Keltan's Gambit: Chronicles of the Orion Spur Book 2

by Michael Formichelli

  “Whoa there.”

  “Please listen to Khepria-san.” The man stared at Nero with his red, insect-like eyes. “I cannot guarantee success—”

  “Because you won’t be touching me. You’re a criminal and I can’t allow you to come near Daedalus’ software.”

  “Nero!” Khepria’s ears vibrated.

  “It is all right, Khepria-san. I am used to such accusations outside of the Taiumikai holdings. My feelings are beyond wounding.”

  “It’s not your feelings that’ll get wounded if you resist.” Nero ground his teeth.

  “Forgive me for saying so, Praetor, but you are being foolish.”

  “Excuse me?” He stepped forward, meaning to put his nose to the smaller man’s—and found himself staring at the air where Mamiya used to be.

  He felt his wrist grabbed and twisted like it was caught in the jaws of some implacable machine. His arm was half-bent behind him before he could blink. His body twisted with the motion, the result of trained reflexes, trying to whirl around and strike his attacker with a clenched fist. He turned fast, but his arm rotated faster, and the world spun around in a blur. A moment later he found himself staring at the dirt with his arm locked straight up behind him as if an iron rod had been rammed down the length of it. Every attempt he made to turn the tables on Mitsugawa’s man was met with a pulse of agony in his shoulder. Among the tents and trees around them several of the gray-clad mercs and black-armored Mitsugawa troops watched. The former looked surprised, while the latter seemed to expect this outcome. Feeling their eyes on him brought a heat to his cheeks.

  In that moment he realized that Khepria was right; he did think he could do more than he could. A CEL should be a challenging opponent but not unbeatable. He sighed, knowing there would be consequences for allowing the CEL into his head, but Khepria was right. In the end was it Daedalus’ rule or completing the mission that mattered? He couldn’t do the latter if he was dead because of the former. This was just a friendly scuffle to prove a point. What would happen the next time he ran into something like Qismat?

  “Okay,” he said.

  Mamiya released his arm and bowed as he got to his feet.

  “Okay?” Khepria asked.

  He nodded.

  “My apologies, Praetor Graves. It was necessary, but regrettable. Perhaps when you are whole again we could have a true match. It would be an honor.”

  “A rematch? Sure, you’re on.” He shook his head and kneaded his sore shoulder with the opposite hand.

  “This is better if you are lying down.” Mamiya pointed to their tent with an open palm.

  “Okay.” He nodded and ducked into it.

  They followed him in.

  Nero returned to consciousness lying on a hard surface, struggling to open his eyes. It took several attempts, but they finally obeyed with a flair of pain. He expected to see the stone chamber where Doctor Rega was doing his research, or maybe the green bubble of his unit’s field tent, but instead he looked up at a regular pattern of metal rectangles above him. There was a faint, persistent rumbling sound he recognized as a starship's engine, and the smell of oil and medical antiseptic was strong in the air.

  The last thing he remembered was some kind of explosion, and flowing blue flames engulfing him. He was in a long, narrow room with many tables on which a number of soldiers lay beneath white sheets. Some lay still with their faces covered, while among the others chests rose and fell with machine-like regularity. Between the tables medics in white uniforms with bright red crosses on their shoulders carried nanomed injectors, body scan rods, and other medical equipment with which he was unfamiliar.

  To his left, near the far side of the room, a group of Solan soldiers in gray camouflage were crowded around one of the beds. Several were fighting back tears while two stared down with machine-like stoicism. On his right, another soldier clad in the same style of uniform walked towards him flanked by a naval officer in black and silver, and an Abyssian whose medallion reflected enough light to sting his eyes. He felt that he should know the approaching men already, but trying to retrieve their names was like trying to walk through a wall.

  “Hey, Lieutenant, how are you feeling?” The soldier asked when they reached his side. He had brown, crew-cut hair, blue-green eyes, and a long scar from his right ear to his nostril. The rank insignia on his wiry frame indicated he was a sergeant in the Star Jumpers. The name over his left breast pocket read “Faen.”

