Angolin, p.1
Angolin, page 1
ANGOLIN
C. E. TAYLOR
CONTENTS
Angolin Map
Prologue
1. Negara
2. Dharmen’s Day
3. Niro Way
4. The General’s Office
5. Late Night Treachery
6. Mount Condorcet
7. The Temple of Krone
8. Subterfuge
9. Couriers
10. Closest Family
11. Now is the Time
12. The Falconerplein
13. Balaneth’s Choice
14. Dishonor
15. Gambit
16. Messenger in the Night
17. Line over the Horizon
18. The Osterrand
19. Marchwarden Pass
20. A More Useful Tool
Acknowledgments
About the Author
More from CamCat Books
The Building That Wasn’t
More Science Fiction by CamCat Books
CamCat Books
Content Warning: This novel touches upon the subject of homophobic prejudice and may be disturbing to some readers.
CamCat Publishing, LLC
Fort Collins, CO 80524
camcatpublishing.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
© 2024 by C. E. Taylor
All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For information, address CamCat Publishing, 1281 E. Magnolia St., #D1032, Fort Collins, CO 80524.
Hardcover ISBN 9780744306750
Paperback ISBN 9780744306774
Large-Print Paperback ISBN 9780744306811
eBook ISBN 9780744306798
Audiobook ISBN 9780744306828
Library of Congress Control Number: 2023940696
Cover and book design by Olivia Hammerman
Map illustration by C. E. Taylor
5 3 1 2 4
To my husband,
whose love and support helped
make this work possible,
and who has believed in me always.
PROLOGUE
The war room uprights were filled with maps and data blocks. General Gennet knew the suns were setting behind them; daylong cloistering and covered windows hadn’t dulled his senses. But the battlespace awareness points and strategic possibilities held his attention so deeply that he didn’t bother to turn to his Fifth Order counterpart entering the room.
“This is our objective, I take it?” said General Estes. Even after decades of friendship, he never was one for hellos.
“It is,” Gennet answered, darting his eyes back and forth over the information updates and absorbing every refresh. “This is Negara, our enemy’s new target for a stronghold. It’s three hours south-southeast by standard M-7 gunship, much less if we get the new troop transports I requested. And good evening!”
“The new transports? The ones equipped with TimeSpace drives? I wouldn’t count on it,” said Estes. “TS might have been commonplace technology to our ancestors, but we’re still relearning it. High Command won’t release it for combat before it’s ready.”
“I beg to differ, Eldric, and so should you. I think you know they will.” Gennet peeled himself from the uprights. “We need to get down there undetected, past the enemy’s primitive satellites and surveillance craft. HC knows this and so does Parliament—the Kraal will grant what I ask.”
“Mmm,” Estes said with a bit of a sniff. “I’ve read your reports on the matter, Vieron. I also hear every councilor and legate in Angolin has visited you on this—the Seventh Order will become the new Kraal if you’re not careful. But help me understand why we’re doing this. Negara is down in the Mare Vresel, six thousand klicks away. It’s halfway around the hemisphere. If the enemy wants a foothold down there, why not let them have it? By the gods, this makes no sense.”
Gennet eyed him, mystified. “Did you read all my reports or just those involving you and Fifth directly? You know what’s at stake as much as I do. You have to.”
The uprights’ shifting hues danced across Gennet’s deep-brown skin and Estes’s pallor. In lieu of a response, Gennet received a blank stare at his hand resting on his sword pommel. He was one of few in the Angolin Guard to wield the time-honored weapon.
“Last month”—he unhanded his sword and continued—“the Kraal received a diplomatic message. In short, it warned that the enemy is planning permanent troop installations on this end of the Abyss. We both know why: after all this time, the Carmogen finally know about Angolin. They’re searching for us, and harder than ever.”
“After nearly a millennium? I doubt it,” Estes said. “We’re called the Hidden Realm for a reason. The ancients were more than thorough in our concealment, and we’ve excelled at it since. We can’t jeopardize that by rushing outside the Cloak for this kind of operation, we’d do better to stay put and remain unseen. Why waste lives and resources on the Kraal’s useless whims?”
“The enemy is headed in this direction, Eldric. Isn’t that enough? If even a portion of our technology gets into their hands, they’ll overrun this entire planet, starting with us. Angolin will be neither safely hidden nor safe any longer.”
“This diplomatic message,” Estes said, narrowing his eyes, “who sent it?”
“The foreign secretariat of Lena. Who else?”
“Lenans! We’re listening to them now? They may have unparalleled intelligence services, but they’ve never been reliable allies in or out of combat.”
“They’ve always done what we asked, if only just,” Gennet rebutted. “They’ve also never betrayed our hiding. It’s us who keep to ourselves. We can’t blame anyone but ourselves for that.”
“I recall reports of Lenan aid being tepid in past operations.”
“And I recall them providing it anyway,” Gennet threw back. “We would have lost the Campaign of 1370 without them. Their help allowed us to remain hidden. I was there. You weren’t.”
