The door to his quarters opened. Acteon whirled in his chair, expecting to see his wife, but instead Drysane stood in the doorway. She turned to the guard and said, "Leave."
The guard disappeared into the hallway. Drysane closed the door.
Acteon spun back to his desk. "Spare me the lecture," he said over his shoulder. Drysane was a woman of few words, and he knew what she would say: snap out of it. She would remind him of his duty, of the many tasks set before them, of the Emperor-God on his way to visit them. She would say that he'd mourned enough already, needed to refocus--
Drysane slammed a bottle of sweetwater onto the desk. Two thin, finger-sized drinking glasses followed.
"During the assault on Praetar," she said, removing the cork from the bottle, "I learned of my mother's death back home. Do you remember that?"
Acteon frowned, surprised at the question. "I do."
She unbuttoned the jacket of her uniform and carefully folded it over the back of a chair before sitting, facing Acteon. She poured yellow liquid into one glass, then the other. "We were close. I loved her very much, and her death left me gravely despaired."
"It was while we were still in orbit," he said, "if I recall correctly. You seemed fine at the time."
"Seemed." She raised the glass to her lips and tossed back the liquid in one smooth motion. She fixed her eyes on Acteon until he did the same. Fire tingled down his throat, warming his chest. He was not one to abuse sweetwater like many of his fellow veterans, but if there were ever a time to seek solace in the bottle it was now.
"Does it get easier?" he asked.
She refilled both glasses. "Eventually."
Chapter 10
Acteon sat at the table with his senior officers, a hand pressed to his pounding temple. This was not a meeting he wanted to be present for. He struggled to listen to the Vizer of Supply prattle on about containers of grain.
"...nine hundred tonnes on the Tortoise-Four, with a further three hundred due over the course of the next two weeks. Of barley we have six hundred..."
It was the same every meeting. Supplies arrived at the Latean trade port from throughout the system, where they were counted by the customs officers. They were unloaded, sorted, and then counted again. And then the Vizer of Supply signed his name to the reports and brought them to Acteon, their numbers slightly higher than the last meeting. Sometimes there was a shipping delay. That required two meetings.
These details hardly concerned Acteon. It was all routine. Even the Olitau itself was functionally complete. The primary ordnance cannon was operational, as were the hundreds of secondary turrets scattered throughout the exterior. Its hangar held room not just for the thirty ships of the Gold Wing and the fifty of the Silver and Bronze, but for several hundred additional fighters of various size and class. The flagship would have no problem escorting the Tortoise transport ships to the Thyran system.
There were countless other details to discuss, though, and Acteon was required to acknowledge them despite his headache. Drysane, seated to his right, fared just as poorly: her eyes were tired, and she kept her lips tight as if afraid of what might come out. She glanced sideways and gave him a sympathetic look.
He felt mildly better than the day before. He hadn't realized how much of a burden it was, knowing about Alard for weeks while waiting for the body to arrive. Joline may hate him now--she didn't return to his quarters last night--but he felt noticeably better at her knowledge. And she would forgive him eventually. The grief they shared was unique and terrible, but it was something they shared nonetheless.
His dread at the Emperor's visit had grown. He could still only think of one reason His Luminance would come. The thought of being removed as Executor of the Fleet made it difficult for Acteon to focus on the Vizer's report.
"Work along the Ancillary is progressing slowly," the Vizer continued. "I suspect they will not be fully dismantled in time, no matter what their reports claim. I would like to send more workers there to speed along their progress."
"That is a concern for the next Fleet," Acteon said. "Let us focus on ours." The power station and its solar ring would be arriving on the second Exodus Fleet, leaving two years after the first. It was far from Acteon's concern. It should have been far from the Vizer's, with all the other plans that needed arranging.
Besides, if there were problems Beth would tell me. He immediately doubted the thought. She had not returned his call.
"The shipments of electroids from Praetar have been delayed further," the Vizer said. "I fear we will not reach our quota in time."
