That’s a surprise.

  He gasps for air like a runner beat from a sprint. The soldier drops to his knees, then falls on his back, clenching his jaw broad, strong jaw. His hair is as blonde as wheat ready for harvest, long and damp with sweat atop his head and cropped on the sides in a square cut.

  Wait a minute… This guy’s missing ears. The man’s got no ears. Wait, what are those?

  Two wolf ears stick up out of the damp, slicked-back mop on his head.

  Well, he’s definitely better-looking than Lon Chaney Jr.’s wolf-man.

  Gustav opens his bloodshot eyes, revealing red irises.

  “No… The Wildheart,” says Sergeant.

  “It’s fine,” says Gustav, gritting his teeth. “I can handle it. For the Vulfreich, remember?”

  “For Madlina. For Ludwig, remember?” says Sergeant.

  “For Madlina. For Ludwig. Raaagh!” His scream brings me back to my war days, hearing men cry out as they stared at their missing limbs or spilled guts. Then I remember the men whose hand I held, to whom I gave their last sips of water while they shivered from shock and blood loss and talked about their girl who they’d never see again. Or their Pa, who never ate in front of them so there’d always be enough food for the rest of the family. Or their mother, who cried when they left and made them promise they’d come home. I remember how much light I’ve seen die in men’s eyes.

  I don’t want to see this.

  Gustav slams his fist on the floor, then rolls over, using the wall to try to stand. He closes his eyes, draws in a deep breath, then releases it as slowly as a summer breeze.

  His sergeant looks at him. Even under her helmet, I can tell her face is wrought with concern. She puts her hands on him to help lift him up.

  “I’m fine!” he yells, batting her away with the metallic clang of his armor against hers.

  “If you’re fine, then stand,” says Sergeant Dame. “All your flopping about is unbecoming of a soldier of the Emperor.”

  “Well done, Sergeant,” says some broad in red armor with silver trim. She stands on a platform at the front of the room, beyond all the machines and devices that control the ship. Behind her, the stars glitter in the black curtain of the void, those haunting eyes always peaking in and staring to mock the dances of mortals.

  Her wolf helmet is tucked under her left arm. A golden, curly bob frames her flawless, dangerous face. A wry, red smile reveals extra sharp canines. A look both sad and violent fills her violet eyes. She also has wolf ears sticking up from the top corners of her head. A black cloak hangs off the back of her shoulders. A zweihander’s long handle and daunting hilt peek out over her right shoulder as if the blade is magnetically hanging on the back of her armor.

  The main deck is as large as a theater and divided in half into two levels in the same sort of way. On the lower level sit two massive consoles covered with glowing, gumdrop buttons, switches, and panels. Similar counters run along the round walls. On the upper level, only a few steps higher, stands the blonde dame with four other soldiers in red armor with the same black capes. Behind her, I notice another row of those consoles and a swivel chair built like a throne.

  This broad’s got to be in charge around here.

  I keep looking around for hints and clues about what’s going on; I next notice all the seats that would normally host operators and technicians are empty. The broken bodies of space soldiers in black uniforms with golden epaulets lay next to the chairs or across the machines, dark blood pooled on the ground around them.

  Why are all these wolf-people dressed like Otto von Bismarck? Did the Prussians get their glad rags from aliens, or did the aliens get their rags from Prussians? That blood looks pretty dark. They’ve been dead for a while now

  Gustav relents and lets Sergeant Dame help him stand up. Leaning on her for support, he staggers to the edge of the foyer. Then, Sergeant looks around and sees the same macabre scene I’m seeing: one brutal murder after another. That’s when I look at the guards on either side of the blonde broad again: they’ve already drawn their swords. Again. The blades are stained red with drying blood.

  The blonde broad is definitely in charge, and she definitely can’t be trusted. Like most women. Not you though, Sergeant Dame. My gut’s telling me you can be trusted.

  Sergeant Dame looks at the blonde broad, then to the red warriors to the woman’s left and right, black capes hanging from their backs and bloody swords drawn for the only reason swords are made: to kill.

  C’mon, kid. Figure it out. Put two and two together already.

  “Commander, what happened here?” asks Sergeant Dame. “What’s going on?”

