumult rippled among the men, one of the council members finally looked upward.
“Tell him we’re engaged in an important meeting.” No sooner had he said it than the
door that could not be opened from the outside slid open, inviting the navy-caped
figure inside.

“Noble Greylancer.” One of the men uttered the name that the others shouted silently
to themselves.

“What urgent matter is this? Whatever your business, see that you call first.”

After waiting for the councilor to finish, Greylancer paid what respect he could muster
and gave the men a perfunctory bow. “I come in response to
your
summons. The Privy Council’s transport brought me here directly from the airport.
The driver handed me a pass, which is how I gained entry here.”

“Who would do such a thing?” shouted a councilor. No doubt the same question echoed
in all their minds. All except one.

“That would be me.”

All of the eyes, including Greylancer’s, gathered on the owner of the voice.

The voice belonged to the old man seated in the chancellor’s chair at the far end
of the long marble table.

Though he wore the same night-colored gown as the others, only his tiny sandaled feet
stuck out from the translucent reddish-blue ball of liquid in which he was encased.

“Chancellor Cornelius.”

“But what possessed you to act alone in this way?”

“If I’d consulted you, the answer would have been obvious. I’ve prepared my resignation.
You will have it in due time.” Each time the old man spoke, bubbles burbled out of
his mouth. It was a peculiar sight, like seeing an aged infant floating in amniotic
fluid inside the womb.

“State your business,” Greylancer said calmly, though it was clear to anyone that
he would turn on his heel and leave in a second were he told he had been summoned
without good reason.

“Tomorrow, an unprecedented number of OSB fighters will descend upon this world from
their lunar base. We received a message last night that you are the only one who can
intercept this attack and destroy the enemy’s moon base.”

Greylancer felt his body stiffen.

The chancellor of the Privy Council said he’d received a message.

From whom?

Looking calmly around at the men frozen like stone statues, Chancellor Cornelius continued,
“My aides have made the necessary preparations. Dawn will break in little more than
four hours. Your chariot awaits.”

“As you command.” Greylancer pressed an arm against his chest and bowed deeply. “However,
I question the wisdom of giving me sole command of the counterstrike force. General
Gaskell of the First Air Chariot Battalion, General Brewster of the Second Battalion,
and General Nombusol of the Third Battalion are giants of uncommon ability. Taking
command over them…” The thought hung in the air.

The Air Chariot Battalion buzzed like a swarm of crane flies around the saucer-shaped
airship bristling with gun barrels.

As soon as the dimensional conversion wave crashed against the enemy’s barrier, a
white tear appeared in the air. But only for a moment before quickly disappearing,
making the enemy impervious to attack again.

“Ah, if only crushing them were
this
easy,” boomed a voice from above. An enormous hand knocked down the enemy airship
along with the chariots.

The place was the Capital, in the War Ministry’s spacious meeting room. Like the Privy
Council Ministry, the room was enveloped in moonlight and blue darkness.

The five generals of the Air Chariot Battalions were seated at various sofas some
distance apart from the others; to anyone aware of the discord among them, they might
have appeared to be a hundred meters apart.

They all wore khaki-colored capes identifying them as military and held staves bearing
the commander’s insignia: a golden bat. What was most eye-catching, however, was the
chain of fire clusters hanging from their necks.

True to their name, these nuggets of flame were burning replicas of fixed stars burning
at six million degrees. They were medals awarded by the Privy Council for valor and
victory in battle. Over a hundred such clusters hung from the five men’s chains, threatening
neither to scorch their skin nor melt their garments. They were shielded in a dimensional
barrier, shunting the six-million-degree heat into another universe, so that it might
never touch the wearer’s cape a mere centimeter away.

Even one Sun Medal would earn a warrior the title of hero. The Noble army was teeming
with foot soldiers with more than a hundred such medals, surpassing the records of
even these generals.

Medals for the brave.

No society carried out this practice more diligently than the Nobility.

