The Dreams of Andromeda (The Imperium Chronicles Book 4)

by W. H. Mitchell

  In the West End, not far from the main thoroughfare called Embassy Row, the Emissary Hotel catered to a rich clientele of diplomats and ambassadors as well as the local nobility. The hotel featured a restaurant called The Grove, decorated with palm trees and other tropical plants. While the Grove served breakfast, lunch, and dinner, its most popular meal was brunch for those unable to get up for breakfast, but too famished to wait for lunch.

  Two such people were Lady Lilith Augustus and Lady Candice Woodwick. Their table, on a raised tier overlooking the main floor of the restaurant, had an excellent view of the other patrons eating from their plates of crêpes, croissants, and avocado toast.

  Lilith wore a tightly fitting green dress with gold buttons over her baby bump while Candy's attire was far more casual, a black and white striped jacket with a pink top underneath. To the casual observer, these two seemed an unlikely pair. However, having gone to the same finishing school as girls, they had become fast friends and remained so ever since.

  "I don't believe it," Lilith said, her restrained face almost showing emotion. "Rupert Tagus is over there with Lady Veber..."

  Candy, having just tried her poached egg, started to turn before Lady Augustus stopped her.

  "Don't look!" she hissed through clenched teeth. "Okay, now look!"

  Peering over her shoulder, Candy saw Lord Rupert Tagus III sharing a table across the room with the matriarch of the Veber family, Lady Rebecca Veber.

  Candy waited to speak until she swallowed. "I wonder what they're talking about?"

  "What do you think?" Lilith replied in her usual, scolding tone. "They must be discussing the conclave."

  "Really?" Candy replied.

  "They're both voting members of their families," Lilith went on, "and it's Lady Veber's vote that usually breaks a tie."

  "But I thought Lady Veber hated the Taguses?"

  "Of course! They killed her son!"

  "Right," Candy replied before taking another bite.

  "But Rupert is cunning," Lilith said. "He must have something up his sleeve if he's talking with her like this."

  "Who is the Augustus family voting for?" Candy asked. "Has Richard said anything?"

  "No," Lilith replied, "but it's not supposed to be one of their own, so it would probably be someone from the Montros family."

  "That was his mother's house..."

  "Obviously," Lilith said. "Montros and Augustus have been allies for generations, just like the Tagus and Groen families. That's what makes Veber's vote so important."

  "Must be brilliant to be her," Candy said, referring to Lady Veber.

  "Personally, I don't see why Richard can't nominate himself," Lilith said.

  "It's tradition, dear."

  Lilith rolled her eyes. "I don't give a damn about that."

  "Lilith!" Candy admonished her.

  "Well, I don't," she replied. "I'm having a son who could be heir to the throne if Richard only shared my vision."

  "It sounds like you want an Augustus dynasty."

  "Why not? We'd be better rulers than the other families. Richard's father proved that!"

  "I suppose," Candy replied doubtfully. "But I don't see how you'll get the other families to go along."

  Lilith stared at her untouched eggs.

  "We'll see," she said.

  As a robot, Burkebot was physically nothing like his namesake. Personality-wise, he was also unlike the late Lieutenant Burke, which Lord Rupert Tagus III reiterated on a regular basis.

  "He's not half the man Lieutenant Burke was," Tagus said with the robot standing directly behind him.

  "To be fair," Lady Veber said from across the table, "he is a robot."

  Rolling his eyes, Tagus surveyed the Grove restaurant before uttering a dissatisfied grunt.

  "I don't see why we had to meet here," he complained.

  Lady Veber, wearing a turquoise pantsuit and a tiny blue hat pinned to her hair bun, stared back.

  "I think we both know why I chose a public meeting," she replied.

  Tagus clenched his teeth. "Because you killed my father."

  "Because your father killed my son!" Lady Veber said, matching his angry gaze.

  Dressed in a tunic bearing his family's colors, Tagus softened his expression and waved a hand in the air.

  "Casualties of war," he said.

  Burkebot watched attentively. These interactions between humans were always interesting, if not entirely logical at times. As the robot understood it, Tagus' father had killed Lady Veber's son in retaliation for her support of Hector Augustus’ ascension to the throne. For her own part, Lady Veber killed the senior Tagus in revenge for the loss of her son. That much was clear. What baffled Burkebot was finding Tagus and Veber now sharing a table for brunch.

