Heritage Lost

by S M Wright

  His sister-in-law nudged Akakios with her foot. "So how afraid are you really?" She cocked a smile. "On a scale of one to ten."

  "I'm not afraid."

  She crowed with laughter. "I'm sure. Just don't let your insecurities pass through to my son. He'll have enough to overcome without feeling his uncle's doubts and . . . fears." Her teeth poked out through her smile, giving her a predatory appearance.

  She was enjoying this too much.

  "Anything I might feel will remain with me."

  Across the way, his brother remained too focused to comprehend their conversation. Amyntas's softened expression, sheer adoration ripped open a raw wound and constricted Akakios's chest. He dropped his gaze

  "When will you two be returning to active duty?"

  Kallistrate shifted in her chair. "I imagine in a few more months. I need to get back into shape first, especially if I'm to be an admiral. That little one did a number on my body."

  "Admiral?"

  "Yep, I'm getting a promotion and my own ship. The esteemed members of the Agoranomi and the Magistrate Brass themselves see me as invaluable. Of course, this is something we already knew."

  "Quite the ego." Akakios exhaled and shifted in his chair. "But congratulations are in store. May your ship serve you well."

  "I'm sure it will. It's called the Aletheia." She slanted her head toward Amyntas and Sotiris. "We should be quite content on her. After all, the Magistrate calls, and we answer . . . always answering."

  Amyntas cleared his throat and extended the still-alert Sotiris to him. "It's your turn, big brother."

  Akakios started but calmed himself and his expression. He buried his uncertainties, locking them behind mental barriers, before he gingerly accepted Sotiris. The boy was heavier than Akakios had expected, or perhaps his arms were weaker. His nephew's face harbored many similarities to his parents'; though presently, it was rounder and pinker. He wore a long-sleeved onesie, a never-ending line motif stitched into its cuff—the meandros. Unity . . . infinity. Yet, their line would come to an end.

  "Don't take too long." Kallistrate prodded him with her foot again.

  "Yeah, he might fall back asleep," Amyntas added. "Though, I think Sotiris is extremely excited to have other minds to touch. I've heard those born with the defect are particularly eager to reach out."

  Of course, they are—Akakios blinked, burying the thought. His mind was no longer alone. Despite himself, a smile tugged at his face when little tendrils belonging to his nephew's mind reached out to his. Light, inquisitive, so bubbly, so innocent . . . "I would believe it."

  Amyntas's grin deepened. "Then don't keep him waiting."

  -Present-

  Gone. All gone. Whimpers escaped his throat as the tremors returned. He couldn’t shake them, not since he'd learned of the Aletheia's fate two days ago. It'd taken place weeks before, yet he'd just been told. Rage uncoiled, his fist colliding with the synth glass. Service forbid they break off a pointless mission to give him word that his world had imploded.

  Akakios fought the tremors, tried to kill them, but they wouldn't stop, much like the tears that coated his cheeks. He pressed the side of his face against the window—as if to support himself—before collapsing back to the floor where he'd been sprawled. He pounded his fist repeatedly against the window. Don't think, don't reach. But he couldn't help himself. His mind craved the connections, needed them—they needed to be alive. He pressed his trembling lips together. He would never see his brother again, never feel his presence, nor Kallistrate's, nor Sotiris's. There wouldn't even be bodies to lay to peace. He hiccupped. Nothing . . . there was nothing.

  Akakios wailed, curling in on himself, knees pressing into his forehead. His teeth ground against each other while he struggled to regain composure. Inhale, exhale. Don't focus on the emptiness. Don't picture them dea—

  Pushing against the floor, Akakios stood and stumbled to his bed, where he collapsed. Just a few month ago—he'd seen them a few months ago. They'd been well. Even Sotiris was growing at a rate comparable to other toddlers his age. He'd looked healthy for a child with the defect, only a couple of bruises from falls he'd taken after losing consciousness and control of his body. Kallistrate, through her strength and sheer willpower, kept the defect in check, for the most part. Then days, a few days before—his jaw tightened. He'd just spoken with Amyntas.

  Gone. How could they be gone? Akakios bit down on his lip.

