Tapping into a thousand years of astral navigation and the literally millions of cataloged star systems and their unique astral signatures, his algorithmic coding randomly assigned a third template, based on a random astral signature. This third key acted as an overlaid template, effectively locking both in place. Any attempt to break the code and use an encryption not specifically encoded with the astral signature key would immediately render the material useless, eaten away as the astral signature code overwrote the material with a million-plus astral signatures, leaving nothing but galactic noise for a would-be code breaker to view.
This type of encryption carried baggage, however.
The cubes required to carry the data were excessively expensive and difficult to produce, and the processing power needed to generate the astral template encoding required mainframes to which only governments and the largest interstellar corporations had access. It also meant that intercepted information always was destroyed and unrecoverable—as far as he was aware, his encryption had never been compromised—meaning an extra level of potential security compromises at the user end, as multiple copies of such information needed to be transferred through several channels to ensure that it arrived at the target.
“But some things require such resource allocation,” he whispered as the computer finished its task. He picked up the cube, moved to the other side of the room and placed it in an internal-office pouch, tagging it for shipment on the next outbound DropShip.
It was time for Operation Stormdrain to move into its secondary active phase.
10
Mountain Retreat
Paltos, Atreus
Marik-Stewart Commonwealth
20 December 3135
Anson Marik strode down the corridor as though marching to war, his bulk hammering his boots onto the flagstone flooring with enough force to shatter an entire stone if he stepped on a defective one.
Thrice-damned hiding.
He’d practically been barricaded inside his DropShip following the transfer within The Republic. For long months he’d been stuck in his berth with only his thoughts to keep him company—his thoughts, and the seemingly endless reports that clogged his data-pads.
Even upon landing on Atreus he was forced to wait until the darkest part of night had descended to make his escape, hopping a small propeller-driven death trap from Atreus City. He then had to endure an uncomfortable water landing on a deserted section of the Paltos continent; the only landing strip on the entire continent was potentially too hazardous, as someone might recognize him.
"Never mind that the crew of my DropShip has a higher population than this continent.” He knew the growled boast was an exaggeration, but not much of one.
He paced down the long hallway of the mountain retreat that had been in Marik hands for centuries. Of course, oftentimes entire generations died without ever setting foot in this place. He turned right, submitted to a handprint and retinal verification, passed through the door that opened in response to his identity and descended into the rock through a tight spiral staircase, trying to keep his shoulders from brushing against the cold, unfinished walls. “A damn sight smaller than I remember.” A wolfish smile lit his face as he recalled the last time he had been this way: forty years ago, a child following his parent to learn a secret.
Arriving at one final door, he impatiently waited for another retinal scan and handprint reading to verify his identity, then barged through the metal door like a mastiff angrily announcing its surly mood to anyone inside. When all that greeted him was the bald head and unfocused gaze of Jacoby, he growled his disappointment.
“My lord,” the aging man said without rising from his computer terminal.
“I see you already found my grandfather’s safe room.”
“Indeed, my lord. Indeed. Fascinating how the minerals and strata structure of the rock surrounding this region of the palace’s foundation defeated nearly every acoustic test we used in an attempt to locate the room.”
“You knew about this room?” Anson said, coming up short, forehead knotting dangerously.
Oblivious of Anson’s anger, the other man continued speaking, eyes pegged to his screen, sallow features washed into a pastelike hue by the electronic glow. “Indeed, my lord. I’m head of SAFE. Very little happens within the Commonwealth that I am not aware of, my lord. But I’ve never had the opportunity to actually be in this room, and it proved very difficult to find—and I knew what to look for. It is not simply that most of the room is built of natural materials, but the very strata of the rock bounces penetrating signals in a way that makes the room invisible to nearly all the usual means of locating such a safe room. Whichever of your ancestors built this place, they did so without leaving a trace. Superb. Simply superb.”
