by Ken Wolfson
"So there's enough wealth out there to fix the Systems?" he said. A small team could slip in and steal Alyssa away from wherever on Vervunder she was, out from under the Hullen patrolling about. It could be done quick, but she wouldn't be back at Volantis before the Hullen arrived and the battle commenced.
"If utilized correctly, then maybe they would. All the jewel worlds left haven't helped us so far," Johnathan said. He took a long drink.
"I've never heard of this. My House would be important enough to know of such financial matters," Amelie said.
"No, you wouldn't. After the revolution, only two people knew this. The Lord Governor of the Burn, and Jacob Hallard. Now only the Lord Governors know this," Johnathan said. He grabbed the coffee pitcher and refilled their glasses. All three drank without a verbal toast. The coffee was expensive; it ran smooth down Adrian's throat with a delicate fruity flavor. He savored it for a long minute. Johnathan and Amelie finished theirs easily and waited on him to speak.
"So Emoche wants money," he said. “Amelie and I discussed this, he’ll have the funds to run his war forever. And we won’t.”
"Emoche wants the resources he promised his backers he could deliver," Johnathan corrected him. He poured them all fresh glasses.
"Who are his backers? Those are our real enemies," Amelie said. Adrian let her do the talking now. He knew the basics of the business world, but she had a lifetime of training and immersion.
"Have you ever heard of Umbar Extraction Combine? They're the largest mining company in the galaxy; with their spinoff companies they're the second-largest conglomerate total, behind only Firestorm."
“Of course I have,” Adrian said. Umbar had run their own convoys from their mining assets in the Crescent. They used mercenaries as security, but in scarce times they’d shell out good credits for fleet warships.
"Well, that explains a lot; how'd they get involved? They don't operate in this region. Moving enough resources to finance Emoche and provide his mercenaries would be immensely expensive," Amelie said.
"The reward," Johnathan said.
"Right, they're betting on a massive haul. But again, why?" she said.
"Time for a story," Johnathan said. "The Founder left a provision for the Lord Governor, written on paper in his own handwriting. If the situation became an emergency, the Lord Governor could reveal the worlds and sell them off to support the Systems. He'd estimated several centuries until we fell, and we did it in 40 years. My first day in office I pushed aside my predecessor’s budget magic and saw how dire our financial situations truly were. I conferred with the High Lords on Vulk, and we agreed that our financial situation was desperate enough to take the risk to begin selling the worlds' mining rights off. We put together a team and secret negotiations were begun. The Kiiren provided diplomatic aide and escort. Umbar was one of the five corporations who came to the table. As the largest, their bid was the juiciest and their rep the smuggest. They had several human nations backing them up, too. However, Ardech and Crovius combined their resources and outbid them. Umbar walked out, and we settled with Ardech-Crovius for 15 trillion credits upfront and a yearly cut of profits. Two years later, Emoche rolled through the Expanse in his black robe, preaching hope."
"And where did Emoche fit in?" Adrian said. "Where did Umbar find him, and how did he get such a following?"
"Emoche was a counselor on Umbar's business team. Last time I saw him, he was wearing a black suit with a pink tie. He's taken up a black robe in some religious mumbo-jumbo Johnathan said. Amelie burst into laughter. She clamped a hand over her mouth, but the giggles kept coming.
"What?" Adrian said.
"We're losing a war to a business drone who's hoodwinked a few billion people. There's something hilarious about this," she said. She sighed and shook her head. Adrian poked her under the table. "Sorry. Anyways, sounds like we have work to do. I'll call my father."
"Please do. Commander, does this satisfy your concerns?"
"One more thing. You have access to national secrets, right?" Adrian said.
"I do. What do you desire?"
"Tell me something that'll blow my mind," Adrian said.
“Anything?”
“Anything.”
Johnathan raised his eyebrows. A grin sparked into life on his face for the first time since he'd strode out onto the landing pad.
"As you know, there are no yellow stars in the Burn. All kingdoms orbit white or red stars. After analyzing the vast nebula, scientists have concluded that every yellow sun went prematurely supernova in the last two-thousand years. Without a doubt it was artificial," he said.
