House of Jackals

by Todd M. Moreno

  The man swallowed. “Understood, Brother.”

  Ketrick smiled once again. He would have it both ways. He would have Jordan indebted to him, and hold a sword over his head.

  And as for this NDB “brother,” this would be his last assignment.

  ---

  X

  Lenalt Depré ran his spoon around the bowl one final time before bringing the last of his meal to his mouth. It had been a while since he had tasted anything so delicious.

  "Do you want any more?" his mother asked, bracing herself in her chair to stand.

  Lenalt smiled, patting his stomach. It had also been a while since he had been in such a good mood. The Galleston files were lost, but Steuben was right where he wanted him. "No, thanks. Anymore, and I won't be able to breathe."

  "You’re too thin," the woman said, easing back into her padded chair. "It’s not healthy."

  Watching his mother turn back to her small telescreen, Lenalt pushed his empty bowl away and rested his arm on the table. "You still haven't answered my question," he said casually.

  "What question is that, Dear?" The older woman did not look at him, her attention locked on a news report concerning the Count-Grandee’s coming trial. Depré caught the words "Pax Imperator" coming from the announcer.

  "About the money I gave you to fix your big telescreen?" He suppressed a grin, knowing his mother was avoiding his question.

  "Oh, I used that money, Dear."

  "On what?"

  "It's been cold lately. I thought it’d be nice not to have to bundle up so much."

  Lenalt’s merriment vanished. "You used the money to pay for extra heating?"

  "It meant more to me than the telescreen, Dear," the woman said matter-of-factly.

  Lenalt scowled. "You shouldn't have to pay for heating, for something you need."

  The woman turned her head and caught his eye. Her earlier cheeriness dimmed as her small face wrinkled in sudden seriousness. "I don't want to fight, Lenalt," she said, shaking a crooked finger at him, "and am not in the mood to hear more of your political theories."

  "It's the truth, Mother," Lenalt breathed. "Besides, I don't fight with you."

  "Yes, you do. You get upset when I don’t agree with your views. You keep insisting that I should share your opinion when I have my own. That's fighting."

  "I just don't see how you can think like you do," he replied, his brow narrowing. Shaking his head slowly, he looked to the floor. "Especially given your circumstances."

  The woman rolled her eyes and turned off the telescreen. “I can say the same,” she said, leaning toward him and gripping the opposite arm of her chair, “but you won't find me hounding you, or claiming that you’re not ‘listening to me.’ People can listen without having to change their mind, Lenalt.” The woman paused. “And what about my circumstances anyway?”

  "You shouldn't be living here," Lenalt declared, his head tilted back as he looked around at his mother's furnishings, all compactly arranged in her small apartment.

  "This is my home," the woman commented, her eyebrow raised.

  "You deserve better."

  "I can’t afford anything bigger or fancier. Besides, I am comfortable here, and can keep the place clean by myself. Why do you criticize me?"

  "I'm not—"

  "I am here, Lenalt, a place where you think I shouldn’t be. Here under these ‘circumstances’ through no one's actions but my own."

  "That's not true. Had you been adequately compensated—"

  "I was well-paid for my work, given my job at the Institute."

  "The Institute," Lenalt scoffed. "All they did was corrupt you with their politics."

  "I was not brainwashed during my tenure there, Lenalt, and I am not a parrot. Besides, you know the choice I made." The woman looked at her son intently. "Do you wish I hadn't?"

  The choice had been to send her sons to the finest schools available, rather than put extra money away for her retirement. With the credentials they earned, both Lenalt and his brother Nolan could have obtained a professorship at any number of reputable universities. They might have even acquired a high-level post in the planetary government.

  But both Depré brothers had chosen a different path, one which made little use of their academic training, and limited their ability to help their mother. Nolan’s death had only made it more difficult for Lenalt, as he was all that his mother had left.

  "Sometimes," Lenalt whispered, unable to meet her eyes. "You gave up so much for us."

