The Lost Secret

by Vaughn Heppner

  “You’re right,’ Maddox said. “They did when we were there. Maybe they’ve changed their mind and are attempting to destroy nexuses near us like we did to the nexuses near the Swarm Imperium.”

  “That is an interesting idea, sir,” Galyan said.

  “Sorry to interrupt your little debate,” Keith said, “but we’re almost behind the nexus. I wonder if they’ll fire at the dampener field.”

  “I, too, am curious about that,” Galyan said. “And it was all right to interrupt us, Keith.”

  “I’m picking up strange readings, sir,” Andros said. “The readings are twenty kilometers from us—sir! Look!”

  The main screen changed from an extreme zoom of the giant warship to a swirling, whirlpool-like opening that had simply appeared in space twenty kilometers away.

  “A hyper-spatial tube entrance,” Meta whispered. “Half-Life did it.”

  “He did indeed,” Galyan said. “The question is, where does the tube go?”

  “You think Half-Life and Balron were lying about it going to the Library Planet?” Maddox asked.

  “It is a possibility,” Galyan said. “Or it could be that Half-Life does not really know what he is doing.”

  Once more, the deadly wattage of a laser accompanied the appearance of a giant beam. This time, the beam struck nine kilometers to one side of the nexus, just enough to miss the dampener field. Like the other two times, the laser light lasted for twenty seconds.

  “Despite the possibility of the tube going elsewhere,” Galyan said. “I suggest it is our best course. The tube will likely not remain open for long.”

  There was a flash of light on the bridge. Everyone looked up.

  “Half-Life,” Galyan said.

  “Why are you not heading for the tube?” Half-Life said. “It will close in less than two minutes.”

  “Does it go to the Library Planet System?” Galyan asked.

  “Affirmative,” Half-Life said.

  “How can we trust you?” Galyan asked.

  “Mr. Maker,” Maddox said. “Head for the tube entrance. We’re leaving this place.”

  “At once, sir,” Keith said.

  Maddox sat down and opened a slot on an armrest. He pulled a blaster from it and aimed it at Half-Life. “If you’re lying to us, you won’t survive your deception.”

  “You have such a violent and hostile view of life,” the construct said. “The professor warned me about you during the first test run. I have come to see that the professor was correct concerning you. Surely, though, you must realize I have a defensive system.”

  “Thanks,” Maddox said, as he clicked a switch.

  “Did you put your blaster on its highest setting?” Half-Life asked.

  “What do you think?” Maddox asked.

  The little construct bobbed up and down. “I am a hostage to Balron’s goodwill. He gave me the coordinates to the Library Planet System. If he lied, he lied to me as well as to you. I dearly hope Balron is as trustworthy as he indicated to me that he is.”

  “What?” Andros asked from his station.

  “We had better hurry, sir,” Galyan said. “If my calculations are correct, and I think they are, the giant warship will be firing again soon.”

  “Faster if you please, Mr. Maker,” Maddox said.

  “I’m on it, sir,” Keith said.

  Maddox grinned then. They were acting, doing something. For some reason—his gut, a hunch, maybe his expanded spirit—he believed Half-Life. They were going to get out of his hellhole star system. Where were the Severn part of the Sovereign Hierarchy of Leviathan? Maybe in time he’d find out. Did the Severn known about the Yon Soth? Did the moronic Yon Soth know about the Severn and S.H. Leviathan? Did either of them know about the Commonwealth of Planets?

  Victory neared the whirlpool-swirling hole in space, the beginning of a hyper-spatial tube. This one supposedly reached across seventeen hundred light-years. That would have taken massive amounts of energy and focusing.

  “There,” Andros said.

  A new laser beam slashed through the darkness, this one hitting the dampener field.

  “This is interesting,” Galyan said. “I would like time to record the effect.”

  “Sorry, mate,” Keith shouted. “It’s much too late for that.”

  Even as the lieutenant spoke, Starship Victory reached the opening of the hyper-spatial tube, plunging into the “tube” and flashing toward the exit who knew where.

  -45-

  Over seventeen hundred light-years away from the nexus with the half-kilometer holes in it, and several days earlier, Golden Ural piloted a shuttle from Artaxerxes Par’s star cruiser back to the Emperor’s star cruiser.

