by M. D. Cooper
Malorie didn’t reply, but Katrina could feel the woman’s rage and malice flowing over the Link.
Despite everything that had happened—the torture, the abuse—Katrina found herself liking Malorie more and more. The woman was resilient. A survivor, like herself. There was something powerful in the core of such a person that could not be easily dismissed.
Jace, however, was just a greed-driven, murdering monster. A creature with no redeeming qualities, who deliberately destroyed people for his own pleasure. Malorie had done that too, but she had been somewhat kind to Juasa during their imprisonment.
That counted for something.
Despite the woman’s current condition, Katrina was still considering putting Malorie back in her place in Revenence Castle. She was skilled at running the sithri operation, and, right now, Katrina needed all the revenue she could drum up.
If the sithri stopped flowing for too long, some other designer drug would fill the gap, and Katrina would have an uphill battle to regain Blackadder’s former place.
The real question is in what fashion will she resume her place as the Lady of Revenence Castle, Katrina mused.
She could have Malorie ensconced in the castle in her current form, just a braincase on a pedestal. Or perhaps Malorie could have a body. Maybe an automaton’s frame, or even something that appeared to be organic—if the woman learned to behave herself.
Korin had been given enough time to secure the landing pad; Katrina pushed her long coat back and checked the pair of pistols on her hips. She made sure they were loose in their holsters before stepping off the shuttle, into the bright Persian sunlight.
The two-dozen soldiers—all Blackadder assault commandos—had secured the platform, and a team was moving into the building to check the hallway inside.
Katrina nodded with approval before looking up to see two of the fighters circling high overhead.
“Tight as can be up here,” Korin said before gesturing to a man standing near the building’s entrance. “Troan’s flunky there was a bit pissy about your soldiers going in first, but I told him it was our way or an orbital strike.”
Katrina laughed. “You’ve been paying attention, Korin.”
The man shrugged. “WWKD. What would Katrina do?”
“Don’t take that too much to heart,” Katrina replied, rapping a hand on her armor-sheathed chest. “I’ve made a few questionable decisions of late.”
“Yeah, well, I draw the line at intentionally having my skin torn off my body.” Korin gave a slight shudder as they walked toward the building’s entrance, four of the Adders falling in around them.
“Well, if you recall, my skin was already half gone. You might have gone my route, if you were in that shape.”
Korin shook his head. “I’d need balls as big as your breasts to pull something like that off.”
“Well, balls typically don’t survive that sort of rapid operation.”
Korin sucked in a sharp breath. “Noted. WWKD with the distinct exception of body mods. In that case, choose the opposite of WWKD.”
“Good call.”
They’d held the conversation in front of Lord Troan’s man, whose face had lightened in pallor as he waited for them to finish speaking.
“Lady Katrina,” he swallowed after speaking the words. “You are most welcome in Canton Selkirk. You are in good hands here. There’s no need for so many guards, or the fighters above.”
“Are you sure?” Katrina asked.
“Yes, very, my Lady. You’re quite safe here.”
“What if I want to kill everyone and destroy the tower? If I don’t have my ships and soldiers, that may take a while.”
The man had gained a bit of color during the exchange, but it was gone again in an instant.
“My Lady?” he croaked.
Korin reached out and clasped a hand on the flunky’s shoulder. “She’s messing with you.”
“Thank stars.”
Korin’s grin grew wider. “At least, Lady Katrina won’t blow up the tower while she’s in it. But when we leave….”
The man let out a shaky breath, and Katrina laughed. “See? I’m here, so you’re perfectly safe. Now, are you going to stand there all day, or are we going into the council meeting?”
After another gulp and a nod, the man turned and led them into the building and down a corridor to a lift. Katrina inferred from the sign above the lift that they were on floor thirteen-eighty-two.
“Destination?” she asked the man.
“Uh…the meeting?”
“No, the floor,” Korin elaborated.
“Oh…um, just three floors down.”
Katrina saw a doorway to the staircase and nodded toward it. “We’ll take the stairs.”
Four of the Adders moved into the stairwell, and she waited for Korin to nod that they’d secured the landings and the destination level.
The flunky looked like he thought she was being paranoid, and he may have been right, but Katrina wasn’t about to get into a lift seven kilometers in the air, in a building controlled by a man she had no reason to trust.
Just being in Troan’s tower made her skin crawl…as much as it could.
When they arrived at floor thirteen-seventy-nine, Lord Troan was waiting for them, a look of clearly manufactured concern on his face as Katrina stepped out of the stairwell.
“Katrina, thank you for coming,” he said, holding out his hand in greeting.
Three things struck her about Troan. The first was that he did not use any title when addressing her—he would likely contest her appropriation of the Blackadder’s canton as one of his first orders of business. The second was that he was rather short, over thirty centimeters lower than her. The third was a momentary look of disappointment, or dismay.
I think this bastard did have something planned for the lift. I bet his poor doorman would be saddened to know how expendable he was.
