Pandora's Gambit

by Randall N Bills

Padaron, Tamarind

  Duchy of Tamarind-Abbey

  “Hot damn!”

  Christopher’s yell tore away in the torrent of icy wind as he went over the final big jump. Despite his best efforts, the line of his attack and speed— combined with the size of the drop-off on the backside—pulled him out of his crouch. Sensing his balance starting to shift, he broke his arms from their iron-hard arrowhead position and windmilled his right arm slightly before slamming back into the hard-packed snow.

  Though he tried to soften the impact by bending his knees, it still jarred him to the bone, and his helmet smacked his knee hard enough to send a brief white flash of pain spiking from his leg to his brain. Managing to keep his descent under control despite the pain, Christopher pulled his arms back, by sheer force of will, into their arrowhead form. He crouched down until his gloves almost obscured his vision, hunkering down behind the windbreak of his arms and sawing through the last two turns until he hit the final stretch; then he buried his head, sacrificing sight and relying on his knowledge of the course because every thousandth of a second counted—and prayed and cursed for just one more ounce of force to bring him down off the mountain first. . . .

  He shot past the finish line to the roar of the crowd. Quickly pulling out of the crouch, he put his weight onto the edge of both skis and leaned into the stop as he attempted to bleed off the excess velocity before smashing into the barricade like in last week’s training run. Dropping the poles to dangle on their straps at his wrists, he immediately pulled his goggles away to get a better look at the timing board. As he came to an abrupt halt, even the crowd appeared to hold its breath as the scoring board seemed to take extra long to update. Now starting to shiver from the aftereffects of the blow to his knee and the adrenaline rush now cresting and beginning to ebb, he tried to breathe while he waited, his lungs pulling in frigid air that didn’t seem to improve his light-headedness.

  The applause exploded before his brain registered the digital scoreboard. First place by .002. “Unity!” he yelled, raising arms that no longer ached, his heart hammering double-time at the new surge of energy. “Hot damn. Yeah!” As he pumped his fists in the air and two of the good friends he’d made on this tour tackled him to the ground, a new sound rose from the crowd.

  “Hellion Hughes. Hellion Hughes. Hellion Hughes.” The thundering chant hammered at Christopher’s senses as he struggled to his feet against Joshua thumping him on the back and Kiri throwing snow in his face. A warmth sparked in his stomach and slowly flowed out to every part of his body. A curse turned to a cheer. You’ll appreciate that, Mother.

  “Christopher Hughes,” a woman began, pushing her microphone into his face as a camera crew worked their magic from behind. “I’m Aleisha Sulivan from TNN. For a moment there, it looked like you’d lost it.”

  Still strung out on the adrenaline of his win, Christopher didn’t even mind that she got his name wrong. “Just about,” he began, then paused to swallow and gasp another breath. “But I managed to keep it together and pull out a win.” He raised his arms again, pumping them to a new, enthusiastic round of chants from the gathered crowd. I’ve won them over. His smile grew even larger.

  “It seems you’ve won over the crowd.”

  “Just gave them a great show. That’s what they want. And that’s what I did today.”

  “How does it feel to have what was obviously a derogatory name turned into a chant for a winner? I’ve already heard rumors that Gienah Sports has approached you about a line of ‘Hellion Hughes’ hoverboards. Is there any truth to that?”

  He kept his smile on, despite his shock. How the hell do you know that? “Seems you’ve got sources I don’t. But if Gienah wants to slap Hellion Hughes on a new line of hoverboards, I’m all ears.” There. Avoid the question and toss Gienah a boost in their market they can’t ignore. Can the day get any better?

  “In addition to the other prizes you win, you’ll be meeting personally with Duke Fontaine Marik. Are you looking forward to that?”

  The reminder of his mission dampened his elation for a moment, but he still kept his smile on. I’m learning! “I’m looking forward to meeting Duke Marik. And my mother, Jessica Marik, captain-general of the Oriente Protectorate, asked that if I had this chance I should pass along her warmest greetings.” Among other things. Figuring the safest approach on that challenge is going to be as tough as any mountain I’ve tackled. I just wish she hadn’t felt the need to pass her instructions through Charles, that officious prick.