  At a knock on his door, Akakios stifled his sobs. His team had left him to grieve, not attempting any form of communication beyond supplying food that often went untouched. He couldn't even think of eating; it seemed foreign, wrong.

  "Akakios," a voice—one commonplace in his youth—called. "I need a word with you."

  Kyros. An Agoranomi member, Kyros had been a longtime supporter of Akakios's family, particularly his specific line after serving the Magistrate alongside Akakios and Amyntas's father. Why would he be on Sergrey? He hadn't left Demos Oneiroi, to Akakios's knowledge, since completing his service. No sane Oneiroi would. Akakios grabbed his blanket and wiped his face before he opened the door to greet the council member.

  "Kyros." He inclined his head out of respect . . . and the fact he couldn't bring himself to make eye contact with the man, even if etiquette prevented the elder from reading him. Though Akakios feared more that he'd break down in front of the Agoranomi member. "What are you doing here? I thought you detested traveling."

  "I do." Kyros pushed past Akakios and proceeded farther into his room, doing a loop while he examined every inch. His cane punctuated each step, clicking off the faux wood. "But I have business here. When's the last time you ate?" He waved toward an untouched plate one of his crew members had snuck in while he slept.

  "I haven't felt like eating. It—the thought sickens me."

  Kyros stroked his gray beard, one hand still clenching the cane. "I was distressed to hear of Amyntas and Kallistrate's fate. I'd watched him grow into such a fine man. And Kallistrate . . . she was a very special woman."

  "I'm not ready to speak about them. Not yet."

  "I understand and respect that. They've left a hole that cannot be filled. But with time, you'll be able to reflect on them more easily, and your memories will bring comfort, not further pain." Kyros sat in one of Akakios's chairs, resting his cane against its plush arm. "Life will never be the same and some days will be worse than others, but you'll be able to remember them. Until then, I'm here to give you purpose."

  "Purpose?" Akakios's mouth contorted at the word.

  "The Res Publica de Magistratus Intelligence Bureau has shared with the Agoranomi certain information." He swallowed. "They believe Sotiris was taken by Plasovern prior to the Aletheia's destruction."

  "So-tir-is . . ." Air stuck in Akakios's throat. Alive. "H-how? How do they know that?"

  Kyros leaned forward, deep lines taking root on his forehead and around his mouth. "The information provided to us is sketchy, and there are several holes that I want filled. But from what we've been told, the Aletheia's destruction involved a Magistrate ship. That ship's crew then penetrated the ship and took Sotiris."

  Akakios clenched his hands into fists. "That—that shouldn't have been possible. There was a full crew of our people. Kallistrate was on that ship! No other species would've been able to get on board, let alone get anywhere near to Sotiris."

  "Arrogance doesn't serve anyone, Akakios." Kyros clapped his cane against the floor. "There are species that have evolved brains with immunity to our abilities. It's possible one of those species was used. Besides, there was a second Plasovern ship that undoubtedly added to the confusion. The first ship flew under the flag of the Magistrate, possibly carrying Magistrate goods, and they were allowed to board. Once they were in, the second Plasovern ship attacked. The agents on the inside used that distraction to get their target."

  Pacing back and forth, Akakios shook his head. "Why Sotiris? He couldn't have been of much value—"

  "They're after t
he defect."

  "There were others on the ship. Why just Sotiris?"

  Kyros sighed, leaving his cane resting on his leg. With his hands, he rubbed his brow. He reflected all of his sixty-some years in that moment—maybe more—grafted onto his body by a life of impossible decisions. "Whatever their intent was, it eludes me. I only know the defect in their hands isn't in our people's best interests."

  The statesman rummaged in one of his coat's large pockets and withdrew a slate. After Kyros thumbed a few buttons, a holographic image popped into being: a woman wearing her hair in an odd fashion . . . and Sotiris.

  Akakios's mouth contorted, and tears threatened to pour over his eyelids.

  "All we know for certain is Plasovern has Sotiris."

  Akakios reached out and touched the holograph, causing it to flicker and distort the image of his nephew. "Where and when was this taken?"

  "Several weeks ago on Gilga in a mercantile shop. The owner recognized Sotiris as an Oneiroi and reported it a week later."

  "Why did it take him so long? He should have reported it immediately."

