It was the simplest of duties, maintaining the blockade around Praetar, a planet long since defeated and occupied by the Melisao. He deployed Alard there to complete his first tour safely, so he could join the Exodus Fleet for his second. They would depart for the planet Thyr system together, where there would be minimal resistance, if any.
Now his son lay dead, killed by his co-pilot for treason. Leaving the Admiral in disgrace, his legacy destroyed.
With effort, Acteon pulled his eyes away from the coffin, turning to the Captain who stood off to the side between Acteon's guards. "I would speak with the man who killed my son."
Ordinarily a soldier's body was frozen and held, sent back to Melis only when enough had accumulated to warrant a trip. The Governor on Praetar had made an exception here, sending one of his own officers to personally deliver the body. The gesture meant the stars to Acteon.
If the Captain was annoyed at being sent on such an errand he showed no sign. He nodded solemnly. "We suspected you would, Admiral. If you will wait but a moment I will initiate the communication."
"No. I would speak with him in person."
The Captain bowed formally. "Admiral, my apologies, but the prisoner is still held on Praetar. The Governor guards him in his own private cells. I am deeply sorry for this mistake; we were unaware you desired his person."
Acteon waved a hand. "There was no mistake, Captain; I did not make this request until now. If the Governor would send the prisoner right away I would be in his debt."
The Captain bowed again. "Current planetary alignment is not ideal, but I believe we can have him here in two months."
That should be enough time before the Fleet departed. Acteon nodded, and the Captain left the room.
He turned back to the coffin, bending over it. My son is no traitor. He clung to the thought. Evidence had already been sent to the Admiral, video recordings and computer logs of what transpired on the Sentinel, but he'd not wanted to examine them until he saw the body with his own eyes. And now, with Alard cold and stiff in front of him, he didn't care to examine them at all.
The door at the far end of the room whirred open, admitted Joline into the prayer room. Acteon rose from the coffin and clasped his hands behind his back, the numerous medals on his own chest clinking from the sudden movement.
"Acteon, my star, what is--"
She cut off. She looked around the wide prayer room: at the tapestries hanging from the ceiling in the center of the room, displaying the Emperor's regal form on both sides; at the painted glass windows giving false-light; at Acteon's personal guards waiting patiently along the left wall; and finally at the coffin standing between the tapestries, on a platform raised two inches off the ground.
Her eyes returned to Acteon. For a moment she stood very still, reading him, pointedly ignoring the coffin. Then she shook her head in disbelief, sending pale yellow hair swaying. "No. No..."
The words he'd memorized, recited in his head all afternoon, were suddenly gone. His mouth was dry and unresponsive. He strode to the doorway and embraced his wife. The guard behind her stared straight ahead.
She pulled away from him, still shaking her head, refusing to believe. "No, no, no. You assured me he would be safe. You promised me he would be out of danger."
"Joline..."
"I told you, husband, and you promised."
"Please. Come look upon Alard with me."
"His body, you mean?"
Acteon nodded.
He could have blocked her slap but didn't. Pain flared across his cheek, a flash of light from the blow. His wife was strong for a woman of fifty years. Nor did he block the second. But his arm jerked at the third, gripping her by the wrist a few inches from his face. She wrenched away from his grasp. Anger turned to despair and the tears began to surface.
"Mourn with me Joline," he said, just short of pleading. "I need you, my star."
She turned away. "No. I do not want to see your face right now. I will mourn my son later, alone."
"Joline..."
She whirled, disappearing into the hallway again. He took a step forward to follow her but another woman suddenly entered. Vice Admiral Drysane was as tall as any man, with a slenderness that Acteon knew concealed quick strength. She wore a black officer's uniform, with eight-pointed starbursts on her chest identical to Acteon's, although two fewer. When she saw his expression she stopped in the doorway, blocking his path.
She gave an apologetic look. "Sir. Something--"
"Drysane, my son is dead."