Estes sighed hard, eyes flitting across the uprights-illumined floor. He removed his cloak, tossed it across a chairback, and loosened his collar as though it was strangling him . . . His jaw quivered. He eyed Gennet before closing his eyes in a single, recognizably tight blink indicating he was receiving an incoming call.
“Do you want to take that in private, Eldric?” Gennet asked.
“No! It’s not important.” Estes straightened. “So you trust the Lenans then?”
“Not trust, exactly—I wouldn’t go that far. I understand their position. That’s the distinction.”
“From one containment op back in ’70? And now, they’ve conveniently stoked our fears to get us down into the Vresel to do what they could achieve themselves. What else could they intend with this beyond securing our protection?”
Gennet marveled at the hastily cobbled calm’s collapse. “Look past that intent to see their role in this. Carmogen inroads over here won’t stop with Angolin. Lena is equally vulnerable: huge army but no energy weapons or timespatial shrouds to protect it. We have these advantages; they’ll provide whatever assistance we require, regardless of who’s protecting whom. Simple. Try to add sight of that to your pleasant mood this evening—”
“You know this won’t be a garden stroll,” Estes interrupted. “Negara will be our biggest operation in decades and instigated by a people we know little about.”
“Or have little faith in, Eldric. That’s your real meaning,” said Gennet. “But this isn’t about Lena, it’s about our survival on this world. We depend completely on stealthtech now that the enemy is developed enough to cross the Abyss and reach this side of Tentim. TS-shrouded ships, Angolin’s Cloak—if they get hold of the technologies we’ve revisited . . .” He leaned in, eyebrows lifted. “They discovered the Kay Allendë three years ago, look what happened there. A proud warrior culture more advanced than the Carmogen is now a race of battle conscripts and slave labor. We’ll suffer worse if we don’t go to Negara.”
“And you and HC believe a handful of TimeSpace drives barely out of workups will spare us from that fate somehow?”
Gennet sighed annoyance. Is nothing at all being heard? “Right now, the enemy thinks the Angolinian Rise is down in the Vresel. We can keep it that way if we take this opportunity and don’t squander it.”
“Whether we do this or not, Vieron, what about the collaborators?” Estes asked, shifting tack after apparently having run out of arguments. “You told me a while ago—insisted, actually—that you suspect plotting right here to aid the Carmogen. If that’s true and if it finds its way to Negara, how do we stop it? How do we fight the enemy and our own people at the same time?”
“You expect me to have all the answers. I don’t, of course,” Gennet said. “But I don’t intend to let Angolin fall to invasion”—he peered into cold eyes icing over the strangely inscrutable wiles the other brought with him—“or treason.” He turned to the surrounding uprights. “Close all files and end.”
Real windows replaced informational ones. Gennet looked beyond Nieuw Holland Valley toward the Great Lake. Far away on its opposite shore, he could just make out the Parliament Pavilion and High Command buildings atop the Kraal. Beyond the government citadel, fading sunlight rendered the Angolin Centrum’s skyscrapers as pastel needles against the East Ranges. Civilian traffic plying the sky la
Movement below caught his eye. A crowd filled the base entrance court around two officers, unequal in rank but in a heated exchange. Their shouts couldn’t penetrate the windows’ translucent metal, but their mouths definitely moved in argument. And bystanders intervened when words led to shoves.
“I understood you ran this base with a nemurite fist, Vieron,” said Estes. “Is this what passes for discipline here at Seventh?”
Gennet ignored the sarcastic quip of a question as he watched the men spar. He had grown accustomed to their altercations. And now, he counted on them.
The subordinate officer turned and walked away. A sword much like Gennet’s hung from his belt, an immediate identifier. “That must be Dharmen Tate. I’ve heard about him,” Estes said.
“No doubt,” Gennet replied. “Excellent officer. Highly capable. A bit rough-edged, though. And that whole package makes him the perfect choice for my plans. You asked how we’ll handle traitors and the enemy at once? He’s it.”
“Him? You can’t be serious,” Estes said. “How do you expect to root out collaborators with that hothead leading your efforts? I smell another gamble here, Vieron. You have a few of them tonight. His dossier is impressive and he gets a lot of praise, but I don’t care if he is Nüren Tate’s son, he’s a standard-issue boot if I ever saw one. I’ve seen more professionalism in cadets.”
“That’s a snap assessment on your part, of which you have a few tonight. But it won’t matter at all if he succeeds. I’m not worried.” Gennet raised his chin, comfortably settled in his convictions as he continued to look down below. “And believe you me, if treachery really has seeped into my ranks, the lieutenant is just the man I need to flush it out.”
1
NEGARA
Have you heard the rumor, Rem-E?
If you are referring to the upcoming campaign, sir, I have.
Campaign. Interesting term. Why not call it a containment operation like last time? What’s High Command up to?
“Containment” may not adequately describe the operation’s scope, Lieutenant. The information I have compiled indicates that this will be—
A big one. The enemy’s getting closer and closer to us. I’d like to be surprised, but I’m not.
Do you require anything further before I enter rest mode for the night, sir?
Just one thing, Rem-E: What combat survival files do you have for tropical warfare?
How in the blazing suns did we get into this?