  "The Plasovern agents were paying good money, so he wanted to do business. Opportunists are spread all over the outskirts of Magistrate space—"

  "But I guarantee they are no longer on Gilga."

  "No, but thanks to the merchant's report and port officials, we have their trail. We also know the ship they're traveling in." Kyros shut off the slate, tearing a muted animalistic sound from Akakios. "It's yours, along with all the latest information. You and your squad have been assigned to secure Sotiris. You'll start with Ne'par. It's the last destination we've traced The Wandering Trader to. While they picked up cargo, their final destination was not readily available. You'll need to secure it from a Vanspere called Vlar.

  "The Agoranomi and Magistrate Brass are hopeful your connection with Sotiris will hasten his return. At all costs, he's not to be taken into the Medzeci Empire."

  Akakios's heart skipped. He fully met Kyros's unwavering gaze. At all costs . . .

  "There are those who doubt sending you, Akakios. While the bond can aid in recovery, it can hinder the tougher decisions. The future of our people could depend on this. Do you understand?"

  A tremor shot up his back. He recalled the weight he'd felt holding Sotiris that first time, the unspoken promise of the ceremony. His brother and sister-in-law, if there was a next life, would never want to see his face.

  Kyros's lips curved downward.

  There would be another team. They might take the easier route and not even bother with recovery. He nodded. "I do. I'll see this through. For our people."

  In the silence that followed, Akakios flicked on the slate and skimmed the information. "They boarded the Aletheia on a Magistrate ship? Do we know which one, or the identities of the agents?"

  Kyros faced the windows, his expression deepening and displaying all his complexion's flaws: old scars, age marks, and discolorations. "Nothing. I feel—and these are my personal misgivings—that our Magistrate overseers are being less than forthcoming." Kyros stood and trudged over to the door. "Their answers fail to satisfy. But the rest of my fellow Agoranomi members have accepted the scant details. I'll do further digging; it is the least I can do for you and your family."

  "I can't thank—"

  "Then don't." Kyros touched the door panel but stopped short of opening it. "Pull yourself together. For the ethereal spirits, eat something! Neither Sotiris nor I will be best served by you flopping over dead."

  "I'll find something."

  Kyros fixed him in a hard stare. "You had better." His frown widened. "Also, begin to prepare yourself for the inevitable."

  Akakios twisted his mouth as he suppressed delusions of rearing Sotiris, of keeping him. Warmth returned to his eyes, but he refused to acknowledge it beyond roughly rubbing the moisture away. "I understand."

  "Do not think me harsh, Akakios. To lose him again after thinking him dead, along with his parents is too much . . . but we must consider his best option. You've not fully witnessed the effects of the defect. Before you were even born, we were already reliant on the Magistrate. It . . . it's not a sight one wants to see, what can come from the defect."

  "I know." An acidic flavor filled Akakios's mouth. "When the time comes"—he refused to acknowledge the worst-case scenario—"I'll be ready."

  Nodding, Kyros opened the door. "I'll inform your team you intend to leave within the next hour. Take that time to compose yourself and pack. And one final word of advice: Keep your eyes and ears open." With that, he left, shutting the door behind him.

  Akakios placed the slate in one of his uniform pockets before readying his bag. He never carried much, leaving sentimental items at home on Demos Oneiroi. They were only a burden when on the move. He reached for an overturned pigmented photovid and stuffed it into his pack, not bothering to turn it over. He couldn't afford another fit, not when Sotiris needed him. Akakios zipped the pack shut after adding his spare uniforms.

  A small personal craft passed by the window of his suite. One of the pylons sent out a signal, jostling the craft away from the Magistrate base and back on track. Other drivers whizzed by, and more joined them from the many high-rise garages that dotted Sergrey's packed capital city. He watched the happenings for several minutes until a curtain of numbness settled around his mind. Only then did Akakios hoist his pack onto his shoulder and exit the room.

  On the other side, the common room he'd shared with his officers stood almost empty. Just Chrysanthos, his mechanic, remained, putting away last-minute items into his and Ambrosios's packs. Ever the dutiful spouse. He stopped as he shoved in what appeared to be a bag of Sern hard candy, something Ambrosios had picked up for him during a layover on the planet, and saluted Akakios.

