Sword of Blue (Tales of a Dying Star Book 3)

by David Kristoph

  "Why me?" Acteon asked. The temptation was growing within him, but he needed to exhaust all protests. "You could choose anyone to be your successor. Claim that they're your offspring, the next iteration of your immortal soul. Nobody would know. Why chose me to begin the process anew?"

  The holy man shook his bald head. "Men would know. Geneticists and assistants within the palace, men who would need to be killed to keep the secret. Already too many have suffered that fate. My Shieldwardens know, to my distaste, and although I trust them completely I will not wager the safety of the Empire on that secret remaining safe. No, this lie has run its course.

  "And there is no one else, Acteon. I am surrounded by sycophants and simpletons, men and women who only tell me what I wish to hear." He gestured to Acteon's plate. "Without me they would be like an eel with its head cut off, blind to the knife that comes. No. It is you, Acteon. I have known this within my bones for many years, since that day in the Praetari sand. You will take my place as Emperor on Thyr and rule with honor.

  "Your daughters will accompany you, of course. I'm told your eldest, Sandrakari, is a shade on Praetar. She will join you during the Fleet's gravity assist near the planet. She can form the new Shadowschool on Thyr. Obviously Pavani will be your Primeshield, responsible for selecting the remainder of your Shieldwardens. She will remain on the Olitau when I depart after the ceremony. Your other daughter, the engineer on the Ancillary, will be valuable as well. She will return on the next shuttle just in time for the departure.

  "And you will compose another son, as I said. You will not leave the gender up to chance this time--the heir must be in place soon. Are the genetic facilities aboard this ship operational?"

  Acteon nodded.

  "Good. Convince your wife to compose a new one as soon as possible. Use another's eggs if she is not willing, so long as the seed is yours."

  A new son. A new legacy. Joline would never agree to replacing Alard so soon, but if she knew a new son would someday be Emperor... This changes everything. His wife's anger would surely dissipate once she learned of all this. He needed to speak with her. "I will, Your Luminance."

  The Emperor nodded to himself, as if there were no other possibility than Acteon's agreement. "Good. We will speak no more of it until I've returned to Luccar. Now, tell me more of the Fleet's preparations. I would know of every detail, please."

  Acteon began relaying the information his Vizers had given him, the statuses and data rolling easily off his tongue. But his mind was elsewhere, on a blue planet in a faraway system, where his family would be together and his son would be a God.

  Chapter 11

  A parade of families snaked through the Chain tunnel on their way to the shipyard, bustling with excitement, eager to begin their new lives. Acteon watched from his window with a frown.

  Saria had set behind Melis hours before. He would rather be in bed, but the Emperor insisted the ceremony begin as soon as the final families arrived and not a moment later. Acteon had tried to nap in between his regular meetings but found himself unable to relax. His mind seemed to grind with thought, never slowing. There was so much to do, so much for which to prepare.

  It had been two days since his meal with the Emperor and he still hadn't spoken with Joline. Not for lack of effort. He'd visited the security room and requested details of her movements about the ship; she still stayed with Tara, one of the other officer's wives. He tried visiting but they barred the door to him. Acteon could order the guards to open it, but he would not resort to that yet. It was uncouth enough that his wife's anger was so public. An Admiral was supposed to be strong, steadfast. Why would a crew follow him if his own wife would not?

  Not an Admiral, he thought. An Emperor.

  There was always a clear path in Acteon's life. Student, pilot, commander. And although being raised to Admiral had surprised him at the time, he would be lying if he claimed he'd never fantasized about it.

  He enjoyed the position for a time, with all the luxury and responsibility it entailed. Prime living quarters in Luccar, with the finest instructors for his children. Food and splendor and security--his family had whatever they desired. After the fighting on Praetar it was wonderful to be at peace, and the responsibility was satisfying.