  “A heavy price was paid in the name of the Revolution, dear Sergeant,” says the broad as she gives a solemn glance to the dead men and women. Her voice is as somber as the flame of a single candle burning on a cold, calm winter night.

  “Revolution?” asks Sergeant Dame. “Against the Emperor?”

  “Before we speak of such matters, I must commend you.”

  “I am undeserving of any praise,” says Sergeant Dame with a bow. “Without my men, I’d be dead.”

  “Don’t be modest,” says Commander Broad, still as somber as before. “Your leadership in the corridors was excellent. I’m utterly astonished you made it all the way here.”

  More like disappointed, I think. Something’s just not right here. She made it sound like she stopped a revolution in here, but she didn’t let her own soldiers in when they were fighting for their lives. Maybe she thought they were part of this revolution. I don’t have enough details yet.

  “You knew we were out there?”

  “I did. As you can see, we had our hands full in here dealing with the traitors, but when we’d resecured the deck, I immediately opened the doors for you.”

  That’s a lie. Judging from how dark those pools of blood are, they’ve been dead for at least an hour, kid. Wise up. Don’t fall for it. And what was all the trouble Aurick had opening the doors? Didn’t he say something about them changing the locks as he was working on them?

  “What you just stepped through,” continues the blonde broad, “wasn’t merely the doorway to the main deck: those were the doors to your destiny, Sergeant.”

  “Whatever do you mean, ma’am?”

  “Sergeant, open your heart to my words, that I might open your eyes to the truth,” says the broad, her tone rising as if the flame of the winter candle is burning brighter and stronger. “Now is the time when the Imperium ends.”

  Konrad and Aurick’s free hands snap to their sidearms, dropping their carbines to the floor with the hollow clack only metal arms seem to make.

  Imperium. Absolute power. They seem to really believe in that, as much as we believed in freedom when we ran across the beaches of Anzio with M1s in our hands and grenades hanging from our chests. They’re willing to die to maintain someone else’s absolute power. Should I really be rooting for these guys? At least they didn’t murder their comrades there.

  On another note, they don’t seem to plan on using their rifles if push comes to shove. I wonder why? Can’t be that window; if this ship is made for battle, that thing’s got to be tougher than these carbine rounds. And push is definitely about to come to shove. Commander Broad’s as much as said it herself now: she and her goons up there are the revolutionaries. They killed these soldiers. They’re definitely going to try and kill four more.

  “Konrad. Aurick,” says Sergeant Dame. “Let the Commander speak. Do not be so quick.”

  What? No. Be quick!

  “Sergeant!” says Aurick as if to implore her to reconsider.

  “Don’t. Be. So. Quick.”

  Come on! Take the advantage!

  “Heard, Sergeant,” says Konrad as he lets go of his mace and throws a glance at Aurick. Aurick lets go of his axe, clenching his fists in coiled, certain violence.

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  “You are so much more than I’d hoped, Sergeant. Fearsome and wise. Now, listen and understand. The time has come that the Vulfosi will no longer be servants to liars, slaves to traitors who enrich themselves on our deaths to line the walls of their palaces with idols of opulence. Now is the time when the Vulfreich falls so that a true era of Vulfich peace and prosperity may reign.”

  “We’re to usher in peace and prosperity with betrayal and murder?”

  “Betrayal? Never. The true traitors lie about your feet, covered in blood boiled to rage against Vulfos; they have betrayed their own world and people to serve a master of lies who sits upon a gaudy throne while ‘his people’ sail the stars to die in the name of false glory. Indeed, each of them has betrayed us.”

  “Traitors? By what trial are they convicted?”

  “Trial by combat, of course, the true and ancient rite of our people, according to your Imperium. Open your eyes, sworn sister. You must know as well as any that the Vulfreich is built on a foundation of lies. Those lies are nooses around our necks. The Revolution comes to cut the cord or tighten it. Which will you have, Sergeant?”

  “How dare you utter such defiances!” yells Aurick.

  “Quiet, you undisciplined knave. Do you want the truth, or are you so in love with your lies that even death could not part you from them?”