  "I have no regrets. As for Nolan…” the woman sighed. “Listen, Lenalt, I need to tell you—" A sudden shiver overtook her before she lapsed into a coughing fit.

  Lenalt leaned forward from his chair. "Mother, are you all right?"

  She waived him off as her coughing subsided. "I’m fine," she managed. "There’s just something I want to—"

  The coughing returned, only this time Lenalt saw his mother put a hand to her heart. Startled, Lenalt rose from his seat. His mother gestured for him to sit down again as her gaze focused on her front door. Lenalt turned to where she stared.

  "What is it, Mother? Did you hear something?" Lenalt watched as she shook her head slowly without saying a word. Stopping, her eyes widened for a moment before meeting his.

  "I did what I had to do, Lenalt," she said evenly.

  "Well, that wasn’t the point," Lenalt said, frowning as his mother absently tapped the armrest of her chair with a forefinger. "You shouldn't have had to pay for any of it, Mother."

  "What's done is done," she said distantly. "Wishes are wasted breaths." She again leveled her gaze on him. "And giving in to regret is a waste of time." Her eyes wavered on his before finally falling away. The tapping on her armrest resumed.

  Lenalt swallowed, saying nothing for a moment. He had never even used the doctoral degree that he believed that others should have financed for him. His mother had sacrificed comfort in her old age for nothing. "Then, you really don’t regret it, Mother?"

  Lenalt’s mother gave him an unfocused look before resting her head against a pillow and closing her eyes. "I don’t know who you are," she whispered, "but I know what you did..."

  "What?" Lenalt asked, his heart rising in his chest. "Mother?"

  His mother drew a heavy breath. "I am all right, Lenalt," she wheezed. "I wasn’t talking about...it was someone else."

  "Someone else? Who?"

  His mother shook her head as she resettled in her chair. "If I had any regrets, Lenalt," she said after a moment, "it would be that I didn't explain your father's death sooner than I did."

  "I don't see how hearing about the prison would have changed—"

  "But if I had helped you to understand the reasons—"

  "I know the reasons." Lenalt felt a tightening in his back.

  "You know facts, but your view of the world bends their meaning." The woman opened her eyes but did not look at him.

  "There can be no mistaking how they drove father to—"

  The woman continued, as if not hearing her son. "I lost your father, thinking I could change him. I lost your brother, thinking I could teach him." She lifted her reddened eyes to Lenalt. "Will I lose you too, having thought that you would see these things on your own?"

  Lenalt shifted in his seat, seeing his mother weary in a way that he had never seen before. He had seen her tired. Now he was seeing her as truly old. And perhaps something else.

  "I was glad you had Nolan to look up to after your father died. With him already grown, I knew he’d take care of you. But I should have known what would happen with me working so much. You were always a bright boy, Lenalt. I’m sorry for not spending more time with you."

  "You needn't be sorry," Lenalt replied weakly, finding himself wanting to hug her. "And I understand why you feel as you do."

  The woman refocused her gaze upon him, her eyes sharper now.

  "I know you want me to quit the Movement, settle into a normal life, get married, and teach at some prestigious school. But
I can't let them get away with what they did. Sometimes change is worth fighting for. Especially when it is for justice."

  "Your revenge has nothing to do with justice," she remarked, slowly bowing her head.

  Although his mother’s tone was oddly distant, the rebel leader smiled at the simplistic moralization. At least she was engaging him. "Are you saying that vengeance is never the right thing to do, Mother?"

  "Don't insult me, Lenalt," the woman said without any real challenge. The rebel's self-satisfied smile melted. "What wrong are you going to make right?" she asked. "What is the ‘just cause’ for this war of yours?"

  "The Possórs' murder of Nolan, for one," Lenalt answered without hesitation.

  The old woman lowered her eyes as the air slowly left her lungs. Lenalt watched his mother appear to examine her dress, pick some lint off with an unsteady hand, and smooth the fabric along her leg. Nodding to herself again, she inhaled deeply. Though her head was turned away from him, her gaze remained steady. "Nolan's death was his own doing."

