Tracy moved through the rest of building. In the security office he found a nearly full coffee cup and a half-eaten funnel cake. Powdered sugar was strewn across the desk as if the diner had dropped the pastry. He clicked through the camera feeds. The entire facility was deserted. A plan began to form. Typing quickly, Tracy erased his entrance into the building and his movements thereafter. He then set the cameras on a loop and headed back downstairs.
He found the correct aisle, grabbed up a soft leather pouch and swept the pile of Phantasm gems into it and stuffed the pouch inside his shirt. The leather was soft against his skin, the gems hard and sharp. It wasn’t theft. Not really. They were aliens. They were gone. If he didn’t take them someone else would. Once the workers realized that the Cara’ot warehouse was empty and unlocked there would be a looting frenzy.
The justifications continued to tumble through his head as Tracy’s gaze darted around considering what else to take. He had always wanted a knife like the one he had bought for Mercedes that first Christmas, now so long ago. He found the area and snatched up one of the morphing boot knives. He thrust it into his waistband. What else? What else. Don’t get greedy, he admonished himself. He turned away then on an impulse he snatched up an exquisite rapier. The hilt was a work of art of twining colors—bronze, silver and gold. A single Phantasm gem glittered on the top. Tracy wrapped it in the discarded clean suit and slipped out of the building. He thought about closing the door, but decided he wanted his DNA mixed with as many other humans as possible. He left the door standing wide open.
Dodging dock workers, he quickly made his way to the boulevard and caught a passing tram. On a tram you were anonymous. Cabs kept records. Better that no one know he had been at the spaceport. He felt a flare of contrition. There was something off about the way the Cara’ot had decamped. He should probably tell someone. A moment’s reflection and his attitude changed. Fuck ’em, he decided, the powers-that-be had thrown him away. He wasn’t going to do them any favors.
31
SO WILL YOU BE JUDGED
It wasn’t often that Kemel DeLonge emerged from SEGU headquarters, but now he was standing in Mercedes’ office. The fact he hadn’t just Scooped her was a very bad sign. As usual his expression gave away nothing. His physical presence said it all.
The years had not been kind to the head of imperial intelligence. The wiry hair had gone steel grey and gouges framed his mouth. For such a spare man he had lush lips. Mercedes wondered whom he kissed. She didn’t recall meeting a wife or husband at any of the palace social events. Not that DeLonge attended many. Perhaps he kept all of his passion for secrets and for ferreting them out.
DeLonge was not alone. Rohan had accompanied him. It seemed an odd pairing—secrets and money. Upon reflection Mercedes decided maybe it wasn’t all that odd.
“Kemel, Rohan, welcome.” She indicated chairs.
“You won’t say that once you hear my news,” the man said as he folded his long frame into the chair.
Mercedes moved to the bar. “Drink? You look like you need one.”
“We all do,” Rohan said. “You should get one for yourself too.”
She spun away from the cabinet. “Okay, now I am worried. And if something really serious has happened, why are you in my office and not my father’s?”
“Because we wanted to discuss with you how we best present this information. You know how your dad can be,” Rohan said.
Kemel spoke up. “I don’t want to have him overreact, but something…” his voice trailed away.
Mercedes splashed brandy into two snifters and carried them to the men. Watching the way the abstemious SEGU chief grabbed the glass like a drowning man on a bit of flotsam added to her disquiet. She returned for a glass for herself, perched on the edge of her desk and took a sip. The liquor exploded on the back of her tongue and left a trail of fire down her throat and into her gut. “All right. I’m fortified. What’s happened or is about to happen?”
“You understand we can only monitor so much. Too many worlds. Too many people. Too many cameras. We try to liaise with local law enforcement to give us heads-up about potential problems, but…” Kemel’s voice trailed away.
“Okay, I’m getting the idea that you missed something.”
Before the SEGU chief could answer, Rohan sipped his brandy and gave the snifter a respectful glance. “Hmmm, very good. Kronos?” he asked, suggesting the source.
“Yes, a new vintner. Branching out from just wine,” Mercedes replied.
“Well, very nice. I must make a note of the label.” He snapped a picture with his ring. Kemel shifted in his chair. For this man it was a sign of great irritation. Rohan cleared his throat. “Yes well, going on. Naturally we pay more attention to alien comings and goings,” Rohan said.
“Naturally.” Mercedes decided to match the men’s laconic tones.
“Flight control at all spaceports and space stations monitor alien ships,” Kemel added.
“And I’m assuming the Cara’ot come in for the most scrutiny?” Mercedes suggested. Kemel nodded. “So what have they done? Up-armored the ships? Mounted missiles?” She kept her tone light.
The man looked up from his study of the amber liquid that swirled and coated the sides of the glass. He had yet to take a sip. “They’ve vanished.” He then drained all the brandy in one long gulp.
Mercedes shot off the desk. “What?” Her voice had gone shrill and unrecognizable to herself.