Adrian chugged his coffee. “Fuck were they shooting with during the robot war?” Johnathan shrugged. “I’m satisfied. I’ll be your ally.”
"Good." Relief flickered across Johnathan's face. He pounded the rest of the pitcher. They stood. "I'll give you my private number. If I'm not available, I will always be available." He was back to the smooth politician. No smile this time, though.
"I'll be on my ship until we're needed," Adrian said. Johnathan offered his hand once more, adjusting this time for Adrian being a lefty. They shook.
"Are you sure you don't want dinner?" The door opened. Elle and two servants in black stood, holding trays of steaming seafood. Adrian saw fat fish boiled to golden flesh, their oily skin sizzling atop a bed of wild rice. The entire thing sizzled in oil. His stomach let loose an earthquake.
"That's moonfish," Amelie said. She gaped. "That is one expensive meal."
"Consider it a measure of how much I care for my new allies," Johnathan said. He was back to the smooth politician. And Adrian's mouth watered.
"We'll stay for dinner," he said. "Let the squire and swords eat with us; we're done with confidential business."
They departed an hour later, Adrian full to bursting. He passed a pair of young women and a single man waiting in the lobby, under guard by a dozen leviathans. They wore thick sweaters of gold against the cold, and white tights thin enough to hint at everything. He wasn’t very experienced, but he recognized high-class escorts when he saw them. One of the girls waved at him, and winked. He shrugged it off.
“Lord Governor’s got some company,” he noted.
“Not just any company but Gilded Hide, a company funded by House Nessella,” Amelie said, amused. “He’s buying allegiance, literally.”
“Good for him.” The prostitutes were ushered into the elevator.
#
Chapter Twenty-Nine: Feast
"So you're coming back to my family estate for dinner tonight?" Amelie said as they finished up paperwork. Vindication's bridge was full but quiet; a sleepy tranquility had fallen over her crew. Grissom was slumped half-asleep; several more officers yawned into their steaming coffee mugs. They were safe for now, and they could close their eyes.
Adrian didn't enjoy their tranquility. There were new monsters looming over the horizon. As the COS, he was responsible for the wellbeing of his ship. To do that he had to maneuver on a political and logistical level that encompassed all departments and their reach beyond the ship. Normally that entitled form from all departments, meetings with superiors, and general wrangling whenever his department chiefs needed backup. And now a war was breaking out. Yet he knew it was beneficial to his mental health to take time off.
"I wouldn't miss it. I'll give everyone a 96-hour pass; we've earned it." Ears perked all around. The idea of paid time off was the greatest motivator a soldier could be given.
"Make sure to initiate it for tomorrow morning and not tonight," Amelie said. She filled a mug and placed it beside Grissom's head.
"Why?" Adrian said.
"Commander?" Zoey said, a puzzled look on her face. "There's a civilian light freighter, model Argo-1203, requesting permission to dock in our number two hangar bay. They claim to be carrying 7,500 tons of refrigerated compartments, and have a shipping manifest to back it up."
"Captain, House Nessella banners?" Amelie said.
"Yes,
ma'am," Zoey said.
"Captain, put her through security and tell her master I'll be down to greet them," Amelie said. She grinned bright in the dimmed bridge.
"Colonel, explain yourself," Adrian said, irritated at her smugness.
"Sir, Major Cage can provide a better explanation," she said.
"Sir, whatever it is, I didn't do it," Cage protested.
"You claimed I couldn't serve fresh dinner to the crew. I've just purchased, prepared, and delivered enough freshly caught Icefish to feed all 12,000, plus the staff to cook and serve them," she said. Cage gaped as the numbers went through his head. She let him do the processing and respond.
"Why would you spend that much...how?" he said. Amelie reached into her jacket and withdrew a black hexagon of tungstanium. It hung from her neck on a graphene chain.
"You telling me there’s such thing as an infinite credit chip?" he said.
""Don't feel bad; you get to eat a nice dinner catered by the best chefs on the planet. The Lady Colonel spares no expense for those she cares for," Adrian said as he slapped the bewildered Major’s shoulder.