  "Everyone's already headed to the ship." He lowered his hand after Akakios ordered him to be at ease and zipped one of the packs. "A few are overseeing the crates. Elpis had a new order of medical supplies come in. Since we're dealing with Plasovern, it's probably for the best."

  "Plus, there's no telling what kind of shape Sotiris will be in by the time we find him," Akakios muttered. "Finish up here and help the others put the supplies away."

  Akakios withdrew from the suite of rooms and entered the dimmed hallway. Several suites lined the corridor, all vacant. Elites were kept separate for good reason: They often hated other Elites—their biological differences placing them at odds—while the regulars were terrified of them and the roles they played in the Magistrate's mechanisms. Besides, the dimmed lights and lowered temperature would be considered uncomfortable by many species.

  At the end of the hall, he flipped out custom-made sunglasses and put them on before entering the lift. Light streamed down on him, but it couldn't accost his eyes, and colors—unseen by unassisted Oneiroi eyes—emerged: reds and greens while others grew more vibrant and varied in hue. With the press of a button, he traveled to the hangar bay's top level.

  Fumes, oil, and other odors that went hand in hand with mechanical work struck him the moment he left the lift. The bay itself was filled to the brim with military vessels and all manner of actions.

  He proceeded down the walkway to the Boreas, a sleek B-Class Boita interceptor-class vessel tailored for speed rather than direct combat. Outside, three members of his team loaded hefty boxes into the main cargo hold. Elpis, black hair spun into a tight, uncompromising bun, guided fraternal twins Pelagius and Pelagia, both ensigns, as they loaded the medical supplies. Her sharp tongue berated them when the crate shifted at an odd angle. Easy-going Pelagius tried to salute Akakios upon his approached, eliciting further critique from the medic and Pelagia, the boss in their sibling relationship, a role her brother had never fought her for.

  Akakios ignored the situation, proceeding to the bridge and crew quarters. He deposited his pack inside his own darkened room before entering his destination.

  "Captain." Commander Charis Velis, his second, sprung to attention from where she'd been sea
ted at the weapons station, completing a check on the system. Her hair, like Elpis's, had been placed in a bun; however, she'd decided to add two braids that dipped into it.

  His first and second lieutenants, Ambrosios and Kyrillos, who'd respectively been sitting at the helm and communications stations, followed her lead. The two men stood in contrast, the former taller and the other stouter, more solidly built. Ambrosios had his hair closely clipped, while Kyrillos had shaved his head a month back. Word had it that his communications expert had made a bet with the wrong person. His gaze settled on his first lieutenant, wondering how long the wager had been for.

  All three watched his every move in a vain attempt to establish his mood.

  "I'm fine. And I'll be even better when we find my nephew." He swung into his seat at space's the center. "Have you reviewed the information provided by Magistrate Intelligence?"

  "Yes." Charis tucked her hands behind the small of her back. "The course we'll take to Ne'par has been programmed in. It's a relatively poor world . . . really nothing more than a dustbowl."

  Akakios snorted. Of course it'd be one of those. "Let's hope we find our Vanspere quickly. I'm sick of these dustbowl planets." He stood and handed his slate to Kyrillos. "Connect this to the relay. I want any hits related to our targets routed instantly to this ship."

  "Understood." Kyrillos plugged in the slate as told and launched the connection. "Do we know what we're in for?"

  From the helm, Ambrosios chuckled, a smirk present on his face. "Do we ever know what we're in for? For all we know, Hedda Strom could be in our future."

  Kyrillos bristled, glowering at his superior. "What's that they say about summoning ghosts?"

  "Ambrosios is right," Akakios said. "We only know of one agent, the one holding Sotiris. We should assume there are more, even the illustrious Strom. Likely we're dealing with the normal ten-person team that Plasovern favors. Timiménos Kyros"—he used the proper title of honor for an Agoranomi member—"has raised the possibility that the agents consist of a species immune to our abilities." Akakios shifted his gaze between the members on the bridge. "However, at this point, make no assumptions. It could be any faction within Plasovern, even if the brutality aligns with Strom's methods. Be prepared to take necessary actions, but none that endanger Sotiris."