by M. D. Cooper
Paul breathed a sigh of relief that they had arrived safe.
He sent an affirmative response and closed the connection as he walked into the bedroom and caught sight of Janice shimmying into a delicate, purple, satin gown, her hair spun into a messy figure-eight bun at the nape of her neck. Just seeing her casual elegance made Paul feel like he’d been suckerpunched.
“I can’t quite get this zipper. If you wouldn’t mind helping me?” Janice said, turning slightly to gaze at him.
He took in the soft curve of her breasts and how the folds of the gown clung to her hips.
“I don’t mind at all,” he said as he approached.
He stood close as he zipped her up, his other hand sliding around her waist to lay flat against her abdomen. He pulled her back against him and leant over to brush his lips against her neck. She smelled like vanilla—such a simple smell, but it brought back a rush of memories, from the day they’d first met all the way to this very moment.
He’d try to hold onto those memories forever. It was hard to believe it would all soon be coming to an end.
Janice reached back and stroked his head. “Tonight is for both of us and all we’ve achieved. I hope you’re as proud as I am. We’re going to rekindle what your father started…make it burn all the brighter.”
Paul wished she’d talk about something else other than the Rhoads legacy for once. He tried to redirect the conversation. “Good news. The delegation will be arriving in thirty minutes, and the Solidarity has already docked. They’re coming down the strand.”
She smiled widely. “And Chief Raynes? Is he with Chassea?”
Paul shook his head. “Chassea’s message said he had to stay behind on Battia, something about needing to keep things in line there. She has the product, though. We can ask Chassea for details when we see her.”
“Long as everything goes as planned, and Raynes isn’t double-crossing us. Unlikely, but we should be careful.”
“Chassea has never failed us.”
Her counsel was wise as ever; he didn’t doubt Chassea one iota.
Paul offered his wife an arm. “We should head over to the Hyperion so we can be there to greet Orion’s delegation. We wouldn’t want to leave their entertainment to the locals, would we?”
Janice took his arm, staring at him longer than was necessary, before they started out of the house. Alberta and Drake quietly followed behind, little more than a pair of shadows that accompanied their owners.
“This is a day we’ll remember for the rest of our lives,” Janice said confidently. “If we impress Orion and make up for your father’s failure in their eyes, we’ll never have to fear destruction again. We’ll be living the type of life we’ve always talked about.”
“And what type of life is that?”
Paul, for his part, couldn’t remember anything other than the day-to-day grind of the message he was to spread. The life of a preacher’s son was relentless and unforgiving.
They walked down the front steps and stopped at the curb where a hover car waited. Paul opened the door for his wife. Once she was inside, he slipped in beside her.
“Power, of course,” she said with a smirk in the moment they were alone.
Then their guard escorts entered through the opposite door.
Paul was reaching for two glasses of champagne, but his hand paused at her answer.
“Right,” he said as he passed a glass over.
“Champagne, Drake? Alberta?” he asked, as the guards settled in across from them.
Drake held up his hand to say no, and Alberta shook her head.
“Not while we’re working, sir, but thank you for the offer.”
Paul laughed. “But you’re always working.”
Alberta laughed. “Yes. Unfortunately for me.”
Janice held hers up and gave a little toast. Paul joined her because he couldn’t bear to explain why he didn’t want to, but inside, he felt hollow. He’d never wanted power. All he remembered wanting was to please his father and do a good job, do what was expected of him. Bring peace to mankind and avert a war thrust upon them by the AIs.
Something that still hadn’t come to pass.
Now he could think of only one thing.
* * * * *
The car brought Paul and Janice Rhoads across the long bridge to the main entrance of the Hyperion Hotel as the sun was setting behind the structure, making it appear as though it were on fire.
On the drive in front of the hotel, Paul could see vehicles carrying delegates from other Revolution stations, planets, and entire systems disgorging their passengers and moving off into the night.
All of them were present to remind the people from Orion that while the Fringe was considered a backwater by many, they were not insignificant. They were also there to witness what the virus could do, of course.
