Bond Proof

by E G Manetti

  Leaning forward in her chair, she scrutinizes the reviewer, seeking those of Trevelyan’s operatives she recognizes. The Serengeti Militia is blatant in its presence, as are the governor’s militia and those of the shrines. For any event that gathers the warrior elite, security is visible and extensive. She is one of the few who knows of the hidden resources. The Despoiler threat may have been defeated, but warriors have enemies and every system its malcontents.

  Midday chimes sound. Cesare should be making his declaration before Socraide’s altar now.

  The media stream replays milord’s entrance into the shrine, he and his sons in Socraide’s midnight, Lady Estella and their daughter in Rimon’s royal blue. They are followed by his kinsman and Solomon’s heir, Micah. Her heart lurches at the sight of the young man so similar in feature and build to his fallen sire. At nineteen he is young for the burden of a signet and to be the head of his branch of the Mercio clan. His purposeful stride and serious demeanor would make Seigneur Solomon proud.

  The media stream returns to the shrine and the gathered crowd. The doors open and a dozen guards file out, joining those holding back the crowd. They are followed by the shrine keepers and their entourages. Rimon, Mulan, Jonathan, and Sinead.

  “There.” Rebecca points to the screen. “That is Lady Helena. I do not see Katleen.”

  “Behind the tall acolyte with the beard,” Chrys says. “Watch, you will see a flash of red-gold curls.”

  Apollo exits and then Virgil, the groups of prelates creating stripes of warrior colors across the flagstones.

  Milord and Master Cesare emerge, the sunlight glittering on platinum and gold. The crowd roars until Keeper Virgil holds up his hands for silence. Milord and his son step to the center of the gathered prelates, the heir’s blue eyes sparkling amid the dried blood that covers half his face.

  Milord places a hand on Cesare’s shoulder. “The Five Warriors and Adelaide have recognized my son, Cesare Mercio, as heir to Blooded Dagger and Serengeti!”

  Cesare raises his hands, the blood-marked bandages visible to all.

  Behind milord, Seigneurs Jurian, Marco, and Micah call, “Blooded Dagger!”

  Leaping to her feet, Lilian joins the associates in screaming, “Blooded Dagger!”

  3.

  Free-Traders

  The Eleventh System, known to its inhabitants as the Damaris System, possesses two habitable worlds: Contrition and Redemption, both moons of the uninhabitable planet Gloria. Settled almost four centuries gone, the governance of the two moons is managed by deacons elected every twelve years who, by system protocol, are unable to serve more than two consecutive terms. The deacons answer to the governor’s advisory council of elders. Elders are appointed by the governor from those who have completed honorable service as deacons. When a governor passes into the realm of the Five Warriors, the council of elders elects one of their own to serve as the next governor.

  The collectives or cooperative societies embrace the notion that achievement is a function of individual will and talent. They dismiss the premise that history is the basis of future accomplishment. They ridicule the tenet that a proven family line is the foundation of honorable and successful commerce. They are comfortable in the chaos of a society where preeminence can shift in a matter of years rather than decades. They distrust the cartels to the point of paranoia. ~ excerpt from A Social History of the Twelve Systems, an academy text.

  Sevenday 134, Day 5

  Bright blue eyes are filled with laughter. He does not believe she can do it. Laughter turns to shock as her twisting of the Balance Way movement turns it into a throw that lands him on his back. A scowl replaces laughter as he springs to his feet, lunging for her. He is no match for the avoidance movements. Her heart races with excitement as she dances and teases. Emboldened by success, she flits too close and is caught. The excitement of battle is replaced by a surge of wondrous heat like naught she has ever experienced . . .

  Ronan. Again.

  Staring up at the cracked ceiling, Lilian attempts to sort her emotions. That training session ended as soon as Ronan caught her. Setting her aside with a wry acknowledgement that the Balance Way could be used for combat, he forbade her from demonstrating it to others. It would be a season before she understood that she had stumbled onto a topic that was creating a schism in the Universalist Conclave. It has been more than a decade since she last saw Ronan, years since she thought of him. Why do the memories return?

