by Baen Books
I hopped out of the saddle, and could not resist giving Tybalt a pat as though my skycycle were a living steed that could respond to my caress. I stripped off the bronze-colored flight suit and tossed it to a nearby valetbot for freshening. I straightened the thin long-sleeved green silk jersey shirt over the tight-fitting black knee-length athletic pants I wore underneath, and enjoyed the fresh, warm air that played about my limbs. In twos and threes, my cousins alit and dismounted, most of them making for the tables. Lionelle streaked in and screeched to a halt beside me. I cringed for the wellbeing of Destrier’s undercarriage. She swung a blue-clad leg over the framework and bore down on me like bad news, ripping off her helmet as she did.
“You could have gotten me killed down there!” she said, her flint-blue eyes sparking. She swung the sapphire-colored helmet and struck me in the arm.
“Ow!” I protested, clutching my abused biceps. “I wouldn’t do anything to endanger you.”
“You barely left me any room to maneuver when you pulled up!”
“You are as good a rider as I am, Nell,” I said. “I knew you would avoid the delivery van.” I spoke no more than truth. We were the most accurate pilots among our cousins. We owed our skill to the heritage bestowed upon us by our mother, Tariana Kinago Loche, First Space Lord of the Imperium. There was no vehicle that we could not fly, ride, steer, navigate or drive with ease upon the first try.
“Flattery won’t repair the housing on my cycle!” She pointed to the frame over the processing unit that controlled Destrier’s steering and acceleration.
“I speak no more than the truth,” I said. “Come on, then. I’ll fix it for you.”
She plunked herself onto the seat of my cycle while I looked out tools to bend the case back into shape.
An onlooker might not find much in the way of resemblance between us. I am of much greater than average height, and I share hues of hair and eyes with our mother, being sandy-haired and sea-blue-eyed, though my skin is tawny after the fashion of my Kinago ancestors. My sister, on the other hand, had our father’s dramatic coloring. Her crisp black hair was braided in a thick plait down her back, and her deep blue eyes were striking in a heart-shaped face of peach-skin complexion. Her petite, slender physiognomy was remarkably similar to Mother’s. And, completing the trifecta in the genetic sweepstakes, our elder brother was again nothing like the two of us. It was a shame that he could not have joined us, but he was off planet on a private holiday with his wife.
“I am so sorry that you must report to the naval academy so soon,” I said, replacing a clip that had been cracked by the impact.
“At least I have a week,” Nell said, kicking her legs back and forth. “It took the six of us much longer to jump back to Keinolt than we anticipated. I thought it would be a lark to travel home from Humbero Academy on a freighter, but we were wrong. It was loud, dull and slow.”
“Well, you could hardly complain of that at the moment,” I remarked. “Apart from the loudness, of course.”
Our cousin Erita bore down on us, a glass of lemonade in each hand. The present amusement had been her idea. It was her turn to choose. She had won the last contest, which had been Nell’s clever notion, and a hard-fought contest it had been, too.
My mother had managed to scoop up most of Lionelle’s time, but what remained she spent in the company of her brothers and cousins, wreaking havoc as we used to do in our childhood. Alas, but I can’t say I missed those days, as they had never really ended. Lionelle and a handful of our younger cousins were due to begin their two years’ obligatory service in the space navy, and were enjoying their last days of freedom. Nell’s challenge had been one of gourmet tastings, to identify the origins and ingredients in exotic dishes. I had enjoyed that mightily, but had been pipped to the post by one single point that Erita had gained by spotting the difference between green and black cardamom. I still stung at the error, something that Erita was not likely to make me, or Xan, who had placed third, forget any time soon.
But I digress.