Lights set into the lawn shone upon the building, illuminating the crystal windows and casting multihued reflections back onto the lawns. From within, the sounds of music—harps and violas, if Paul didn’t miss his guess—drifted out into the night.
The guards were first out of the car, Drake circling around and opening the door for Paul. He stepped out, adjusted the collar of his shirt and then extended a hand to help Janice from the vehicle. She slipped an arm into the crook of his elbow, smiling beatifically as they approached the front door, the guards on either side of it snapping their heels as the pair approached.
“Good work tonight,” Paul complimented them with a nod of his head. They returned the salute and slid the glass doors open, allowing the Rhoadses inside.
Inside, the brightly lit lobby had been cleared of all the usual accoutrements of the hotel, and a row of liveried attendants stood by, ready to assist any guests that may need help as they made their way to the ballroom’s entrance.
Paul nodded silently to the attendants as he walked with measured strides across the foyer and through the doors. Once inside, he surveyed the space, taking in the sidebars laden with appetizers, the servers carrying trays of drinks and bites of food, and the round tables, each covered with a simple white cloth and topped with a bouquet of purple flowers.
He shaded his eyes as he looked around. “Stars, with those crystal windows and the rainbows of light everywhere, it’s too bright—going to give me a headache, darling. I’m going to go ask them to turn the lights down.”
“Are you sure?” Janice asked as Paul kissed her cheek. “I can just send a message to the organizers, you know.”
“No trouble at all. I’ll be right back.”
“Alright, I’m going to go back out front and wait for the Orion delegation.”
Paul nodded and gave his wife another kiss on the cheek before he pulled his arm free and bore left, moving behind a trio of couples talking near a table. He patted one of the men on the shoulder and said hello, before spotting the governor of Heliso, a man who would talk your ear off and then help you reattach it so he could keep going.
Successfully avoiding the bore, Paul took the gently curving glass stairs up to the balcony level, which encircled the main floor. Nearby was the entrance to a service corridor; checking that no eyes were on him, he slipped down the hall.
He stopped at the third door and pulled it open, easing into a utility closet. The back wall held several shelves, and on the lowest one rested a nondescript black bag. He pulled it off and unzipped it to check the contents.
Weapons, a change of clothes, a mod that would give him a new identity, and both Silstrand and Scipian credits: everything he finally needed to get away. The demonstration on the AIs would be the perfect distraction.
A small part of him felt bad for the non-organic beings, but not so much that he wasn’t willing to trade their lives for his freedom.
* * * * *
Kylie leant against a marble column in the Hyperion’s gardens, zoomin
g her vision on the hotel’s main entrance. Four guards stood at the front door, with a woman in a purple satin dress standing nearby, greeting the various attendees as they came up the steps.
It took a moment for Kylie to recognize the woman. Though Janice was older, she’d aged gracefully, still holding onto her aloof elegance. Kylie hoped that Janice would fall for her disguise and not recognize her long-estranged sister-in-law.
As she was studying her brother’s wife, a long car pulled up. Kylie watched as a group of men and women exited the vehicle. The emblems on their shoulders looked familiar, and she focused in closer to get a clear view.
Well, there they are.
The memory of when she’d last seen that crest leapt into her mind. It had been on General Garza’s uniform.
she sent to Ricket, who was stationed at the rear of the hotel.
Kylie pursed her lips, memories of her earnest and kind big brother flooding her mind.
Kylie had to admit that Ricket’s logic was sound—so long as they didn’t get made right in front of the Orion Guard.
She pushed off from the pillar she was leaning against and began walking through the garden, timing her approach to meet with Ricket on the walkway that ran alongside the road to the front entrance.
Kylie took her hand when they met and gave it a soft squeeze.
Kylie didn’t want to get into it.
Sure enough, Janice was busy talking to a man with general’s stars on his lapels and only gave the pair a cursory glance and a quick nod.
They passed their tokens over to the security officers and were allowed inside together. They passed under a security arch, both breathing easier when it didn’t pick up their carefully stowed weapons or armor.
They crossed the foyer and entered the ballroom. Just as they made their entrance, a waterfall sprang to life in the center of the room, sending water cascading down from the roof to land in a wide pool.