Katrina doubted that Troan could have succeeded in killing her so easily. It takes a lift a long time to fall seven kilometers; enough time for her to reach into the tower’s network and undo any sabotage that had been done.
Not that she really wanted to test that theory with her life.
“Lady Katrina,” she said, folding her arms. She would not start this meeting with him thinking he was able to cow her.
“Excuse me?” Lord Troan asked.
Katrina eyed the two guards at Troan’s back, and considered the placements of autoturrets on the ceiling. There would be at least two, maybe three to fire into the stairwell if necessary.
Too many to deal with this quickly. She tamped down her anger, and gave the man a cold smile instead of the bullet she’d been contemplating.
“I am Lady Katrina, canton leader of Blackadder, and I am now the ruler of the Midditerra System. You may also call me ‘Warlord’ Katrina. ‘Warlady’ sounds a bit odd to my ears, and I’m not against letting the lesser gender get some peripheral benefit from association with me.” She winked at the end, but Troan’s scowl only deepened.
“The council determines who is the ruler of Midditerra. For centuries, the system ruler commanded the MDF—with a maximum strength not to exceed half the combined might of the cantons. As such, no canton leader can be the system ruler. It breaks the balance.”
Katrina shrugged and walked past Troan. “Times change. By the way, next time you don’t use my title, starfire falls on your city.”
She strode down the corridor in the direction she assumed would lead to the meeting room while Troan rushed after her.
“That’s not funny, Katr—” Troan stopped speaking as Katrina spun to face him, not bothering to disguise the disdain she felt for the despicable man.
“Do you think I play games, Troan?”
Troan shook his head, his lips curled into a snarl. “No, I’ve see
n what you’ve done to the Midditerra System over the past few days. You stopped the fighting between the Adders and the MDF, but that doesn’t give you the right to—”
“Which building?” Katrina asked.
“Pardon?” Troan stammered.
“The building. I’m going to let you pick. I told you I would drop starfire on your city. You pick where.”
Troan’s face drained of all color, as his eyes locked on hers. “You’re serious,” he whispered.
Katrina nodded. “I’ve sent a lot of people to die these last few days, and killed many more. What makes you think that I’ll balk at this? I don’t make idle threats. I say what I mean, and I won’t be crossed. Pick. The. Building.”
For a fraction of a second, a sly look came over Troan’s face, then he nodded as though he was accepting of his punishment. “I understand. You have to do what you must. There is a factory on the western edge of town, at the base of Mount Hydra.”
Katrina referenced her stored maps of Selkirk City. “The one owned by Omen Industries?”
Troan nodded slowly, a look of sorrow on his face. It was good—if she had no reason to distrust the man, she might have bought it.
Katrina pursed her lips as she regarded the slimy man before her. “Do you take me for a fool? I know that Omen is owned by your largest detractors of late. I’d be doing you a favor. But…what about the Litan Tower? It’s just ten kilometers away, we could watch it fall from the council meeting room.”
“The fuck?” Troan exclaimed, his carefully schooled expression fully disappearing for the first time. “You can’t do that! It’s in the middle of the city.”
“And it’s owned by Heras, one of your strongest supporters. I’ll be sure to let her know that it was your indiscretion that caused her to lose one of her most prized assets.”
Katrina placed her hands on her hips as she watched Troan try to decide what to do next. She could see that her Adders had all tensed, ready to take out the two Selkirk guards, who, for their part, looked as though they’d rather be anywhere else right then.
It seemed that Troan didn’t inspire any particularly strong loyalty in his people.
The Adders, on the other hand, were loving every minute. Katrina’s show was as much for them as it was to cow Troan. They would spread stories of her unbending strength amongst the troops.
Everyone liked being on the winning team.
“I’ll give you an alternative,” Katrina offered the struggling leader of Canton Selkirk.
“Yes?” he asked, hope appearing on his face.
“Get on your knees.”
“My what?”
“Knees,” Katrina sneered. “I assume you know what they are.”
Lord Troan glanced at his guards, then at Korin and the Adders, realizing that he had no recourse—other than earning the unending animosity of Heras and the Litan family.
He eased down onto his knees, and Katrina held out her hand for him.
“Kiss it.”
“What?” Troan looked up at Katrina, outrage mixing with fear.
“I’ve changed my mind. Korin, call Captain Jordan. Destroy Litan tower.”
“No! I’ll do it,” Troan called out, then leant forward, lips pressed together.
Katrina stepped forward, put a hand on the back of Troan’s head, and pressed his face into her crotch at the exact moment the lift doors opened, and Ladies Marion and Armis emerged.
Timed perfectly.
“Oh, glad you both were able to make it,” Katrina said, lifting her hand off the startled Lord Troan’s head and stepping back to reveal him on his knees, face turning the color of an overripe tomato. “Troan was just expressing his devotion to me in repayment for a recent transgression.”
Lady Armis whistled and shook her head at Troan. “Lady Katrina has been here for five minutes. What could you have done already?”
Troan didn’t speak as he struggled to his feet, but Katrina’s leg shot out, and her knee slammed into his face, knocking him into the wall.