  Pushing free of the coverlet, she swings her legs over the edge of the bed. Is it Seigneur Trevelyan’s liaison with Maman? Lilian is certain that the seigneur is an outcast from the Universalists, one of several hundred declared anathema by the conclave when they volunteered to defend the Eleventh and Twelfth Systems’ settlements from the pirates. Mayhap that is the connection, Milord’s expansion of Mercium into free-trader systems reminding her of those days.

  Rising, feet curling against the chill tile, she marvels at how that youthful, unrequited passion has dulled to naught but bittersweet memory. Neither Damien nor Andreas ever equaled it. Until milord, she had come to believe it a fancy enhanced by time. Now, her youthful fascination with Ronan is naught but a candle to the inferno milord can incite. Her fingers adjust the warbelt, settling it into position. It is not passion alone that milord incites. He has filled her heart, mind, and spirit. That it is a futile and dangerous affection changes naught. As she has done for seasons, she seals her wayward affection in discipline, hiding it away where none may note it. I am the sum of my ancestors.

  »◊«

  Tapping her slate, Lilian double-checks the report in preparation for eighth bell, canting her head at Rebecca settling next to her on the bench outside the scarlet door.

  Rebecca asks, “What has you so pleased?”

  “Mercium demand in the Eleventh and Twelfth Systems is well beyond projections.”

  “That will please Monsignor. The investigation into Deacon Raleigh was costly. From what Clarice says, it was almost as costly to develop the license agreement with him.”

  It required almost a year for Seigneur Trevelyan to identify a free-trader with commercial interests large enough to handle Mercium imports and a reputation for honorable dealing that met milord’s requirements. Even then, milord insisted on a restrictive license that included severe penalties for failure to protect Mercium and its secrets. Although not involved in the negotiations, Lilian was impressed with the final contracts. “Seigneur Herman’s agreements are meticulous, but I doubt Monsignor would have permitted the deacon the license to distribute Mercium if he were not well established in the Eleventh System hierarchy.”

  A deacon in the Damaris Collective, the governing council of the Eleventh System, Raleigh’s rank is exceeded only by that of the collective’s elders and the system’s governor—high enough to ensure that legal disputes will favor Serengeti and Blooded Dagger.

  Rebecca crosses her ankles and smiles. “That he distinguished himself as a Damaris Militia captain during the pirate actions was useful as well.”

  Lilian’s lips twitch at the sly reference but she voices naught. Raleigh’s militia service was to his favor, but that is not what the apprentice spy means. The militia records that Trevelyan’s operatives accessed by less than legal means provided a great deal of useful information. Raleigh’s parents were independent cargo haulers and it was on their transport that Raleigh learned his skills as pilot. Although there was naught in the militia records, further investigation revealed intermittent gray commerce interactions. Not that gray commerce connections would disqualify him from consideration—such contacts can be useful, and his militia record testified to his honor. That he leveraged the transport he inherited from his parents into a fleet indicates more than sufficient commerce capability. Only one area of investigation remains unresolved, that of his genetics. After some deliberation, milord ratified the agreement, knowing that acquiring genetic histories of those in the free-trader worlds is all but impossible.

  Eig
hth bell chimes and both Ravens rise.

  »◊«

  Adelaide’s Thorn! Lilian pushes back from her worksite, sending her chair into the back wall with the force of her movement.

  At the sound of the impact, Rebecca’s head rises over her worksite privacy shield. “What is amiss?”

  Amiss? What is not amiss? First Deacon Raleigh’s alert on threats to the Eleventh System Mercium trade, and now Malcon’s report on Deacon Raleigh’s genetics. Although Rebecca will most likely have the tale from Seigneur Trevelyan by day’s end, it is not for Lilian to voice. She drops her slate into her satchel. “It is but a half period to midday and there is something I must do before I attend milord.”

  “Need you aid?”

  “Not as yet.” Waving Rebecca off, Lilian turns down the aisle. “I will send you an alert if aught changes.”