Kylie almost jumped as it started up, and Ricket put a hand on her shoulder.
As a waitress passed by, Kylie took a glass of champagne from her tray and quickly downed it.
Meanwhile, Kylie circled the area, threading amongst the guests—and feeling terribly underdressed. If she’d known it was going to be a ball, she’d’ve stepped things up a notch.
As she moved around the room’s perimeter, she kept one eye on the guests, scanning for Paul, and one on the guards who were patrolling the perimeter. Some of the dignitaries had the air of being local—maybe a mayor, or someone vying for political office. A few women had that smug look about them, where their noses were held just a little bit higher than everyone else’s.
And the military officials…. They worried Kylie the most. They looked entirely too happy, too content, as if their wildest dreams were about to come true.
It made her stomach turn, and she suddenly regretted her quick drink.
“It’s Chassea, isn’t it?”
Kylie placed her empty glass down on a servitor as she slowly turned and saw that a four-star general had approached her—the same one Janice had been talking to.
“I’m afraid I don’t have the pleasure….” She extended one hand while her other held the strap of the metal cylinder close.
“General Levin. The Orion Guard.” He smirked. “You’re doing great work for the Revolution.” He eyed the container hanging at the level of her hip. “Well, is that it? The AIs?”
“It is,” Kylie said, trying to think of a way to beat a hasty retreat. The last thing she wanted was to spend a lot of time talking to someone who might have the tech to see through her disguise.
“They must be tightly packed. How many in there?”
“Two-fifty. They’re all in a low-power state, that’s how they fit in without overheating. It’ll make an impressive display.”
“Quite right. Can I see inside?”
“Sorry, General,” Kylie slipped her arm around the canister protectively. “I’m under orders to only hand them over to Paul Rhoads.”
“Good thing I’m right here, then,” Paul said with a laugh as he approached and gave a casual wink to the general before shaking the man’s hand. “Good to see you, General Levin.”
Kylie swallowed, hoping that her glasses and hair would mask her, but the moment he turned to face her directly, the color drained from his face.
“Kylie?”
STALWART HERO
STELLAR DATE: 12.21.8948 (Adjusted Gregorian)
LOCATION: The Immortal One’s Palace, Banglad, Battia
REGION: Hanoi System (independent)
Grayson’s blood pressure spiked, and he leapt to his feet.
I shouldn’t have let them separate us—that was a hell of a mistake.
She was one of his people, and Grayson’s plans and options narrowed down to a fine point: he had to get to Maureen.
He pulled open the doors to his quarters, only to find the blade of a sword centimeters from his nose. The red-robed woman guarding his door met his glare with an impassive expression.
“You will stay put until summoned.”
Then the door slid closed again.
Grayson wiped the back of his hand across his lips as he paced across the room.
A second later, the door to his room opened, and Grayson spun, ready to tear into the woman who stepped in, only to be stopped by this new person’s unusual appearance. She was a stark contrast to the others he’d seen thus far in the palace. Her greying hair was pinned back behind her ears, and her face bore signs of age—wrinkles and spots.
She smiled kindly at Grayson. “Sorry to have kept you waiting. Empress Mei does like things prepared a special way. She is, however, ready to dine with you now.”
Strangely, the woman’s words sounded almost apologetic. “No fault of your own, I’m sure.” Grayson frowned and followed the woman out into the dimly lit corridor, allowing her to take the lead, with the red-robed guard following behind.
He considered attacking them both, but decided that having the palace servants take him directly to the empress would be better than rampaging through the palace looking for Maureen. He’d play along until it got him to a place where he could get to the bottom of things, and then he would do so by whatever means necessary.
“Commander Maureen will be joining us, I hope?” he asked innocently. “Our communications cut out a minute ago.”
The elderly woman briefly paused. “I’m afraid I don’t know of such things. I’m only a handmaiden to Empress Mei, and her alone. I’m not aware of the status of other guests.”
Grayson found her choice of words interesting, and there was an underlying fear in the old woman’s voice.
The AI sent an acknowledgement.