Many problems and more. The Empire's occupation of the yellow planet had proved less fruitful than they'd originally hoped. "Do what you can to speed their production," Acteon decided. "Have the Governor cut food credits, if you must. I want as many functional electroids on the journey as possible."
"We will find a way, Lord Admiral. In the past we've had success increasing the number of 'illicit' shuttles allowed to reach the Praetari orbital blockade. A further increase, perhaps with some rumors of them being the last ones to leave the planet, should give us a temporary increase of productivity."
Acteon nodded in assent. Anything to entice the Praetari to work harder was good for the Fleet. But mention of the orbital blockade summoned the view of Alard in his mind, lying motionless in the prayer room.
"The new scouting reports from Thyr are pleasing," said another Vizer. "All of our long-distance scans have been confirmed: the planet is mostly liquid water, with ice at the poles and scatterings of land in between. Nitrogen-thick air, with an unusually large moon to create tides. Our cultivation needs would be minimal indeed. The scouts on the surface say there are no higher lifeforms, mostly bacteria and coelomate organisms. Inland lakes full of fresh water reduce the need for desalination..."
Acteon had already read the reports. They were just a confirmation of what they already knew from the earlier probes. The system was ideal. Thyr's orbit was stable and at a similar distance as Melis. Their masses were identical, or so close that it made no difference. A supermassive gas giant orbited beyond Thyr, acting as a gravity shield for galactic debris like asteroids and meteors. The system even had two other planets, and several moons, which showed promise.
And, most importantly, its star was not dying. It would burn for billions of years longer, just as the Emperor had claimed.
The room was silent. Acteon realized the previous Vizer had finished his report. "The garrison numbers, if you please?"
Nasir, the Population Vizer, stood. He was the youngest of them, appointed by the Emperor despite being only thirty-five. "We have had no further delays. When the final families arrive by Chain, the Tortoises will be ready."
Acteon nodded. Seven of the Tortoise transport ships were already filled with settlers chosen for the voyage, and the eighth and final ship would be filled after the Emperor arrived. The Fleet would remain on Latea for two months, acclimating to life on the ships while waiting for the ideal launch window.
Nasir still fidgeted in place, so Acteon nodded in dismissal. That should have been the end of the meeting, but Marko quickly stood. The only hair the Vizer of Security still possessed circled his head like a metallic grey crown. He'd been the Governor of Praetar before his appointment to the Fleet.
Marko cleared his throat. "The Emperor's visit must be discussed."
Others around the table, faces old and young, looked uncomfortable. Although in private they spoke of the visit with excitement, none of them had been eager to broach the subject with Acteon. They all knew the appearance boded poorly for the Admiral. Their immortal God would not have left the palace confines for a pleasant reason.
Acteon had hoped to avoid the topic too. He shook his head. "There is nothing to discuss."
"I would like to reexamine our current security," Marko continued. "I have drawn up several measures I believe are necessary. The Latean trade port must be closed during the Emperor's visit. I counsel that the number of guards on the moon
be doubled, with additional peacekeepers brought aboard all Exodus craft. And I want searchpoints established at every ship before His Luminance arrives."
"Preposterous," said Nasir. "These families have been individually selected, their backgrounds heavily scrutinized. And you want to treat them like criminals in front of the Emperor himself?"
Marko pursed his lips. "I want to ensure their safety. His Luminance will value that above all else."
"Your paranoia grows every day, Vizer. I have been involved with the selection of the settlers. Perhaps if you met some of these families in person instead of pouring over security footage--"
"Are you afraid of looking like a fool in front of the Emperor?" Marko shot back.
"Enough," said Acteon. The soft command was enough to silence them. "I will not have the Exodus families needlessly frightened. His Luminance's own Shieldwardens can see to his safety without our assistance. And we cannot close the port for any length of time, not with steel and aluminum coming from the belt, and carbon and silicates from Praetar."