  But Admiral was a hollow position. With Praetar in the Emperor's palm there were few worlds left to conquer. Ouranos was an uninhabitable ball of gas, with hundreds of icy moons that might have been worth colonizing if Saria weren't dying. Acteon spent two years chasing pirates who harassed mining outposts there, even searching for the famed Leviathan frigate stolen a decade before, but that too proved a fruitless endeavor.

  In truth, most of his years as Admiral were spent making decisions. Some were significant: choices in ship construction, the arrangement of defenses on Latea, recruitment policies in Luccar. Those he savored. But there was an endless stream of minutiae: grain allotments and trade convoy protection, Fleet allocation to defend various orbiting stations. Electroid production requests from Praetar.

  And ceremonies--oh, did he hate the ceremonies. Balls for the officers, speeches for graduating classes at the Pilot Academy. Funeral rites for the soldiers who returned from Praetar's occupation in plastic boxes. Endless ceremonies for the soldiers who returned alive. He'd pinned more medals and awards than he could remember, useless pieces of metal that hung from the breast and gave the illusion of accomplishment. They meant something to Acteon when he was young and on the receiving end, but now that he doled them out by the dozens he saw them for the absurdity they were.

  When the Emperor announced the desire to leave the system, and the construction of the Exodus Fleet, Acteon had been thrilled. It was work he could throw himself into, a clear mission with a noble goal in mind: the survival of the Empire, the continuation of the Melisao people. New star systems with exotic planets to explore and colonize. They would be explorers again.

  But even the luster of the Exodus wore off eventually. More administration, more decisions. He began to accept that perhaps he had reached the ceiling of his potential too young, with nowhere else to climb, nothing new to which he could aspire. Destined to spend the rest of his days moving data around on a computer screen and putting his name to documents.

  Now that ceiling had been ripped away.

  Emperor.

  The word had always possessed a certain mystique, an unattainable power that was more concept than reality. Now it rolled around in Acteon's mind. It beckoned him with possibilities.

  He wondered what Joline would say. She was a woman well-accustomed to power; she would exult in being the wife of an Emperor. The Emperor. And although Acteon still balked at the idea of composing another son--my son is dead, the thought still burned at the back of his mind--Joline would understand the need. She would accept it.

  And she will forgive me.

  Acteon watched the parade of people dwindle, and then watched the empty tunnel. Finally he turned away from the window, facing the empty room. It was time to give up on Joline returning before the ceremony.

  He needed to prepare, but first he sat at the desk in his office. Beth had not returned his communication, and although he was reticent to make another attempt for fear of appearing overprotective, this was important enough to try again. If he didn't reach her soon she would learn of Alard some other way. He could tell her in a recorded message. It wasn't ideal, but it was better than Beth learning of her brother's death from a stranger.

  But of course that wasn't the most important news to tell her, now. That was a message he couldn't record, couldn't even transmit. He'd practiced what he would say, repeating the words in his head, telling her that she was to accompany him to Thyr. She would hate it at first, until she realized the true reason. Then she would understand.

  He opened the communications program and selected his daughter's name from the list. After a short wait the computer flashed an error: unable to initiate communication. He tried again, but still it failed.

  Later, then. Wi
th that done, there were no more ways to delay. He couldn't wait for Joline any longer--he needed to get ready. Joline never grew tired of watching her husband give speeches, or so she claimed. After so many of them, more than a man ought to give in a lifetime, Acteon still felt the flutter in his stomach before speaking to a group. And this time His Luminance would be present. She knows how important this speech is, he thought. She'll be there, regardless of her anger. She's my wife, and she supports me.

  He pulled his uniform coat from the wardrobe, black as pitch, laying it flat on the bed. The medals had to be arranged prior to putting on the coat, otherwise keeping them straight would be impossible. It was a task assistants normally saw to, but Acteon insisted on doing it himself. The medals may not hold the same value to him as they once had, but the task was still a personal one.

