Blood Siren

by Michael Formichelli

  Nero slammed his fist down on the wing of his air-car.

  Relax Nero, there’s nothing you can do about the way the galaxy is.

  He slammed his fist down again.

  Fine, don’t listen, beat yourself into uselessness. I’ll just have to patch you back together like I always do. After all, I still have a job to do.

  “Shut it,” he said through his chattering teeth.

  He let the anger drain from him, as always wondering why he’d been designed to feel it. Things would be so much easier if Daedalus had just left the emotional, questioning mind out of Abyssian creation. He wondered if the others felt as he did, he hadn’t seen one in years and was not likely to. Abyssian Praetors were solitary creatures.

  Nero sighed and looked towards the tower.

  It was damn cold out here.

  Incoming transmission.

  Nero noted the identity code at the top of his visual field and accepted it. The translucent image of a Relaen with two red braids trailing to her shoulders and ten-centimeter tall, pointed ears sprouting from her temples materialized in front of him. She wore the high collared black uniform with gold trim of the Confederate Space Authority on her slight frame. A full head shorter than him, her feet were clad in glove-like shoes that allowed her to use the long, narrow fingers on her feet without hindrance. Her face was angular, with a human like button nose above a small, red-lipped mouth. Two large oval eyes whose vertical irises reflected light in such a way that they seemed to glow a soft amber color.

  “Agent Khepria,” Nero said.

  “Praetor Graves, we are about wrapped up here. If it is okay, I would like to send some of the other agents home.”

  Her Solan was nearly perfect. Nero hadn’t noticed the throaty accent on her long vowels the first time they met. It wasn’t until they spent nearly three weeks cooped up in a sewer tunnel together listening to encrypted hard line transmissions that his ears began to pick it up. The skills and professionalism she displayed on that mission impressed him. He was happy to find out she was in the Sol system when he began this one, and even happier that she accepted his request to assign her as cyber security team lead.

  For the record, I pointed out that she was in-system when we arrived.

  “No one asked you,” Nero whispered.

  Khepria’s image smiled. “Still talking to that thing? I think you are the only Abyssian I know who speaks out-loud to his SCC.”

  She has a point. I told you choosing to speak rather than think words at me was highly inefficient.

  “He’s being punished,” Nero said.

  Punished? By the Will, Nero. Are you still upset about me calling you an uncouth barbarian? That was five years ago, don’t you think you should let it go?

  Nero waved his hand, as if swatting at a fly. “Go ahead and send the team home. They’ve done a good job. I take it all of the guests left in secure transports?”

  “Nearly all. I made sure they got to their homes all right. All local traffic on the ‘web is quiet. No threats detected.” Her eyes darted to the side a moment, and small waves traveled up her twitching ears.

  “What is it?” Nero prompted her.

  “Well, sir, Earth’s Cyberweb is fairly quiet, considering most of its already sparse population is composed of religious Gaianists who shun direct interface with technology. I don’t think I would’ve spotted this if it was not.”

  “Spotted what?” he asked.

  “A coded transmission from one of the Gaianist bio-domes to an arcology. There was also an intercept program running when the transmission passed through the relay node. The information was copied and retransmitted to a third party. I don’t think the sender or the original receiver is aware they are being listened to.” She pursed her lips, briefly twisting them to the side before letting her facial muscles relax again.

  “Who received the information? Anyone we should be worried about?” Nero asked.

  “Both receivers were using arc-secure nodes. I didn’t want to proceed without your say so. Neither arcology’s private network was Baron Keltan’s. The intended receiver was in the Mitsugawa network, and the listener was in Revenant’s.” She shifted her weight back and forth. He hadn’t seen her so nervous before.

  “What’s gotten you so shaken? I’m sure this kind of thing goes on all the time. They’re known enemies and their baronies are in competition with each other.” He frowned.

  “I know. It is just that it is unusual. Why are Gaianists transmitting information to a Mitsugawa? They are an eco-centric and somewhat regressionist religious order. Why are they contacting one of the most technologically advanced baronies in the Confederation for anything? They should be shunning the Mitsugawa.”

  Nero shrugged. “Maybe it’s just a private message with nothing to do with industrial politics. I don’t know, but it’s really none of our business if the Keltan Barony wasn’t involved. Our orders were to protect Baron Keltan during the memorial services. They don’t extend to prying into private business.”

  Agent Khepria frowned. Her ears gave one last twitch and stilled. “Yes, sir. I shall disregard it.”

  “Make sure that the airspace around the Keltan arcology and this one stays clear until morning.” Nero paused, observing Khepria’s frown. “And, ah, thanks for bringing the transmission to my attention. It was good work, even if we’re not doing anything about it.”

  “You are welcome, sir.” Her expression softened. “I will keep the nav-sats broadcasting the no-fly-zone command until then.”

  “You can take off anytime, I’ve got it from here.”

  “Thank you, sir.” She saluted, and her image faded into the darkness.

  Are you sure that was wise, Nero?

  “The no-fly zone? Standard procedure.”

