Orbital Decay (Galaxy Mavericks Book 7)

by Michael La Ronn

  “No, no, don’t shut down on me,” Florian said.

  “What’s the point of this?” Hux asked.

  “Tati, what drives you?” Florian asked.

  Tatiana, who was sitting upright in a leather chair, adjusted her glasses and thought about the question.

  “I just want security,” she said. “I’m tired of drifting from place to place without knowing where my future lies.”

  “Now that’s one hell of an answer,” Florian said. “Security. I like that.”

  “Well?” Hux asked. “What drives you, grandmaster?”

  Florian stopped in the center of the office.

  “I don’t give a damn about money,” he said. “I’m worth trillions. I don’t need security; God knows I have that. If I stopped working today, I could live lavishly for at least nine lifetimes.”

  “Then what drives you?” Hux asked, slightly irritated.

  “Haven’t you ever looked at this place and wondered what it would be like to control it?” Florian asked. “Haven’t you ever seen the bureaucratic tape, the political drama, the excuses about why things can’t get done?”

  Florian balled a fist.

  “I want the power to change it all,” he said. “I want to be revered across the universe. I want to be eternal.”

  He paused.

  “But Masashi’s going to make that all but impossible. If I don’t start leading now, for all I know, it may be another ten or fifteen years before Masashi steps down. That doesn’t work for me.”

  “So what are you going to do?” Tatiana asked. “I don’t see any other options.”

  Florian thought about Masashi. His smug, smiling face all over the magazines as Macalestern’s new CEO. He couldn’t bear it.

  And then he thought about the board—every single member, their name, their interests, and their voting record. Perhaps they might vote for Masashi.

  Today.

  But perhaps they could also be swayed.

  Influenced.

  “How do you both feel about breaking a few rules?” Florian asked.

  Huxley and Tatiana were silent.

  “I’ll take that as an acceptance,” Florian said.

  Hux wagged a finger at him. “There you go, formulating a plan. Knew your mental calculus wouldn’t take too long to kick in.”

  “It’s not mental calculus at all,” Florian said. He smirked. “Far from it. It involves addition, subtraction, and a little bit of deception.”

  “Then it’s the same as usual,” Hux said.

  Tatiana’s jaw dropped.

  “Get the corsair ready,” Florian said. He stared at his reflection in the window. His white suit was as white as the skyscraper across the courtyard. He adjusted his tie and ran a hand through his hair.

  He was going to enjoy this.

  “This is going to be a new venture for the ages,” he said.

  17

  The terrain of Zachary breezed below Florian’s corsair. He looked down at the gray, rocky landscape. Hills gave way to a terraced city recessed deep into the ground. Two moons in the navy blue sky framed the city and bathed it in pale yellow light.

  Ahead, two Zachary warrior ships powered ahead, serving as escorts in the dark night.

  Florian stroked his chin as he regarded the terraced city.

  It reminded him of the amphitheaters of antiquity; a series of terraces dug in the ground that surrounded a giant palace. The palace was circular with a marbled exterior that reminded Florian of a beehive.

  “Funny how different galaxies deal with the problem of planetary terrain,” Florian said.

  Macalestern used a living platform to protect its inhabitants from the raging oceans. Other planets used pod homes to protect them from harsh winds.

  And Zachary…

  This city was practically underground, safe from harsh winds and hot temperatures.

  As the corsair circled the sunken city, he noticed twinkling lights at the top of the beehive.

  Transmitters.

  The same transmitters that the Zachary government used to broadcast its threatening messages.

  The same transmitters they used to announce their destruction of Bartholomew Four.

  A slight shiver went down Florian’s spine. The corsair shifted and flew lower toward a spaceport on the edge of the city.

  “I’m surprised he even agreed to meet with us,” Tatiana said.

  “You underestimate my influence,” Florian said.

  He tossed them white masks. They were made of spandex and concealed their faces.

  Tatiana held up the mask, confused.