“They obviously left a trace,” Anson replied, the frustration of the past months finally finding an outlet at Jacoby’s apparent diffidence; not to mention that the man’s singular inability to recognize his liege’s mood spun Anson’s anger to a boiling point.
“Yes, indeed, but only to an eye trained to observe the inconsistencies.”
“Then have we not just handed our enemies the means to find me?”
“No, my lord,” the man responded. “It is not simply a matter of training, my lord. It requires intimate understanding and knowledge of our culture. It requires growing up in the Marik-Stewart Commonwealth, immersion in what it means to be a Marik and the Marik history and dynasty. All of that is also required to find this place.” The man finally glanced up from his screen, his apparently vacant eyes a little too knowing at that moment, effectively deflating Anson’s anger.
With an almost petulant stomp, Anson strode over to the room’s one large table, yanked out an absurdly small chair and heaved his tired frame onto the metal; the creaking strain sounded loud in the room, practically echoing from the plain rock walls. “What have we got?”
“I assume your trip went well, my lord.”
Anson waved a huge hand through the air. “No chitchat, Jacoby. I’m here, aren’t I? They dug a hole, lobbed in his body and we came home. I want to know the lowdown on the Elsies.”
The other man nodded perfunctorily, as though he were content with being released from the niceties of small talk. He began speaking in earnest as his eyes were drawn back to the screen. “Very good, my lord. We have additional troop movements. This time from Duke Vedet. He’s actually moved troops off Hesperus. “
“Duke Vedet!” Anson practically bellowed, still trying to find a vent for his remaining frustration. “Thrice-damned peasant. The man thinks he’s worthy of a throne, and Melissa seems to be giving him all the leash he needs to take it from her.”
“But will he hang himself, or turn on the handler?” He slapped the desk, the cool top soothing despite the sting. “Damn right. The Steiner wench may think she’s got the duke under control, but he’s likely to find a way around whatever trap she may set for him and dump her pretty ass at the foot of her precious Griffins, guarding a throne she’ll no longer control. He’s a peasant, but he’s crafty, eh, Jacoby?”
“Indeed, my lord.”
“We need to get a message to Snowlily. Looks like the time might be sooner rather than later. Nothing too direct, of course. Can’t go tipping my hand after all the thrice-damned effort I’ve gone through. But he needs to know.”
“Indeed, my lord.”
“What else we got?”
“It would seem that the Protectorate has taken the world of Park Place.”
“What!”
“Indeed, my liege. I have been unable to verify the information as yet, but a tramp freighter out of Park Place made specific mention of Protectorate troops landing on Park Place.”
Anson breathed deeply, the cool moisture of the room doing nothing to reduce his spiking anger. “And they’ve got four old men and a three-legged dog for defenders.”
“Indeed, my lord. If the Protectorate did invade, Lady Halas would not make the mistake of sending too few
forces.”
Anson tried to burn holes through Jacoby’s façade for the obvious veiled reference to last year’s debacle on Stewart, but once more failed to penetrate the old man’s aplomb. “Bitch.”
“Indeed, my lord. Finally, I’ve a report that Lady Halas made an unscheduled stop on the way to Terra.”
“What?” He hated using that word repeatedly around Jacoby, but he was so out of touch after the long trek back in hiding.
“It would seem that Lady Halas made a one-day stop at Asellus Australis.”
Anson tried to dredge up a mental star map. “Where?”
“Between our two borders, my lord.”
Anson closed his eyes momentarily, before a memory sparked. “Why is Lady Halas stopping off in the back end of nowhere?”
“I’m not sure, my lord, but it can’t be good.”
“Really?” Even as Anson once again tried to get a rise out of Jacoby, he recognized that his heavy sarcasm might not even be noticed—and surely would not be acknowledged. Damn it, Jacoby. You’re a hard man to work with, and impossible to retire if you become too much of a risk. You know too much . . . too many secrets. And of all those around me with secrets, you’ll have the means to reach from beyond any grave I might drop you in and destroy me.