  He bent down and patted his knee, then stood up and slipped his arm over Kiri’s shoulder. He was looking forward to the evening with her—another few hours without spending his brain power on his mother’s task. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I believe I better go see what my chin did to my knee if I ever want to ski again,” he finished with a forced laugh.

  He waved into the camera and threw one last arm pump to the crowd—their thunderous response only slightly alleviating his darkening mood—then hobbled (only slightly exaggerated) toward the waiting medic van.

  When will you learn to trust me, Mother?

  14

  Amur, Oriente

  Oriente Protectorate

  16 June 3136

  Nikol lounged in the too-much-lumbar-support chair in the darkened room, the multihued glow of the holoprojector like a warm blanket. She was still counting down the time until Danai returned; at the moment her DropShip was riding a tail of fusion flame away from the JumpShip holding at the zenith jump point above the elliptical plain of the Oriente system’s star, on her way to Oriente.

  Danai Liao-Centrella. Are you an enemy now? Still a friend? She heaved a sigh as she lazily touched a control on the chair and focused the view from the thousand-light-year swath of the entire human-occupied space of the Inner Sphere down to the remnants of House Marik and the shattered Free Worlds League. Duchy of Tamarind-Abbey. Rim Collection. Duchy of Andurien. Regulan Fiefs. Marik-Stewart Commonwealth. And of course, Oriente Protectorate.The remains of the once-proud Free Worlds League and all those independent worlds in between. She once again brushed the controls and tightened the focus even more, only showing the border between Danai’s Capellan Confederation and her own Oriente Protectorate. Regardless of what you are, Danai, you’re two days away. What did you bring us back from Sian?

  “A gift.”

  The voice shocked Nikol, causing her to jolt forward and scramble up out of the heavily reclined seat as she spun toward the sound. “Who’s there?” Heart pounding, she raised a hand to shield her eyes against the glare from the overhead holoprojection. She could only make out the silhouette of someone standing just inside the doorway to the astrocartography room. For one wild moment she thought Danai had already arrived, but then common sense kicked in, and she recognized that it had been a male voice. Her breathing hitched with the surge of adrenaline—and the fact that the words spoken had so neatly completed her thoughts. How could someone walk in without me hearing? So much for my warrior instincts.

  The man slowly moved down through the three tiers of seating wrapping the room in concentric bands. “I said, what a beautiful gift. To find all of this here.”

  The man’s voice and posture made Nikol think the speaker was someone older than she, and her skin prickled with the notion that she knew this person. And she caught on right away to the insinuating tone, like every word had some sort of double meaning. “Uh. Sure.” Brilliant repartee, Nikol. Who are you?

  “House Liao and House Marik. Ah, have we ever had peace between our realms?”

  The man stopped just far enough away that Nikol still couldn’t get a good look at his face.

  It was eerie how his statements seemed to echo what she had just been thinking. But when she considered her friendship with Danai—a relationship that continued to deepen despite the fact that they should be mortal enemies—she sniffed. “Perhaps we simply haven’t given it enough of a try.”

  He lifted his left arm into the projection of the Inner Sphe
re, sweeping it along the border of the Capellan Confederation, curving down the length of the Oriente Protectorate and then brushing the adjoining border with the Duchy of Andurien. Her skin prickled again; the way the man moved his hand abruptly forced her to see the border in a new light. It’s shaped like a woman’s hip, and he definitely just stroked it. Her stomach couldn’t make up its mind whether to be nervous or nauseated. Pretty bold, to be talking to a Marik this way. Who is this guy?

  “I believe, Nikol, you will find that some things, no matter how hard we try to avoid them, are inevitable. For almost a millennium we have tried to get along, the Mariks and Liaos. But not even the Star League could completely discourage our natural animosity. Yes, some things are simply . . . meant to be.”

  She heard the double entendre again, but without knowing who was speaking she couldn’t figure out his underlying message. Well, if he won’t let me see his face, there’s no way to avoid asking the question. “I’m sorry, but have we met? Your voice is familiar.”

