by JC Cassels
“Doc, that guy with Ian has a chip, too,” Stett said cutting him off.
“Chase is chipped?” Bo looked to Blade. “But you said he wasn’t Marin’s son. How can you both be chipped?”
“That’s not possible,” he said. “The only way he’d have a chip…”
“Is if he were a member of the House of Marin.” Stett rested his hand on Blade’s shoulder again. “Doc? You didn’t know?”
Blade shook his head.
Bo could count on one hand all the times she’d ever seen Blade so visibly rattled.
“Those orders Ian copied you on said you were a clone, a decoy.” Bo looked to Stett. “Is it possible that they’d chip a decoy?”
Stett shook his head. “I’ve never heard of it,” he said. “They chip bastards, but not clones. Clones aren’t citizens and don’t have rights.” He studied Blade. “You say Rameus put a contract out on you. If that’s the case, then he must have reason to believe that you’re the Heir.”
Blade nodded. “Andre always told me I was his son and Heir.”
“Being Blade Devon isn’t enough for you?” Stett teased with a fleeting grin. His humor faded. Worry flitted across his face. “Look, Blade Devon or Daavin Marin, you’ll need Marin himself at the fore if you want a prayer of ousting Rameus, and that’s not happening. Word on the vines is that the Overlord is failing and doesn’t have long left. If you’re right about all this, and you usually are, when he passes, the countdown starts on your brother. He’s the public face of Daavin Marin now. Any claim you make to the Sovranty after Marin passes would never be legitimized. Chip or no, that set of orders calling you a clone not only nullifies your claim, it strips you of any rights as a citizen. It reduces you to a thing, property of the Commonwealth to be disposed of as they see fit, no trial, no appeal. He’s got you dead to rights, Doc. How many legitimate governments have we overthrown? Rameus wrote the manual on it.”
“So… What? Am I supposed to give up? Surrender my humanity? Let Rameus have the First Sector…kill my brother…kill my son?”
“No.” Bo waited for them to look at her before she continued. “We do what we came here to do. General Rameus has set a trap for you. Let’s spring it, and then we can safely take the bait. You had a good plan, Blade. It just needs a little amending. They’ll have to take Ian out of play before they can eliminate Chase and Dash. Commander Stett, how do you feel about killing Agent Kendall?”
Stett grinned. “Why, Barron, I would think my birthday came early this year.”
“Before you start celebrating,” Blade said, “this ship needs to be resupplied, and it needs to be done by someone I can trust not to add any surprises to the manifest.”
“Pryczek can take care of that for you,” Stett said. “Now tell me more about killing Ian.”
***
“Here, Bapi!”
Seated on Chase’s knee, Dash shoved his half-eaten slice of bread slathered in sticky jam at him. With a growl, Chase turned his head and opened his mouth wide to intercept the offering before the boy smeared it all over the side of his face. Dash giggled with delight and swung his legs in childish abandon. Chase exchanged an amused look with Tese, who sat across the breakfast table from them picking delicately at a bowl of fruit. Chase set the data reader beside his plate and reached for his napkin.
“No more.” He told the boy, speaking past the food in his mouth. “Bapi needs to listen to Crider. You eat it.” He wiped the jam from his lips and nodded to the silver android at his side. “What was the thing after the meeting with the System Chairman?”
“General Rameus is going to brief you privately in your father’s office, and then you’ll both attend a security meeting.”
A wave of fear broke over him. Chase looked anxiously to Ian, who stood beside the door. “I don’t want to meet with General Rameus in private, do I? I mean… didn’t he… Ian?”
Kendall’s shoulders heaved with annoyance. “Take the meeting.”
“But…”
“My sources tell me that your brother’s groundside,” Ian said. “Don’t deviate from your schedule. We don’t want to tip off Rameus that we’re on to him, although he probably already knows.”
“Shouldn’t we make a move or something?”
“No. You don’t do anything except go through the motions of being Daavin Marin.” Kendall shook his head. “The last thing we need is for some civilian to start taking things into his own hands. Let Dev deal with Rameus.”