  Fleshlings are endlessly confusing, the robot thought.

  "Look at these people," Tagus said, referring to the other patrons. "Eating brunch like imbeciles. The very idea of brunch is ridiculous!"

  "Is it?" Lady Veber replied, somewhat amused.

  "Half measures," Tagus continued. "It should be either breakfast or lunch, not both!"

  "Good point," she said without enthusiasm, "but perhaps we should discuss why you've asked to see me?"

  "Yes, of course," Tagus replied. "I assume you can guess?"

  "The conclave?"

  "Obviously."

  "It will be held on my family's planet, Lokeren, as always," Lady Veber said. "As is the tradition."

  "And as is also tradition," Tagus replied, "House Veber will cast the deciding vote on who will become the next emperor."

  "More than likely," she replied.

  Tagus leaned closer, the sharp features of his face hanging over the table like a knife.

  "Who will you vote for?" he asked.

  Lady Veber became coy.

  "How should I know?" she replied with a slow shrug. "The candidates haven't even been chosen yet."

  "But you can guess," Tagus said.

  "Well, the Augustus family cannot nominate someone from their house, so there could be candidates from House Montros, Groen, and Tagus. And mine of course."

  "The Augustus family will vote for their ally, the Montroses, and the Groens will vote for me as head of the Tagus family."

  Lady Veber nodded. "If all goes as it usually does."

  "And you will act as king maker," Tagus replied.

  "As it usually goes..."

  Tagus reclined back in his chair, presumably to appear less threatening, Burkebot thought.

  "I want you to consider voting for me," Tagus said, making his best attempt at a smile.

  Lady Veber scoffed. "Why would I do that?"

  "I realize you may fear retaliation if I were to become emperor," Tagus said.

  "You'd imprison me on your coronation day," she replied.

  Tagus shook his head. "Not necessarily."

  "Have me executed then?"

  "Not at all," Tagus said. "What if I signed a decree pardoning you of all responsibility for my father's death?"

  Lady Veber was silent.

  "In fact," Tagus went on, "I could do a great deal for you and your family. Your house has been king makers, true, but not much else. What if I could offer you more power and prestige than you could imagine?"

  "Why should I trust you?" Lady Veber asked.

  Tagus' smile curled at the edges.

  "My father could have been emperor, but failed," Tagus said. "I'll do whatever it takes to make sure I don't follow in his footsteps."

  It was big. A lot bigger than Henry Riff had expected.

  When Thomas Martel had arrived at the Maycare estate, Benson the butlerbot had insisted that the detective relinquish his sidearm. Martel pulled Maxwell from his holster and handed it to the robot. Beside him, Henry thought he heard Jessica Doric gasp, but that might have been his imagination.

  "I'm going to need that back," the detective said.

  "I'll return it when you leave," Benson replied.

  Lord Devl
in Maycare, fashionably late as always, appeared in the atrium with his usual gusto.

  "Detective Martel!" he shouted much more loudly than necessary, making Henry jump. "How the hell are you?"

  "Good, Lord Maycare," the detective replied as they shook hands.

  "Call me Devlin," Maycare replied. "How about we retire to my study?" Noticing Jessica, he said, "Jess, why don't you join us?"

  Jessica, in a white blouse and tweed skirt, glanced at her assistant.

  "What about Henry?" she asked.

  Maycare's eyes widened. "Oh, I didn't see him there! Sure, he can tag along..."

  Henry, both irritated at the slight yet thankful to be included, trailed behind the others. The study contained a fireplace and green leather chairs, along with a couch in front of the fire. The fire itself was not real, merely a holographic projection, but emitters behind it still radiated a comfortable warmth into the room.

  Henry and Doric took the chairs on either side of the couch where Martel and Maycare sat down.

  "I'll bring some refreshments," Benson said before disappearing through a side door leading to the kitchen.

  Sizing up the detective, Maycare smiled and said, "Glad you could come on such short notice!"

  "No trouble," Martel replied. "I rarely turn down a job or a free meal."

  "I envy you," Maycare remarked. "The life of a private dick must be exciting!"