  “But of course we have, Nikol.” He took two steps closer, finally allowing the ambient light from above to illuminate his face.

  Frederick Marik. Nikol sucked in a deep breath and her stomach lurched as a dozen scenarios, all of them bad, exploded simultaneously in her brain. Oh no. No, no, no.

  “I’m so pleased to see you again, Nikol. Your mother told me where to find you, but I never expected to discover a scene of such beauty,” he finished, eyes lingering just too long on her face before shifting back to the projection.

  She could practically feel the oil in the man’s voice sticking to her skin. Mother, how could you send him to me?

  The older man smiled as he returned his gaze to her, too-perfect teeth gleaming; his gray eyes shining with a knowing look that she could see despite the darkness. Sudden dread at what her mother might have planned stabbed through her like a spear, anchoring her to the floor. “Lord Marik. Wha . . . what a surprise to see you here on Oriente.” She despised herself for the quaver in her voice. He came a step closer, a subtle movement of his arms creating the impression that he intended to embrace her; she somehow managed to keep from shrinking away from him.

  “Your mother did invite me to visit when we met on Terra.” The man’s tone spoke volumes about Nikol’s failure to hide what she was feeling.

  “Of course, Lord Marik. I’m just surprised you were able to act so quickly on the invitation.” Get a grip, Nikol. There’s no reason to fear this man. And Mother surely can’t mean to throw away all the effort she’s spent on whipping me into shape by marrying me off to a minor noble—even a Marik. She ignored her inner voice, which was whispering that marriage was a very common and well-respected method for accomplishing the same goals. . . .

  “So quickly?” The other man chuckled. “It has been almost a year since I saw you last. And please, Nikol, call me Frederick. Lord Marik is my older brother. Paladins like their titles.” He looked away for a moment, then continued. “And Thaddeus was a paladin from the day he was born.”

  Nikol latched on to the offhand remark. Sibling rivalry, huh? You’re twice my age and you still envy your older brother? I can so relate. It made her want to give him a small victory. “Frederick, then.” The man’s answering smile practically engulfed the lower half of his face. I’d fall in if I was standing any closer. Then again, that’s exactly what you want.

  “That wasn’t so hard, now, was it, Nikol?”

  She already regretted her momentary lapse into sympathy, but shrugged as though it was of no import and tried to change the subject. “I’m a little surprised you spent the time to visit us. We’re not even real cousins.”

  The man painted a look of shock on his weathered features and grabbed at his chest. “We aren’t? Say it isn’t so!”

  His antics encouraged her to follow up her potentially rude comment. “In fact, since you’ve taken the trouble to leave The Republic to visit cousins, there must be other families who would welcome you with open arms.” How’s that for a subtle dig?

  He clicked his tongue as if he were dismayed, but moved a step closer. Like a shark testing the currents closer to his prey. Her sudden boldness began to slip away.

  “Nikol, Nikol,” he began, voice lowered in a conspiratorial whisper. “You have to remember that though I may have Marik blood in my veins, my mother fled the Free Worlds League. Alys’ progeny would not receive a fond welcome in either the Marik-Stewart Commonwealth or the Regulan Fiefs, I’m afraid.”

  “But what of Duke Fontaine?” she shot back.

  Frederick actually seemed to contemplate his answer before responding. “While I’m sure there’s no love lost there, I believe I wouldn’t need to worry about a nasty critter in my bed.”

  “Do you consider Anson or Lester that dangerous?”

  “Don’t you?”

  Nikol nodded her head slowly. “Touché.” He took another step closer and she steeled herself to hold her ground.

  “I wonder if you would join me for dinner tonight. Your mother informs me that you are free this evening.”

  Damn it, Mother! She smiled as graciously as she could, knowing there was no graceful exit. At least for this evening. “I may be available this evening, but only if I finish my work here. If you’ll excuse me?”

  The man smiled knowingly. “Of course, Nikol. We can finish our fascinating conversation about history, borders and blood over dinner.” In a single motion he was standing beside her and had captured her hand. The warmth of his breath as his lips caressed the back of her hand made her gulp before she pulled away.