The Security Vizer did not look happy, but he nodded.
"You may increase security during the welcome ceremony only," Acteon allowed, "extra guards at every entrance to the dining hall, but nothing else."
The faces around the table looked like they had more questions. Acteon stood. "The Fleet departs in two months. We still have much to do, and I don't want any of your work delayed because of His Luminance's visit."
"Of course, Admiral," said Nasir, nodding with the other officers. "I can assure you the Emperor's visit will not be a distraction."
Nothing was accomplished in the following two days.
The Olitau was aflutter with excitement. Workers in the hallways neglected their tasks, speaking openly about the visit. Nasir, ever the opportunist, casually asked if Acteon would be dining with His Luminance. Marko was bold enough to outright request an audience with the God-in-flesh, to discuss his security detail during the trip. As if the Shieldwardens cannot defend him properly.
Acteon's patience wavered. He was unable to remove the Vizers--whose appointment by the Emperor sidestepped Acteon's hierarchy of power--so his responses to their political posturing became increasingly curt. That only diverted the questions to Drysane, who was the only person on the Olitau who liked the excitement less than he did.
The shame of Alard's death hung over him like a cloud. He continued to wrack his mind for alternative purposes for the Emperor's visit, but the motives he came up with were no better. His Luminance could be unhappy with the defense of the Empire; that was still technically within Acteon's purview. Pirates roamed the outer system uninhibited while focus was on the Fleet, and if the terrorist who bombed the Academy was discovered to be a foreigner it wouldn't be a stretch to blame the Melis Orbital Defense. Acteon had seen greater men toppled by less.
His gloom was made worse by Joline. Normally his wife was his most trusted confidant, the ear in which he vented his frustrations, the voice that always found a way to sooth him. But his wife refused to see him, avoiding their quarters altogether. Acteon grew concerned after the second day, finally swallowing his pride enough to visit the ship's security room. The officers there quickly found his wife by the tracking computer in her palm: she was on the fourth deck, staying with one of the Vizer's wives. Safe, but still upset with her husband.
The security officers nodded politely and said nothing as Acteon left, but he knew word would spread throughout the ship, if it hadn't already. Even the most hardened military soldiers gossipped while on tour, and it would be a long trip to Thyr. Joline will return to you, he thought, quelling his doubt. She may be upset now, but she won't miss His Luminance's visit.
The morning of the Emperor's arrival found Acteon alone, watching out the window of the Olitau. He was hundreds of feet above the moon's surface, although the ship sat docked in the shipyard. The flagship was monstrous in size, larger than the eight Tortoise transports combined. He saw three of them from his vantage, on their own landing pads to the left. The shipyard was filled with launch pads and construction cranes, bordered by a wide square wall. Towers were set in each corner, tall and prickly with exposed laser turrets.
The long Chain was anchored three miles away, disappearing into a network of dome-shaped buildings and tunnels at its base, a small city of glass. The Chain dwarfed the moon's buildings, a towering tree above puddles.
Acteon took the Chain for granted--it had been there all his life--but it was beautiful the way it stretched above them, disappearing into the blue and green planet that filled the sky. A rope of life, ferrying men and materials efficiently into space. And Gods. It ferries them too.
Clusters of spacecraft flew above it all, the small and agile Riverhawks from the Gold Wing. They circled in groups of three, some near the Chain but many more in the space above the tunnel and shipyards. He watched them, envious of their activity.
He returned his gaze to Latea's surface. The Acceptance Station glowed to the left; it was only a few miles away, but Latea was tiny, and the curve of the horizon blocked direct view. A massive photovoltaic receptor would receive the energy from the Ancillary, transferred by laser every ten days. It made him think of Beth. He still needed to talk to his youngest daughter. Later, when he had more time.
A perfectly straight tunnel made of clear glass led from the shipyard to the Chain, like a laser firing away from the Olitau. It was there that a procession now crawled. The figures were indistinguishable from this vantage, but he knew who was there. Shieldwardens and Flameguards, flocks of attendants. And the immortal Emperor somewhere in the center of the chaos.