  The wardrobe drawer clinked as he slid it open. First the silver, eight-pointed starbursts over the left breast to indicate rank. He arranged them in two rows: three in the first, then two underneath. Next, a pin for each completed tour. Another for his time as Commander of the Gold Wing. A standard medal for the battle of Praetar, with another more personalized: a long torch of gold, the flame inlaid with ruby and topaz. That one was his alone.

  Acteon plucked the final medal between two careful fingers: a single sapphire as long as his finger in the shape of a blade, chased with silver. A sword of blue, marking him the personification of the Emperor's holy will. He pinned it higher than the rest, above the starbursts.

  With that done he began dressing. Dark pressed slacks with two silver stripes down the sides. A white undershirt of soft thread, cool and comfortable. He pulled his decorated coat over that, connecting the boar ivory clasps down the middle. Its high collar pushed up underneath his jaw, giving his neck an elongated look. The left side felt heavier than the right, pulled by the weight of all the metal.

  A silver-threaded belt wrapped once around his waist before draping diagonally over his chest, connecting to another clasp at his shoulder. He sat on the edge of the bed to pull on his boots and gloves, both made of the rich, black abenaki leather, sewn together with more silver thread. He rose, inspected himself in the mirror, and left his quarters.

  His personal guards fell into step with him as he strode down the corridor. They seemed especially stiff--the presence of the Emperor's elite guards on the ship made them feel inadequate. Indeed, Acteon felt them stiffen beside him when they passed one of the tall Shieldwardens. He tried not to smile.

  Two more Shieldwardens were posted at the lift; the Emperor had taken the Vice Admiral's quarters on this deck, near the top of the Olitau. And although Acteon was leaving, one of the tall guards held out a hand to stop him. A gruff voice said, "There is a security threat. All personnel are to be searched when moving across levels." Acteon raised an eyebrow and the Shieldwarden added, "Even Admirals."

  Acteon allowed himself to be searched, the guard running an electronic wand over the surface of his uniform. His own personal guards were searched as well, though for what purpose he did not know; they already carried rifles, like all the other guards on the ship.

  "Come with me," the tall guard suddenly said, putting a long arm around Acteon's shoulders and leading him down a corridor.

  "What are you--"

  "Quiet," the Shieldwarden snapped.

  Acteon looked over his shoulder at his personal guards who watched, confused and angry, held back by the other Shieldwarden. Acteon held up a hand to let them know he was fine.

  He was pushed around a corner. Acteon stopped and rounded on the Shieldwarden. "I understand the importance of keeping the Emperor safe, but surely this is not necessary. I am Admiral--"

  The Shieldwarden removed her helmet. A beautiful face stared down at him, nearly identical to Joline's, though many decades younger. Pavani's yellow hair was pulled tight in a braid that ran down her back, but tufts floated loosely where the helmet had pulled them free.

  Acteon nearly laughed. "Stars save me, I've been looking for you since the Emperor arrived." He reached up to touch her cheek. "It is good to see your face, daughter."

  Pavani smiled, but only briefly. She furrowed her eyebrows, so much like her mother. "What did you do? What did you tell Him?"

  "What do you mean?"

  Her words came out in a rush. "I didn't care that you interfered with Alard's path, but I never thought you would do so with mine."

  "Pavani, I don't know..."

  "I've been reassigned. When the Emperor returns to Luccar I am to remain here and accompany you to the Thyran system. Why would you do this, father?"

  She thinks I've personally requested her reassignment, he realized. "Pavani, listen to me--"

  "I am not Alard. I am not your son. My place is with the Emperor, not escorting a man who is afraid of losing more children."

  So she knew about her brother. "Daughter, that's not what..."

  "Tell His Luminance you've changed your mind, that you want me to stay by his side. That is where I belong."

  She didn't know. The Emperor had not yet told her. Acteon grabbed her by the shoulders--stars she was tall--and said, "Pavani. This is not what you think. I had no part in your reassignment, I promise you." He looked down the corridor, wondering if anyone could hear. "I need to get to the ceremony, but I will explain it after, in private. I promise it will all make sense then."