Crider canted his head to the side. “How odd. Agent Kendall, I am receiving a message for you. It bears Sovran encoding.”
Ian lifted a hand. “See, what did I tell you. Your brother’s got this. What’s the message, Crider?”
“I am unfamiliar with the language, it is not a First Sector dialect.”
“Don’t translate it,” Ian said. “Give it to me exactly as Blade sent it.”
“Very well, sir.” Crider straightened and faced him. “Arak la haar.”
Arak la haar? Chase’s brow furrowed. “Wait, I know that from somewhere.”
Confusion clouded Kendall’s features. “Arak la haar? Are you sure?”
“Quite sure, sir,” Crider said.
Kendall rushed to the window and parted the filmy curtain a few centimeters, his hand went to the butt of the blaster in his shoulder holster. “Delete all record of that message.” He scanned the grounds as he drew his sidearm. “You too.” He looked to Chase. “Forget you ever heard it.” He adjusted the setting on his blaster.
Chase pulled the boy closer and rose. “Why? What’s it mean?”
“Never mind what it means,” Kendall said. “Listen, I don’t know what your brother has planned, but you’re going ahead without me. Don’t do anything stupid. No heroics. Whatever happens next, just cooperate and play along. You’ve got to trust Dev. Promise me! You’re in your brother’s hands now.”
“Yeah, of course.”
Kendall shoved his blaster back into its holster and straightened his jacket. “Good, then sit down.”
“What?”
“Playing along starts now,” Kendall said. “You’re having a nice leisurely breakfast and Crider’s briefing you on your day. Be chill. Everything is normal.”
Chase looked to Tese. She set down her utensils and wiped delicately at her mouth. Her spine stiffened.
“Yeah,” Chase said. “Normal.”
His heart pounded in his chest so loudly that he was sure Kendall could hear it. Taking a deep fortifying breath, Chase slowly eased back into his chair.
Kendall’s head snapped toward the door.
“Bapi, you’re squishing me.” Dash whined.
“Sorry, buddy.” Chase eased his hold on the boy.
“Oh dear, I was afraid of that.” Tese rose, catching up her napkin as she rounded the table, blocking his view of the door. “Dash has gotten jam on your jacket.” She dipped a corner of her napkin in his water glass and wiped at his lapel.
Chase frowned and tried to peer around her. A warning glare flitted across her face, and he stilled.
The door opened without a knock.
“Pardon the interruption, Sir,” a vaguely familiar voice said, “but we’ve had word that your life is in immediate danger.”
Chase swallowed hard. Tese met his stare with a small, encouraging smile. This was it. Showtime.
“What was that last item on my schedule, Crider?” he said. “I didn’t catch it with the interruption.”
“Sir,” the newcomer said, his voice insistent. “There’s no time. You need to come with me.”
Chase glanced to the android. Crider sat still and silent, his photoreceptors dark.
“Now wait just a minute,” Kendall said. “Mister Fossey isn’t going anywhere until I say so.”
“Sir, we have word that your Janizary has been compromised,” the newcomer said. “The palace is no longer safe for you. We have to remove you to a secure location.”
Tese straightened and stopped wiping at the nonex
istent stain on his lapel.
“Sir, the threat is real, I assure you. We have to go now!”
Kendall stepped forward. “He’s staying right here until you give me some answers.”
“You’re threatening the safety of the Sovran, Agent Kendall. Stand down!”
“Over my dead body.”
“If you insist.”
Tese flinched as light flashed in the room with a microclap of thunder. An ozone haze filled the air. Something heavy hit the floor with a dull thud.
Chase slowly stood and looked past Tese’s shoulder. She trembled visibly and clenched her eyes tightly shut. A tear trailed down her cheek. With his free arm, Chase drew her closer to him. She buried her face against his shoulder.
Kendall lay unmoving on the edge of the rug. A blaster burn scorched the front of his shirt.
Numbly, Chase met the level gaze of the other man over his smoking blaster barrel.
Agents Fee and Rive stood just inside the door behind him.
