Rogue Trader

by Andy Hoare

  Her mind set upon a confrontation with Korvane, Brielle turned her thoughts to her father’s ongoing talks with the Imperial Commander, Luneberg. Part of her was still furious that Luneberg had attempted to turn the Arcadius into lowly gunrunners. Yet, she was no longer so disposed towards undermining the deal entirely. Her perspective had shifted, and she now considered herself in a far more favourable position. She had made powerful friends, Naal being a far more influential man than she had supposed, at first. With his aid, she might redefine the terms of the deal entirely; if she could convince her father that Naal and his associates offered a greater opportunity than did the Imperial Commander.

  Associates? She started walking once more, but slower, her footsteps less sure. Her frustration grew more intense as she tried to remember the details of her conversation with Naal. He had made it clear, she was sure, that he had some power over Luneberg, and could influence him to change the terms of the deal, so long as it had not yet been finalised. She realised that this implied she must act soon, sooner than she might like, sooner perhaps than she was ready for.

  She quickened her pace as she reached a resolution. It was clear to her that she must stymie the talks, ensuring that her father and Luneberg did not reach a final conclusion that would lead to the Arcadius submitting entirely to his service, and destroying themselves in the process. Korvane, she knew, would attempt to block her in this, and so she must time her intervention carefully, since it would inevitably lead to a confrontation with him. She knew that she must manage all this without falling so completely out of favour with her father that he would never again place his trust in her, or consider her a worthy inheritor of his mantle.

  She briefly wished for the oblivion of the previous night, or even the relative simplicity of ship-to-ship combat.

  Brielle swept into the apartment, to find Korvane waiting for her, a typically supercilious expression on his face. ‘Where is he?’ she demanded, slamming the door behind her and striding into the chamber. She was not in the mood for formalities.

  ‘I’d ask where you have been, but I can see it’s not a subject for polite conversation,’ Korvane rejoined.

  Little fool, thought Brielle, her hackles rising. ‘This isn’t the Court of Nankirk, Korvane, and you have no right to judge me. Where is Father?’

  Korvane visibly bristled at Brielle’s mention of his mother’s court. ‘It certainly is not,’ he said, making a show of surveying his surroundings, ‘and neither is it the annual tribal gathering.’ He made a further show of looking her up and down, exaggerated disgust on his smirking face. ‘Although you certainly appear to have attended it.’

  Hatred flared in Brielle. She had always known that Korvane considered himself vastly superior to her in more ways than the order of inheritance. He had cast a slur upon the culture from which her mother came, that of the feral world of Chogoris. The world formed a large part of her own identity, despite not having been afforded much time amongst her mother’s people.

  Brielle stepped towards her brother, barely resisting the urge to forcibly remove the smug expression he wore across his stupid face. ‘I’ll ask you once more and then I won’t be quite so polite,’ she snarled. ‘Where is Father?’

  Korvane stood his ground, but indicated, with a nod, the door to the private conference room. ‘He’s in closed session with Luneberg. You’ll have to wait until they have concluded business.’

  Damn them, she thought, they’re in there now, closing the deal. She would have to take drastic action and worry about the fallout later.

  ‘Get out of my way,’ Brielle said as she pushed past her brother. She caught him off balance and he stumbled to one side before catching himself and spinning round. He grabbed her at the elbow.

  ‘I’m not going to let you mess this up, Brielle, so don’t even think it. Don’t get involved in matters that are beyond you.’

  Brielle snapped. Without thinking, she lashed out, feeling her fist strike her stepbrother’s face and something brittle break beneath the impact. Korvane cried out and stumbled backwards, affording her a clear path to the door. She forged on, flinging the door wide without pause for thought.

  Beyond, a wooden, oval table dominated the wide conference room, the back wall made entirely of glass, with a mighty eagle, symbol of the Imperium, mounted upon its outer face. Luneberg sat at the far side of the table, courtesans arranged demurely around him. Seated at either side were a dozen or so hooded scribes, feathered quills scratching across dry parchment in unison.