  “He's had quite a trauma,” the naval officer said. He was a tall man with high cheekbones and close-cropped black hair. His eyes were chestnut brown, and shone with vulturine cunning. The nametag on his uniform read “Drego.” When he looked at his epaulets he received a shock. Four silver bars meant that this man was the captain of the ship. Why would the Captain be here? What kind of ship was this? He frowned, trying to figure it out.

  There was gravity here, which meant he was either on a spin ship or an FTL ship. Spin ships were smaller than FTL vessels by an order of magnitude, and their engine noise was of a higher pitch than the one he was hearing. FTL ships were always flagships, and that meant he was in a battle group of some kind. From the number of wounded and dead here he figured they'd just been through some major action. The presence of an Abyssian would also lend itself to that conclusion, since they never showed up unless something big was going on.

  “He doesn't seem to know where he is,” Sergeant Faen looked concerned beyond a professional level. The man must know him personally.

  “This sort of thing is typical in the type of injury that Lieutenant Graves sustained.” The Abyssian's voice was devoid of emotion. His skin was unnaturally pale, like that of a corpse. The angles of his face, though they looked human, had a machined symmetry. His pupils had a silver ring around them with a metallic line descending from the apex to the center. He used them to stare down at Nero as though assessing a piece of equipment.

  “He doesn't know who we are?” The sergeant asked.

  “It's for the best. Daedalus has selected Lieutenant Graves for a special project. Praetor Modulus is here to collect him,” the captain said.

  “What?”

  “You should be pleased. Your commanding officer is going to contribute greatly to Daedalus' understanding of evolving systems and the survival of the Confederation,” the Praetor said.

  “What do you mean?” There was a look in the sergeant's eyes, a rising flame of defiance. He looked about to attack the Abyssian despite the suicidal nature of such a venture.

  “Second-Lieutenant Nero Graves is going to be an Abyssian—the first Abyssian to have been born human. Further information is above your clearance level,” the Praetor said.

  “The hell he is. He's my CO, and my friend. He’s clearly in no shape to consent. I'll fight this,” Sergeant Faen said.

  “The hell you will, Sergeant. Stand down.” The captain's eyes blazed with anger.

  “This is wrong, Captain. You can't let this happen. He's a man. He has a family. You can't just make him some damn unfeeling machine. Don't you know what Abyssians are like, Captain?”

  “I do. I've been serving with this one for the entirety of this conflict. You're out of line, Sergeant.” The captain's tone was murderous.

  “There is nothing you can do but accept the inevitability of what is to come. Take solace in the fact that Lieutenant Graves' last human action was to complete his mission. He saved a prominent scientist and the man's daughter from a life of slavery in the hands of the Orgnan. He is a hero, and will be remembered as such. There is nothing you can do but say goodbye.” The Abyssian’s demeanor was so calm Sergeant Faen might as well have been yelling at a metal post.

  “We'll see about that!” He stormed off towards the exit with his jaw clenched. Several medics leapt to get out of his way.

  Nero watched him go, wondering what had the sergeant so riled. He thought he should understand it, but the thing that would have given him the ability to feel for the man failed to appear. A moment later,
he stopped caring.

  “Don't mind him. I'll handle it,” Captain Drego said.

  “I told you his presence here was wasteful. He will talk of this. That must be handled.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” the captain said. He shifted his weight, looking back and forth between the Praetor and the door. “He had a right to say goodbye. Lieutenant Graves was his CO.”

  “I shall see that anyone he communicates with about this is rendered incapable of spreading the information.” The Abyssian stared at the captain with a passive face.

  He swallowed. “All right. I’ll have security round him up.”

  “Place him in the containment unit on my ship.”

  The captain nodded, swallowing again.

  “This ship has a nanomachine infuser tube. I shall start the process of cybernetic implantation here. Prep the Lieutenant for surgery,” the Abyssian said.

  The Captain looked surprised. “You're going to do this here?”