  “Until tonight, then.”

  “I will be at your anteroom at seven o’clock sharp.”

  With that he departed, and she managed to keep herself ramrod straight until Frederick softly shut the door; then she almost collapsed before she reached her chair. Breathing rapidly, she stared at the back of her dimly lit hand as though it were a most vile betrayer. She’d actually responded.

  Mother on my case, Danai returning and now this! She flopped back, wondering why her mother didn’t just pick her up and throw her bodily into Frederick Marik’s bed. Now I don’t know if she’s grooming me for the throne or the bedroom!

  Desperate giggles bubbled up, and she didn’t know how to stop them.

  Regulus City

  Chebbin, Regulus

  Regulan Fiefs

  “Do you think I should cut my hair, love?”

  Lester looked up from the document he was reading. He sat on the veranda in the cool morning air, the early light a halo for the vision of beauty flouncing her shoulder-length blond hair.

  He smiled, wrinkles creasing around his eyes and mouth as he laid the document on the small wooden table, knowing he wouldn’t get back to reading it any time soon. Then again, it was his third time through it. “You know the rules, dear. I never get to comment on your hair.”

  Her eyes shone playfully. “Ah, men. You never seem to remember things very precisely. As I recall it, on our second date you agreed never to tell me what I could do with my hair after I’d cut off ten centimeters just to see your reaction.”

  “I believe the word you used was priceless.”

  “Oh, it was priceless. But then I forbade you to ever tell me to do anything again in that tone of voice or I was walking away.”

  He smiled wider, memories of those moments from decades ago effusing the relaxed morning with loving comfort, momentarily taking the edge off the news in the report. “You’re right, love.”

  “I know I’m right.”

  He cocked his head slightly, trying to draw out specifics from the dim, warm memories. “Then, if I remember correctly, I suggested a compromise; that I would never tell you what to do with your hair.”

  She moved to the table, smoothly pulled out a chair and sat. “A compromise. Yes, dear. That’s exactly what it was.”

  They shared another smile. “Why do I get the feeling this is going somewhere?”

  “Because it is, love.”

/>   “And that is?”

  “That when we take a holiday, we take a holiday. After all, this is just one day. One day after you’ve been gone for months. One day in which I would like my husband to not peer intently at an ugly piece of wood pulp so early in the morning, when there are more beautiful things to look at.”

  She swept her arm out to the view over the landscaped park beyond the railing, yet still managed to fluff her hair again.

  His smile dissolved into laughter. “You’re right, my love, and I do apologize.”

  She immediately stood. “Good. We’ve got a full day of horseback riding and then—”

  He held up his hand. “Emlia.”

  She trailed off at the tone of his voice, some of the joy leaving her eyes as she slowly sat back down. “This cannot wait.”

  “No.”

  She sniffed. “It could if you would let it.”

  He realized the rest of the day might just be ruined for his wife, even if they never talked work again. In her opinion, any work on one of their too-infrequent getaways was too much. He laid his hand on the table and tapped the paper. She needed to hear this. Needed to think about it in the coming days in order to help him formulate a proper response. But it would eat at the back of her mind and ruin the day. Unless . . . he gave her something else to think about. He took a deep breath, knowing she deserved it after the many months apart and then the frantic work over the past few weeks in the Palace of Mirrors to break up the support bloc Governor Eislan had forged in his absence, returning to his quarters after midnight night after night and collapsing with exhaustion. He couldn’t imagine to what extent the man might have gathered power without Emlia’s efforts behind the scenes. She more than deserves it.

  “I know we are still two weeks away, my dear. But . . .” He took a moment to take a drink of tea to fortify himself. “It can be this evening.” He took another sip. “All evening.”

  Despite the sudden sweat on his brow, the look of appreciation on her face warmed him to the core. For the first time in years, she almost spoke before she raised a hand to her beautiful lips to keep back the words. She looked away as her face colored, and Lester drank in her gratitude, a palliative to his uncontrollable revulsion. He reached out and touched her sleeve.