  "WHAT?"

  The woman's right cheek flinched. "He knew what the consequences would be if he were caught, and did what he did anyway." Her voice strengthened. "There was no question that he was guilty of the crimes he was accused of."

  "Nolan died fighting social injustice." Lenalt kept his words at an even volume, but they were just as steeled as before.

  "Like yours, his focus was more on money than lawlessness," his mother continued. "He was not opposing corruption in the system so much as advocating a corrupt system. A society based on coerced charity is a society based on extortion."

  "He died for his beliefs, Mother."

  "That doesn't make them right, or even noble." The older woman turned her head to the rebel leader. "His death was a waste, not by its outcome, but by its purpose."

  Lenalt inhaled, about to make a sharp reply but stopping himself. "You think he was a fool," he whispered, staring in disbelief.

  "We’ve argued politics before, Lenalt," the woman said, reaching out to grip his hand. "But it made no difference, and is pointless now. Greed is not a sin committed by those who work for what they have, and pay for what they take. Evil rests in those who want without work, or take without payment. Until you understand what I am saying, and its consequences for the world that we live in, you will never understand what I think, or how I feel."

  Lenalt slowly shook his head, his eyes not leaving those of the woman before him. Leaning back, he let his mother's hand fall from his. "Nolan so wanted you to be proud of him," he said softly, a blurriness in his eyes coalescing into tears. The rebel leader blinked them back as his mother retreated into her chair, with her own tears escaping from behind closed lids.

  "Do you think I would not have wanted that?" she asked, her voice quivering as she opened her eyes. "I wanted so much to be proud of both of you. And I was, you know."

  "But not anymore?" The shimmer in the rebel's eyes was gone.

  "You were always a smart boy, Lenalt," the woman said, lifting her hand toward his face before lowering it again. She could not reach him from where she sat, and he had made no move to come closer. "Just remember: You asked this of me, and I’ve never lied to you. Hypocrisy is a comfort I have never allowed myself, and I refuse to let its cost ever come back to haunt me."

  The rebel leader's only response was an empty stare.

  The woman's lower lip trembled before she jerked her head to the side, making her son wonder why she did not say what else was troubling her. Watching his mother engage in some internal conflict, Lenalt still said nothing. Suddenly she turned to him.

  "Lenalt," the woman pleaded, grasping her chair as she would his arm. "I can't take this anymore. I'm frightened. That's why I tell you these things, as painful as they are to both of us."

  "What are you afraid of?"

  "I never had formal psychic training," Lenalt’s mother said quickly. "But your father had a little, and he taught me some of it."

  The young rebel’s eyes widened. "You never told—"

  "We couldn’t teach you or Nolan without risking unwanted attention," his mother explained, every word streaming with urgency. "You were too young. Then your father died, and I did not want to encourage Nolan’s—"

  "That training could have saved Nolan’s life!" Lenalt charged.

  "Or gotten him killed sooner!" she snapped. "I’m saying this now so you’ll listen, not so you can second guess my decision. Time is too short for anything but full honesty between us."

  "Full honesty?" Lenalt asked skeptically. His mother did not acknowledge the question.

  "I refuse to live my life appeasing ghosts, Lenalt. Save yourself. Don’t let them control your life as they did your brother’s...and your father’s."

  Lenalt stood from his chair, straightening his clothes before addressing the old woman seated before him. "I regret you feel that way, Mother," said the rebel leader, seeing her go rigid at the lack of feeling in his voice. "And I regret bringing you such disappointment. But I will continue to fight for what I believe in, and make sure the Possórs pay for what they have done."

  The rebel glanced down at his mother, noting the trembling of her arm as she stared vacantly past him. Swallowing, she nodded once to herself. Lenalt's heart softened for a moment before his mother lifted her head to look at him with clear, tearless eyes.