She already knew, of course. She'd spent the day covering his duties while he was in the prayer room: reading reports, meeting with his advisors, handling the smaller preparations aboard the flagship. She'd taken the responsibility from him unflinchingly, without him needing to ask. But he wanted to say the words out loud. It felt cathartic.
Her face returned to formality, years of practiced control. "May the Emperor be glorified in his death."
They were words of comfort, words spoken by Acteon himself over hundreds and thousands of dead soldiers, words meant to placate grieving families in their time of mourning. They brought him no comfort then, their sentiment bland and hollow. But Drysane meant well, and Acteon would not reprimand his most trusted officer for speaking the words.
He moved to push past her, to follow his wife, but Drysane remaining in the doorway, hesitating. There was a conflict in her eyes, a sense of unease. "Sir, something has happened. There is a message you must see."
He, twisted, returning his eyes to the coffin. "It can wait." He needed to catch up to Joline, to comfort her. He needed to notify his daughters that their brother--
"The Emperor is coming."
Chapter 9
For a moment Drysane's words didn't register. When they did Acteon whipped his head toward her, eyes widening. His voice was a whisper. "What?"
"His Luminance travels on the Chain as we speak, with a full retinue of Shieldwardens and Flameguards."
No, he thought, this cannot be true. He knew Drysane couldn't possibly have made such a large mistake, but the words seemed impossible. The Emperor had not left the palace compound in years, giving all speeches and announcements by video. The guards at the door tried to remain emotionless, but their stances had perked up, eyes widening at the news.
"For what purpose?"
Drysane shook her head. "The Primeshield did not say. His message was intentionally vague. They will not allow any further communication until they are here in person."
If they were already on the Chain they would arrive in less than two days. I cannot handle this right now. "We will discuss this another time. I have personal matters which require my attention."
He stepped forward, and this time Drysane did not bar his way. The guards fell in behind him as he strode into the hallway.
Acteon tasted bile in the back of his throat. It had been a decade since he'd seen the Emperor. Since anyone had seen him. Why, after so many years of solitude, would His Luminance suddenly emerge? Did it involve the welcome ceremony planned for the final families joining the Fleet? That seemed unlikely, as the Emperor had already recorded a farewell speech to be shown to the settlers.
A darker thought surfaced. Had the Emperor learned of Alard? There was no shame in losing a son in battle, but if he knew the details of his death...
He is coming to remove me.
It seemed obvious now that the body had arrived. Alard was accused of being a traitor. How could the Exodus Fleet, the only hope of extending the Melisao Empire beyond their dying star, be entrusted to the father of a traitor? Even if Alard was innocent--he is innocent, Acteon's mind insisted--the accusation remained a dark stain on his legacy.
The possibility persisted in his thoughts as he strode down the hall, searching for his wife.
The Melisao warships of old were austere things, poorly lit throughout and made only with war in mind. The Olitau suffered none of that dreariness: white composite material covered the metal walls, with fiber
tapestries hung every few steps. Lights recessed behind the tapestries gave a colorful feel to the air. The corridor itself was wide, the ceilings high and spacious. Altogether the Olitau felt every bit the flagship of a Fleet leaving for another star system, a palace in its own right.
But despite the rich decorations, the corridor was bleak compared to the brilliance of the prayer room. He supposed that was by design. A reminder of the Emperor's glory, and the inadequate normalcy of everything else.
Though still under construction, Acteon had moved his offices to the Olitau as soon as the ship could support him. His officers were loathe to leave the splendor of their homes down on Melis, but the Fleet was Acteon's responsibility and he would not delay the inevitable. Overseeing construction was new to him, and he'd needed to immerse himself to see the full picture.
He also found his presence urged the construction along faster. Workers were less likely to sloth if the most powerful man before the Emperor might suddenly stroll down the hall.