  Her father sat, alone, on the other side of the table, his back towards her.

  Luneberg had been speaking, but stopped as she entered, his mouth flapping in outrage. The quills halted too, and the scribes looked up, their faces barely visible beneath the deep hoods they wore. The courtesans whispered furtively, covering mouths with bejewelled hands.

  ‘Father,’ she said, suddenly unsure what to do.

  Her father’s head turned, and he looked straight at her, confusion in his eyes. ‘Brielle, what are you doing here?’

  ‘I need to speak to you, Father, we need to–’

  The door behind Brielle flew open even further, slamming against the wall with a crash. Korvane burst through it, blood pouring from his ruined nose. ‘Father, don’t listen to her, she’s gone mad! She’s trying to ruin everything!’

  Brielle’s father opened his mouth to speak, but Luneberg pre-empted him, bellowing in rage, ‘What, by all that is holy, is the meaning of this?’ He turned on Lucian, pointing a finger at him. ‘This upstart girl has interrupted us twice, Gerrit, twice she has perpetrated such breaches of protocol as would ordinarily earn a flogging. Well, I tell you this, you may have sought to wriggle out of our deal,’ Brielle’s mouth fell open at this, ‘but I am inclined to throw you all in my dungeons!’

  ‘Wriggle out of the deal’?

  Brielle looked to her father, who was addressing Luneberg.

  ‘My lord,’ said Lucian, ‘please forgive my daughter. I will speak with her presently, but please, may we conclude matters?’

  ‘“Conclude matters”? If by that you mean will I allow you to run out on me without a shred of compensation, then absolutely not. You will find the terms of our original contract quite specific in this regard.’

  ‘“Specific”?’ Lucian surged to his feet. ‘We had no such deal Luneberg. We can leave whenever we please!’

  ‘How little you know of life, you who consider yourself so well-travelled. I require neither contract nor treaty Lucian, for I am master of this world and may do as I choose. I deem you beholden to me and you may not back out of our arrangement. Not without substantial penalty.’

  ‘You’re mad,’ said Brielle, interrupting Luneberg’s tirade. Every head in the chamber turned towards her, a stunned silence descending.

  Luneberg stood, straightening out his uniform as he did so. ‘Lucian, you will punish your daughter, or I will. If you refuse to, I will have every one of you arrested. Do you understand?’

  Lucian stood facing the other man across the wide table. He leant forward. ‘I will not punish my daughter, Luneberg, for she speaks the truth,’

  The collective intake of breath from around the chamber would have sounded comical were it not for the tension of the situation. Brielle watched as her father’s knuckles turned white, a sure sign, she knew, of his anger.

  ‘Then you are condemned by your own words. Naal, have them arrested.’

  Brielle had not seen Naal standing behind his master, but was grateful for his presence, as he stepped forwards. Their eyes met, and she recalled the promise he had made the previous night. She had only to indicate she needed, and wanted his help, and it would be hers. She nodded, the slightest movement, so that only he would see. He did likewise.

  Though he appeared not to be armed with any form of projectile weapon, as would have been the case whenever paying court to such as Lu
neberg, Lucian now proved he was most certainly not unarmed. In that brief moment, Lucian raised his arm, the concealed digital weapon he always carried upon his right hand ring finger pointed straight across the table, at the Imperial Commander. ‘You will allow us to withdraw to our vessel and to leave in peace.’

  ‘You will never leave here, Gerrit,’ Luneberg replied. Brielle could only assume that the man had never before had the business end of a digital weapon pointed at him. She chuckled inwardly as she saw that the weapon her father pointed was one that would not kill, but would instead have a far more interesting effect upon the target’s nervous system. Luneberg, Brielle realised, had entirely failed to grasp the gravity of the situation.

  ‘I had a feeling that would be your answer,’ said Lucian. ‘These talks are at an end.’

