Heritage Lost

by S M Wright

  At all costs . . .

  His lips formed a stubborn line. They would not cross that threshold, even if it killed him.

  "Don't worry, Captain." Ambrosios tapped his fingers against the smooth screen of his console. "The co-ords are in. We'll be on our way as soon as they're done loading the supplies. By the way, had our engineer left our rooms yet?" His pilot's smile turned fond.

  "I do believe he was finishing your task of packing." Akakios sunk into his chair. "He should be right behind me."

  Charis cleared her throat and addressed Akakios. "If it pleases you, sir, we have the bridge."

  Akakios pressed his lips together, his jaw stiffening. Charis didn't baulk, standing tall despite her deceptively slight frame. One did not tangle with her.

  Already rotating back to her tasks, Charis added, "It's also my understanding the food supplies have been loaded. You might want to check them out, sir."

  The corners of his mouth quivered, but instead of reproaching her, he activated communications to the cargo bay. "What's the ETA?"

  There was pause before Chrysanthos answered. "We'll be ready in thirty."

  Ambrosios swiveled in his seat to face Akakios. "Better get that food and rest, sir. I wager we will be at Ne'par in less than twelve hours."

  "Who am I to argue with my officers?" Akakios stood. "Charis, you have the bridge. If there are any delays or new information, alert me immediately."

  Her eyes met his, and sincerity rippled to him over the link formed during the creation of a formidable team. "I'll do so," she said.

  Sleep. A fickle beast if ever there was one. He walked out the door. There'd be none, at least not of the natural variety. Without drugs, he'd lie in bed until hollowness overtook him, followed by speculations about how his brother and sister-in-law had died—if there had been pain, fear. The answers would never come, but at least he could remove Sotiris from his nightmares. He entered his cabin and kicked his pack farther into the room. He then made his rounds, turning over frames and shutting off holopictures along his path to the bathroom. He clung to Kyros's words that one day they wouldn't hurt so much.

  In his bathroom cabinet, he found sleep aids, normally reserved for individuals with trouble adjusting to space, and popped two into his mouth, chasing them with water.

  He hoped, staring into his own bloodshot eyes via the mirror, he'd be dead to the world before their ship even left Sergrey's atmosphere. Mindless sleep, untainted by anything—without witnessing his brother's or Kallistrate's deaths, or how he imagined them. Rubbing his eyes, he stumbled from the room. He welcomed the numbing sensation that engulfed his limbs, making them lighter, almost detached from his body. His thoughts shifted to Sotiris and potential justice—something unimagined before. He'd bring it to the culprits swiftly.

  And at all costs, he'd bring his nephew home.

  Dustbowl didn't quite describe Ne'par, Akakios decided now that he strolled its unpaved streets. Rubbish and a type of liquid waste, the kind that no one would care to imagine, filled them. The planet boiled, its red soil trapping the heat. The wind kicked up, and Akakios covered the lower portion of his face to prevent the foul planet's dirt from entering his mouth or nose. Charis and Ambrosios, who flanked him, mimicked the gesture. Oh no, dustbowl was too forgiving. Ne'par was a backwater dump far too close to its sun. With any luck, it'd slip from orbit—when he wasn't on-world—perishing in that very sun.

  The life-forms who inhabited it, both by choice or through the misfortune of birth, had taken to the drink. It probably was a world pastime designed to forget the overbearing heat or the crushing poverty. They hung back as the three Oneiroi passed them, some disappearing into their shacks. The natives stood out with their airy clothes, while spacers rolled up their sleeves and pant legs. The latter stood further out as they waved about money at Misbre's varied establishments, particularly the saloon.

  Shacks comprised a chunk of the city's scenery and only made the large manors on the outskirts—guarded by soaring fences—stand out. They had been set far away from the slums and its seedy dealings; however, underneath—after digging deep enough—connections had to be present. Akakios spat off to the side, forcing dirt out. Like any of the other worlds he'd been on, the wealthy probably drew a great deal of their riches from illicit transactions that impacted the slums.