A few days of distraction and then everyone could get back to work. With or without me as Executor.
Finally the moment came when Acteon could delay no longer. He turned away from the window and strode from the room. Guards followed him down the hallway on the highest deck where his quarters resided, down the lift to the lowest. The descent took almost a full minute. The Olitau was massive indeed.
Temporary domed walkways were built into the ship's base, eliminating the need for pressurized suits when walking from the shipyard to the Chain tunnel. More guards fell into formation around them as they walked from the ship to the tunnel, a box of alert men. Acteon arched an eyebrow at one of them, who replied, "Heightened security. Vizer Marko's orders."
The Chain tunnel was cavernous and wide, like a three-mile-long aircraft hangar, built large enough for construction vehicles to pass through. It was segmented by walls with massive doors every two hundred feet, made of a clear material that allowed one to see far down the tunnel in the distance.
The waiting party stood in a long line to the side of the tunnel entrance. The eight captains of the Tortoise transport ships. Acteon's six Vizers. Drysane, and a number of other high-ranking officers who'd squirmed their way into being present. And at least a hundred guards standing in two lines, one on either side of the tunnel, facing the center with rifles at precise angles.
Acteon took his place next to Drysane in the center, ignoring the questioning look the Vice Admiral gave him. She handed him a ceremonial mace. It was as long as his forearm, gold, with one rounded end covered in faceted gems. Acteon took it reluctantly.
The domed tunnel stretched into the distance. They stared at the growing figures, waiting.
Four Shieldwardens led the procession. They were unnaturally tall, genetically chosen for the task of protecting the Emperor. They wore blue armor of hand-sized interlocking plates, and round helmets with T-shaped cutouts showing their eyes, nose, and mouth. Their shields were not activated presently, but the gauntlets on their forearms crackled with electricity, ready for use. They were imposing figures, scanning the crowd, suspicious and alert.
Acteon squinted at their faces as they passed. He could not make out enough detail behind their helmets to recognize Pavani.
The seven men and women of the Flameguard came next, dancing along in paper-thin gowns of varying color. Theirs was
a purely aesthetic purpose, heralding the coming of the God-in-flesh, especially extravagant after the searching eyes of the Shieldwardens. Their arms were tattooed with the shapes of animals--bears and lions and dragons, all in various shades of red. Colored water fired from the fingertips of special gloves, misting in the air as they hopped and twirled. They appeared androgynous, all long of hair and slight build, but for the round breasts of the women and external organs of the men visible through the sheer cloth. Acteon watched them disappear with distaste.
More attendants walked in rows, playing music from instruments made of wood and string, but now the Emperor's cart was visible behind them. It was an antique thing, made of precious wood and framed with metal at the borders. The wheels were unnecessarily large, as tall as the six additional Shieldwardens walking alongside. The front of the carriage had no wall, and was instead blocked by a thick curtain.
The cart rolled to a stop before the waiting party. Child attendants pulled back the curtain. Mounds of tasseled pillows filled the inside, piled high in the corners.
A veiled figure sat in the middle, cross-legged and frozen in place. A puffed hat of white and gold rested on his head. Veils of silver draped from the hat, covering his torso like a tent. They were too thick to show his face or figure.
It was over a decade since Acteon had seen the Emperor, immediately after the fall of Praetar. His Luminance had been less modest then, choosing to travel around without the veiled hat. He was so full of life, Acteon remembered. So full of power. Even now just the image of the Emperor sitting in his cart, strong figure hidden beneath his veil, was enough to bleed Acteon's annoyance away and fill him with pride.
The music stopped. Acteon took three measured steps forward, the motion stiff and formal. He extended the ceremonial mace, hand held sideways so that the mace was parallel to the ground. He held the pose.
Sword of Blue (Tales of a Dying Star Book 3) Page 9