“Scheduled landings never occurred. The ships that were dirt side requested early launches. We didn’t see the pattern until the early hours of this morning. I wanted to be sure so we waited to verify. No need to alarm the crown if it was just an anomaly or delays in reporting. But it’s the same story everywhere. The Cara’ot ships are gone. More than that, the shops and warehouses have been abandoned. Looting has already started, but best we can tell the Cara’ot took nothing when they left. I came immediately, but with time dilation and distance…” He shrugged.
“Oh God.” Mercedes sank back onto the desk. “Is this the beginning of a new war?” The men seemed to understand it wasn’t a real question, just her speaking her fear aloud. They stayed silent. She lunged to her feet. “We need to alert the fleet. Put the sentry platforms on high alert. And we need to tell the Emperor. Why didn’t you go to him first?”
“Because I wanted to know if you might have some insight into this,” Kemel said bluntly.
“Me? Why would I—” The look he gave her backed the words into her throat, almost choking her. “Because I had you monitoring that court-martial.”
“Exactly.” He drew out the word. “SEGU dealt with many of the parties who were privy to the events on Dragonfly.”
“You met the young man in my office and failed to… convince him,” Rohan added.
“And…” Kemel gave her a lowering look from beneath frowning eyebrows. “You met with the Cara’ot batBEM who served that young man not two days ago.”
Mercedes set down her glass with such force that it shattered. Rohan flinched. Brandy pooled on the desk, rippling under the lights. Mercedes paced madly back and forth across the room. “This is insane. Why would this one man, one low-level officer, matter so much?”
“Maybe it was less him than how we treated him,” Rohan said softly. “What it said about the League. As for your father, I’ve known Fernán for forty years. Stood up with him at his wedding to your mother. I know how he’ll react and I wanted us to have a full grasp of the situation before we… upset him.”
She leaned over the desk and keyed the intercom. “Jaakon, get me the Cara’ot ambassadors.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Minutes ticked by. Mercedes got a napkin off the bar and mopped up the spill, then swept the broken glass into the trash can. She rang Jaakon again. “Damn it, what’s the holdup?”
“There’s no response, Highness. Do you want me to send police?”
“No, I’ll go myself. Tell Captain Rogers to have a squad waiting for me
.” She turned back to the men. “Don’t go to my father until I report back.”
“I should go with you,” Kemel said as he unfolded from the chair.
“Fine.”
Rohan settled more deeply into the high-back chair. “I’m going to stay here and enjoy another glass of this very fine brandy.”
* * *
Mercedes dithered, but finally decided against wearing armor like the fusileros who accompanied them. She and Kemel were both armed, but he seemed to agree that having the heir to the throne arrive in full battle armor might not send the best message. She did change into her O-Trell uniform.
Embassy Row was a relatively short dead-end street that culminated in the Cara’ot embassy; the largest building anchored the center position in the cul-de-sac. Each of the alien races had an embassy and in an act of supreme arrogance, Earth herself kept an embassy rather than accepting the fact that while the planet may have been the origin of humankind it was now a climate-ravaged world in a backwater of the galaxy.
They were in three flitters and soared in over the top of the ornate wall. The human guards on the front gates craned their necks to follow the progress of the vehicles. They seemed insectile in their helmets with the sun gleaming off the faceplates. Once landed Mercedes went to the gate and returned the salutes.
“Anything to report?” she asked the guards.
The helmeted heads turned toward each other. She could read the confusion. “Uh, no, ma’am.”
“Nobody in or out today.”
Mercedes glanced over at the SEGU chief. “Well, at least we know they’re home.” She turned back to the two guards. “Carry on.”
“Odd that the Cara’ot choose to have human sentries rather than their own kind,” Mercedes mused.
“They have to, Highness. They’re not permitted to have troops under the treaty.”
“Ah, I hadn’t considered that.”
They approached the tall metal doors, flanked by the troops. Mercedes rang the bell. Listened to the echoes go running away into the building. There was no response. She nodded to Rogers, who stepped up and banged on the door with the butt of his rifle. Still nothing. Another glance to Kemel, then Mercedes shrugged and grabbed the door handle. It turned and she pushed the door. It swung back with a sigh. The smell of incense, spicy and sweet, swept out.
Mercedes stepped back and Rogers signaled the fusileros to enter and fan out. They rushed through, rifles at the ready and began to search. The SEGU chief gave her an approving glance.
“Glad to see you didn’t decide to take point.”
“First, I’m not wearing armor. Second, smart officers always lead from behind,” she said with a wry smile. Fading calls of clear floated back to Mercedes and Kemel from the soldiers.
“Hmm, I seem to remember that time you stole an Infierno and took on an armed frigate on your own.”
“First, I didn’t steal the fighter, I commandeered it. And I was only a cadet and therefore expendable cannon fodder.”
Ian returned and snapped off a salute. “All clear, Your Majesty. The place is deserted, but it looks planned.”
“What do you mean?” Kemel asked.
“Easier to show you, sir.”
They followed him inside. The furnishings were elegant and mostly human normal, but there were a few anomalies, chairs that were either too large or too small for a human frame. The staircase had been modified so there were three types of steps, each one with a different tread height. There was also a lift built onto the bannister.