“Are we all having fun?” Erita asked, offering the beverages to us. The exertion of the hunt had brought roses to her cheeks, freshening her beauty. Erita was not as petite in height as Nell, but just as slim, with a long, oval face and a long pointed nose. Her hair was genuinely pale blonde, a rarity in any era. If any of the normally exuberant Kinago family could ever approach moroseness, she did. I put it down to her father’s family, the Betains. A good line, and related to the third Imperium dynasty, full of brave soldiers and kind-hearted philanthropists, all a credit to humanity, but with an undeniable tendency toward gloom. Today, she was almost outrageously cheerful.
“How soon until we launch again?” I inquired. I took a grateful sip, surprised at how parched my throat had become.
Erita waved her free hand vaguely. “My valetbot, NCK-0722, is on a comlink with the police. They are threatening to close us down. I thought Nancy-Kaye would be more diplomatic than I could bother to be.”
“Quite right,” I said. “When she’s done, we can begin. I am sure that Xan is getting impatient.”
“It is too irritating. They cannot understand why we didn’t stay in Taino.”
“Well, everyone knows that!” I said.
It was not merely a matter of logistics. We needed to vary the location of our games of Foxhunt not only because of the annoyance of the locals had we remained in one place, but because of the Hounds which allowed us to pursue our prey, who made use of technology to conceal themselves from easy discovery.
Boland Vanishment Generators had been in use in the Imperium and elsewhere for centuries, if not millennia, but seldom as objects for amusement. They had begun as tools for military use, providing the means for close-in surveillance and covert espionage operations. If the user remained perfectly still, the occasional twinkle from the image-displaying fabric would never give away their presence. Thus were many coups and catastrophes avoided.
From there, Bolands were seconded to industry, adding a necessary and useful means to avoid the ever-present observation devices that had become prevalent across civilization. Then, to celebrity. What leading social light would not like to escape public scrutiny once in a while, perhaps while making an assignation with another leading light (or someone with whom being seen would destroy one’s reputation or give rise to scandal and gossip)? And, contrarywise, they would have fallen also into the hands of those whom the gossip outlets paid to bring evidence of those secret meetings to the eyes and ears of the gasping public. A Boland, part device, part garment, became part of every successful paparazzo’s bag of tricks. Lastly though not leastly, simplified Bolands began to appear on the shelves of very expensive toy stores and novelty arcades, which is where one of my several-times ancestors discovered them and decided they would make a fun addition to our everlasting games and contests.
Naturally, since one would have been rendered invisible, there arose the need to be able to track one, should it become necessary. Again, we had access to descendants of former military devices, the Poctil Hound Drones. Unlike their fleshly counterparts, Poctil Hounds were upright floating cylinders bristling with sensing gear. A dab of one’s aroma, a drop of blood, a skin cell or two placed in the sensing receptacle, and the Drones would sniff out the whereabouts of anyone who needed to be found, following one very literally to the ends of the Earth. If one secreted oneself in a locale one frequented, the Drones, capable of detecting DNA in parts per trillion, would become confused by the diffusion of old skin cells. In other words, the scent would be muddied, potentially leading the hunters off after red herrings and dead ends, possibly adding hours to a round. My cousins and I did not have the patience for a long hunt. Therefore, it behooved us to seek fresher fields, and allow the old sites to lie fallow for a season or two. In Nell’s honor, we decided to try a city upon which we had not yet bestowed the bounty of our presence.
Hence, somewhere below us in the maze of strange city streets, my cousin, Lord Xanson, also astride a s
kycycle, but rendered invisible by the Boland drape that until an hour ago I had been wearing, was spreading trails here, there and everywhere in order to throw off any chance we had of finding him. We had to wait until Erita’s signal to release the hounds and set out in search of him. Until then, we amused ourselves, quaffing a stirrup cup or so and exchanging jokes and lies. I had for the occasion furnished myself with a few stories gleaned during my military service that I had not yet shared with my cousins and sister.
To a rapt and appreciative audience, I outlined the first of these excellent jokes, laying the groundwork that I was certain would lead to an outstanding laugh at my punchline.