  “He will be transported to Daedalus for the final stages, but first he must be healthy enough to survive the trip. I will see him healed and implanted with a Symbiotic Cerebral Computer. It is more efficient to do this now, while he is in need of surgery already, than to wait and chance a second operation.”

  “Understood.” Captain Drego turned and called for the chief medic.

  Chapter Ten

  Ikuzlu City, Kosfanter

  41:2:13 (J2400:3137)

  Cygni’s office was mundane by comparison to the room where she met Baron Revenant and Doctor Rega, but considering how awkward it would be to have to wade to her desk everyday she was grateful for its normalcy. Located in the middle of the south-eastern tower, she had a perfect view of the mid-sections of the other towers in the district through the floor-to-ceiling window occupying the southern wall. The office was larger than her bedroom at home, and fit a broad desk, a large holographic projector, and a couch with room to spare. She never had anything so extravagant in her life, but rather than enjoy it, she took it as a sign that she better do a good job—or else. The thought was a sobering one. It made her remember what Pawqlan said about colors and the Barony Houses on the Queen Gaia. She looked at her attire, hoping her clothes fit in. To make sure, she programmed the jumpsuit to turn black with a white trim.

  It was two-hours before she’d told her staffers to come in to work, and other than Doctor Rega’s people, the Fast-Mercury cubicles between her office and the bank of lifts were empty. Shkur had the day off today, and was disappointed that she chose to leave early for her new office, but he’d get over it. She took a detour on the way and went past the Gaian Biodome so she could download the feed from the spy-grain she planted on Boa. She still felt bad about duping her best friend, but if Boa wasn’t going to help her out she had to employ such means to get the information. Cygni hoped Boa would forgive her, but the risk of damaging their friendship was worth it.

  Once at the office she shunned the plush leather chair behind her desk for the couch against the west wall, lying down across it and propping her head up on the armrest. She felt the smart-foam beneath the polymer surface mold itself to support her body’s contours and sighed.

  I could get used to this.

  After enjoying the comfort for a few moments, she decided to get down to business. She wasn’t ready to review the spy-grain data yet, it would be better to build up to it, so she went down to the next item on her mental list. Closing her eyes, she shifted her consciousness into her cerebral implant. Once the darkness enveloped her digital incarnation she pulled up a window and connected with the Spur Herald on Ax’xoa’s personal line. She spent all last night thinking about Kul’tearae’s comment about no longer being their employee. She built her career at the ‘Herald, and didn’t think they would let her go without telling her. She thought she might be listed as being on sabbatical, but wasn’t so sure anymore. If Ax’xoa had let her go he’d made a huge mistake. She was still working on the Mitsugawa case, and when she got done she was going to have the story of the millennium. If she was no longer with the ‘Herald she would sell it to the highest bidder, and he would lose out. He must know that, but even if he didn’t she hoped he hadn’t fired her. She needed to ask for something, and it would be harder to do if Ax’xoa had decided to cut her loose. She also might need her old job back at some point.

  A few moments after the transmission connected, the Cleebian editor materialized before her floating in the darkness of the digital plane. He was in his business attire, a complex affair involving something resembling a pinstriped Solan suit beneath a traditional Cleebian robe with triangular shoulder pads. The two yellow eyes on the sides of his head rotated independently of each other tracking events she couldn’t see but the one in the center came to rest facing her. Had they been in person, he would have had to stretch the hanging cords of his external larynx taut before speaking, but in the Cyberweb his thoughts were converted to digital signals and transmitted directly to her cerebral implant.

  “Miss Aragón, I was not expecting to hear from you,” he said.

  “Oh really? I bet you weren’t. What’s this about letting me go?” She hadn’t meant to start out combative, but couldn’t help herself.

  The large, central eye blinked. “Who is your present employer?”

  “Cosmos Corporation,” she said.

  “Yes, precisely.”

  “I thought I was on a leave of absence, or something. You never contacted me to confirm that.”

  All three of Ax’xoa’s eyes blinked in succession. “I was led to believe you quit.”

  She frowned. “By who?”

