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

by Michael Formichelli

  Cylus and Lina dressed in simple clothing with muted colors designed more for comfort than show. Her hair was up in a high tail that let her tight ringlets fall about her ears. Below it her loose, white tunic’s square neckline framed a blue and green beaded choker over her ample cleavage. They both wore brown shoes in the Relaen style, which held each individual toe in its own, finger-like sleeve to make zero-G footholds easier to use. Ben braided Cylus’ long hair securely behind his head, and likewise bound his beard into a single, wiry pillar. He didn’t want them inconveniently floating about in prolonged zero gravity during the trip.

  Despite his misgivings about the ship’s purpose, his stomach buzzed with excitement. They were finally leaving Kosfanter right out from under the noses of Sophi and the other Mercantiles—What a strange thing to be thinking. Sophi, a Mercantile. He shook his head and concentrated on the positive, nurturing it so that the details of their adventure would not drag him back down. He wished Lina were doing the same. It was hard to be up-beat in such grim company, even when it was his fault she was in such a mood.

  Ben packed the last bag—the real luggage they were taking with them on the Fukuro-maru.

  “This is it.” Cylus sat down on the bed opposite Pasqualina.

  “Yeah.” She looked at the sea through the window.

  “Hey, you’ve been sad all morning. What’s going on?” He knew what it was, or thought he did, but couldn’t think of another way to start the conversation.

  “Have I? Sorry, I didn’t mean to cloud your day.” Her blue eyes shone in the light.

  “No, um, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m the one who should be sorry. I know you liked the ship, but for me the tour was a bit awkward. I still can’t believe we’re going to fly in it.”

  “Awkward?”

  “Yeah, it’s just that you two seemed to get on so well, I guess. Also, I can’t believe Yoji came to the capital with those warheads, whatever they do.”

  “Captain Fukui didn’t want to say, but I think I figured it out,” she said. “The ship is powered by a micro-singularity, or something that is almost that—“

  “A what?” Cylus frowned. Engineering wasn’t his thing.

  “A miniature black hole, or at least space-time that is warped enough to emit Hawking Radiation. I’m guessing the fuel source feeds into it to keep—“

  “A black hole?” Cylus paled. Yoji had brought a black hole to the capital?

  “A miniature one, if that. It’s perfectly safe. The tech is solid.”

  “The tech is safe? Are you kidding? I mean, there will be a black hole under us the whole time.” His mouth went dry.

  She frowned at him. “It’s a micro-singularity at the worst, and it can’t hurt us. Even if the containment chamber ruptures the singularity will just dissipate in a burst of Hawking radiation.”

  “Won’t that kill us or something?” Her calm seemed absurd in the face of what they were talking about.

  “Well, I doubt Baron Mitsugawa would ride around in something that could do that. I’m sure there are safeguards in place. The warheads are pretty interesting, too. I think Fukui’s hint about them being based on the same principles means they might be Hawking Radiation warheads. In theory, the blast radius from one of those could be up to an entire AU.” She was cheering up as they spoke.

  “Do you even hear yourself?” He hadn’t meant to blurt that out, but somehow his mouth got away from him.

  She scowled. “Do we have another way to Calemni? Cylus, this ship is our only option, and it’s amazing. I want to take it.”

  He sighed, feeling like his stomach was sinking to his feet. He shouldn’t have said anything. “No, sorry. I just can’t believe Yoji, a man who worked for peace since this war began, would construct so terrible a weapon.”

  “The Taiumijin are a warrior culture. To them, peace is only brought about through strength. A lot of people believe that. Besides, what’s that old saying? If you want peace, prepare for war.” She stared at him a moment longer before looking back to the window. “Sorry, Cy, I shouldn’t be like this with you. My mind has been someplace else since last night.”

  “No, I’m sorry. I guess I don’t have the guts I need for this.” He leaned in, wondering what was troubling her so much. “What were you thinking about before?”

  Ben stood up from his work. “Master, I apologize for interrupting, but you have visitors. Baron-Scion Viktor Vargas and your uncle, Baron Olivaar, are requesting landing clearance.”