  “Any death I give will be for the Emperor, for my people,” says Aurick. “That is a true enough life for me, traitor whore.”

  “You’re fortunate I’m so impressed with your Sergeant, or I’d cut you down where you stand, imbecile.”

  “Come and dance, daughter of Ziegrich!”

  “With a grunt who can’t even open a door?”

  “Aurick! Hold your tongue. No matter what you think, you’re still speaking to the Commander. Don’t. Be. So. Quick.”

  He throws his hands in the air and walks around in frustration like a lion ready for the hunt but trapped in a cage.

  Why are you wasting time, kid? Give him the go-ahead. Shoot that broad where she stands. Or cut her down. Whatever you have to do. I don’t know a damned thing about your society and its politics, but I know enough to know I like you and not her. What are you waiting for? Show her that moxie of yours already!

  “So,” says Sergeant Dame, “you would see the Vulfreich fall.”

  “I would take the head of Adolphus myself given the chance.”

  “Why? Why should we join the Revolution?”

  “How much do you know of Ziegrich the Betrayer?”

  “Only what I was taught in school.”

  Sergeant Dame’s playing a game, isn’t she? But, which is it: chess or checkers? What cards are you hiding in those pockets of yours, kid?

  “Exactly. You were taught what serves the Emperor and nothing more.”

  “I was taught Ziegrich betrayed his people and waged a war of usurpation against his brother, Emperor Exavarius I, and that the Emperor sacrificed himself for the Imperium, for his people, defeating the Betrayer as the usurper’s ships raced toward Vulfos. Tell me how any of this is a lie?”

  “The lies are in the details, sworn sister. Were you ever taught why the Emperor’s brother waged a war against him?”

  “To take the Lunar Throne for himself.”

  “And do you believe that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  She’s buying time. We all know there’s going to be a fight. The Commander’s the only one who hasn’t accepted it. Sergeant Dame needs time for Gustav to recover. That’s their only chance of winning a four-on-five tussle.

  “Commander,” says one of the broad’s goons. “I don’t see any means of achieving a conversion here. They’ve made their decision. Let us kill them and be done with this. You won’t even need to draw that beautiful sword of yours.”

  “No, Sigvald. We are not the Vulfreich. We will give our people the chance to do what is right.”

  Sigvald whirls his blade in his hand like a child swinging around a toy. He turns to the stars, looking out the massive window as if fed up with the situation.

  Sigvald. Lot of good a name will do me; there’s no way to keep track of these guys. They all look the same.

  “Ziegrich knew the truth: he knew that the Vulfreich was founded on lies, and he knew that the only future in which the Vulfosi will thrive is that of the Vulfreich’s fall. He saw the ‘sons of Voltyr’ thrown blindly into the grinder of war, and he wept. He saw the opulence of the aristocracy and bore fury. He saw broken men returning from their conscriptions, and he knew a violent conflict would be the only means of justice. He knew the vanity of these so-called ‘glories’ and ‘honors’ found in wars against foreign worlds. For our people to live, we must take our destiny into our own hands.”

  “So, we must side with demons then? Is that the choice you lay before us?”

  “Demons?”

  “What else would you call those monsters out there?”

  “Don’t make me laugh, sworn sister. Demons are lies invented by Voltyran priests to scare children so they grow up to be good little slaves of the Faith and Vulfreich. And Adolphus knows this: why do you think he joined the Church to the state?”

  “To bolster the faith which unites and guides us.”

  “No! To bolster the lie of Voltyr. All religion is lie after lie heaped up to oppress and control the faithful. Do you know who invented the myth of Voltyr and founded the Imperium?”

  No, lady. I don’t. I don’t know what any of this means.

  But, what I do know is if I’m right about Sergeant Dame’s plan, this broad is really digging her own grave right now with all this chinning she’s doing.

  “Myth? Voltyr himself founded the Imperium when he first returned,” says Sergeant Dame. “He ushered in the first Golden Age, uniting a hundred warring states under the Lunar Throne. It’s there in the histories of the scholars, philosophers, and fathers of the faith. Were they all liars as well?”