“Indeed, my lord.”
Anson sighed, then leaned back in the chair until his vertebrae cracked, ignoring the ominous creaking of metal. What are you up to, Lady Halas? Several likely scenarios unfolded behind his closed eyelids, none of them particularly appealing. Especially with the imminent Elsie conflict. Another sigh shook his frame as he came to the only conclusion he could. Thrice-damned ol’ man. Gonna make me beg for this
one. He opened his eyes, tasting the sweat of anger on his upper lip as he spoke.
“I need to draft a holomessage for Lester.”
Near Zletovo, Lesnovo
Rim Commonality
The setting sun sliced through the thick air. A haze as light as Salur silk smelled of too-sweet fruit, freshly mowed grass and the damp flanks of a well-bred horse put through a solid fifteen-minute gallop across the lazy fields outside Zletovo.
Finally slowing her horse from the canter of the last five minutes to a walk, Elis Marik pulled off her hat, wiped away the sweat from her forehead using the back of her forearm, then plopped the hat back onto her mass of tangled hair.
“You really shouldn’t do that, Elis.”
Elis looked over to see Genevieve—wearing three times as much clothing as she was (including a corset!)—daintily sponging her brow with a silken handkerchief. Despite multiple uses during the nearly four hours on the horses that afternoon, the handkerchief managed to still be pristine white. How in the world . . . “You’ve got multiples of those hidden away, don’t you, Gen?”
“Genevieve. I’ve not been called Gen for a decade, cousin.”
Elis wrinkled her nose as though the horses were urinating again. “I told you, cousin, I’m not calling you that. That’s for a pampered princess waited on hand and foot. Not someone who can keep up with me during a fifteen-minute gallop.”
Gen wrinkled her own nose, her pale blue eyes set slightly too wide in a flattened face that commonly invoked words such as homely. “I believe I was allowing you to keep up.”
“Oh, really? I believe you almost got unseated.” Gen delicately sponged the rest of her face before tucking the cloth into a hidden fold of her riding dress, while she pulled herself up into an imperious position. “I blame Patina. She should’ve seen that rabbit.” She almost immediately broke character by leaning down and patting her horse’s flanks. “Ignore what I just said, Patina. It was really Elis’ fault,” she said in an exaggerated whisper.
They both shared a huge laugh as the sun dipped below the horizon and the world’s lapis-lazuli triple rings shone brilliantly in the darkening sky. As they both gazed upward to take in the sight, Elis couldn’t help surreptitiously taking in her cousin’s profile. I’m not sure how I can possibly have anything in common with you, Gen. But even after all these years and differences, you make me forget who I am . . . despite all your attempts to remind me of just that.
They shared a smile as they urged their horses forward once more at a walk. As they passed through a small screen of trees, Elis spied a stunning vista, a landscaped park stretching as far as the eye could see. The scents of the night-blooming plants mixed with the heady smells lingering from the warmth of the day created an olfactory feast almost too powerful to digest. Elis minutely shook her head at her own folly. She almost makes me forget . . . . Almost.
“Isn’t that the Royal Park?” Elis asked in an innocent tone of voice.
“Of course. Isn’t it magnificent?”
“It is. I’d love to go there.”
“Of course. We’ll go there next week, if you’d like—you can’t just stop by unannounced, you know. And now I believe Mother will have both our heads if we do not get back. We’ll already be close to an hour past full dark by the time we return. Brace yourself, Elis. Mother can be quite overbearing when I return late.”
They shared a smile before turning the horses around and trotting back toward their waiting trailer.
Time to remember who I am, Mother. Time to seize the initiative for myself.
11
Amur, Oriente
Oriente Protectorate
1 March 3136
The liquid flowed hot and smooth down Jessica’s throat, the resulting glow of warmth swimming from her stomach all the way to her extremities. “What a wonderful drink, my dear.”