  “Pawqlan said you were leaving,” he buzzed out.

  She gritted her teeth. “Of course she did. Well, no, that was not the deal. Didn’t you get the message from Baron Revenant?”

  One of his lateral eyes underwent a jerking motion. “I did, but since Pawqlan—”

  “You got a message from the most powerful baron in the Confederation and you didn’t read it?”

  “I did read it, Miss Aragón. Pawqlan said you quit after I read it. I was quite disappointed. I wanted that exclusive with this Fast Mercury project.”

  “If only I still worked for you.” She scowled.

  All three of his eyes blinked in succession. “It seems I was a bit rash in listening to Pawqlan.”

  “Seems so.” She braced herself for the next thing she had to say. She didn’t want to but Boa’s lack of cooperation, and her own reluctance to contact Biren, forced her hand. “And now I need to talk to Pawqlan.”

  “I will discipline her appropriately, Miss Aragón—”

  “I’m sure you will, but I need her.” She swallowed. “I need her help with something having to do with the story.”

  “Interesting. In that case I will make sure she contacts you.”

  “Thank you.”

  Ax’xoa raised his head and spread his arms in the Cleebian equivalent of a bow, then vanished from her virtual presence.

  One down, she thought. It was time to view the spy-grain data.

  Her implant relayed her office door chime.

  Dammit. She returned herself to her body and stood up.

  “Yes?” She smoothed her suit with her hands.

  The opaque glass doors slid open with a hiss. A tall human woman stepped across the threshold wearing a silver-gray, three-piece business jump-suit. Her diamond-blond hair was cut just shy of her jaw line with bangs that kissed the tops of her eyebrows in a razor-straight line. High, prominent cheekbones and pointed chin gave her a severe appearance that made her look like the first thing out of her mouth would be something caustic. Her skin was dusky-pale, which made her crimson nail polish and her black irises take on an almost neon level of noticeability. The latter were dark enough that she couldn’t make out the woman’s pupils at all.

  “Sorry to intrude,” the woman said in a confident voice that matched the smile now shining on her candy-red lips. The body beneath the suit was thin, but sturdy like a gym
nast’s, and moved forward with feline grace that fit her throaty, purring accent. “I’m Doctor Rega’s assistant, Giselle Tauthe.”

  “Cygni Lau Aragón, Baron Revenant’s new Chief of PR for Fast Mercury.” She took the offered hand, looking up into the woman’s black eyes. Miss Tauthe had at least twenty-centimeters on her height.

  “I know, actually.” The woman leaned in and spoke in a conspiratorial whisper. “I’m a big fan. Your exposé on organized crime in refugee Volgoth populations was riveting.”

  “Thank you.” She gave the woman a slight smile. It was always nice to get recognized and appreciated, though right now she was eager to review the spy-grain data before her staff came in.

  “It’s really something what’s going on here, right? Can you believe that in a few years we’ll all be able to have lunch on Cleeb and be back for dinner?” She shook her head. “Incredible.”

  “I don’t think it’s going to be that fast.”

  “Oh, it will. You’ve got to see what Doctor Rega has on his computer. The level of refinement he’s approaching with the translocation controls will blow your mind.”

  She raised an eyebrow. This woman had access to Doctor Rega’s personal notes? “Oh, really?”

  “Yeah, like I said. You have to see it sometime.” The woman paused, meeting her gaze.

  “Actually, I’d like to.” Cygni smiled.

  “He’s a bit of a stick, but I think I can sneak you in. I’ll let you know when the coast is clear.” Ms. Tauthe smiled back.

  “I’d like that, but I don’t think you’ll need to sneak me in. I’m supposed to be working with him.”

  “I know. That’s actually part of why I came by—I mean, besides to introduce myself. Oh, before I forget, if you ever want to have lunch, here’s my CPAd.”

  Her implant notified her of an incoming transmission. She accepted, logging the other woman’s Cyberweb Protocol Address into her contact list. “Thanks, I’d like that. Maybe after I get settled in.”

  “That’d be nice.” She offered her hand.