  “You’re disappointing me now, sworn sister. Not even Voltyrans believe that. Even they are not so witless. No. The entire Vulfreich was founded by a race far beyond our own, one which Emperor and his dogs hide from you and fight in their secret wars.”

  “Why would they hide such a thing? The Emperor has no reason to do so.”

  “They fear you knowing the truth; if you knew the powers they were hiding from you, you’d understand their fear as I do.”

  “What? What powers? What are you talking about? Psionics?”

  “I’m talking about the Yog.”

  “Who?”

  “My sworn sister … There is so much to teach you. Join me and I will show you the galaxy, the truth. I will show you how to be truly free! But for now, the Yog are the very ones you’ve been fighting for the past hour.”

  “Those?! Those were demons!”

  “Not demons, only another race, another people.”

  “People don’t eat people!”

  “The wolf eats the rabbit. Is either any less a beast than the other?”

  “Is that all we are to you? Beasts to be devoured? We had families on board. Were they just beasts as well, sacrifices for your Revolution?”

  “You’re trying my patience, Sergeant. If you will not understand the place I offer you in all that is to come, then you must die with the rest of the traitors. Don’t force my hand… I’ve lost enough already.”

  “And how will I die? In a mockery of trial by combat?”

  “In a mockery of that which deserves to be mocked.”

  “Have you no Vulfich pride? Take us captive. Hold a court. Let us do battle by the old rite.”

  “What difference does it make how and where battle is given? By the laws to which you cling, might is truth, and by that law shall your institutions fall, by that law and mockery of it shall the Revolution come and make the Vulfosi free. To fight here, even, is an act of Revolution.”

  “Give my men their full rights as servants of the Emperor.”

  “Rights? The only right you have beneath the Emperor is to die in his name.”

  “You will give us no quarter then?”

  “There is no quarter for enemies of my people.

  “You hear that?” calls Sigvald. “None for you, and none for the Emperor. Enemies of the Revolution are enemies of Vulfos. Make your choice! Let’s get this over with!”

  “Quiet, Sigvald,” says the Commander. “My patience is already thin. She is at least due the right to make her own choice, as are each of her men.”

  She’s not trying to convince Sergeant Dame of anything. She’s trying to make her strike first. In her mind, that justifies what she’s about to do.

  “When the Revolution has destroyed that which separates man from beast, from where will your rights of man come? Is it not the law which ensures man’s rights?”

  “It is the Law of Imperium which steals your rights from you and rations them back. But I offer to you the Law of Ziegrich: do what you will in service of your people, for all who serve are equal! I offer you freedom!”

  “That’s not freedom!”

  “Explain to me why. Explain to me why taking the head of a tyrant and throwing it to the void isn’t freedom for man. Explain to me why conscription to fight and die in meaningless wars is freedom!”

  “You’ll only replace one just ruler with millions of unjust despots, each fighting to impose his own will upon the men around him.”

  “Listen to yourself. What a trite objection!”

  “That is as far as my understanding of philosophy goes. I am a lowborn soldier, not a highborn statesman. My trade is battle and will be until I am wed and begin my trade as wife and mother. Until then, I deal in guns and blades, not ideas. My apologies, Commander, for I am not your equal in the discussion of law. But let me see if my trade will give you a better answer.”

  “What man will you wed when so many sons of Vulfos are thrown into graves?” asks the Commander, her voice wavering with tears in her eyes. She blinks them away. “Tragically, we return to the unjust law of the Emperor: might is truth.” The Commander dons her helmet and draws her zweihander, the gray blade twinkling with starlight. “Trial by combat. Must it be this, Sergeant? Can you not seek the truth for yourself?”

  “The truth is that I made an oath to my Emperor and my people, Elisia. I swore to defend the Imperium from all threats.” Sergeant Dame drops her carbine and draws her saber in a salute, holding the blade straight in front of the snarling wolf face of her helmet. “You leave us, true and loyal soldiers of the Vulfreich, no choice. If there is no quarter and no reason, then there is nothing left but battle.”

  “Your soul is beautiful, Sigrid,” says Commander Elisia as she also salutes with her zweihander. Her voice is once again as strong and somber as a single candle burning bright. “I will hate to see it perish.”

  Give’em hell, Sigrid.