  “If they know we’re coming, why would we wear masks?” she asked.

  “For the press,” Florian said. “I don’t want any paparazzi snapping a photo of me. I don’t need any more bad press. Not until we have a deal.”

  He put the mask over his face, and it concealed his eyes. Tatiana and Hux did the same.

  The corsair landed on a helipad, and they walked to the airlock, quickly exiting into the hot air of Zachary.

  Two soldiers with rifles met them at the edge of the ship.

  “The minister has agreed to meet you,” one of the soldiers said. “But not here. Follow us.”

  They followed the guards to a military base on the edge of the terrace, and they removed their masks once they passed through a metal detector and a frisk search.

  The base had gray, drab walls and long corridors that intersected each other at perfect right angles. The guards opened a door to a conference room that overlooked the sunken city. The glittering yellow lights seemed so close but yet so far. Military ships eased across the sky over the lights, patrolling the region. The double moons watched over the sky like crazed, pockmarked eyes.

  A man stood in the shadows next to the window, petting a chinchilla.

  Tavin Miloschenko turned around and gave Florian a look of surprise as the guards shut the door.

  “Now these aren’t guests we receive every day,” he said, stroking his chinchilla and grinning.

  Part VI

  Contamination

  18

  “As I recall, you were a rotten little brat when you frustrated the emperor fifteen years ago,” Tavin Miloschenko said.

  He petted his chinchilla, and the animal’s nose twitched as it looked at Florian with its gleaming red eyes.

  “I’ve seen you in the news, in the papers,” Miloschenko said. His face hardened. “You’re still a rotten little brat.”

  “A rotten little brat with more money than you’ll ever know in your lifetime,” Florian said. “And more power.”

  “Why would we need your power?” Miloschenko asked. “Whatever we want, we take. Including your entire galaxy if we wanted to. Why are you here? To admire me?”

  Florian unrolled a piece of paper from his inside suit pocket. He handed it to Miloschenko.

  The man set his chinchilla gingerly on the table. Then he read the paper tiredly.

  DRAFT

  CONFIDENTIAL-INTERNAL ONLY—DO NOT RELEASE UNTIL 30 DAYS PRIOR TO BOARD DEADLINE

  It is with mixed emotions that Annaliese Macalestern, founder and CEO of the Macalestern Corporation, announces her retirement.

  Miss Macalestern has been diagnosed with a rapidly progressing form of ALS. She will be stepping down in order to focus on her medical treatment and spend more time with friends and family.

  Her position will be filled within ninety days by the board of directors.

  Macalestern, a fearless, innovative entrepreneur, who built the company with only ten thousand dollars in her pocket and an intense desire to conquer the then-nascent interplanetary real estate market, provided guidance, leadership and courageous direction to the company, driving it to become the largest employer in the galaxy and the “Most Admired Company in the Rah Galaxy Award” by The Galactic Chamber of Commerce.

  The company would like to thank Miss Macalestern for all she has done for its employees, customers, and the galaxy. The company will be m
aking a one billion dollar donation to the ALS Foundation in her honor.

  Her replacement will be announced prior to the next board of directors meeting.

  Miloschenko read the memo quietly, then he crumpled it up and tossed it back to Florian.

  “So?” he asked. “Your auntie drops dead and the board installs a new CEO. Why should we care?”

  Florian puffed. “You fail to appreciate that you’re receiving this news early. No one else knows yet except for the executive team.”

  “Isn’t that fantastic.”

  Florian stuffed the paper in his coat pocket.

  “Do you know who the hell I am?” Florian asked.

  “Still a rotten brat,” Miloschenko said.

  “Correct me if I’m wrong,” Florian said, “which I doubt I am, but humor me anyway because God knows you’ve got a eucalyptus tree stuck up your ass. My company and your empire are enemies, yes?”

  “You made damned sure of that fifteen years ago when you started pushing crates all over the place,” Miloschenko said.