Chase swallowed. “You killed him.”
“I’m sorry you had to witness that, Sir,” the man said, making no move to lower his weapon. “We received intel that Agent Kendall has been working with the same rogue operatives responsible for the attack on your father. There is no telling how many other confederates he may have embedded in the palace. I’ve been ordered to replace him as the head of your security detail and remove you to a secure location. We have an unmarked ship on standby.”
Chase swallowed hard. “Of course,” he said. “Just let me collect my things.”
“There’s no time, Sir.”
The other man gestured with his weapon for Chase to precede him.
Play along, no matter what.
He tried to force his heavy feet to move.
Cooperate.
Everything in him screamed to run.
Dash dropped his breakfast unheeded onto the floor and gripped Chase with his sticky hand. “Shh,” he whispered. “Ian’s sheepin’ now.”
“Then let’s not wake him.” Chase’s arm tightened around Tese as he nudged her into motion.
Adrenaline flooded his system. His heart pounded painfully against the walls of his chest. His mouth felt like a desert and no matter how many times he swallowed, he couldn’t dislodge the lump in his throat.
This must be what walking toward one’s execution feels like.
Fee and Rive ducked out the door ahead of them.
Unable to help himself, Chase looked once more to Ian’s still form lying on the floor. Ian’s eyes slowly opened and met his. Kendall gave him a conspiratorial wink, then closed his eyes once more.
A glance at Tese assured him that she had completely missed the exchange. Had he only imagined it? He looked closer at the man who followed them. He adjusted the settings on his weapon before he slid it into the holster tucked inside his waistband at the small of his back.
“I didn’t get your name,” Chase said.
“Sorry, Mister Fossey,” the man smiled. “I’m Commander Connor Stett. I’ll be taking over from Agent Kendall from here. Don’t worry. I’ll have you to safety very shortly, you have my word.”
Chase nodded, but didn’t attempt further conversation. His mind worked as he followed Fee and Rive along the hallway.
Ian had anticipated this. He had said he wouldn’t be coming with them. He had known he’d be handing them off. Did that mean Stett was to be trusted?
Chase’s arms tightened around Dash and Tese.
Hadn’t the Duri Royal family been overthrown much the same way a century ago? Their own bodyguards turned on them and escorted them to an isolated location where they were shot and dumped into a mass grave. Dev had played an escaped noble from the Duri family in one of his holofeatures.
He hoped history – and art – weren’t repeating themselves.
No wonder Dev had resisted being the Heir.
What was it that Crider had said just before the attack that tipped Ian off? What was the message from Dev?
They stepped out into the soft morning light. A cool breeze raced through the tunnel leading into the courtyard. It caressed Chase’s face before slipping away.
Pale, but composed, Tese stepped into the waiting ground cruiser and reached for Dash. Chase settled in beside them. The door slammed shut with an air of finality, cutting off the sounds of the outside world. Pulling her close, Chase leaned down and brushed his lips to her ear.
“I just remembered what arak la haar means,” he whispered.
She didn’t say anything, but looked questioningly up at him.
“It’s Gallic. It’s a Barron Clan war cry. It means ‘prepare to die.’”
“I know.”
“Either my brother has some grand misdirection in mind or… You know?”
Her eyelashes fluttered as she lowered her gaze. “She’s my cousin. Why do you think I stood between you and the door?”
“You…”
Holy Maker!
His eyes widened with understanding. She had taken it as a warning and had placed herself in the line of fire. His heart clenched in his chest and he pulled her tighter against him.
“Promise me you will never do that again.”
She lifted her gaze, her eyes shone bright with unshed tears. “No promises.”
***
“Will Ian understand the message?” Bo’s grip on his hand tightened.
Blade tucked the com-set into his jacket. “He should,” he said, glancing up at the floor indicator on the lift bank. “We’ve used it on ops with Royce.” Blade checked his chrono and turned to Agent Gatz at his side. “Has Agent Namu checked in?”
“He has, Doc. He’s waiting upstairs with Lord Marin.”
The lift opened.