“…But you all know Lady Carmine, and that she would never think of going away without at least a dozen attendants,” I said, leaning in confidentially toward my cousin Jil. When she was not being deliberately obtuse, she was among the best listeners for whom I could hope. She nodded. The others around her, including a distant relative and recent friend, Banitra Savarola Wilcox, nodded, too. “But she can hardly resist a good tipple. In his youth, my father was rather skilled at brewing cider from the apples in the Imperium Compound’s north orchard….” I stressed the words that would later become part of my punchline.
“My lord? May I have a word?”
I glanced back, dismayed at the interruption.
During most times of my life, the sound of Commander Parsons’s silken baritone voice would have filled me with curiosity and enthusiasm. That dignified and worthy gentleman had shown enormous patience with the budding dragonet that was Lord Thomas Kinago, and had since put me in the way of having some very intriguing and useful adventures. However, since I was at the moment making my own fun, he was, to put it bluntly, one distraction too many. I attempted to complete my story.
“Then, Lady Carmine….” I realized I was speaking to empty air.
The moment had been broken. My audience, always on the lookout for the very next impetus to spur their easily bored psyches, drifted off in twos and threes to seek refreshment. I turned to behold that gentleman’s purposely blank and smooth countenance, contained between a smooth sweep of jet black hair and a black, unadorned uniform.
“Parsons!” Nell rushed to embrace him. With my sister in her colorful riding habit wrapped around his ribcage, he rather resembled a statue suddenly festooned with party streamers. One stiff hand rose to pat her avuncularly on the shoulder. “How lovely to see you!”
“Lady Lionelle, I am delighted to see that you have returned safely. How have you been?”
“Oh, wonderful!” Nell declared, releasing him. “I am enjoying not having any more finals to take. And this welcome-home party has been so much fun. Everyone has been marvelous.”
“I am glad to hear it,” Parsons said gravely.
“I didn’t expect to see you until dinner tonight at Mother’s. Is Thomas in trouble?”
“Not at this time, my lady.”
“Too bad,” Nell said, with a cheeky grin.
I made an ogre’s face and lunged at her with my arms over my head. Shrieking with laughter, she retreated toward the refreshment table. Once she was safely out of earshot, I turned to Parsons.
“And what brings you to this desolate outpost?”
“Your skills are required, my lord.”
I felt my eyebrows climb my brow, but my expression did not summon forth an answering one in Parsons’s dour mien. He might well have been a statue. I was forced to resort to words.
“Which ones?” I asked. “They are all at your disposal, though I would prefer not to disabuse my cousins that I am as dissolute a personality as they believe me to be. In the layman’s cant, I have a reputation to uphold.”
“I realize that, my lord. It would be of great assistance if you would assist me, in a casual way, of course. We are pursuing a miscreant in the proximate region. Your craft is faster and more nimble than most of those seconded to law enforcement, and there are few to rival your skill in the saddle. You could easily cover the airspace, using your cousins’ presence as cover, and relay information back to agents in the area. Mr. Frank would appreciate your assistance.”
He spoke of the mysterious master of Imperium covert operations who had ordered us into action on previous occasions. I had yet to meet the man, a matter that excited my deepest curiosity.
“Say no more,” I said, holding up a hand. “In all honor, I can’t leave my sister to the tender mercies of the rest of the clan. Her absence at school has left her softer than she thinks she is, and I do not want her to harm herself accidentally until she gets her sea legs back, so to speak. In an hour – say, three at the most – Nell will be on her way back home to Mother, and I will be at your service. Unfortunately, we are just about to enter stage two of a three-part contest. I am intrigued, tickled and flattered that you have come to me for aid, but the time is simply not a convenient one.”
Parsons was not to be deterred. “My lord, this is a most serious matter. This individual is very dangerous. Reports indicate he is carrying a device that will disrupt communications between the satellites system and Keinolt defense. It may be a feint to see if we are paying attention to such incursions, or the actual event that precedes an invasion of planetary airspace. Every moment’s delay in capturing him puts the Imperium at risk.”