  Henry noticed Martel's mouth form a wry grin.

  "Well," the detective said, "it seems like your life can be pretty dangerous at times."

  Maycare laughed. "That's true. In fact, that's why I've called you here."

  Martel retrieved a datapad from his jacket. "Something about one of your races?"

  "My racing sled exploded," Maycare replied, nodding emphatically. "And it was sabotage, plain and simple."

  "Is there anyone who might want you dead?" the detective asked.

  Personally, Henry could think of several people. Lord Maycare's former lovers and their husbands would make an impressive list...

  "Not a one," Maycare replied. "I'm loved by just about everybody!"

  "Then," the detective went on, "is there anyone who would benefit from you losing the race?"

  "Well, I spoke to one fellow, Lord Grayson," Maycare said, "but he gave me his word as a gentleman he was innocent."

  Martel raised an eyebrow. "That doesn't exactly exclude him, does it?"

  "Of course it does!" Maycare replied with some outrage. "If a gentleman isn't as good as his word, what good is he?"

  Martel said nothing but made a notation in his datapad. Meanwhile, Benson returned with a tray of cups, which he offered to each of them.

  "TeeHee Tea," the robot said.

  Taking a sip, Maycare nearly spat it out. "What flavor is this?"

  "Pumpkin spice, sir."

  "Why in heaven's name would you buy this?" Maycare asked incredulously.

  "It was the request of Lady Candice," Benson replied.

  Maycare cleared his throat.

  "Alright then," he muttered under his breath, "carry on..."

  Henry watched while Martel took a sip as well, but he didn't think the detective liked it either.

  Just outside the city of Regalis, Ta Demona arrived at the door of a house resembling a traditional Japanese home. In her long, black robe, with a respirator covering most of her face, Demona was a frightening sight and her green skin didn't help. This had not always been the case. Before Kanet Solan recruited her for the Psi Lords, she had been a young priestess on the planet Technas Delphi, part of a monastic order called the Augmentor Sisterhood. Now, she was more machine than fleshling and a long way from the Temple on Technas Delphi.

  She paused at the door, the paint on the wood flaked off in places. Raising her green knuckles, she knocked. After a few minutes, a woman opened the door. Demona saw a flash of recognition in the woman's mind and then nothing, as if a gate shut, blocking off her thoughts. This was not psionics, however. This woman had disciplined her mind in other ways.

  "Hello, Lucy," Demona said.

  Lefty Lucy, standing in the doorway, replied only with an icy glare. They knew each other from Lucy's previous work with the Psi Lords, but Demona wouldn't say they were friends.

  "I'm here to see Roland," Demona went on.

  Lucy turned and led her into the dojo and through to a side room where Roland was practicing against a wooden post. With jabs and kicks, the young man struck the post repeatedly. He stopped when he saw the two women enter, but his eyes were focused on the Psi Lord.

  "It's you," he said.

  "Don’t look so surprised," Demona replied.

  The boy stammered and Demona sensed his embarrassment.

  "I mean," he said, "I didn't expect to see you here."

  "It would seem neither did your mother," Demona said, motioning toward Lucy who had maintained a steady scowl.

  "Right," Roland replied. "I forgot the two of you had worked together."

  "Only briefly," the Psi Lord said. "She was quite the chatterbox."

  Lucy made a sudden movement toward her but stopped when Demona formed a sphere of purple vapor in the palm of her hand.

  "Now, now," Demona said. "Don't be so hasty."

  Lucy took a step back and folded her arms across her chest.

  "What is that?" Roland asked, pointing at the floating orb in Demona's hand.

  Demona closed her fingers, snuffing out the purple sphere.

  "It's called Dark Psi," she explained. "Your mother was wise to control herself..."

  Demona felt impatience swelling in Roland's mind.

  "Why are you here?" he asked. "Do you have new information or not?"

  "I do," Demona said.

  "Well?"

  "Sixteen years ago," she replied coolly, "two members of the Imperial Intelligence Service entered a penthouse on the planet Galanis. Their mission was to kill the man and woman, and their child, who lived in the apartment."

  "My parents..." Roland said aloud. "What were their names?"