  Among it all, large Magistrate buildings had been built, dedicated to planetary security, commerce inspections, medical care, and educational services, hauling the dustbowl into modernity and, with it, prosperity. The latter had yet to arrive.

  Akakios tugged at the collar of his uniform. It had been custom-made for the Oneiroi to provide comfort on such repugnant worlds. Ne'par, however, tested its capabilities, and sweat slid down his neck. Ah, Sotiris, what you must have thought of this place? The world amounted to torture, at least in the mind of an Oneiroi.

  "Our Vespar resides at this place . . . of business," Charis said, lifting an eyebrow.

  "So the intel says." Akakios stepped past the patrons who drank outside at rickety round tables and into the actual building. Tepid air greeted his face, not cool enough to be considered comfortable, but enough not to be choking on the humidity and heat.

  The conversation in the establishment ceased when patrons realized Magistrate Elites were present. In the back, two men darted out through a side door, leaving Akakios to assume they had active warrants.

  "We need to speak with Vlar." Akakios's voice filled the room.

  After hesitation, the Csek behind the bar waved two of her four blue arms toward a hallway, partially concealed by a rack of spirits. "You'll find him down there." Her hip jaunted to one side, and she quirked her thin lips. "You won't find anything illegal."

  "We'll be the judges of that." Akakios crossed the now-cleared space to the hallway. The footsteps of Charis and Ambrosios trailed him.

  The sultry twang of a string instrument coated their footfalls as it plaintively wailed from behind one of the closed curtains that separated several rooms from the hallway.

  Akakios separated one of the segments of rust-colored fabric and froze, his mouth tightening. A topless Csek danced, her four arms moving in sharp poses while another humanoid species strummed a tall stringed instrument. Before them on a large stuffed pillow sat a Vespar, his reddish skin blending into the hazy room. His ember-hued eyes, on the other hand, glowed as they followed the dancer's every movement. His eyes left the dancer, connecting with Akakios before breaking away. Vlar downed a large gulp from the rummer he'd been holding, his long tongue extending after he swallowed to catch loose remnants of the drink.

  "I feel honored to warrant attention from Magistrate officials, though I am shocked to receive Elites." Vlar lowered the partially full rummer onto a tray, the glass clattering against the metal as his hand shook. He then retracted both appendages into the large sleeves of his shirt. "Why do I deserve such an honor?"

  "You're working with this woman." Akakios thumbed on his slate, the image of their target and Sotiris coming to life. "What cargo is she carrying, and where is it going?"

  Vlar muttered something in his native tongue, and the music stopped. The dancer gathered her top from the floor and departed with the musician. Once they were gone, Vlar waved his hand in the air. "My shipping business is completely legal."

  Akakios balled his fists. "I don't care about your shipping business." He encroached on Vlar's space, forcing him to shift backward on his pillow, almost falling from it. All the while, the man refused to lift his eyes. "You will tell me what your business is with this woman. And trust me: You'll not enjoy the alternative."

  Ambrosios cocked his familiar, toothy grin as he slid in beside his commanding officer. "I do take a certain pleasure in my job." He crouched in front of the Vespar. "You'd be surprised what the mind holds. I wonder what plagues your nightmares, but we might be finding out soon enough, huh?" He winked at the man.

  Vlar's dark lips, almost black in color, pressed together. "T
h-that won't be necessary." He grasped his rummer, its contents spilling over the rim in his haste to bring it to his mouth. "She came a week ago, with a man. They called themselves Clementia and Ferrutius—they were looking to move cargo. I had grain that needed sent to Ereago."

  "Certain sectors on Ereago have embargoes in place," Charis said. "I'm sure some of the less Magistrate-friendly cities and factions would pay handsomely for such goods. Plasovern also has an on-world presence."

  "It was for Mertis! The war's exhausting their reserves, so it's perfectly legal—"

  "For them to pay a pretty hefty fee for your generosity," Charis said, crossing her arms.

  Vlar raised his hands. "War isn't cheap, and neither are my fuel costs to get a ship to Ereago, especially with vultures like Plasovern circling about! Do you know how many pilots are actually crazy enough to go there? Not many."