“A Bautisiki,” Phillip responded from the other side of the veranda as he finished mixing a scotch on the rocks for Janos and a martini for Nikol.
“Whatever you call it, I’ll need to have another someday.”
“Not today?” Phillip asked, pulling a metal chair over to the round stone table. His eyes twinkled as they shared a moment.
“You know how I get, dearest.”
“Of course, of course.” He waved a placating hand.
“Mother.” Janos spoke up politely, his obvious discomfort at his parents’ playful banter almost comical. “You asked us here?”
Oh, Janos. She shook her head minutely as she took another, smaller sip. “Yes, dear. We will shortly be hosting a guest.”
“Yes?”
“Danai Liao-Centrella has sought an audience.”
“Really?” Nikol nearly squealed, the joy on her face transparent.
Careful there, my child. “Yes. Daoshen has sent his sister to discuss some . . . issues.”
“And what are these issues?” Janos responded calmly.
Jessica took a moment to look at the grounds of their family estate and embrace the unseasonably warm weather. You know you’re getting old when you take any opportunity to enjoy the sun.
“He wants to know why we haven’t struck at Zion,” Nikol volunteered.
Janos glanced at his little sister ( you’ll always think of her that way, even when she eclipses you, eh, Janos?)
as though wondering why she spoke up, then slowly nodded his head.
“Nicely done, Nikol,” Phillip praised her.
“Exactly, my dear,” Jessica said. “The chancellor is sending his sister in an effort to impress upon us the importance of our failures . . . or at least, I’m confident that will be her words from him.”
“What do you intend to do, Mother?”
“See what she has to say . . . and then ignore her.”
“Mother!” Janos responded, shock etched large on his face. “How can we not respond to a verbal agreement you yourself made with Chancellor Liao?”
“Oh, I’m not going to turn her out of the house, my dear. But I doubt she’ll come to the table with anything we want. This is an opportunity to further our goals. Daoshen has his hands full, and now is a good time for him to learn that we want more than crumbs from the table.”
“That is very dangerous, Mother. The Liaos are not known for forgetting . . . any
thing.”
“I know, my dear. But we must take risks, and now is the optimal time to do so.”
Her eldest nodded slowly, as though absorbing her words. But are you really absorbing them, Janos?
“What is my task when Danai arrives?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“You will not be here.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It has been too long since I toured the independent worlds that border the Protectorate. While you have visited some of these worlds, others have never seen your face. And those that have, have not done so for long years. I want you to embark on a goodwill tour.”
“Of course, Mother. Should I prepare to depart immediately?”
"Yes, my son. Your DropShip departs the day after tomorrow. I’ll meet with you tomorrow morning, but for now I’m sure you need to make your own preparations. “
“Of course, Mother.” Janos excused himself from the table with a proper bow and disappeared from the small garden into the interior of the chateau.
Jessica shared a knowing look with Phillip before taking another small sip of the wonderful drink, eyes measuring her youngest daughter’s reaction over the top of the crystal glass: as she took a sip of her own drink, Nikol had a pinched look that revealed her distaste at her older sibling’s easy acquiescence.
Perhaps you begin to see, Nikol, why I do what I do with you. Perhaps.
“And what is my task, Mother?” Nikol said after carefully placing her glass on the table.
“Also nothing.”
“What? Am I being sent off-world on some fool’s errand as well?”
The outrage on her face brought a gentle smile to Jessica’s face, particularly because it offered such contrast to Janos’ reaction.
“Now, Nikol,” Phillip began, clearly ready to take his daughter to task for taking a tone with her mother, but Jessica laid her hand on her husband’s arm to cut him off.
“No, you will stay here. But do you consider what I have Janos doing to be a fool’s errand?” Jessica carefully observed Nikol as her youngest’s eyes lost focus, her attention diverted elsewhere. When a new expression washed her features of its confusion, Jessica smiled in satisfaction.
Pandora's Gambit Page 10