Acteon stopped in front of a door already flanked by a guard. He saluted, closing the fingers of his right hand into a fist and pressing it flat against his forehead while bowing at the waist. Acteon opened the door by holding his palm to a sensor in the doorframe. One of his escorts joined the saluting guard by the door, while the other followed the Admiral inside.
His quarters were the most spacious on the ship. Two wide beds with felt sheets, feather pillows, and wooden posts filled the wall opposite the door. To the left stood two separate wardrobes filled with his uniforms and Joline's clothing. An archway split the right wall, leading into his office.
The room was empty; Joline had gone elsewhere. For a moment he considered leaving to continue his search, but decided against it. Enough people had already seen her public anger. Let her mourn in her own way. She will see you when she is calmer.
Acteon left the guard posted by the door and strode into his adjoining office. Here was true luxury: the walls were all lacquered rosewood, carved in intricate designs depicting battles and historical scenes. The rectangular desk in the center of the room was equally lavish, with the faces of the previous hundred Emperors carved into the surface, covered with a smooth glass top and chased with gold. This will all belong to someone else, the thought invaded his mind, if the Emperor replaces you.
He pushed the thought aside. A computer screen sat in the corner of the desk, out of place with the rest of the room's opulence. The screen blinked expectantly--although Drysane had seen to most of his duties that day, there were still dozens of items requiring his attention.
He slumped into the high-backed chair with a sigh. The cushions of the chair, made from rich abenaki leather, squeaked against his frame. He closed his eyes, savoring the feel.
He allowed himself to relax only a moment. Now that Joline knew, there was no use delaying from the others. He sat up straight, selected a command from the computer screen with his fingertip, and brought up the communication program.
Sandrakari was the eldest of their three daughters, so it was her name he chose first, though he knew the likelihood of reaching her was low. Shades, the covert operatives trained in espionage, were difficult to contact while on mission, and Sandrakari had been away for several years. Absently, he wondered where she had been sent, what mission she was assigned. He could find out if he desired; there was precious little information throughout the Empire not within an Admiral's reach. But it was better not to know, to remain ignorant of the danger she was in.
Sure enough, Sandrakari was unavailable; after several minutes of waiting his computer screen was rerouted to a standard form page where he could send her a message, which she would receive whenever her mission was completed. Acteon rubbed two fingers together in thought, wondering if he should use his position to contact her directly anyways. A death in the family was pressing news. No, it's better if I don't. Inquiry from her father would only single her out, and intervention did not always have the desired consequences. Alard was immediate proof of that. And besides, Sandrakari was not close with Alard. The two had met only twice, such was the gap in their ages.
He typed on the screen to fill out the messaging form, requesting that Sandrakari contact him as soon as she was able, and sent it away.
Pavani would have come next, though as a member of the Emperor's Shieldwardens she would be traveling on the Chain just then. Better to tell her in person when she arrived with the rest of His Luminance's retinue.
There was no point in delaying any further. Beth was the daughter he truly dreaded notifying. Sandrakari and Pavani were older, but Acteon's third daughter was of an age with Alard, and the two had been close. He opened a map of the Sarian system on his computer. The view was zoomed-out; only the largest objects were visible. The star bubbled orange in the center of the screen, with three planets beyond: Melis and Praetar in the inner system, and the gas giant Ouranos alone in the outer. They looked like smooth marbles floating in a black sea.
He touched the screen with two hands, focusing his view near the star itself. The three planets disappeared beyond the edge of the computer screen as Saria grew and smaller objects materialized. The solar ring was as thin as a strand of hair from this view, with a quarter of the ring missing, dismantled. He further enhanced his view until Saria disappeared off-screen and only the ring remained. Then he moved along the ring until he found his target.
The Ancillary power station was built within a hollowed-out asteroid, grey and bulbous. It moved along the solar ring, harvesting the energy from the solar panels as it passed. It orbited rapidly, aligning with Melis every ten days to transfer its power by laser to an Acceptance Station there on Latea. A small part of Acteon hoped the station would be on the other side of Saria, where communication would be difficult, needing to be relayed to stations around the star.