  From his crouched position, Ambrosios pressed his hands into his thighs to maintain balance. "Did they have last names?" he asked. "Your hires."

  "No." Vlar shook his head, his tongue flicking out to moisten his lips. "They didn't give any—but the woman, she spoke with a distinct Magistrate accent: a Core accent. Emmm . . . I would say inner Core by its fineness."

  "She has a boy with her." Akakios brought the hologram closer to Vlar, who downed the rest of his wine. "Tell me about him."

  "There was no boy—I saw no boy," the Vespar practically spewed the words. "It was only her and the man . . . and a girl—a teenager—at the ship. I saw no one else. She said she was just looking for work. Does this woman have a bounty on her?"

  "Has she been paid? Will she be returning here?" Akakios pressed, the muscles in his jaw twitching.

  "Half. I paid her half here. The rest will be paid by my associate on Ereago."

  "His name."

  Vlar fidgeted on his pillow, his mouth narrowing, a show of defiance even if his frame could not cease trembling. Ambrosios cleared his throat, and the Vespar straightened. "Her name is Usha. She's a Filitre and holds shop not far from the eastern spaceport in the capital of Mertis: Esh."

  Charis rested her hand on Akakios's shoulder and squeezed.

  Akakios nodded. "I can only hope this information you've given us is accurate . . . for your sake."

  "I've nothing to hide! This woman—this Clementia—she's not a longtime member of my organization; she's just a freelancer. I've no reason to hide her." He flailed his hands in the air. "She had completed a run for an associate . . . a brief run, but she did well. If I'd known the Magistrate sought her, there would have been no business. I swear—"

  "Then all should be fine, shouldn't it?" Ambrosios said from behind Akakios.

  Akakios waited a few minutes—giving the Vespar time to amend his story—before exiting the small room, his officers in tow. Vlar never called after them, but Akakios hadn't expected him to. The man had spoken the truth. They vacated the saloon and embarked toward their more comfortable spaceship. Charis activated the com along the way and ordered Kyrillos to plot a course to Ereago's Esh, the capital of Mertis, a country where Magistrate dominance went undisputed.

  "It doesn't make sense." Ambrosios fell into step beside Akakios.

  "There's a lot that doesn't make sense," Akakios ground out. "You need to be more specific."

  "Why are they moving cargo?" Ambrosios folded his arms across his chest. "According to each hit on the relay, all they've done is pick up cargo and transport it, each and every time."

  "Maybe they're trying to get lost in the paperwork." Akakios wouldn't voice the thought already plaguing him: that Sotiris had been one of those cargo runs already dropped off.

  Ambrosios snorted. "Captain, we know Plasovern. We've taken down cells; we've trailed agents. This doesn't feel right, especially when they have something as valuable as Sotiris in hand." He shifted his gaze behind them. "Given where the Aletheia was, why didn't they cut and run directly to Medzeci? They would've gotten away, and there, the Magistrate wouldn't have been able to stop them."

  "Bargerr chased them into Magistrate space."

  "Highly unlikely. You know that as well as I do. They could've easily made a blind jump into Medzeci space. But they didn't." Ambrosios stopped walking. "Instead, they jumped into Magistrate space and have chosen to linger here, performing courier missions from one backwater planet to the next . . . all the while having Sotiris, who Plasovern would undoubtedly want right away."

  "This isn't the place, Ambrosios," Charis said as she shut off her communications device.

  She was right. A group of curious locals had already crowded together outside a nearby grocery store to watch the interlopers like one would a visiting circus. They scattered into the store after the three Oneiroi faced them.

  "We need to leave." Akakios resumed walking.

  Ambrosios sent.

  They might be, but the crew—that he now suspected had been paid—had proven to be deft. Ambrosios had struck a nerve. These people weren't following known patterns. Plasovern didn't move cargo. They moved weapons and targeted weak points in the Magistrate, particularly on contested planets freshly inducted. Its agents displayed dedication to the point they would gladly die if it gave the Magistrate a black eye. Cargo loads meant too many relays tracking their movements, not to mention port inspections.