  “What? No, they can’t, not now! We’re almost away!” He paled, feeling his gut sink to the floor.

  “Shall I refuse them, master?” Ben asked in mellow tones.

  “Would you normally refuse them access to the tower?” Lina asked. Her melancholy expression vanished, replaced by one that mirrored his own. He realized she was nervous, maybe even scared like he was.

  “No, not normally.”

  “Then you cannot do that now.”

  “What if that scion tries to stop us?” His stomach had something unpleasant brewing inside it. If she was scared, it meant there was really something to worry about. What if Vargas didn’t let them leave? What if his uncle insisted he come to the Barony, or something worse?

  “The first thing to do is be calm. Let them land and get yourself together,” she said.

  “Do it, Ben.”

  “As you wish, master. They will be arriving in three minutes time,” Ben said.

  “Go meet them on the platform and take them into the solar,” Cylus’ voice sounded an octave higher than normal.

  Lina made a humming sound and tapped her lips with a finger.

  “Cy, think. This could be an opportunity to reinforce our ruse.” She nodded at the hovering platform Ben loaded through the bedroom door.

  At first he didn’t follow, but a moment later his mind caught up with her, and a smile sprung onto his face. “Bring the luggage up to the solar before you meet them.”

  “Very good, master.” Ben bowed and headed for the hallway.

  “Wait.” Lina jumped up and ran over to the bags. She pulled a suitcase off and dumped it out on the floor. Ben assumed his place behind the platform and waited for her to finish.

  “What are you doing?”

  “We need to be dressed appropriately. Hagus will be suspicious if we go up there dressed like the working class.” She started flinging clothes aside and holding up dresses in the light.

  “Shit, you’re right. Ben, here, take what’s on the luggage platform and go meet them.” He joined her in the pile of overturned clothing.

  “Very good, master.” Ben handed him a suitcase containing his normal clothes and headed down the corridor with the platform floating along beside him.

  Cylus and Lina got into the neo-enlightenment attire of their class and followed twenty-minutes later. They looked a bit ruffled, both used to artificial servants making sure everything was in place, but at least the smartfabric smoothed out its own wrinkles. In front of the solar door they stopped, took a deep breath, and with a final look at each other for reassurance, proceeded through.

  The solar was one of the smaller ones in the tower, just adjacent to the platform where his uncle and the baron-scion landed. At its center was a circular table of glass and steel. Three crescent shaped couches clustered around it. The walls were gray with a handful of shelves supporting a few small pieces of art and various other trinkets from dozens of worlds he had never seen on them. He looked around, partly because he hadn’t been in this room in nearly a decade, but mainly because he didn’t want to meet the eyes of those already sitting on the curved couches. The knowledge that he was in the same room with them brought the touch of the bartender’s fingers back to his neck. He coughed, trying to clear his throat of the shadows of pain rattling within.

  “The Baron Keltan, and his betrothed, Heiress Olivaar,” Ben announced.

  Baron-Scion Vargas was the first on his feet, the four-pointed star medallion over his chest glinted as wickedly as h
is beady dark eyes. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he regarded them. Hagus’ round bulk followed the scion to its feet. His purple and red silk suit looked almost plain by comparison to the scion’s intricately designed robes.

  “Baron Keltan, it is a pleasure to see you again,” Baron-Scion Vargas said when Hagus opened his mouth.

  The fat baron flushed and huffed like he was suffocating. “Good to see you my boy, good indeed. And how is my daughter?”

  “Well, father. Thank you,” Lina said in the nasal voice Cylus hated.

  Hagus’ eyes traveled from her hair to her feet and back again. “You changed your appearance.”

  “Do you like it, father?” She smiled sheepishly and touched her dangling curls.

  “You look—” he stopped, lips twitching, unable to come up with a proper adjective.

  Cylus remembered how Hagus and Helena treated Lina at their engagement dinner. Anger heated his blood, chasing the fear from it. He felt a strange boldness rise from within and take hold.