  Like the other Throne World military vessels in the Library Planet System’s Oort cloud, Artaxerxes Par’s star cruiser was triangular and brightly silver-colored. It boasted the latest weaponry purloined from the Commonwealth, an advanced disruptor cannon with heavy-metal components from the chthonian planet in the Alpha Centauri System. Like the Emperor’s ship, Par’s had an electromagnetic-field generator with similar heavy-metal components. Those metals allowed a greater surge of energy so the beams burned hotter and the shields held stronger.

  None of the six star cruisers used their shields. They had appeared in the Oort cloud a week ago, having delayed leaving the Throne World by an extra week. The flotilla had traveled unhurriedly to the nearest nexus, Strand supplying the coordinates to the Library Planet System’s Oort cloud. As precautionary insurance, the Emperor had insisted on a deep Oort cloud appearance. In real terms, that had meant 150,000 AUs from the dim star.

  For several days afterward, the six vessels had used their scanners, collecting data regarding the distant planets and the star. They had also searched for any anomalies, only finding one. It was a great derelict vessel five kilometers long. Strand had said he had no idea what the lost ship meant, as he’d never seen a vessel like that before.

  Ural wondered yet again if his cousin distrusted Strand. He was beginning to think so, and that was good.

  In any case, the flotilla had taken a star-drive jump, arriving at the Oort cloud’s inner edge, a mere 9,000 AUs from the system’s red dwarf star. They were the coolest of the main sequence stars and were by far the most common in the Milky Way Galaxy.

  The Library Planet was the second terrestrial planet from the dwarf star, an ice-coated Niflheim world. It boasted several moons, which according to Strand pulled at the world with their gravity. The stresses caused movement within the planet that created interior heat, which allowed a wet ocean to exist under the bitterly cold ice.

  The derelict vessel orbited the third planet, a small Mars-sized world of nickel-iron. Strand had declared it derelict after observing its many hull breaches, and unable to detect any energy signatures from it.

  Ural wasn’t interested in any of that, however. He needed to ingest what he’d learned on Artaxerxes Par’s star cruiser. “Here, take over for me,” he said.

  Servant Franco rose from the sensor board. He wore a brown uniform with Ural’s golden tabs on the shoulders, signifying his owner. The preman had lost weight, and there were dark circles around his eyes. The punishments needed to render Franco more useful had nearly broken the ex-Star Watch officer’s spirit.

  Ural had imposed the further punishments after the face cuffs due to Franco’s criminal drunkenness. The preman had resented the warning strikes, acting up. Wanting to take him on the voyage, Ural had instituted a quick obedience training session. The stubborn preman had resisted, meaning Ural had continued the obedience training during the voyage. There was a spark of spirit left, but Franco had eventually learned to obey quickly and quietly. The combined effects were telling on him, however.

  To ensure continued obedience, the preman wore a shock collar. The control to it was at the bottom of Ural’s ring, a heavy gold one he wore so the clicker was always at hand. It was one of the reasons he trusted the preman to pilot the shuttle. Another reason was that a psych
ological test that had shown Franco was not suicidal, but yearned to continue his existence and would thus obey until a catastrophic event occurred. Then, Franco might reassess.

  Ural went to the shuttle’s weapons board, sitting on the swivel seat. He did not turn to the weapons panel, as he had no interest in that. He’d chosen the spot to keep an eye on Franco and yet be out of the preman’s line-of-sight.

  Ural reached into an interior pocket of his jacket, pulling out a small leather-bound notebook. The leather was old and stiff, but even after three decades of use, it hadn’t cracked. He considered the notebook as one of his prized possessions due to what he’d written down in it over the years. He opened it, paging through reams of notes and crossed-off lists of names. All the names were those of Throne World dominants and superiors: those suspected of murder, or having a desire to see his brother Oran slain like a traitor. Oran’s murder had taken place over three decades ago, when Captain Maddox’s mother and Oran’s wife, the pregnant Sandra O’Hara, had made her escape from the birthing facility.

  Ural had as a matter of course lied to Trahey when asked if he had any leads concerning Oran’s murderers. Even after all these years, Ural continued the investigation, but doing it covertly, as a master hunter tracking the most elusive of prey.