  He fired the tiny weapon, a blinding white stream of light arcing across the space between the two men and striking Luneberg square between the eyes. The Imperial Commander stood transfixed as actinic lightning played around his head, before losing control of his bowels, explosively, and collapsing to the floor. There he lay, wailing and puking like a newborn, while his harem recoiled in horror.

  Pandemonium descended. Before she could react, Brielle felt her hand caught by her father’s as he ran past her, pulling her after him as he rapidly left the room. Korvane, blood streaming from his nose, caught them up in the corridor outside, and the three were soon racing down the claustrophobic passageways, unable to speak, because they were desperate to get a head start over their pursuers.

  Her father in the lead and her stepbrother behind, Brielle raced down the dark corridors of Luneberg’s palace. Clouds of dust billowed at their passing and candles guttered, making the way hard to discern. There were no lumens in sight.

  ‘To the left, Father!’ Brielle heard Korvane shout from behind, looking ahead in time to see her father veer off down a side corridor. ‘I remember this area from our first visit. This is an access corridor used by servants.’

  Lucian was leaning against the wall, catching his breath. Brielle did likewise, for although the flight had not been long, it had been sudden and she was in no fit state for such exertions. ‘Well done my son,’ said Lucian, clapping a hand on Korvane’s shoulder. He took another deep breath and looked across at Brielle, holding the contact for a few seconds. ‘Whatever that was about will have to wait,’ he said, turning away before Brielle could answer. She felt the situation slipping rapidly from her control, and could see no immediate way of regaining it.

  ‘Which way, Korvane?’ Lucian asked, pushing himself from the wall once more.

  ‘I think we continue on this corridor until it meets the main spine again. Then we need to work out how to get past the guards, to Brielle’s shuttle.’

  Assuming I’ll let you on my shuttle, you pompous idiot, Brielle thought, staring daggers into her stepbrother’s back as they moved off, her father leading the way.

  An angry shout sounded from behind, the deafeningly loud report of a large-calibre handgun following a moment later. The household guard had finally got its act together, and was closing with each passing minute.

  ‘Right! Right!’ shouted Korvane as the three closed on another junction. They had been fleeing for what Brielle judged was no more than fifteen minutes, yet it felt like hours.

  ‘How far to the gate?’ she heard her father shout, flinching as another shot was fired somewhere behind them. So far, they had been fortunate, for the guards had not taken proper aim before shooting. She prayed that remained the case.

  ‘I think it’s the next passage on the left,’ Korvane called.

  ‘No!’ Brielle interjected before she could stop herself. ‘No, it’s the next right.’

  The three slowed, Lucian ducking back while Korvane peered around the next corner. ‘Which is it?’

  ‘The left,’ Korvane repeated, at the same moment Brielle said, ‘The right,’ her tone now assured. ‘I remember from last night. I passed this way on my way out into the city.’

  Korvane sneered, but her father only nodded. ‘You’re sure?’

  She was. ‘I’m sure.’

  Brielle signalled silence, edging around a corner. ‘It’s here. Only two guards. We can take them.’

  ‘We cannot “take them”,’ said Korvane, ‘we’ve committed grave enough crimes already without adding murder to the list.’

  ‘We may have no choice, my son,’ Lucian said, moving next to Brielle for a view of the corridor down which she was looking. As if to punctuate his words, more shouts sounded from behind. The household guards were closing. Brielle realised they would need to make a decision here and now.

  ‘We do it now, Father, or we fight both groups.’

  Lucian patted Brielle’s shoulder before turning to Korvane. ‘Brielle is right, Korvane. Are you ready?’

  Korvane sighed, over dramatically, Brielle thought, and drew his power sword. He checked the charge, disengaged the safety, and said, ‘As ready as can be.’

  ‘Good,’ said Lucian. ‘We don’t have time for subtleties, so let’s keep this simple. We need to get as close as possible and take them down before they know we’re on them, understood?’