  I am the sum of my ancestors. She resists the urge to race through the corridors. Entering a riser carriage, she taps out an alert to Master Chin. She doubts Malcon erred, but she will have confirmation before she presents this to milord.

  I am the foundation of my family. Master Chin says naught, gesturing her to a seat while he examines the genetic data on Deacon Raleigh. It does not take long for the medic to confirm the spy’s data.

  Honor is my blade and shield. Midday approaches as she darts into a riser. Deacon Raleigh is both clever and formidable. He waited until after the Mercium demand reports had been received and verified before he sent the most recent alert. His report is ill but not unanticipated.

  Honor knows not fear. Master Malcon is an exceptional operative to have succeeded in acquiring a sample of Raleigh’s genetic matter.

  Honor endures. Midday chimes as she enters milord’s commerce suite.

  Honor acts as duty commands. Crossing the threshold, she finds milord waiting, eyes heavy with desire.

  This day. “Red gems.”

  Milord’s reaching hand drops, his eyes fill with concern. “What is it? Are you unwell?”

  “No, milord. It is Deacon Raleigh.”

  Milord’s expression lifts. “Will a half period change aught?”

  “No, milord.”

  “Then discard your jacket and top.”

  »◊«

  Passion spent, Lucius reclines on the scarlet couch, holding Lilian close, the soft swell of her breasts against his torso, her lithe legs entwined with his. Sliding a finger along her back, he takes pleasure in the feel of the well-toned flesh that softens the bone of her ribs. He knew he would not have long to enjoy the triumph of Cesare’s heir proclamation. Self-master. “What caused red gems?”

  Lilian’s head lifts and she meets his gaze. “I received two alerts related to Mercium distribution in the Eleventh and Twelfth Systems. The first was from Deacon Raleigh. Twice in the past season his transports have been assaulted by black commerce raiders intent on acquiring Mercium. Neither attempt succeeded. Both attacks evidenced that information on his transport routes is compromised. Raleigh requires aid in locating and destroying this threat.”

  Lucius knew that the disorganized cooperative societies would attract predators once it became known Mercium was available. Serengeti has means to deal with the issue. “It is not unanticipated. What in these attacks has you overset?”

  “Only that they were so close together. Such boldness suggests that the source of the information is within cartel security-privilege, but that was not the cause of red gems.” Tension enters her supine form, her spine becoming rigid and the gray eyes going flat. She is gathering herself to voice something that will displease him. “Master Chin has analyzed Deacon Raleigh’s genetics. There can be no question; the deacon is a direct descendent of Lady Gertrude Mercio.”

  Socraide’s sword! What says she? “My great-grandmother was also Raleigh’s?”

  Bracing one arm on the back of the sofa, she says, “I beg pardon; the free-trader’s line is a generation beyond milord’s. Lady Gertrude is Deacon Raleigh’s maternal great-great-grandmother.”

  Demon shit. For Raleigh to be a generation beyond Lucius, his great-grandmother must have given birth before she achieved majority. Unplanned conception is a rarity in the Twelve Systems. Even among commoners, procreation is planned, the cost of rearing offspring calculated. Among warriors, bloodlines and genetics are as carefully combined as the rarest of elixirs. To blend genetics casually or unintentionally is the mark of the ill disciplined, foolish, or degraded. A warrior of Lady’s Gertrude’s station bearing offspring at such an early age evidences an unruly nature and a warrior lacking in self-mastery.

  Grappling with the ramifications, Lucius moves to sit, wrapping his arm around Lilian to steady her. His hitherto unknown cousin is the product of Gertrude’s lack of self-mastery. That it has remained hidden for two centuries is a tribute to the resources and ruthlessness of the Mercio clan. A scandal of this nature should enjoy no more than a sevenday or so of media attention, and it would receive only that much due to the preeminence of Blooded Dagger. If the scandal were to emerge now, it will cast a pall over Elysia’s recognition and humiliate his volatile daughter. “Does the deacon know of this?”

  “I know not, milord. Deacon Raleigh’s request for assistance with the black raiders may be no more than it appears. Even if the deacon does know of the genetic tie, he demonstrates no desire to give rise to a scandal. His request for an audience is six sevendays hence.”