  “I was a kid,” Florian said. “You had my aunt at gunpoint. Any reasonable person would have done the same thing. But are you seriously going to hold a fifteen-year grudge against someone you don’t really know?”

  Miloschenko laughed. “What’s your pitch?”

  “Are you or are you not going to sign the GALPOL Accord when it renews later this year?” Florian asked.

  Miloschenko was silent.

  “I get it, I get it,” Florian said. “You don’t want to answer. I wouldn’t if I were you. But here’s the thing: if you sign it, you’re in for something awful because it means you’re bound to peace for another twenty years. What a terrible place for a militaristic empire to be. If you don’t sign it, you have the right to wage war. But that’s not exactly going to work if all the other signees are united against you.”

  “Your political analysis is tiresome,” Miloschenko said.

  “So is your position,” Florian said. “What if there was another way?”

  Miloschenko raised an eyebrow.

  “I want to be CEO,” Florian said. “And if I am selected, I could guarantee you furtherance of your goals.”

  “Bullshit,” Miloschenko said.

  “Ten billion dollars’ll prove you wrong,” Florian said.

  “I don’t want your money,” Miloschenko said.

  “Yes, you do,” Florian said. “Because I want to buy some of your weapons technology.”

  Miloschenko laughed. “For what?”

  “I have my reasons,” Florian said, “just as you have your reasons for selling them.”

  Florian clapped a hand on Huxley’s shoulder. “After all, money motivates you.”

  Miloschenko nodded.

  Florian clapped a hand on Tatiana’s shoulder. “And with the threat of oncoming war, our citizens will want security.”

  Miloschenko laughed again. “So you want to hawk peace of mind on your galaxy?”

  Florian pulled Hux and Tatiana close.

  “I’m not selling peace of mind,” Florian said. “I’m selling fear.”

  19

  Tatiana hooked her arm under Florian’s as they joined a long line that fed toward a gigantic ballroom.

  “You’re sure about this?” she asked. She wore a long, flowing red dress with a train behind it that two circular drone bots carried with little claws.

  “Positive,” Florian said. “Just follow my lead and improvise.”

  Hux walked next to them in a white tux.

  “As long as they’ve got food, improvisin’ is my superpower,” Hux said.

  Florian rubbed his eyes. They itched from where the blindfold had been wrapped around his head.

  He, Tatiana, and Huxley had spent the night in the corsair, waiting for the next evening, when Miloschenko promised them audience with the emperor. The military quarantined the corsair, and Florian watched the sunken city as the sun rose and set again. When the stars glittered in the sky, the guards came aboard, gave them a one-hour warning. They changed into new clothes—which were expressed into the planet via Florian’s private courier—and readied themselves for the annual Zachary Galaxy Ball.

  The guards blindfolded them to prevent them from seeing the interior of the sunken city. Only when they were in the safety of the foyer of a large atrium did the guards remove the blindfolds.

  They stood in the middle of the atrium on a golden carpet. Oil paintings of past emperors lined the walls—people of all ages, old, middle-aged, young—smiling softly as metal tethers extended from their backs, drone bots with glowing eyes on the ends of the tethers.

  Everyone in the room was dressed in ball gowns and tuxedos, with masquerade masks. They stared at the trio.

  The masks made it harder to see their faces.

  But from their eyes, Florian could tell they were studying the trio, watching every move.

  “Is it true that these people are as different as they say?” Hux asked.

  “They look like people to me,” Tatiana said.

  “If they are, they’re keeping it hidden,” Hux said.

  The doors opened to the ballroom and the crowd walked in what looked like lock-step toward the massive double doors.

  Florian, Tatiana, and Hux entered the ballroom, a gigantic room with brocade wallpaper and crystal chandeliers. A symphonic orchestra played classical music on a stage.

  A waiter with a tray of fluted champagne glasses offered a glass to Florian. He took a glass and handed one to Tatiana and Hux. He downed his glass in one gulp and then asked for another.