“Tell her, Troan.” Katrina emphasized the omission of his honorific. “Confession is a part of your penance.”
Troan shot Katrina a worried look as he put a hand to his cheek. She could see understanding dawn on his face. He was dealing with someone who was not going to play by any of the rules he was accustomed to. She would respond with maximum force in all things, and would not back down. There would be no negotiating. No wheeling and dealing.
“I…I didn’t use her title,” Troan admitted quietly.
“Which is?” Katrina asked.
Troan looked down at her feet. “Lady Katrina.”
“Excellent,” Katrina replied, and turned away from the scene, resuming her walk down the hall to the council room. “That was a lot of work to get one specific word out of you, Troan.”
The hall was short, and a moment later, she reached the double doors leading into the council chamber. They opened automatically, and Katrina strode into the oval room.
With glass walls on three sides, the meeting place was shaped like a clear egg, jutting out over the city far below. In the center rested a table, which was also crystal clear, with silver chairs surrounding it.
Katrina walked to the window and surveyed the city of Selkirk, spread out before them.
“It’s impressive,” she said, turning back to look at Troan and the two ladies as they entered the chamber. In the corridor, the Adders denied entrance to the other council members’ guards and assistants.
“Umm…thank you, Lady Katrina,” Troan said quietly. He was still nervous, trying to understand what had just happened to his standing.
One thing was certain: Lady Marion was enjoying Troan’s discomfort, openly sneering at the man. Armis was more reserved. Katrina supposed the leader of Canton Draus knew that anyone who behaved as Katrina was could easily turn her unbridled vengeance on friend as well as foe.
Something she should remember.
“Captain Jordan,” Katrina called out audibly as she contacted the Castigation over the Link. “Fire on the beta target.”
“What!?” Troan screamed, rushing toward Katrina, only to stop short as her arm snapped out, the barrel of her pistol pressed against his forehead.
“Watch,” Katrina ordered.
The Castigation didn’t possess beams powerful enough to penetrate through a hundred kilometers of atmosphere and do instant and catastrophic damage, so, despite the fact that Katrina had threatened starfire, the trio of rail-fired tungsten rounds that screamed toward the city would have to do.
They struck a site on the eastern edge of the city, debris and flames pouring into the sky in a great plume, followed by secondary explosions that pushed a great black cloud into the air.
The target was a manufacturing complex owned by Troan’s ally, Heras. It was mostly automated and minimally staffed, making for few human casualties.
Not that Katrina was overly concerned. Maneuvering for power within the council was war. There were casualties in war.
Katrina sent a message to Heras of the Litan family, letting her know why she had been targeted, and trusted that Jordan would coordinate cleanup with the city’s management.
“Do you understand your position?” Katrina asked Troan, her pistol still pressed against his forehead.
The man nodded slowly, eyes fixed on her trigger finger. “I do.”
“Good, now send a message to all of your ships and military assets instructing them to stand down.”
Katrina could have done it on his behalf—she’d planted nano on him when she had pressed his face against her steel gusset—but she wanted to see if he would do it of his own volition and listened in on his Link connection.
&
nbsp; “It’s done,” he said aloud, all the fight gone out of him. “May I sit, Lady Katrina?”
Katrina nodded as she watched emergency response vessels race across the city to the site of the orbital strikes, a tightening in her chest threatening to ruin her resolve.
“You may.”
* * * * *
Katrina did not speak further until the rest of the canton lords and ladies arrived. For their part, Persia’s leadership spoke in muted tones, giving Katrina sidelong looks from time to time.
She imagined that much of their chatter was occurring over the Link. Except for Troan. He wasn’t talking to anyone—other than to suffer an abusive tirade from Heras of the Litan family over the loss of their facility.
A small part of Katrina felt bad for the man. He had probably begun the day with high hopes of establishing his position with her—or perhaps over her. Now he was likely wondering if he would even possess his canton by the time night fell.
Unless he did something stupid, Katrina had no intention of stripping it from him. She had already made the effort to turn him into her pawn. It would be foolish to waste that and have to repeat the process with his successor.
ORDERS
STELLAR DATE: 01.03.8512 (Adjusted Gregorian)
LOCATION: Genchuta Station
REGION: Corona, Bollam’s World System (58 Eridani)
Admiral Pierson stared at the report that hovered in the air over his desk. At first he’d wondered if General Yves of the Intelligence Directorate was messing with him. It would be just the thing Yves would do.
Guy thinks he’s such a comedian. How he runs the BWID is beyond me.
But this report did not appear to be faked. Blackadder ships were definitely searching for something, which meant that they did not capture the Streamer Woman’s ship at the edge of the Bollam’s World System, as the investigators had first believed.
It was still out there somewhere.
Of course, that was little help. With over ten thousand settled stars within two months’ travel, it was entirely possible for a ship to disappear forever.
So why is the Blackadder searching at all?
Pierson leant back in his chair and ran a hand through his short grey hair. There had been some fighting between the ships at the edge of the system before the Blackadder made off with the Havermere.