Veritas Morte
A Science Fiction Novella
Michael Kingswood
Contents
About This Book
Veritas Morte
Message From The Author
About The Author
More Books By Michael Kingswood
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About This Book
Lucien Bandemyr, Crown Prince of the Qorathi Empite, looked forward to adventure, excitement, and glory from his first campaign outside of the Empire's star systems. Instead he found frustration and betrayal as an assassination attempt coupled with an unexpected military catastrophe put him squarely in the center of a galaxy-wide struggle for power.
With his father near death, his most trusted advisors not above suspicion, and a Republican-minded Princess seemingly determined to set his mind awhirl, Lucien sets out to right the military situation and discover the assassin's identity.
But he is young and inexperienced, and finding these answers could prove more costly than Lucien ever imagined.
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Veritas Morte
Lucien paused before the entrance field to the side-door of his father’s audience compartment and straightened his sash, royal purple as befitting his station, then settled his belt more comfortably over his hips. His rapier jangled softly in the quiet of the corridor as he drew himself up to his full height and inhaled slowly. Then, with a quick nod to himself, he stepped forward.
The door slid open soundlessly as he broke the entrance field, and he absently noted two of his guardian drones zipping through ahead of him, their sensors probing for threats even here. You never knew where an assassin may lie in waiting, but it seemed far-fetched indeed that someone would make an attempt on his life in this place. But as his Chief-Of-Staff and Tutor, Abernathy, continually reminded him, complacency had brought down powerful men since before Caesar was knifed by his friends in the Senate.
Lucien tried not to dwell on that bit of cheeriness as he strode through the door, passing two Marines in their ceremonial armor with its gleaming polish and engravings. The two, already standing at rigid attention, seemed somehow to stiffen further as he passed, and they snapped their rifles to present arms in unison. He spared them a quick nod and then just as quickly put them out of his mind as he passed into the compartment.
It was large as far as spaces went onboard ship, but though the ship’s designers had done their best to recreate it, the compartment was a far cry from the throne room in the Imperial Palace on Qora Seven. Fluted columns of blue-grey faux stone lined the room from the main entrance to the dais at the end where a replica of the Imperial Throne sat, just as they did back home. But the dimensions were less grand, the filigree less gleaming, the carvings and tapestries replicas. Still, Lucien had to admit it was an impressive sight. Had he not grown up in the palace and gotten to know every twist and turn intimately, he would have no cause to voice complaint. And one reason to prefer this to the real thing.
He raised his eyes to the ceiling, as he always did when he came in here. As back home, it was all crystalline panes, carefully treated to remain transparent despite the lights within the chamber and inlaid in supports so thin it seemed they could not possibly support the weight. But while on Qora the view beyond consisted solely of the blue-pink sky and the myriad puffy white clouds that roved on the whims of the winds, here he beheld creation in all its majesty. There the star field lay, far more dense than could ever be seen planetside, and from this location the halo of the galactic center, where a mammoth black hole sent brilliant beams of light to the far edges of the cosmos, was clearly visible.
It always took his breath away.
“Lucien.”
He pulled his eyes down from the stars and turned to fully face the dais, where His Imperial Majesty, Archibald Bandemyr, Ruler of the Qorathi Empire and Protector of the Chosen, stood with his Chamberlain and a cluster of high-ranking officers of the Fleet and Ground forces. More Marines stood along the wall behind the throne, still enough that the eye almost passed them over without noticing, and Lucien saw Abernathy waiting as well, off to the side. But he paid his aid no mind, instead striding quickly, but not so quickly as to break decorum, straight toward the dais.
The Emperor wore his curly, coal-black hair--so similar to Lucien’s own--cut short on the sides and top but long at the back, as tradition dictated. His uniform was white, a contrast with the charcoal grey of his officers’ and Lucien’s, and he too wore a sash of purple, though his also bore the golden half-moon and star of rule while all others were bare. He wore a rapier on his left hip, balancing a holstered pistol on his right, and his boots were polished to a mirror shine.
“Father,” Lucien said as he reached the group of men. He bowed deeply to the Emperor, both hands cupping his heart as he rose. “Forgive my tardiness.”
The Emperor made a quick, dismissive wave of his hand that seemed to say, “No matter,” but he said nothing for a time. His eyes traced up and down Lucien’s body, as though looking for blemishes. Finally, after an interminable pause, he sniffed and gestured toward the officer to his left, a man in his late middle years whose close-cut sandy hair failed to conceal the presence of multiple silver strands in its midst. He had once been lean but now possessed a noticeable paunch and he wore the pale blue sash of the Fleet over his dress uniform blouse. “Admiral Corrigan was just briefing us on the status of the Corellis campaign.”
Lucien’s ears pricked up and he could not suppress an excited grin.