  They boarded the Boreas in silence, acknowledging their team members' welcomes as they headed to the bridge. Once the doors closed behind them and they returned to their stations, Charis broke the silence. "Do we continue to Ereago? It's possible Sotiris is no longer with our targets."

  "It is." Akakios eased into his chair. "But if there is still a possibility, I'll follow it." His throat clenched. "Besides, they hold all the answers." They'd been on the Aletheia, were complicit in its fate.

  Charis removed her sunglasses and lodged them in one of her uniform's pockets. "Your orders, sir?"

  "Ambrosios, get us off this festering hole." Akakios leaned forward, resting his elbows on his legs as Ambrosios guided their craft upward, eventually leaving Ne'Par's atmosphere. The list of questions grew with each step. Kyros had been right: He needed to keep his eyes and ears open.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Katya clasped her headscarf—its seams snug against her cheek and neck—as she shuffled closer to Rein to avoid being trampled by a scruffy youth pushing a cart of foul-smelling melons. The whole city of Esh exhibited the same frantic pace, almost as if it were holding its breath, knowing that some great movement was coming—great, of course, being left to interpretation. The pockmarked buildings, sparse displays of goods, and ruined structures spoke volumes. Guerrillas from different sects in Mertis and the Vry Republiek had done a number on the "airtight" capital of Ereago, which is what the Magistrate had designated Esh, a decision not universally accepted on world.

  They scrambled to the side to avoid the numerous stained that had been strewn across the western portion of the market district. Once stores, she decided. The blackened area brought a sour taste to her mouth.

  "We need to get off this planet." Katya swallowed, the airy fabric of the headscarf—a featured shared with every woman walking the market—pressing into her skin. It at least had the benefit of protecting her head from the planet's oppressive sun. "It's a powder keg waiting for a spark."

  Rein snorted. "To think, in two years, I would've been a citizen. Now I'm needing to worry about getting off another Fringe planet." A tightness formed around his eyes, which for a moment, lacked clarity. "Story of my life."

  She frowned.

  Ahead, a young girl grabbed a half loaf of bread and darted through the crowded street into a series of alleys. The merchant whose bread had been stolen stood shouting obscenities after her. The crowd continued, unmoved, rushing to satisfy their own needs. Reznic had held the same pace. Next to her, Rein watched the girl disappear in the throng of people.

  She knew Mina's story, or most of it, and imagined
Rein had a similar one.

  "I'm sorry. I truly am."

  A smile drifted onto his face. "I'd had it all planned out. Was going to settle on a Mezzo. I was thinking of Vergo."

  She perked at the planet's name. "My family has a villa on Vergo."

  "I know." His gaze grew distant. "I remember the way you described it: its rolling green hills, millions of lakes, oceans, mountains. You made it sound so gorgeous. I'd been researching the Bangnara Province. It seemed the most ravishing. Could see myself getting lost on its lakes."

  Katya almost stopped. Rein's face had taken on a wistful expression, so distant, and she wondered what exactly he was imagining. She'd only shared her stays on Vergo with Mina and maybe a smattering of her fellow officers, but she'd never gone into details, focusing on scenery. On Reznic, she wasn't about to rub a private villa in other people's faces. So she couldn't recall a single time she'd spoken with Rein about Vergo. A frigid sensation spread along her back. She'd shared details with Valens in more intimate settings, on more than one occasion . . . including that her family's villa was in the Bangnara Province. Her mouth went dry.

  "Watch your step."

  Rein tugged her from the path of a hover cart, his touch scorching her arm.

  She stepped away, freeing herself. "Thanks." The moment she opened her mouth, strong spices assaulted her senses. They barely coated the smell of decay, rot that touched her tongue. She winced. A deep red stain, long dry, held silent testament next to remains of a store. Incense had been placed to burn near it. "The Gata don't appear to play fair."

  "They're backed by Plasovern. It shows in their tactics." Rein lowered his hand, which had been covering his nose. "Give the Magistrate a few months and Ereago will be back in order."