  Six sevendays is a month beyond Elysia’s cotillion. There is little threat the man will cause a scandal. But why wait so long to attend Lucius if the deacon is truly troubled by pirates? “It requires but three sevendays to transit from the Eleventh System to Crevasse City. Why the extra three sevendays before his arrival? It appears Raleigh does not hold a sense of urgency about the black commerce raiders.”

  Unless. Lucius reaches with one hand for his slate. “The Nightingale command crew will be at headquarters for their initial training.”

  “Yes, milord.” Lilian nods at his slate. “But I cannot imagine why the deacon would hold an interest in the command crew.” Her fingers flicker over the conservator’s seal. There is something in this that troubles her.

  “Voice it, woman.”

  Five Warriors take it! He sees too much. “It is the pattern, milord. I cannot see it, but somehow, the deacon, this unexpected genetic tie, it is part of the pattern.”

  “Which pattern, Lilian?” Setting aside his slate, milord draws her across his lap. “The pattern from this past Sixth Day?”

  This day. “Milord, it may be the same pattern or another.”

  I will not fail. Milord knows more about her insights than any other, but for all her effort, she knows she has failed to convey the nature of the extra dimension that defines her awareness. As a child she knew not that others lacked it. At the age of eight, she learned to be cautious in revealing its presence. At the age of sixteen, she began to fear it as she accepted that Helena was lost in Shade madness. At the age of seventeen, she was determined to exploit it. Now, to serve milord she must reveal what she would prefer to hide. She prays Apollo never learns of this. There is only this day. “The insights could be part of one incomprehensible pattern or they may reveal but a single instant where a myriad of patterns that coexist briefly coincide.”

  Unable to resist, she strokes milord’s confining arm, the warm satin texture comforting. “Milord knows I control it naught, that I cannot make the insights come at my call. When they do come, I find clarity in the pattern that is beyond bright. It was thus when I understood the nature of the counterfeiters. It was thus when I understood that the laser sting had disabled the archives monitors. It was thus when I understood the extent of the vileness perpetrated by Damocles and Seigneur Sebastian. That was impossible to view. The clarity brought into the light that which was appalling.”

  Recall of the last fills her with cold. Wrapping her arms around her torso, she struggles to continue. Milord pulls her tight to him, the heat of his torso enveloping her and chasing out the chill. “
Peace. If you cannot bear to voice it, do not. It is not my will.”

  Relaxing into milord’s embrace, Lilian rests and considers voicing no more. Honor is my blade and shield. She will not be meager. Milord should know. “Wondrous or terrible, it begins with a single piece of data that chimes in my head, heralding a pattern I must seek. It defies reason and yet it is true.”

  She raises her eyes to meet milord’s dark gaze. “When I learned of Deacon Raleigh’s genetic link to milord, there was a chime. I have sought the pattern, but it will not form.”

  Milord will consider me as mad as Maman. It may well be true.

  Milord’s eyes hood and he tucks her head into the hollow of his shoulder. “Seek naught that troubles you in this. Does it distress you, it is not my will.”

  Milord does not consider her mad. Relief makes Lilian giddy. “The patterns do not distress me. My ability in this is no different from the ability to perceive color or hear music. Some lack it, most do not. What concerns me with the deacon is that I cannot perceive the pattern and have no means to determine if it is good or ill until the pattern forms.”

  Milord’s fingers stroke her temple. “You can do no more, but there are other avenues to discover the nature of my newfound kinsman. Arrange for the deacon’s audience. I will not trust Serengeti Militia to his command until we have discerned his intent.”

  »◊«

  Eyes on the glowing target, Lilian sends another burst toward the center. Sixth bell chimes in concert with the range alert signaling the end of the round. Lowering her rifle, she waits for the score. Seven of ten; better.

  “You have it,” Tabitha says. “It is all muscle recall and practice now.”

  Sealing the rifle against firing, Lilian checks the charge and finds it is but half spent. “Another sequence? Dean Joseph’s lessons are returning.”