No, the spies he was worried about were the Imperium kind. When this many people knew about the mission, it was inevitable the Imperium would find out, and those bastards would sabotage everything, but Lance and Heinrich had come up with a plan for them.
Chowtime was over. The conversations had died down. All eyes were on him. Sullivan finished his smoke, ground it out in an ashtray, and walked to where a world map had been stuck to the wall. The Grimnoir knights who had been leaning on it quickly got out of his way. They were as curious as everyone else.
It was pointless to ask for everyone’s attention. They were eager to begin the hunt. “Let’s get to it.” When he’d led men into battle, he’d preferred to just lead by example, from the front. The words had always come hard, but since he’d wound up in charge of this expedition, it felt like he should say something motivational. “Most of you don’t know much about what we’re after, or where we’re going, just that it’s dangerous as hell, but you were all man enough to volunteer to do what has to be done… So thanks.”
And that was as good as the motivation was going to get. “You all had a chance to back out. You’re still here, which means you’re stuck. Captain Southunder runs this ship. I run this operation. You all know who you answer to and you know the chain of command. You got a problem, I’ll listen, but if you don’t like my decision, too bad. Questions? No? Good. So let me tell you what we’re up against.”
Toru had silently entered the galley while Sullivan’s back had been turned. The Iron Guard was big for a Japanese, all solid muscle, and the other members of the crew automatically parted around him like fish with a shark in the water. There were a lot of uneasy or hostile glances sent Toru’s way. He simply stared back, daring them to try something. Sullivan gave him a small nod in greeting. “Our expert’s arrived.”
The Grimnoir’s normal strategy for taking on Iron Guards was to try and outnumber them five to one. That usually made for a fair fight. There were a handful of Grimnoir, like Sullivan himself, or Faye before she’d gotten killed, who could beat those odds, but they normally held true. Toru was outnumbered ninety-nine to one on this ship, and he still didn’t seem to give a shit. Toru nodded his way. “Please, do not stop on my account.”
All of the volunteers had been told about the true nature of magic before they’d signed up, so there was no need to waste their time. They wanted details. “You all know what we’re after. It is a little chunk of the thing that is chasing the Power. The Chairman called it the Pathfinder, so that name will do as good as any. We’ll have one chance to kill it before it calls home. Other Pathfinders have come here twice before. Toru here knows all about how the last ones worked.”
The former Iron Guard surveyed the crew menacingly. “Each one has been different, but they are all creatures of nightmares, so deadly that Okubo Tokugawa, the greatest warrior of all time, barely achieved victory. They eat magic and then use it against you, kill everything, and then turn the corpses into weapons. The strongest amongst you may have a small chance of survival.” The room was dead quiet except for the sound of the engines. “Most of you will surely perish.”
Sullivan sighed. He should have known better.
Lance Talon broke the silence. The burly Grimnoir wasn’t about to take attitude from an Iron Guard, former or not. “What the hell? You son of a—”
“I do not care if you take offense, Grimnoir.” Toru snapped. “I have vowed to defeat this threat to honor my father’s final command. Lying to you will only encourage overconfidence, which will lead to our defeat. Believe my words. The Order of Iron Guard were formed specifically to combat this Enemy.”
Lance stood up from behind the dinner table, revealing that he had a big revolver hanging from a gun belt. Sullivan remembered—a little too late to do any good—that Lance’s wife and children had been burned to death in an Iron Guard attack. “Easy, Lance.”
Lance’s hand was casually hovering over the butt of his Colt. “Except your precious Iron Guard are too busy raping and pillaging their way through a bunch of peasants to do their job, now ain’t they?”
“Yes.” Toru’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “The Iron Guard have become distracted from their true purpose. I will convince them of the error of their ways.” He slowly turned and addressed the entire room. “I will teach you everything I know before we engage the Pathfinder. It will devour your Power, rip the life from your bodies, and then twist your remains into weapons. Yet, as capable as it is, it can still be defeated. Hopefully your inevitable deaths will not bring shame upon our cause.”
“That’ll do, Toru.”
Toru gave Sullivan a small bow. As proud and stiff-necked as Toru was, he had still sworn that he would obey Sullivan’s orders. “I will be in my quarters until you need me.” Toru left the galley. He seemed to take the tension with him.
“Wait… How come he gets his own room?” Doctor Wells asked.
Sullivan was just close enough to hear someone’s whispered answer. “Because everyone is terrified of him.”
“Hmmm… So that’s all it takes?” Wells responded thoughtfully. “I see…”
Sullivan looked at Lance and shook his head. Lance returned grudgingly to his seat. “We can’t count on those Imperium bastards to fix this problem for us. The US government doesn’t believe us. So we’re gonna have to do it ourselves. All systems are go. Captain Southunder says that the Traveler is in top shape.” There was a chorus of cheers and hoots from the pirates and the UBF. Good. They had pride in their ship. “We’re ready to head out.”
“Head out where?” a young knight shouted.
And that was the big question everybody was so eager about. Sullivan went to the map and jabbed his finger into Montana. “We’re here. We’re going to cross into Canada, and once night falls, we’re going to kill the lights and head west, then up the coast, along the Aleutians, into Kamchatka.” Sullivan thumped the map. “Get your cold-weather clothing together, ’cause I hear it’s not nice.”
“That’s deep Imperium territory,” said one of the marauders. Sullivan knew this one, Wesley Dalton, or Barns to his friends. He was Pirate Bob’s best pilot, and since he was an Active Lucky, he was the only reason any of them had survived the Tempest crash. “Sounds fun.”
“The Japanese have locked it up tight since the Siberian resistance surrendered. We’re not expecting them to have much there in the way of defenses. There’s a small Imperium garrison up in the mountains by the name of Koryak. Expect high winds and nasty cold. That’s where we think the Pathfinder is gonna land shortly.”
“How do you know?” asked one of the UBF men.
Sullivan looked around the room. Fuller wasn’t around, which made this convenient. “Have you met Buckminster Fuller?” Several of the UBF engineers had visible reactions, ranging from shaking their heads sadly to rolling their eyes. Fuller was squirrely as all get out, but the important part was, his stuff worked. Even while driving you nuts, you had to admire the brilliance of his magical creations. “Yeah, I know, but he’s the most brilliant Cog ever when it comes to reading magic. He came up with a spell for us. I saw it myself, clear as day.” Sullivan’s reputation for quality spellbinding preceded him. “Trust me. That’s the place. We’re taking our time, conserving fuel, but the weather looks good, so we should be there in forty-eight hours. The knights will go down with me. We’ll take the base while Captain Southunder covers us from the Traveler.”