The Admiral noticed Lucien’s expression and returned it with a knowing smile of his own. “Eager to get a piece of the action, my prince? I recall my first campaign like it was yesterday, why I -”
The Emperor cleared his throat and the Admiral stopped speaking abruptly. He looked abashed for a moment before he regained his bearing and took on a more formal tone. “As I was saying, your Majesty, Task Force Seventeen has taken up blockade stations around Neonovus Six as fragged. Orbital defenses have been eliminated and we now control every jump point in and out of the system. I project that without resupply, the colony will only be able to sustain its defense fields for three weeks at the outside, at which point the Marines,” Admiral Corrigan nodded at the burly bald man to his left, who wore the Marine Corps’ red and gold on his sash, “will assault.”
“How long to take the planet?”
“Two months, your Majesty,” the Marine General stated with quiet assurance. “Though as previously briefed we can expect some level of insurgent resistance for a year or more afterwords.”
The Emperor nodded. “Very well, gentlemen. In that case - “
An electronic chime rang, and the Chamberlain darted to the side, where a data pad was mounted on one of the columns so as to not be readily visible from in front of the throne. He tapped the screen and frowned slightly.
“The delegation has docked, your Majesty,” he said, his falsetto voice seeming to set his jowls to flapping as he moved his jaw. Compared with the military men present, he seemed the epitome of sloth in his billowing blue silk kimono, the fat on his belly and arms swaying lasciviously with every move. But appearances could be deceiving, Lucien knew well. “Minister Ymmersen has made the initial greeting and expects they will arrive within three minutes.”
The Emperor nodded again and said, “We will continue this later.” Then he gestured quickly with his left hand. At once, the gaggle of men dispersed to their places on the edge of dais on either side of the throne. The Emp
eror gave Lucien a meaningful look and turned to ascend the stairs to his seat of power.
Lucien followed, taking up station to the right of the throne and a half-pace behind. Then he settled into parade rest.
They did not have long to wait. True to Minister Ymmersen’s report, three minutes later a chime sounded from the main entrance doors. A second later, the heavy faux-wood swung inward and a contingent of armsmen strode into the audience compartment in two columns.
The new arrivals wore green and brown fatigues with electroplate armor fastened over vital areas, and bore repeating rifles at identical angles of port arms as they strode into the room. Sidearms and dueling blades on their hips completed their kit and they had the appearance of well-trained and disciplined fighters.
Lucien found himself impressed, and surprised. Capestra had a reputation for prizing peace above all things, and that did not tend to breed a warrior ethos in a people. But if these men were any indication…
The escort stopped and performed a well-timed right-left face, then once facing each other took two steps back to open a path between their two columns. A single voice barked an order, and immediately they went to present arms.
Minister Ymmersen entered the room next, striding briskly between the newcomers until he reached the end of the columns of men. Like the Chamberlain, his kimono was blue silk. Unlike the Chamberlain, his body was lean and hardened from strenuous training, and he stood proudly erect. His black hair and beard were cut short and his dark eyes flashed with intelligence and…irritation?
Before Lucien had time to ponder what had irked the Minister of Diplomacy so, Ymmersen stepped to the side and announced in a loud voice that carried easily throughout the chamber, “Your Majesty, it is my honor to present Her Highness, Princess Ophelia Temisen of the Capestrani Republic.”
A faint rustle issued from the sides as the military officers shifted on their feet. Lucien almost lost his bearing from surprise. No wonder Ymmersen was irritated. “Princess?” Lucien said to himself, disbelieving. “They sent a woman to treat with us?”
Lucien could just see the Emperor’s profile from where he stood, but the sudden frown that appeared there was plain. He glanced back Lucien’s way and gave him a hard look. “The Capestrani,” the Emperor said quietly, “have some…quaint…notions about a woman’s place. Hold your tongue.” The last came like a whiplash, and Lucien clamped his teeth shut, lest he say something more.
And then the Princess swept into the compartment and all thoughts left Lucien’s mind except awe.
She did not stride so much as float, her movements were so graceful. Her form was long and lean; she was least as tall as Lucien and he stood well above average. Her arms were toned, advertising similar sculpting in her other areas, and though her dress fit the requirements of modesty it did not conceal so much as accentuate the curves beneath. Sky blue, trimmed in white and silver, the fabric clung to her hips enticingly before it fell to the level of her ankles, and on her torso it was just snug enough to show off the curves of her breasts without revealing too much. The neckline was nearly chaste, it was so high; the string of pearls around her neck almost rested on the fabric of her dress. Her hair, black at the roots but shifting slowly to blue-silver at the ends, flowed in lush waves to just past her shoulders and was held back from her face by a silver tiara that was all the more elegant for its simplicity.
And her face. Narrow but not gaunt, rounded but not plump. Her grey-blue eyes flashed with intelligence and poise and her lips were turned ever-so-slightly upward in a knowing smile. Lucien found he could not look away from her, and suddenly his heart was all aflutter.
Princess Ophelia came to a halt alongside Minister Ymmersen and made a shallow curtsy of greeting. “Your Majesty,” she said, and the warm timbre of her voice sent a little shiver of delight up Lucien’s spine.
If he was not careful, he was going to lose his wits. He forced his eyes away, focusing on the side of his father’s face as the Emperor rose and returned the curtsy with a half-bow of his own.