  “She looks radiant, doesn’t she?” He made his gravel-laden words a whip.

  Hagus jolted in surprise. He stammered for a moment before managing to eject words from his puffy mouth. “Yes. Yes, my boy. She does. Radiant, yes.”

  “Thank you.” Lina glanced at Cylus.

  “You’re welcome, my dear. It’s only natural for a father to compliment his daughter,” Hagus said.

  “Hagus, you’re an idiot. Your strumpet daughter was thanking Cylus, not you. Shall we sit?” Vargas rolled his eyes.

  Perhaps it was the heightened state of fear and anger flowing through his blood, or maybe it was a primal urge to protect Lina from these evil men that made Cylus speak again. Even as the words left his lips it felt strange that he was saying them at all. It was like some fleshrider was wearing his skin and moving his mouth.

  “No, not until I say so.”

  Both Vargas’ and Hagus’ eyes widened. The smug look on the scion’s face melted away.

  The burning in Cylus’ stomach flared up into a full-body tremble and he nearly collapsed in shock at himself. If Lina hadn’t chosen that moment to let her hand brush against his, he would have. He looked at her. The light in her blue eyes warmed and steadied him.

  “How dare you speak to a Scion of the Daewonist Temple like that!” Vargas flushed and shook.

  Lina seemed to know what he was thinking and nodded at him with a smile on her lips. He turned to Vargas, meeting the man’s eyes. The sharp gleam in them almost turned him away from his intentions, but he felt Lina shift her weight towards him, and once again he was strengthened by her presence. The knowledge of what he would do next sent waves of adrenaline pouring through his body.

  “I will speak to you however I please in my own house, Scion. This is Keltan Tower, not the Daewonist Temple.”

  Hagus’ eyes squinted. His face distorted and he slumped his mass away from the scion. Vargas’ reaction was the opposite. His eyes grew even wider, his nostrils flared, and his chest puffed out. When he spoke, his voice reverberated off of the walls around them.

  “We are your teachers, your lawyers, and your scientists. You call this your house, but it was by our hands that it was designed and constructed. You have no right to disrespect me like that! The Scions of the Daewonist Temple are the glue that holds this society together. Without us, your rule would crumble to dust!”

  The edge in the scion’s tone drove Cylus back within himself—but not completely. Just for a moment he had seen the man cawed by his voice. That, and Pasqualina’s confidence in him gave him weapons to fight back against the tide of self-doubt. He took a deep breath and clenched his fists.

  “Nonsense. You’re wasting my time with your gibberish. State what you came for or get out.” His gravel-laden voice was like the rumble of a wild beast.

  The scion jerked his head back as if struck. When he spoke again his voice was just above a whisper. “Cylus Keltan, last of your House, you are playing with a fire you cannot imagine.”

  “Don’t do this, Cylus. Even we barons must accommodate the Temple,” Hagus said.

  “Zalor doesn’t, does he?”

  “That’s different. Zalor is a special case,” his uncle said.

  Special. Sophi had told him something like that about himself once, too. The whole reason why he could be bait for Zalor rested on the fact that he, or more specifically his barony, held a special place in the Confederation. Maybe that was something he could use for his own purposes instead of those of Sophi, or Zalor, or anyone else. After all, the only real difference between them was that Zalor chose what he would and would not do. If he chose things for himself instead of looking to others, then maybe he could be like Zalor—No!—he corrected himself—he could be his own man. For the first time since his family’s murder he would be his own man. The realization wrapped around him like an impenetrable aegis. He felt the youthful confidence he once had rising out of a long dark slumber within him.

  “My wealth is second only to Zalor’s in the Confederation. If he doesn’t have to listen to you, neither do I. If this is all you came here to say, then get out.” Cylus gritted his teeth.

  “I came here to take you to the temple. I heard you were going home to Anilon. This is wholly unacceptable. You will—” Vargas began.

  “I will not,” he said.

  “Cylus, please—” Hagus said.

  “I am Baron Keltan. Address me properly.”