"Yeah, could you challenge her some more? I'd like a personal spacecraft," Grissom said. Everyone on the bridge leaned in to listen. "I caught myself a showman's catalog from a Constructocorp flash drone, and the new Sunrider Mark V looks sweet. Could you tell her she can't buy everyone on the bridge one of those?"
"Hear, hear," several lesser officers declared.
"Shut up, that's an order," Cage said, and drew a spindly finger across his throat. Silence fell, but snickers resonated.
Adrian stood. "Major, you've got the conn. All the paperwork is done, so all you've got to do is babysit until dinner’s ready. You can sleep for 96 hours when you're done." Cheers followed him out of the bridge.
#
Chapter Thirty: Meet the Folks
Mayzon 17
48th Day of the War
The Vault loomed out of the evening fog. The pyramid stood a hundred meters of gold-leafed nanosteel over the black waters of Nessella Fjord, and their tiny landing pad floating on its surface. House Nessella’s silver flag and the Rising Sun banner flapped side by side in the wind. Behind the craggy black cliffs rose halfway into the sky. Turning his head upriver, Adrian saw the colorful buildings of Argentium city. The Pyramid had been here for three centuries, the city had been one of Volantis’ few stable settlements for almost a millennium before the Imperial arrival.
"I remember the last time we were here two years ago, the three of us. Good times," Adrian said. Alyssa had been a wonderful little adventurer on her eight-week holiday, two years back. The three of them hadn’t wasted a day, touring Volantis’ sights and attending functions way out of Adrian’s league. On off days they’d backpacked through the mountains by misty morning, then avoided the seething afternoon by splashing naked in the cold water with the Volantene families.
Alyssa been wary of the complete lack of clothes on Volantene beaches at first, but by the end she’d been splashing with her new friends, more comfortable in her own skin than ever. Adrian had just been thrilled to see her enjoying herself like he’d never done at that age.
"I still flash back to when you almost drowned," Amelie said. The changing tide had flipped the raft father and daughter were sunbathing on. Adrian closed his eyes. He remembered flailing a motion he'd never practiced as Alyssa’s stroke faded beside him, nothing beneath their feet but two hundred meters of dark, cold water. He remembered fearing the worst; she'd die with him.
"And you saved us." Amelie had struck out with a buoy and plucked them both from death's frigid grasp.
"I was on the dock fifty meters away when the raft flipped. I didn't think I'd make it in time," she said.
"You did," Adrian said. He slipped his hand in hers and gave a squeeze.
A segment of the Vault's base flowed apart, revealing a towering double door. Two people emerged.
"Ready?" Amelie said. She was a torch beside him, tall as he and clad in an evening gown black as midnight. Black tights glittered through the slit up to her thigh. She’d let her flaming curls flow free down her shoulders, knowing that no matter what she did with them she’d be the best-looking girl in the room. The rapier glittered on her hip like the devious smile on her face.
"Ready," Adrian said, suddenly wishing there was a full ball to attend. He planted a quick kiss on her silver lips. Then, arm and arm, they crossed the walkway.
Amelie's folks hadn't fought old age with plastic surgery and gene patch-jobs, like most rich and famous did. Instead they'd opened their arms and gracefully accepted it. Both were grizzled from the cold weather, yet stood tall and dignified. They had white-hair and wore dark suits with silver trim, and heavy leather boots that matched their purposeful stride. Her father walked with a heavy oaken stick, and wore thick spectacles that Adrian was sure were actual spectacles and not eye-comps.
"The kids are home," Lord Alastor Nessella said, and took them both by the shoulder, his wingspan spanning their combined breadth. "We got news that Vindication was KIA, and began mourning our beautiful daughter. When a flash drone arrived from Vervunder and said you were alive, I couldn't believe it. Your mother broke down sobbing."
"Oh no, Mom," Amelie said. Lady Leticia Nessella threw her arms around her neck.
"Oh, my Amelie, I'm heartbroken from this horrible war." Alastor broke Amelie from Adrian's grasp and steered her away, turning his back to Adrian. Amelie cast a worried look over her shoulder, but had to surrender to her mother’s grasp.