  "Very well, Lenalt," the woman said with sad determination. "I respect your decision, if not your reasoning." The rebel lifted his head to the side but she ignored his look. "However, as you now know my true feelings on your life-consuming quest, know that its accomplishments can bring me no joy. Given your aims, any victory you achieve is beyond my ability to share."

  "What are you saying?" Lenalt's formal stance crumbled as he bent slightly toward her.

  "Your Movement’s protests for more spending on social programs were harmless. But the Galleston uprising has raised many serious questions, with answers I do not want to know."

  "Galleston was a mistake," Lenalt said dismissively. "At least we learned from it."

  The woman winced at the unguarded reply, but what was voiced could not be unsaid. "Nonetheless,” she paused to hold her son’s eyes, “for safety’s sake, it would be best to keep me completely uninvolved."

  Lenalt caught his breath, realizing what she meant, and unable to offer any argument. His mother was afraid. Seeing it, he saw for the first time the risk she was taking, and the risk he was taking with her. Still, protecting her by leaving would have been easier if he did not sense something more in her words. Warning him to stay away was one thing. But disowning him….

  Depré did not want to debate the matter however. Whatever her reasons, her decision would be respected as well. "I understand," he replied, nodding once to her before heading toward the door. Opening it, he stopped just before stepping into the outside hallway. From the corner of his eye, he saw his mother still watching him. Her cheeks sunken and her face pale, it was as if he was looking at someone who only reminded him of her.

  "Mother," he said softly, leaning against the doorframe. "If I…” His voice faltered, but he found the strength to meet her gaze. “I might not see you again."

  The woman sagged in her chair as her eyes fell away, robbed of the strength to hold his stare. "I know," the woman whispered, lacking the will to say anything more.

  Lenalt closed his eyes before looking at the room once more: the mismatched furniture; the worn carpets and sun-torn draperies; the mass-produced figurines on crowded shelves; the faded prints of old paintings; the old pictures; the old memories; the old woman sitting alone...

  Closing the door, the rebel leader calmly made his way to the elevator leading to the building’s exit, knowing that the door had locked behind him automatically.

  "You underestimated me, you HOPIS bastards," Madam Depré said to the air, concluding that implanted psychic inhibition that prevented her from warning her son could only have come from them. "You thought you could push an old woman
around, but I know what you did."

  When they returned, they would of course know that she had detected their tampering. But they would be too late. Realizing that she lacked the strength to overcome the psychic conditioning imprinted upon her, she did the only thing left to her.

  She had driven her son away.

  Bastards, she thought, wiping away her tears defiantly, as if the HOPIS agents were there already. Well, at least you won’t be able to use me to get to this son.

  ---

  "Ma'am, I have a battle cruiser with four destroyers coming out of hyperspace in Sector 22-N-14."

  "Give me a visual," the duty captain ordered, “and alert Planetary Defense Command of a possible attack.”

  “It could be the Imperial Special Commander,” another junior officer offered, “with an added escort.”

  “It would be like those arrogant Imperials,” the captain remarked. “Not only do they pull out of light speed deep inside Legan space, they do so without attempting to establish communications. And bringing a battle cruiser? His Lordship won't be pleased.”

  Seeing the primary vessel alongside its escort ships on the main viewscreen, the officer-in-charge of space traffic security was displeased as well. But she had to admit that the long, sleek, heavy cruiser was impressive, if not beautiful. Fully self-sustaining, it could field over five hundred thousand ground troops—with full complements. With its firepower, it could hold an entire system for ransom. The destroyers seemed little more than sparrows by comparison.

  "Captain," the communications officer began, "Cassand identifies the battle cruiser as the A.M.F.S. Talion. She also confirms that the other four vessels are Imperial ships."

  "A.M.F.S. is not an Imperial prefix," the captain said, walking to the console of the junior officer. "Whose flag does she fly?"

  The officer relayed the question to his counterpart aboard the H.P.S. Countess-Grandia Cassand. "The Imperial Special Commander's, Ma'am. That's the only answer Cassand says Talion will provide until the Special Commander’s commission is formally presented."