  Pavani looked far from convinced, but did not argue further. She replaced the helmet, covering her face, before leading him back to the lift.

  His personal guards were still arguing with the Shieldwardens. They looked relieved when Acteon returned, nodding at them to let them know everything was fine. They rode the lift in silence.

  The Olitau had been mostly deserted since Acteon made it his home, with guards and construction workers and little else. So when the doors opened on the fourth deck the scene that appeared surprised him.

  Uniformed men and women, the pilots that would live on the Olitau and protect the Fleet in their fighter ships, strode through the halls with bags slung over shoulders. Acteon saw one woman wearing the colored bars of the Gold Wing, but many more wore the lesser insignia of the Silver or Bronze. Porters scurried about, unburdening the pilots of their bags and scanning their palms with portable computers so they knew where to carry them. The pilots' spouses were easy to identify, plain-clothed men and women who looked out of place and stared at the commotion with confusion and wonder. It was unlikely any of them had ever left the surface of Melis, much less set foot in an Imperial Flagship.

  And the children. Most of the pilots chosen for the Exodus Fleet were veterans of several tours, so each had at least one child with them, and some two or three. They ran around the feet of their elders, chasing one-another as if in some organized game. Two adolescent girls opened their eyes wide when they saw the Admiral.

  Acteon strode down the hallway before more people could gawk. He hadn't realized how much he'd enjoyed the solitude of the flagship until just then. It would take time to grow accustomed to the swell of people on the ship, the constant noise, the staring eyes and whispers.

  If you hate it now, a voice whispered in the back of his mind, wait until you are their God.

  Acteon took a different route to the dining gallery to avoid most of the crowd. He held his palm up to a door scanner, giving them access to a maintenance hallway. The smell of food was thick here--the kitchens were directly ahead, the cooks busy preparing food for the ceremony.

  He rounded a corner and stopped short, nearly bumping into a boy. He wore an Academy uniform, and was bent over with his rear against the wall, clutching his arms at his stomach. He groaned while staring at the floor.

  His guards raised their rifles, but Acteon held out his hand to stop them. "Son? Are you alright?"

  The boy did not hear him.

  "Is everything okay?" he said, putting a hand on his shoulder.

  The boy flinched, tilting his head up to look while remaining bent over. His face was pale. His eyes
widened at the Admiral's face, and grew even wider when he saw the medals on his chest. "I, uhh..."

  "Do you need a doctor?" Acteon asked. "You look sick."

  "I'm fine," the boy said, "just queasy from the trip here. Err, sir."

  Acteon smiled thinly. "If the Chain disoriented you, I'm afraid you're going to have a tough time as a pilot."

  With a worried look on his face the boy stood up, muttered an apology, and fled down the hall. I only meant it as a joke, he thought.

  One of the guards said, "Admiral, this is supposed to be a secure hallway. Should we notify security?"

  Acteon watched the boy disappear down the corridor. "No, he's fine. He's just a kid, sick and scared. We're going to need to get used to these people wandering all over the ship." Alard suffered motion sickness as well.

  More Shieldwardens were posted at the door to the dining gallery. Wordlessly, Acteon suffered their search before entering the room.

  The dining gallery was the largest single room on the Olitau, excluding the storage bays and spacecraft hangar. Unlike the ships of old, with low ceilings that felt cramped and claustrophobic, on the Olitau the dining gallery was high-ceilinged and spacious, with suspended crystal lights that gave a flare of luxury to the room. Individual eating tables that seated four stretched across the room in neat rows. Already most were filled. The soft din of conversation filled the air, a sound as unfamiliar to Acteon as the crowd.

  Directly to Acteon's left, at the front of the room, a platform had been raised. Nearest the crowd was a computerized podium, with three tables behind it. One table held a solitary chair with a purple kerchief draped over it. Two Shieldwardens stood on either side.