"Guys, I'm alive and fine. Nobody can kill Lady Vindication, not even the Wendago." She gave both of them kisses.
"Our job is to worry," Leticia said. "So many parents lost their kids. The Navazzes, the Tolyeks, they made a memorial in Argentium. I almost put your picture on it."
Alastor took Adrian by the shoulder. "A word." They headed to the far railing, where they had no company but the waves lapping at the pier below.
"What's good?" Adrian said.
"I heard from a friend that you've made a connection with the Lord Governor," he said.
"I have. You are his treasury secretary," Adrian said.
"Certain positions are hereditary; mine is one of them. It is fortunate for the Burn's treasury under the current administration that this is so. I must warn not to trust Johnathan Travere," Alastor said. His brow furrowed, and his grip tightened on Adrian's shoulder.
"I need specifics, because he's the only politician who's reached out to me since I've arrived. I need to find Alyssa and win this war," Adrian said.
"Consider me the second. I look out for family. I've already gotten you Alyssa's location; I can find you private mercenaries to extract her if you give me enough time. Johnathan Travere is a wild card; he doesn't play the game. He’s spent the past two years draining the treasury on social welfare programs that are either too expensive or going to groups written off. He thinks only in the now of political gain and has no understanding of the long-term," Alastor said. He stared at Adrian with that combination of anger and steely determination that was made when strong leaders were afraid. Adrian was straddling two partially opposing forces. Yet he wasn't ready to relinquish either.
"I'm sorry, Alastor. After half the fleet mutinied and my best friend tried to kill me, I don't believe in rules. Johnathan offered help, and until I get a concrete reason to make him my enemy I'll trust him half an inch. Amelie was with me when we shook on it; we can talk about this together," Adrian said. He looked over his shoulder. Amelie had been released by her mother, partially. Their gazes met in consternation.
"Very well, I'll get her involved," Alastor said with a shrug. The guilting didn’t apply. They regrouped, and Adrian slipped his hand back in Amelie's.
"What were you two talking about?" Leticia said. She played the doddering, innocent mother to perfection.
"Just a little business matter, Letty; we can discuss later," Alastor said, cheerful demeanor returned. He swept his hand towards the entr
ance. "Let's enter, I'm sure the kids are famished."
"Oh yes, it's been too long since we had actual seafood," Amelie said. She gave Adrian a smile he struggled to return. He was led inside, the doors slamming shut behind him.
The Vault’s interior had high vaulted ceilings and walls of heavy hardwoods from the equatorial forests. Ancient weapons lined the walls, both the elegant Imperial arsenal and the simplistic organic tools of the tribal Volantenes. Adrian had no doubt that all were real. They headed up a spiral staircase that only strained his knees further. At the top, a pair of boys in silver jumpsuits opened the doors. Beyond, the Vault was an open space with vaulted ceilings. Living and lounge rooms merged into one space attended by servants. Most were boys and girls from the village, but there was an elderly butler and middle aged head housekeeper. Amelie had done her best to teach Adrian and Alyssa the different roles and how to stop them by subtle differences in uniform.
“Welcome back, Mr. Huxton,” the head housekeeper said and bowed deeply.
“Thanks, Chimmy,” Adrian said, and saluted the rebellion veteran.
The dining room had a glass wall looking over the mouth of the fjord. Two fangs of dark rock rose a kilometer each. A string of lights ran between them—a security cordon, Adrian assumed. The room itself was devoid of electronics and the quartet of them gave up their comps to a safe before entering. The guests would have to entertain each other with conversation and drinks. The dining room itself had a long wooden table meant to serve a dozen esteemed guests. They took up one end. Servants clad in silver jumpsuits with heavy boots poured them drinks of purple liquor.
"Hope you don't mind a little Sargnac straight from the family pits," Alastor said. Sargnac was made from a berry that grew only on the Volantene tundra. It was fermented, and periodically mixed with fire pepper spices to make the best winter drink in the galaxy, according to the ads. Good Sargnac was a delicacy through human space, beyond the systems.