  "They were Lord Robert and Lady Josephine Groen, and their little son Jack." Demona replied.

  "Groen? As in the Groens of the Five Families?"

  "That's right."

  Roland turned to Lucy, the only mother he had ever known. "Did you know about this?"

  Lucy shook her head, while never taking her eyes off the Psi Lord.

  "No," Demona said, "I don't suppose she would have. I strongly suspect the man who killed your parents kept her in the dark."

  "So, what happened?" Roland asked.

  "Apparently the mission went sideways," Demona went on. "Although one agent killed your father, the other agent, apparently named Pitt, stopped short of killing you after he had killed your mother."

  "Why?" Roland asked.

  "That I don't know," Demona replied. "I guess you'd have to ask him."

  "You said there were two agents..." Roland remarked.

  "The man named Pitt killed the other agent," Demona said, "which is probably why Pitt had to go underground and change his name."

  "Do you know what he changed it to?" Roland asked.

  “I do indeed,” she replied. "He's now known as Magnus Black."

  Popular travel writer Nick Reeves once said, "The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer on Grarfell." Also called the Gray Old Man, Grarfell was the home planet of the Gordians and, like the Gordians themselves, was known for being inhospitable. In low-lying areas, clouds spat rain year-round, while higher elevations consisted of frozen tundra and deep snowpack. The surface was such a miserable experience that the Gordians had moved underground, carving enormous city-states out of the rock beneath the mountainous landscape above.

  Magnus Black had arrived at one such city, landing his ship, the Starling, on a pad of flattened stone surrounded by low hills. While Magnus took the short walk between the warm interior of his cockpit and an elevator leading down, cold rain belted his stubbly face and closely shaved head. Only his long leathe
r coat kept the rest of him dry before he could take shelter in the lift.

  Inside, the controls consisted of two buttons, up and down, and Magnus chose the latter. The elevator then dropped like a rock, producing the odd feeling in Magnus' stomach as if a trap door had opened. Eventually, the plummeting sensation slowed until the lift came to a complete stop several hundred feet below the surface. When the doors slid apart, the cacophony of the city assaulted his ears. Called Kurkslag, it was one of many city-states on the planet, each a domain of its own, ruled by mayors who resembled warlords more than politicians.

  Magnus wasn't expecting a welcoming committee and he didn't get one. At most, the locals greeted him with the word Dûrndûran, which his translator said meant both "hello" and "go have sex with yourself." The rest of the time, the Gordians ignored him as none of their business. Magnus used the opportunity to explore the city.

  Kurkslag was a series of great halls decorated with geometrical forms and sharp, linear edges. To their credit, the Gordians were master builders and engineers. Even underground, the towering ceilings of each hall gave the feeling of space as if the city was much larger.

  On the third day of his visit, Magnus found himself among a throng of Gordians and off-worlders. Everyone, including Magnus, was facing the front of the great hall where a Gordian was standing before a table on a raised platform of stone.

  Magnus knew him as Hogug, the mayor of Kurkslag.

  Like most Gordians, Mayor Hogug had a pig-like face with tusks and a snout. Instead of a business suit, he wore robes and a crown more befitting a king. His constituents, many of whom were also on his payroll, cheered the mayor as he raised a mug of fungus beer.

  "Here's to another four years!" he shouted, toasting his own re-election. "May they be as lucrative as the last twenty-four!"

  Magnus watched the mayor guzzle from the mug with great interest. Fungus beer was, in fact, the mainstay of Gordian life on Grarfell where breweries kept busy around the clock. Gordians, wherever they might be, rarely went more than 24 hours without drinking some.

  Mayor Hogug was no different.

  He tipped the mug until the last drop of beer had drained away. With a mighty belch, the mayor slammed it down on the table and took a seat, calling to a servant for his pipe.

  As a powerful crime boss, Mayor Hogug had many enemies, many of whom wanted him dead. A lesser assassin might have attempted to poison Mayor Hogug's beer, knowing the Gordian's proclivity for drinking. However, the mayor had not reigned for over twenty-four years by being a fool. Every keg in his cellar was carefully tested before a drop of fungus beer met Hogug's lips. Taking the pipe from his servant, the mayor was equally confident that the tobacco had been carefully screened for toxins.