  The lights dimmed and they made their way toward the stage.

  A man in a tuxedo walked onstage with a microphone.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, we present The Emperor.”

  In one swooping motion, everyone in the room dropped to their knees.

  The curtains parted and Florian recognized the metal tethers floating at first.

  Then he saw a waving hand as the room exploded in applause.

  Florian tilted his head.

  It was a young man.

  The emperor was a young man dressed in burgundy robes and a golden, triangular crown. His metal tethers moved behind him as if they had a mind of their own.

  Not how he remembered.

  Completely different.

  Dark-skinned. Covered in swirling tattoos. Two lightning strikes under his eyes.

  Was this man a descendant of the man Florian had seen fifteen years ago? He didn’t look like it.

  Florian scratched his head.

  “That’s not the emperor I remember,” he said.

  “I told you, boss,” Hux said. “These people are strange.”

  Florian tapped a woman on the shoulder. She wore a sequined mask over her face.

  “Excuse me,” he said. “I’m a visitor to the galaxy and I seem to remember the emperor a little differently.”

  “Which one?” she asked.

  Florian sputtered, unable to respond.

  “Which one are you referring to?” the woman asked curtly.

  “Uh, old white guy, beard, short.”

  “Why, he hasn’t been our emperor in fifteen years,” the woman said. “They change, you know.”

  “Ah,” Florian said, “I see.”

  The woman gave him a dirty look and walked away.

  The lights dimmed as the emperor spoke into a microphone.

  “Citizens of the glorious empire, and esteemed guests,” he said, raising a hand as if making a prayer, “we have all worked hard this year. Very hard. We have spread across galaxies, and other planets are beginning to see why our way is the best. I ask that you continue the faith, that you continue the fight, and that you are always loyal to the mother mind…”

  “What’s that?” Florian asked.

  Hux shrugged. “They’re keeping us in the dark about their culture, aren’t they?”

  “Oh well,” Florian said, “we don’t really care about that at the end of the day, do we?
”

  Hux laughed.

  The emperor ended his speech and the audience erupted in applause again.

  Some speech. The guy had only spoken for less than a minute, and the crowd was clapping as if he’d just given the speech of his life. Florian wondered what these people would have done if the guy had given a real speech.

  The trio made their way through the crowd as it dispersed. The symphony began to play again, and a group of people gathered on a dance floor. A line of men and women danced in rhythm to a frenzied waltz, dresses twirling and men clapping to the beat and hands exchanging and women spinning across the floor. There was a strange sameness to them all, as if they moved in complete sync with each other. As if the whole thing had been rehearsed. Yet it didn’t look rehearsed.

  When the song ended, Florian applauded, uninterested.

  The champagne was getting to him. A waiter offered him crab cakes on a skewer, and he ate one, almost cringed at an explosion of pesto in his mouth.

  God, he hated pesto.

  Especially on crab.

  Hux ate the hors d’oeuvres with a ferocity that Florian had never seen before.

  “The way you’re eating, you’re going to make Zacharian Crab an endangered species,” Florian said.

  “Screw you,” Hux said.

  “Not gonna lie,” Tatiana said, “I don’t feel comfortable here.”

  A group of women stared at her. She stared back and they moved away, giving her lingering glances over their shoulder.

  “Just hold out until it’s time to get an audience with the emperor,” Florian said. “After that, we’ll have a few more drinks and get the hell out of here.”

  “Sounds like a plan to me,” Tatiana said. “If only I hadn’t left my time machine at home.”

  Suddenly, she grabbed his arm and pulled him.

  And then Florian saw the metal tethers high over the heads of the crowd. The crowd bowed down.

  The emperor emerged from a gap in the crowd. Miloschenko was with him.

  Florian, Hux, and Tatiana bowed their heads as a guard announced, “I present Emperor Number Two Hundred and Ninety-Seven.”