  Ural reached the back pages, his gaze going halfway down to the uncrossed name of ARTAXERXES PAR. Under it, slightly indented, were three other names: ARMAN, JAVED KIR and SHAHIN DAN. They were highly ranked individuals, each of them belonging to Artaxerxes Par’s household, having been with the dominant at the time of Oran’s killing. There was an asterisk at the end of Javed Kir’s name.

  Several years ago, Javed Kir had shown remorse for an unknown incident that had occurred long ago. He’d gone mad for a time, slaying his harem and murdering their offspring. When asked why he’d done it, he’d said, “To pay for a terrible sin.” Something had happened afterward, ending the official inquiry. The next day, Javed Kir claimed to have ingested poisoned meat that had driven him insane for a time. But he felt better now, thank you so much, he’d claimed. The deception—Ural believed the poisoned-meat explanation had been a deception—had officially worked. And to this day, Javed Kir had remained mentally stable, although he no longer held as high a status in Artaxerxes Par’s household.

  Ural had long suspected Artaxerxes of envying his brother, but the dominant’s close association with the Emperor had made the idea of him being one of the direct assassins ludicrous.

  A day ago, Ural had volunteered to check on the ship’s morale. Someone from the flagship needed to, and Trahey had agreed to Ural’s offer. Going had also shown others that Ural still had the Emperor’s confidence.

  Ural underlined Javed Kir’s name. He’d stared into the sub-dominant’s eyes earlier today and had seen fear and something else in them. He would have questioned the sub-dominant, but hadn’t been able to maneuver a situation where they had been alone. Ural suspected Artaxerxes’ hand in that.

  With the pen, Ural crossed out the names: ARMAN and SHAHIN DAN. From talking with them and from hints throughout the year, Ural had concluded they had nothing to do with the killing or knew anything that might help him uncover Oran’s murders.

  Ural sat back, thinking about Javed Kir. Had the man aided Artaxerxes Par that day? Oran had been helping his wife escape the birthing facility and Throne World.

  Ural had told Maddox a story about the event at the end of the Battle of Gomez System when they’d destroyed the combined Lord Drakos-led renegade Throne World fleet and the hybrid Swarm fleet of Commander Thrax Ti Ix. Most of the story he’d told Maddox had been a quick invention.

  There hadn’t been seven superiors trying to stop Oran. Ural had told Maddox his father had gunned down the seven, while others had run up and slain him in the end.

  It would have been a simple matter of finding the slayers if it had happened that way. Ural had told Maddox that to honor his father’s memory. No. The truth had been different.

  Oran had whisked his wife away from the birthing facility, although no one at the time had realized Sandra O’Hara had been his wife. Oran had palmed her off as the first of his harem. Harems were Throne World norms. Wives were definitely out, as dominants and superiors viewed premen women as beneath their exalted status as golden-skinned supermen. That had been the early years, when the Throne World supermen had developed harsher views. Over three decades later, some of that thinking had softened…a little, at least.

  Sandra had already left the Throne World on a fast scout ship, piloting it herself. Oran had gone to a secret rendezvous on an island in the Western Ocean. As far as Ural could tell, Oran had been involved in a conspiracy to cast Methuselah Man Strand from power. Instead of meeting his fellow collaborators, Oran had run into a murder squad. Strand had always claimed he knew nothing about the hit. In fact, the Methuselah Man had supposedly gone to great lengths to find the killers, and he, too, had failed.

  Years later, after Trahey had become the Emperor, Ural had joined the new Intelligence Bureau known then as the Nation’s Security Service (NSS). Ural had climbed the ranks until he became the Director. He’d used his NSS contacts to try to discover more. The fact that he’d been unable to find anything had told him much: that the killers were well-connected, powerful and extra cunning even for dominants and superiors.

  There had been nothing to add to years of research…until today. The fear and—might it have been remorse?—had been plain in Javed Kir’s eyes. Would the sub-dominant now run to Artaxerxes for help and tell his master that Golden Ural had eyed him closely?