“The enemy’s barrier grows more powerful by the day. They refuse to be satisfied by
the success of the previous day. Our military can learn from their example.” The giant
standing two meters tall touched the air with a finger. An OSB airship ten times larger
than the previous incarnation floated up in the void. “But we have finally succeeded
in creating a dimensional cutter capable of cutting a tear into their barrier.” The
giant’s finger made a slash mark across the flank of the enemy ship. The ship tore
in half along the mark and burst into flames. “Any complaints, Nombusol?” The tall
man in the bi-horn helm growled and drank from the gold cup in his hand. He wiped
the liquid from his mouth with the back of a hand. Blood. The contents of the others’
cups were the same, as was fitting for a gathering of vampires.

“All is easier said than done, Brewster.” General Nombusol answered proudly as if
he’d found a comrade’s error. “The reality is the cutter is barely capable of creating
a tear in the new barrier and will not be able to do any damage on the airship or
moon base. It will come down to a ground attack.”

“Hence the reason why the Nobility’s bravest have been secretly chosen for this counteroffensive.
The matter cannot be left to androids.”

“The OSB have full knowledge of the extent of our resources. Surely you haven’t forgotten
how our android soldiers turned against us in the assault before last. What this counteroffensive
requires are flesh-and-blood warriors seething with the will to achieve victory and
a thrill for carnage.”

“Then I suggest you hand over command to me,” said General Vilzen, seated closest
to the entrance. His entire face was silver. Roughly hewn slits for the eyes and mouth.
A mask. Ever since the generals here first encountered Vilzen in his youth, he had
worn the same mask, albeit a different size. They could only surmise that his face
had been terribly disfigured. No rumor or consensus on the matter existed, as anyone
who initiated such rumor perished. “My three hundred Sun Medals are second to none.
The enemies I have felled exceed five thousand. Surely, it is I the OSB fear most.”

“An impressive number. The same number of fatalities you’ve incurred, I might add,”
sneered the white-haired man sitting farthest away by the window. Despite his white
mane, the childlike face and high-pitched voice revealed this Noble’s relative youth.
It was what was commonly called a tinny voice. Yet the staff in his hand strangely
suited him. “Indeed, you have disposed of over five thousand of the enemy. However,
it is your methods that I take issue with. They were effective in recklessly shooting
down the OSB airships. But while you were onto the next target before finishing off
the first, the OSB crash landed on Earth and massacred humans on the ground. To date,
roughly ten thousand Nobles on the Frontier have perished at the hands of the OSB,
a third of those fatalities brought about by your slipshod command. No, I shall take
command of this counteroffensive.”

“Damn you, Minsky.” Vilzen rose to his feet, his mask refracting the moonlight like
sparks.

“That’s enough, both of you,” said another voice, one hoarse like that of a man on
his deathbed. The wizened old man had arrived first and had been nodding off in the
chair beneath the moonlight when the other generals arrived. One touch—or breath—might
rend him in pieces. Yet his eyes, now open, emanated an eerie glint that froze the
others. “General Brosius.” He mumbled his name through his gums, not because he was
senile or because the other four had forgotten his name. He did so partly in jest
and in part to intimidate.

Hopping out of the chair, he tottered forward like a drunkard and approached the large
table. “I’m not yet awake. I would have preferred never to wake. Perhaps you will
help me.”

He waved his staff.

Another miniaturized figure of an OSB airship appeared in the air. Unlike the blue
and white schematic that Nombusol had produced, this one was a full-color, three-dimensional
model—an exquisitely rendered miniature.

Crimson rays blasted out of its gun barrels.

Atomic beams. One shot through Old Brosius’s face and flashed a brilliant ball on
his right shoulder and fizzled.

Another beam obliterated Brewster’s face from the nose up. A ball of light appeared
on the right side of Nombusol’s chest. Another on the left of Minsky’s chest. More
beams shot holes through the ceiling and floor.

“Now I’m awake.” There was a gaping hole in the middle of Old Brosius’s face, the
view behind him visible through the hole in his face. When he tapped the holographic
airship with the staff, the hole disappeared.

“A most rude awakening,” grumbled Nombusol, the hole in his chest already mended.

“Now where is Gaskell?” Old Brosius regarded the men and asked.

“He went to the western outskirts on reconnaissance last night and was shot down.
A rescue squadron has been dispatched, but nothing, at present, is known about his
whereabouts or safety.” It was Vilzen who answered.