“Your Highness. We are honored to make your acquaintance.”
“And I yours.” She looked around quickly, taking in the military officers and Lucien at a glance before refocusing on the Emperor. “Your ship is impressive.”
The Emperor smiled warmly, “We have worked hard to make it so.” At a gesture of his left hand, the Chamberlain advanced from his position. “I have prepared the Empress’ suite for your use during your stay. Lord Morsy will show you the way.”
The princess inclined her head smoothly. “I wish she were here. I had very much looked forward to meeting her one day, as her beauty and kindness were well known throughout the systems. My deepest condolences, your Majesty.”
The Emperor froze for a second, his smile becoming brittle. Lucien was not sure anyone else would have noticed, but he had learned to see the signs of pain, pain that matched his own at his mother’s passing, beneath the Emperor’s carefully manicured exterior.
He recovered quickly and said, “Thank you,” in a quiet tone. Then he drew a deeper breath and added with more of his usual force, “You must be tired from your journey. Please take your ease, and then I trust you will join my son and I for dinner.”
Her eyes flicked back Lucien’s way, this time lingering for nearly a full second. As her gaze met his, another shiver went up his spine, and he had to restrain the urge to shift on his feet. Her smile changed then, becoming more direct, almost challenging. And then the moment was over, as she looked back at the Emperor. “It will be my pleasure.”
The Emperor nodded. “We dine at 1900. Until then, your Highness.”
He bowed again, this time in dismissal. She had to know it for what it was, but if she took offense she did not show it. But then, why should she be offended? The Emperor’s domain spanned three dozen star systems, while she represented a small planet at the hub of a middling alliance of a half-dozen worlds. And she was a woman, besides. There was no doubt who outranked whom here.
The Princess returned the bow with the same shallow curtsy she had made upon arrival. “Your Majesty,” she said by way of farewell.
The Chamberlain reached her side and gestured for her to come with him, speaking softly. As she turned to follow him out, her eyes met Lucien’s one last time. And then she was gone.
He swallowed heavily, suddenly realizing he was sweating. Maybe this bit of diplomacy was not going to be so boring, after all.
“What is your impression of Princess Ophelia?” the Emperor asked, between bites of fruit.
Lucien sat across the table from him in the Emperor’s private dining area, adjacent to his living quarters. As with every other space on the ship, it was small compared to what Lucien had been used to in the palace, but by shipboard standards it was huge, especially for only one person’s use. The table itself was real mahogany, and it must have been quite a feat to find and preserve. There were not many pieces that could trace their roots back to Old Earth, these many centuries after the Expansion. The table alone was probably worth more than the rest of the flagship.
Well, maybe a small corvette.
Like Lucien, the Emperor was dressed down for breakfast, in a black silk kimono of similar cut to the blue outfits the Imperial Court wore, but as always he wore the half-moon and star over his left breast. He chewed slowly, watching Lucien’s reaction to his words intently through his deep green eyes.
Lucien shrugged and stabbed at a slice of melon with his fork, thinking carefully how to answer. They were alone, and there really was no need for caution. Not here, with his own father. But knowing that and changing habits that had been ingrained through years of hard lessons were two different things entirely. Finally, he said, “Not what I expected.”
The Emperor snorted out a half-laugh and reached for his goblet, which was filled with the grey-white milk of a Toberian Mollusc Snake. Supposedly their milk prolonged youth and vitality when consumed in moderation, but Lucien had his doubts. The Emperor was not al
l that old yet, and he took a substantial battery of supplements, any combination of which may have kept him looking more youthful than lesser men. Or it may have just been good genes and a healthy training regime.
That did not stop the milk from being outrageously expensive.
The Emperor sipped at the milk and pursed his lips slightly--it was notoriously bitter--before replying. “You expected some wilting flower that we could walk over with ease, eh?” He sniffed and shook his head before lowering his goblet back to the table. “No chance of that in a woman from Capestra. They are uppity creatures, the lot of them.” He paused for a moment, pondering. “Still, the Capestrani are far from the oddest societies out here, past our borders.” For a second, his expression almost matched the Admiral’s from yesterday afternoon. “My tutors did their best, but I was ill-prepared for that reality on my first campaign. Fortunately, Abernathy has proven more than dedicated so I doubt you will have all the disadvantages I did. But there will be many surprises to come.”
Lucien nodded, but did not reply. He considered his father’s words for a long minute as he chewed on another piece of melon. The Emperor had only rarely spoken so openly of his own boyhood before. Why the reminiscing at this particular time? Did it mean something in particular or…
“I’d like you to spend some time with her,” said the Emperor as he wiped his mouth with his napkin. “After this morning’s meeting, see if she would be amenable for tea, or whatever catches your fancy.”
Lucien blinked, surprised. “I will, father, but…why - “
“It is not enough that I ask it of you?”
Lucien closed his mouth quickly. Too quickly, as his teeth met each other jarringly, with an audible CLACK that seemed to echo through the room.
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