  Hagus stammered, his eyes looked about to fly from his head. “Baron Keltan, I beg you to listen to this Scion of the Matre. Go with us to the temple—”

  “No.”

  The sight of these two men, so easily stopped by his words alone, made him tingle all over. This was unlike anything he could imagine. It was him, Cylus Keltan, standing up to these men—not Praetor Graves, not Sophiathena Cronus—him. Lina was right, all he had to do was choose to act and he was powerful. He never felt so alive before.

  “Baron—” Vargas started.

  “The Baron said no,” Ben interjected.

  “Ben, show these men out.” For the first time Cylus was glad for the heavy growl in his throat.

  Hagus turned towards the door, a look of resignation on his face, but Scion Vargas charged around the circular table at Cylus. His expression was twisted by indignation. Ben stepped in between them with the speed born of his silicon tendons and his new combat programs. His presence forced Vargas to arrest his charge mere centimeters from the glaring automaton.

  “The door is behind you, Scion,” Ben said.

  “You won’t get away with this. Baron Revenant commanded you to go to the Temple. You remember what happened last time you disobeyed his command.” Vargas stepped around Ben, but made no move to advance past him.

  For a second, Cylus felt the icy fingers of Zalor’s bartender at his throat. His sides twitched with the memory of cracked ribs. In his mind he saw Zalor’s cadre of sycophants laughing at him while he covered himself with his own piss and vomit. His throat throbbed with the humiliation.

  “I see you do remember, good. I expect you both at the Temple first thing tomorrow morning. You have no choice,” Scion Vargas said.

  He trembled, on the verge of losing everything he gained. He could feel it slipping away as the bile rose from the depths of his stomach. In desperation he looked to Pasqualina. She held her head up high, meeting his eyes. She held his gaze and nodded at him.

  Though she transmitted no words, he heard her voice in his head. “There is always a choice.”

  He pulled himself up straight. He willed the tremors in his body to stop, and though it felt like he was being pressed into the floor by a sudden, violent gravity, he turned his gaze back to Vargas. He looked into the man’s dark eyes and saw they blazed with the fearsome zealotry of his beliefs.

  Time to put that fire out, a voice whispered in his mind.

  He took in a deep breath to steady himself and said, “I will not go.”

  This time it was the sci
on who trembled, but not from fear. The air leaving his mouth was full of spittle and sounded like the hiss of a broken com-line. His wild eyes darted back and forth between Cylus and Pasqualina. The gleam in them was like that of a knife.

  “I see now where your strength lies, boy. Perhaps it is her I will need to save from the Matre’s wrath before you will come to your senses.”

  “Hey—” Baron Olivaar said from the door, but a look from the scion silenced him.

  “Are you threatening Heiress Olivaar?” Ben asked.

  “If you do not come to the Temple, then what happened to you will pale by comparison to what we will do to her.”

  For a moment the words of Scion Vargas echoed in Cylus’ mind, then a sensation exploded within his chest like the ignition of a plasma turbine. The feeling of fear prickling his veins was replaced by a pounding in his ears. His feet were in motion before he knew where they were taking him. He felt his hands plunge forward, encounter resistance behind embroidered fabric over Vargas’ chest, and then they were extended in empty space before him. The scion fell back, jerked in mid air, and went down. A wet cracking sound brought Cylus back to his senses, and he found himself standing beside Ben, looking down at the scion’s body. Vargas was bent backwards over the solar’s steel table. His head lay deformed on its edge, and his arms were spread out, dangling the black and gold sleeves over either side. The chain holding the Daewonist’s four-pointed star was twisted around Vargas’ throat like a noose. His body spasmed and sent the medallion over the table’s edge. The chain jerked against his neck, and a viscous, deep-red fluid oozed down the golden links from the back of the man’s head.

  “What—what—what—” Hagus panted.

  Cylus felt his whole body go numb like it did when he jumped into the Das’jaa Sea. He was too paralyzed by shock to even tremble. Vargas’ eyes were still open, staring towards the door that, if he had just used it, would have saved him.