“I am desolated, but I must refuse. I regret that I have no time to devote to the matter, Parsons, I said, and I truly did regret it. But my sister is only here for a short time, and her well-being is my primary concern. When the contest is over, providing I have not won,” I added, “since I would be choosing the next amusement for my cousins, I will join you wherever you may be.”
I was distracted at that moment by the sister in question. Nell had joined the others among the hovering pack of hound drones, choosing the ones that would fly with her during the next round. They were similar in construction, but their coloration and exterior sensor arrays varied greatly. She beckoned to a handful of them to cluster behind her. Among them her choices was a favorite of mine, which I called Melusine. I strode over and pulled my hound away. It hovered at my shoulder.
“Sorry, Nell, but this one is mine.”
“No, Thomas, you are wrong,” Nell said, with a severe look that could have been my mother to the life. “She was mine before I went away to school.”
“She belonged to me before you began to play at fox-and-hounds,” I said, with a casual shrug. “Childish games. I let you play with her. You couldn’t call that a transfer of ownership. How could I not be generous to my only sister?”
“Oh,” Nell said, with a look so sweet that honeybees ought to have been arrowing directly for her face to sip the nectar. “And you had been! I treasured Melusine. Just because I couldn’t take her with me didn’t change that gift. You are the best big brother.”
I was determined not to give ground, nor was she, but to raise our voices over such a trivial matter as a drone would render us ridiculous in the eyes of our cousins. We fought over it in a deliberately offhand manner which would lead an outsider to think that neither of us cared a subatomic particle for the object in question, when in truth each of us would die before yielding.
Parsons, never one to stand by while war was being waged, stepped in between us.
“Lady Lionelle, Lord Thomas will surely cede you most of these devices, but I believe that he has made considerable use of it during your absence. Even if you shared Melusine as children,” and here he emphasized that word in a way that shamed us both, “he has adapted its programming to his own preferences.”
“I want it.” Nell pouted. “I used it during our chase after him just a few hours ago! You didn’t say anything then.”
“But now that I am back among the hunters instead of the hunted,” I said, “I want to use it. Xan will be tricky prey.”
“It’s the best hound in the game!”
Parsons drew Melusine toward him. A dent of perhaps one millimeter dented his epicene brow, indicating the deepest of concentration.
“But you see, my lady?” Parsons asked, with that austere yet ingratiating manner that made him worth his weight in dilithium crystals, “it is sadly outdated.” He flipped open the compartment on the side and pointed to the polished circuitry around the sampling cloth that Xan had brushed over his forehead and wrists. “The DNA chamber does not have as many sensors as the newest model.” The cloth fell out onto the ground. I sprang to retrieve it. “Thank you, my lord.” He replaced it and closed the chamber. He turned to the next nearest drone, and opened its receptacle to display a galaxy of bright silver dots. “This one that you call Corsair has three times the sensor points. It also has a much faster response time and a more efficient drive. In other words, it will lead not only your pack, but everyone else’s. You would not wish,” he added, with a dismissive gesture toward Melusine, “to operate a unit that is seasons behind the others.”
His reasoning was perfect, if insufferable. Nell hated to be behind in fashion, but she could never bear logic. She gave me a sharp look from under her dark brows.
“I hate it when you are right,” she told Parsons. She waved a dismissive hand at me. “Very well, Thomas, you may have your ancient lurcher. It will be lost in the crowd!”
“Thank you,” I murmured to Parsons.
“My pleasure, my lord,” that worthy replied, inclining his head about three millimeters. “I will see you upon your return. Please inform me when you have intercepted your quarry.”
“That I will,” I said, slapping my hand heartily upon the viewpad upon my hip. “Good hunting!”
“The same to you, my lord,” he said.
Parsons departed with the same discretion with which he had appeared. No more than two minutes after he vanished away, Erita came beaming toward us, her robust cylindrical LAI server in tow.