  Brielle sighed with impatience and frustration. She stepped around the bend and simply ran towards the guards. As she did so, she saw the expression of shock on her father’s face, but she kept going nonetheless. She knew they had no time to sneak up on the guards at the portal, but she knew something else too, a fact of which her father and her stepbrother were entirely ignorant.

  She ran on down the corridor, her vision filled by the back of the nearest guard. As she had noted the previous evening upon taking her leave of the palace, its guards stood watch against strangers attempting to gain entry. They expressed no interest whatsoever in events within the palace.

  That was their undoing. As Brielle closed on the first guard, she made a fist, raising her arm and bringing it down in a wide swing across the back of the guard’s head. The rings on her fingers made for brutal weapons, and she bit back the feeling of revulsion that welled within her as she felt the man’s skull crack beneath her attack. In some detached part of her mind, she consoled herself that the guard would live, given half-decent medical attention.

  Brielle’s attack had taken only a second, but the other guard was already reacting. He turned as the momentum of her charge propelled her past him, shock and surprise writ large upon his face. Brielle came to a halt and spun to face the man, the realisation that she may have taken on more than she could handle dawning as he advanced upon her.

  ‘Brielle, duck!’

  Brielle threw herself to the floor.

  A high-pitched whine filled the corridor, followed an instant later by the screaming report of an energy weapon discharging at close quarters – another of her father’s hidden, digital weapons, she guessed. The roiling bolt raced the length of the corridor, its light blinding in the enclosed space, before slamming into the guard’s left shoulder.

  The man’s shoulder disintegrated, leaving nothing to attach his left arm to his body. The catastrophic wound was cauterised before the blackened arm flopped to the floor, to be followed a moment later by the rest of the guard.

  Brielle looked into his fading eyes as life left them, the part of her that had rejoiced that the other man was not fatally hurt now strangely silent.

  ‘Damn!’ she shouted. ‘I had him. You didn’t need to kill him!’

  Lucian reached Brielle, offering her a hand to stand up. The hand, she noted, that bore a lethal array of hidden weaponry. ‘Believe me, Brielle, if I could have avoided it I would have. When it comes down to it, you mean substantially more to me than he did.’

  ‘But…’ she said as her father helped her to her feet. ‘Of course, I’m sorry.’

  ‘You should be, but we can save that for later. Now let’s get to the shuttle before we lose our lead.
’

  At last, thought Brielle, as the three charged up the tread boards to the shuttle pad. They had, after what seemed like hours, but no doubt was less than one, reached the spaceport. Having dealt with the guards, the remainder of their flight had been swift, and no one, thankfully, had challenged them.

  As they gained the top of the ramp, she saw her shuttle standing proud where she had left it, silhouetted against the honey-golden sky of Mundus Chasmata. She had harboured a nagging doubt throughout the chase to the landing pad that Luneberg might have had it tampered with.

  ‘Is everything in order?’ Lucian called to Brielle from the steps behind. He was covering the rear, one ring-festooned hand raised as Korvane came in beside her.

  ‘It is,’ she called back, hardly able to believe it herself. They would make it after all.

  ‘Don’t be so sure,’ said Korvane, pointing across the pad to a figure standing at its far edge, its features invisible against the glow of the sky. Brielle followed his gesture, raising her hand to her eyes to shade them from the glare.

  ‘A friend of yours?’ asked Lucian, arriving at his daughter’s side.

  She looked closer, realising that her father was correct. ‘Yes, yes I think so.’

  ‘In that case move it, girl!’ said Lucian, and started towards Brielle’s shuttle, Korvane following close behind. She hesitated a moment longer, her gaze lingering on the hooded face of the figure. It was Naal, she had no doubt, fulfilling her request for aid.

  She ran after her father and stepbrother.

  Chapter Nine

  ‘Full charge, all drives! Prepare to make way with all haste.’

  Sirens wailed and the lights changed to flashing, deep red, as Korvane leant forward in his command throne, the bridge of the Rosetta a riot of activity below him. ‘I want all weapons batteries operational within fifteen minutes.’