Not so. He found the Ancillary a quarter's orbit away from Melis, just within direct communication range.
He touched the station and selected his daughter from a long list of names that appeared. The map disappeared across his screen, replaced by the communication program. He could record a message for her to view later, but instead he chose a direct video feed. It would be cumbersome from this distance--he would need to use the quantum communication to avoid a delay--but this was something he would not leave in a recorded message.
The face that appeared on the screen was not Beth's, but that of a bald, pudgy man. The interior of the station, filled with glowing equipment and computer screens, showed behind him. "Administrator Elo, speaking."
Acteon frowned. "I am calling for my daughter, Beth."
Elo's eyes widened. He immediately bowed his head, saluting with a fist to his forehead. "Admiral. My deepest apologies, I cannot see your rank on the screen..."
Acteon wished he could interrupt him.
"...trust me when I say I did not mean any insult. Beth requested I take all messages for her while..."
He continued stammering apologies. When he finally stopped Acteon said, "No insult was received. May I speak with Beth?"
"Madam Custodian sleeps, Admiral. She expressed the desire to not be disturbed, but surely an exception can be made for you. I will get her straight-away."
Acteon showed his palm. "No, no, that is fine. Do not wake the... Custodian." That is new. "Please have her contact me as soon as she wakes. I will receive her, no matter the hour."
Elo bowed his head again. "Of course, please forgive me for suggesting to disturb her, I only desire to serve you, Admiral."
Acteon nodded and ended the communication before the man could say more.
How does Beth deal with such a boot-licker? he wondered. The daughter he remembered was hard, uncaring. She would have threatened to cut a man's throat for bowing and scraping so.
And Custodian. He'd received no word of her promotion, from his own contacts nor Beth herself. Coldness from his eldest daughters no longer disappointed Acteon, but Beth had always been his favorite. He'd even shown her some small favoriti
sm until Alard was composed. That she had not excitedly told him of her new position only darkened Acteon's mood.
Perhaps I have been too focused on the Fleet, he thought. What sort of man allowed his family bonds to deteriorate so? A man who ignored his family ignored his legacy. Alard was my legacy, he thought desperately. Shieldwardens and shades rarely reproduced, and the thought of Beth composing a child was ludicrous. No, Alard would have been the one to continue the family line. And with him gone their blood would end.
No, my legacy now rests with the Exodus Fleet now. And soon he would lose that too.
He leaned back in his chair. Acteon had never shied away from his duty. He'd firebombed Praetar until nothing remained but sand and rubble. He'd heeded the Emperor's call to oversee the production of the Exodus Fleet, and lead its hopeful journey to Thyr.
But the task before him now, disclosing Alard's death to his family, overwhelmed Acteon with dread. In battle a man's muscles did the work, the memory of practice and training taking over. What practice could a tongue make for this task? What training could he possibly possess to prepare him for Joline's grief? The task of notifying his daughters was delayed, for which he felt relieved. He was ashamed of his relief, but that did not stop it from rising.
There was one more thing to do. He selected the screen showing the Fleet's garrison. He navigated through the classifications until he reached the Gold Wing. With Alard dead and his co-pilot prisoner, two spots were vacant. Ordinarily Jayce, the Commander of the Gold, would choose two pilots from the Silver Wing for promotion. But this selection was more personal to Acteon, and he wished to see to it himself.
Thousands of pilot pairs were on the waiting list to join the Exodus Fleet. Information such as rank, number of tours, and age were listed next to each name. Acteon did not realize what he searched for until he found it: a pilot with two sons, both in the Pilot Academy. Oskar. Five tours completed, all routine patrols with the Latean Orbital Defense. Acteon tapped the name and held his palm to the computer scanner, confirming the selection.
Sword of Blue (Tales of a Dying Star Book 3) Page 8