Dharmen wiped sweat from his eyes and tried to focus. He and his comrade fought heat, flies, and fear with every fleeing step. Gods, you brought us to this crazy jungle rise. Do you have to prey on us like this too? He dismissed the paranoid blasphemy and snatched a glance behind him. They had managed (he hoped) to lose the enemy, but who could be sure? And especially with all this seemingly aimless meandering.
“Theus, is this really the way?”
“Course it is, Lieutenant. Trust me. Don’t you recognize that tree over there, the big one with the two trunks?”
“How can you possibly tell one tree from another here?” Dharmen replied.
“Just believe me for once, Tate. You can’t always be in control of everything,” Theus said, nearly breathless as he hacked a useable path through the bush. “I’m sure this is the way back to the river. It has to be!”
“If I wasn’t reassured before, I am now. Thanks for that.” Hear that, you bloody Carmis, Theus is sure! Dharmen would have shouted it, but they had already been discovered once and barely escaped. If the Netherlords wanted them, he wasn’t about to make it that easy.
He looked to his side, then forward. Theus instantaneously appeared far ahead and then quickly faded from sight. His personal TimeSpace generator’s temporal interruptions were randomizing again. He vanished entirely, then reappeared alongside and bumped into Dharmen. Both PTS fields flashed.
“Lower your setting,” Dharmen said in a low voice. “If I can’t see you, neither can the enemy. You don’t even show up through these damn synth lenses. What idiot engineer thought these could penetrate an artificial gravity well anyway?” He turned his attention to his internal and gave a thought command: Rem-E, deactivate.
Theus’s barely visible hand went to his controller. “PTS output decreased by fifteen percent. Let it be enough. We can’t get caught here. I don’t want to see a POW camp just yet.”
“You will if we get separated,” Dharmen said. “For now, I need to know where you are. This is the last place I want to end up alone.”
Theus moved on without reply—exhausted or afraid, Dharmen couldn’t tell. “When we reach the river,” Theus finally said, “we can follow it north to the ford and head back to camp from there. Stick with me, and we’ll be there by dinnertime.”
“Sticking with you got us separated from our team,” Dharmen said. “The general trusted us to relay enemy strengths and positions. Now what do we do? The others better make it back on their own, ’cause we’ll never find them like this.”
Dharmen hid his fright in the overgrowth, but he couldn’t calm his rushing thoughts. Why did Gennet send us here? The Guard has superior tracking abilities. An advanced post is about as necessary as these stupid new interstellar naval ranks. We still have ground wars to fight, we’re not going back into space right this minute! And why us? Theus and I don’t have this kind of experience, why put us out here alone with two shipman recruits barely out of basic?
An hour ago, the four of them were manning their post when they spotted Carmogen troops approaching. Dharmen and Theus ordered their fresh-out enlistees to remain as silent and still as base micromice. Hopefully with PTS running, the enemy would move on past them. One SR obeyed. The other panicked and fired before anyone could stop him. A hail of return volleys—particle energy volleys—had followed from weapons the enemy shouldn’t have had. The team had to scramble before their makeshift hideout was blown to pieces.
Now they were separated and on the run. Wonderful! And Theus’s ranging skills weren’t helping. Neither was the dense Negaran forest. Its wildly variegated foliage created an explosion of blinding colors eased only by sun shading in the otherwise useless synth visors. Dharmen assumed it was a beautiful place, if only he could stop to appreciate it without being visually overwhelmed—and shot dead in the process. And like the flora of Angolin, most of the plant life here was motile—pulling, tugging, and wrapping wiry prehensile tendrils around unwary limbs. Body armor synth cutters and membrane herbicides couldn’t keep up. Dharmen was glad he had left his sword behind for a field machete.
The suns had just left the sky, and the landscape grew easier on the eyes. Small comfort for being lost behind enemy lines. He pushed on, thought of the recruit who had nearly gotten them all killed. Yes, he disobeyed orders, but he’s just a kid. Angolin’s isolation hasn’t prepared any of us for this. What more could I have expected? If only his twin sister had been assigned to us instead of to Intel Company Bravo off-rise. Now she’s a real soldier! He pictured himself back in his enlisted days, taking orders, making mistakes, and making more mistakes, all while downplaying his position as the son of the famous General Nüren Tate, and just doing his duty. The memories put a razor-thin smile on his lips.
Then he froze in his tracks.
Voices. They traveled up the path behind him and then ceased. He crouched and listened. Nothing. He looked around. “Theus?” he called as softly as he could. “Thee, where are you? Lieutenant Tarkala!”
No answer, and no return on internal AI trace. Theus’s PTS had put him too far ahead again in the twilit, increasingly moving forest growth. Dharmen’s mind raced. It felt cowardly, but he wished he were back at Seventh. Its peacetime comforts and daily routines were downright heavenly compared to this. Even his superiors’ accolades would have been welcome for once. A “pillar of honor” and a “rock of courage, much like his father . . . when his temper’s not in the way”. The lauds that filtered back to him were embarrassing though not undeserved. Dharmen fit every one of them beyond his own self-awareness.