“Good,” Blade said. “I’m glad something is going according to plan.”
Bo’s brow furrowed. She looked like she wanted to ask a question, but held her silence.
They stepped into the rear of the lift, flanked by their bodyguards. Blade glanced at the faces of the men around him. He’d worked with all of them. They all owed their lives to him in one fashion or another.
A security detail stood guard just outside.
“Lord Marin is here, sir,” Gatz indicated the next closed door. “Namu is with him.”
Bo squeezed his hand.
At Blade’s nod, one of the guards stepped to one side and keyed the door open.
At his touch, the door slid open revealing a beeping, pulsing array of lights, monitors, and devices that looked like something out of a sadist’s rumpus room. In the middle of it all sat a white-draped bed and the long, still form of a burly old man.
Blade swallowed hard and nodded his thanks.
Bo hugged his arm, drawing his attention. She offered a smile of encouragement.
His lips twitched and he urged his stubborn feet forward.
The door slid shut behind them.
A tall, burly silhouette unfolded from the chair in the shadows beside the bed and stepped into the light. Bo’s breath caught. With a small cry, she dropped his hand and threw herself into her uncle’s waiting arms. Blade greeted Royce with a nod, unwilling to interrupt the reunion.
A single illumi-panel glowed in the ceiling over the machinery, bathing the Sovran in an eerie, blue light.
A white sensor cap covered the top of his head, hiding his thinning salt-and-pepper hair. Even in repose, his craggy features bore a daunting sternness. The Overlord’s skin was as white as the sheets on which he lay. His close-trimmed beard was nearly completely gray under the ventilator that covered his nose and mouth. The mask didn’t completely mute the sound of the rattle in the back of his throat as he struggled to breathe.
Death had a unique smell.
To some, the pungent aroma resembled acetone, or so he’d been told when he’d first begun his training with the Consular Guard. To Blade, the smell of death had always had a more organic odor – some waxy combination of rancid fat, rusted metal, and decay. Depending on the t
ype of death, the combination varied, but never beyond recognition. Like a cloying perfume, it lingered on his skin for days afterward, no matter how many times he tried to scrub it away.
Borne on the acrid smells of the disinfectants and cleaners, the scent of death hit him hard, bringing back too many memories of all the times he’d fought as a medic to keep hearts beating, and lungs breathing just a little bit longer. It was a reminder of all the times he’d failed. Worse were the memories of the carnage aboard ship when he’d been adrift for weeks, surrounded by the work of his own hands, driven half-mad from the stench he’d been unable to completely rid himself of.
Maker, how he hated that smell.
He took a step closer to the bed and stopped. His brow furrowed.
Something wasn’t right.
Taking a deep breath, Blade opened himself to the Sentaro.
In the ethereal, artificial energy crackled all around the man in the bed. It originated from the glow panel in the ceiling. Squaring his shoulders, Blade pushed past the curtain of shimmering photons.
Bo’s hand slipped into his. “Blade?”
“That’s not Andre,” he said.
The fading Prenaha dipped and swirled in a familiar pattern. He’d last seen it aboard Sundance. Not completely artificial, not completely organic, it was entirely sentient and it was fading. Some of the tension eased from his shoulders.
He looked to Royce.
Royce’s lips tightened into a grim line. His gaze flicked briefly to Bo.
Taking the hint, Blade extricated his hand from Bo’s grasp and slipped his arm around her shoulders.
“Sorry for the deception,” Royce said. “There wasn’t much time, and it was the only thing I could think of.” He looked to the man on the bed and his lips twisted in a smile. “I told you it wouldn’t fool him. You owe me fifty.”
He touched the diagnostic pad at the foot of the bed. Like fading heat waves, the holographic projection shimmered and faded.
“I’m good for it,” Edge croaked.
Bo started in surprise and lurched forward. Blade held her in place at his side.
Edge tried to smile. He looked almost skeletal. He’d lost far too much weight. His skin had taken on an ashen pallor, tinged with yellow. His green eyes were sunken and bruised, veiled by a pale haze.