Rogers led them into the ambassadors’ office. The overhead lights had a strange red cast and were quite dim. The captain snapped on his helmet light. Shadows fled to cower in the corners. The drawers on the credenza stood open. There were dividers but no folders or files in the drawers. The room smelled faintly of smoke. Mercedes peered into a trashcan. Taking a pen off the desk she stirred the ash in the bottom.
“Sometimes the oldest methods just can’t be beat,” Kemel remarked. “Fire is a pretty comprehensive data wipe.”
Mercedes picked up an abandoned teacup. The chai had congealed into a brown sludge in the bottom.
Rogers pressed a hand to his ear. “The soldiers report that the closets in the bedrooms are emptied. Toiletries gone,” the captain said.
“They had this planned.” Mercedes set down the cup. “Any idea how they all decamped without the fusileros seeing them?” she asked Ian.
“Not yet, ma’am. I’ve called for sounding equipment and X-ray. There’s got to be a tunnel.”
“Keep us informed, Captain,” Kemel said. He took Mercedes by the elbow and guided her to the door.
“Yes, I suppose we can’t postpone the music any longer,” Mercedes said quietly. A hand seemed to be pressing down on her chest. “Boho’s out there,” she added and couldn’t find enough breath to make it more than a whisper. And following close on that thought was relief that Tracy wasn’t.
32
WHAT WAITS IN THE DARK
The great ship lay on its side. Airlocks open to the void. The surface of the tiny world was formed by ripples of stone and frozen methane. Which added to the sense that the ship was not a construct of metal and composite, but a lifeless creature washed up on a dark, forgotten shore. The system possessed seventeen lifeless worlds. It had been briefly surveyed and marked as a low-priority mining site. It was sheer luck that a scout vessel had decided to swing through, thinking it might be a gathering place for the Cara’ot fleet. Instead the scout had found the derelict.
Mercedes swung her head so the helmet light and camera could record and send the images to her father waiting at O-Trell headquarters back on Hellfire. The light illuminated sections that glittered where escaped atmosphere from the ship had frozen on the exterior metal. She dropped her head to the ground looking for footprints. There were none. She waited but the Emperor offered no comment.
Boho, a hulking figure in his battle armor, shifted from foot to foot. “Are we going in?” He sounded both uncertain and unenthusiastic.
“We have to. See if there are bodies.”
She walked up the gentle incline toward the ship. The washboard of frozen gas crushed beneath her boots and sprays of ice rose up to swirl around her like dancing dervishes. The position of the ship put the airlock some four and a half meters above her head, but it posed no problem in the negligible gravity exerted by the dwarf planet. Mercedes bent her knees and jumped up and forward. Her aim was good and she landed a few meters inside the airlock. She felt the vibration as Boho landed just behind her. His breaths were loud as they came over the radio and into her helmet.
It was going to be easy to enter the main body of the ship since the inner airlock door was also open. The rest of the squad joined them and they entered. Unlike the embassy there were no cold cups of chai or signs of a hurried departure. This seemed carefully planned. Equipment had been dogged and stored, personal effects had been carefully hung or folded in closets in crew cabins and in the hold were crates filled with trade goods. She tried to calculate the value of the massive ship and the expensive goods that she carried in her belly. It was an absurd amount of Reals. No sane creature would simply abandon such an asset. But apparently that was exactly what had happened.
“Where have they gone?” Boho asked.
“I have no idea.”
“Why did they—”
“I don’t know the answer to that either.”
“Is this war?” Boho said faintly.
Carried across the void her father’s voice was cold as death. “Yes.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This book could not have been written without the invaluable help of my friends Sage Walker and Eric Kelley. My editor Miranda Jewess who has made every book better with her insights. And finally my agent Kay McCauley who is my biggest cheerleader and who believes in me more than I believe in myself. Thank you guys for everything.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Melinda Snodgrass is the acclaimed author of many scien
ce fiction novels, including the Circuit and Edge series, and is the co-editor with George R.R. Martin of the Wild Cards series, to which she also contributes. She has had a long career in television, writing several episodes of Star Trek: The Next Generation while serving as the series’ story editor, and has written scripts for numerous other shows, including Odyssey 5, The Outer Limits, Reasonable Doubts and Seaquest DSV. She was also a consulting producer on The Profiler. The first book in the Imperials series was published in 2016, and was described as “entertaining and briskly paced” by Publishers Weekly. The third book will be The Hidden World, published in 2018. She lives in Santa Fe, New Mexico.
ALSO AVAILABLE FROM TITAN BOOKS
THE HIGH GROUND
MELINDA SNODGRASS
The Emperor’s daughter Mercedes is the first woman ever admitted to The High Ground, the elite training academy of the Solar League’s Star Command, and she must graduate if she is to have any hope of taking the throne. Her classmate Thracius has more modest goals—to defy his humble beginnings and rise to the rank of captain. But in a system rocked by political division, where women are governed by their husbands and fathers, the poor are kept in their place by a rigid class system, and the alien races have been conquered and subjugated, there are many who want them to fail.
A civil war is coming and the machinations of those who yearn for power threaten the cadets. In a time of political intrigue, class conflict, and alien invasion, they will be tested as they never thought possible…
In Evil Times Page 30