  A feral grin appeared. Ural hoped Javed did just that. Powerful Artaxerxes Par had never liked him. This might be the reason why. There was one caveat to all this, however. Artaxerxes Par had always been a good friend to the Emperor. If Artaxerxes was guilty of murdering Oran…did the Emperor know about it?

  Ural closed the notebook and caught a side-glance from Franco. The preman jerked his head away, focusing once more on the shuttle’s flight path.

  For a second, Ural was on the verge of pressing the punishment button. Then a suspicion arose. What would give the preman such boldness as to spy on his master? Might—not Trahey, but Strand—have secretly spoken to Franco and given the preman special instructions? No…it wouldn’t have happened like that. Strand would have hypnotized Franco so the preman wouldn’t even realize why he did what he did.

  A shiver of a strange emotion coursed through Ural. He felt it, but couldn’t name the emotion. It was odd, sickly—Fear, he told himself. That had been a shiver of fear. Whom did he fear? Strand, of course. That was obvious now that he analyzed things. Strand must have the Emperor’s ear, and if the Emperor had aided Oran’s murderers in any way over three decades ago—

  The feral grin disappeared. Except for a few NSS personnel, he was alone out here in the flotilla. All his allies were back on the Throne World. Trahey or Strand through Trahey must have seen to that.

  Ural barked a savage laugh. He was alone—except for a handful of Intelligence people and perhaps Trahey was trying to suborn them—but he had his wits and his strength. After the Emperor, many considered him the strongest and toughest of the Throne World dominants.

  Maybe I’m stronger than Trahey. He has lorded it over us for too long and has become…softer.

  Was that why Trahey had freed Strand? Did the Emperor need the Methuselah Man’s help against his cousin?

  Ural shook his head. That was a fanciful conceit. Trahey was dangerous and deadly to any who challenged him. The practice duel back on the Throne World had shown that.

  Ural took a deep breath, closing the notebook and stashing it back in his jacket. Through the polarized window, he saw the Emperor’s Star Cruiser Shapur. It was twice the size of other cruisers, considered the deadliest warship of the Throne World.

  Soon, now, they would head in-system to the Library Planet. If Strand were going to attempt one of his legendary tricks, it would surely be there on the planet.

/>   Ural looked up at the ceiling, thinking about Javed Kir, Artaxerxes Par, Methuselah Man Strand and Emperor Trahey—and Venna. The damned succubus of a beauty had tried to catch his attention several times in the ship corridors. So far, he’d eluded her and defeated her ploys. Ural swallowed, realizing he might not want to avoid her any longer. To strip off her clothes, to demand she love him…it was beginning to prey upon his thoughts far too often. He needed a way to protect himself from her allure. Otherwise, Strand’s cunning would defeat him through her.

  The problem was, if he could have Venna—“No,” Ural hissed quietly. “Use your wits, or you’re a dead man.”

  He vowed yet again to do just that. Avoid Venna…until he’d achieved everything else he desired.

  -46-

  For the next few days, Ural avoided Venna, the Emperor and his Methuselah Man pet, Strand. He exercised in the officer’s gym and volunteered for bridge duty, acting as the Sensor Chief.

  They were getting ready to make the star-drive jump to the derelict vessel at the third planet. No one had detected any automatic defenses of any nature, neither out in the star system, planetary or ship-based. There were no nexuses or other visible Builder relics.

  Finally, the Emperor called a briefing. Ural learned about it at the last minute and in an unusual manner.

  “Here,” Franco said sullenly. “This came for you while you slept.”

  Ural sat on the edge of his cot in his quarters, having just woken. It was a small room with a floor mat at the foot of the cot for Franco. The larger quarters had two other attached rooms.

  Ural eyed the preman holding out an envelope. “You didn’t think to wake me when it arrived?”

  Franco looked down and shuffled his feet.

  “Do you see the Emperor’s seal?”

  “I didn’t open it,” Franco said hastily. “The seal is whole, untouched.”

  Was the preman pretending to have become stupid? Or was something else at play? Several times during the journey, Ural had debated killing the preman so he could sleep more easily. In the end, he’d always decided against it. It was better to sleep alert like a barbarian or wild beast, ready to jump up and fight for his life. Distrusting Franco helped him maintain that keen edge.