  You’re being purposefully obtuse, I see.

  “Purposefully what?”

  I’m not taking that bait. You know perfectly well what I mean by obtuse. I was asking if you were sure it was wise to order Agent Khepria not to pursue the message. It could have been important.

  “If you think so, why don’t you do it?”

  In times of non-emergency, I require your permission to act independently.

  “Sucks to be you then, doesn’t it?” Nero said.

  May I remind you that I am, both physically and mentally part of your being. Insulting me equates to insulting yourself.

  “I don’t dispute that it sucks to be me, too. I’m stuck with you, after all.” Nero grinned.

  Your stupidity is beyond reckoning.

  New light spilled out like a yellow carpet across the pad. Nero turned towards it, and thanked the stars when he saw Baron Keltan emerge from the base of the tower. He walked hunched over his arms, already shivering in the early morning air. His black mourning robe clung to him like it was afraid of being swept away in the stiff breeze.

  “Take me home, Praetor,” the baron said when he was in earshot.

  “With pleasure, sir,” Nero opened the cockpit hatch for the baron to climb in.

  Nero made sure he was situated comfortably across the twin seats before climbing in after him, starting the engines, and watching the engine temperature gauge rise. It wasn’t until the warmth enveloped him that he remembered how good it was to be out of the cold.

  With the cockpit canopy closed he could smell the alcohol like an aura around the baron’s body behind him. He turned his head enough to see Keltan in the back seats. His long coppery hair was out of its braid and tangled about his torso like a net. His full beard covered the upper part of his chest like a bib, wet from the icy trip to the air-car, and looked like something a cat had coughed up; not flattering for one of the masters of the Confederation.

  “Everything alright, sir?” Nero couldn’t help himself. He shouldn’t have asked, but he didn’t want the man dying in the back of his car. Plus, this baron seemed a bit more decent than the others he had met, and it would be a shame to lose one of the few that might actually be human.

&
nbsp; The baron’s eyes drifted open. He looked at Nero for a moment and then down at himself. A smile formed beneath his scraggly beard. “Yes, I’m fine. Thank you, Praetor Graves. Heiress Sophi was feeling a bit aggressive tonight.”

  Nero made a tight smile, glad the dim light in the cockpit would hide the blush rising from his chest. He shouldn’t have pried into the private lives of the Barony. “Sorry, sir.”

  “For?”

  Nero could feel the flush at his ears now. “Prying, sir.”

  Baron Keltan snorted. “Don’t be. Your question was a good one, and barons talk about much worse behind closed doors. Heiress Sophiathena has a bit of a mysterious reputation. I’m sure you’re aware.”

  Nero nodded. The engine indicator buzzed and he slid a finger up the holographic control panel being piped into his brain by the air-car’s computer. The dark energy emitters rotated into a vertical position and levitated the vehicle straight up. Another set of light touches to the glowing amber displays in his visual field, and they moved swiftly forward into the blackness of the clouds.

  “She’s human, not some adopted member of an alien species like I’ve heard the gossip feeds say. She was born with albinism, had to have a few surgeries on her eyes to see right, and decided not to go for gene therapy to get rid of her light sensitivity. She’s proud of who she is. It’s an admirable quality in a world where so few of us are.” Baron Keltan’s voice was faint and hoarse.

  Nero could respect that. Most beings he met, human and not, showed fear in his presence. It could be an asset at times, but mostly it was irritating. Fear put barriers between sentient beings, and made reasonable people do stupid things. Nero’s artificial origins, despite being based on human DNA, would always keep him from being a part of those he protected. That Heiress Sophiathena could be misjudged by others and yet proud of who she was, in a strange, silly way, gave Nero a small bit of pride about himself.

  “So she wears those robes to keep out of the light?”

  “Yes, and to keep prying eyes off of her. She’s got the prettiest blue eyes. They’re the kind of blue you don’t really see much of. I’ve only seen it in glaciers, like on Europa, or Sinevar IX.”

  “I suppose, sir.”

  Oh stop kissing up. He’s still drunk and just babbling. You should keep your eyes on the sky and your ears shut.

  “Talking is part of my job, Prospero. You know that,” Nero said in as low a voice as he could manage.

  “What was that?” Baron Keltan said.

  “Sorry, sir. I’m just talking with my SCC.”

  “Your what? Oh wait, yes, I remember now. All of you Abyssian Praetors are part AI. I didn’t think you had to actually talk to it, though. Doesn’t it read your thoughts like the Cyberweb does?” Baron Keltan shifted his weight, using his arm to lever himself into a more upright position.

  “Technically, you’re right, sir. It does. I’m just creeped-out a little by the thought. I try to talk to mine as much as possible.” Nero’s lips tightened.

  Oh yeah, right. You’re a regular chatterbox. I can’t shut you up.

  “Shut it,” he growled.

  “Sorry?”

  “That was for the SCC again. We have disputes sometimes. Sorry to bother you with it, sir.”

  Baron Keltan chuckled. “Pain in the arse is it?”

  He nodded.

  The baron reached up and scratched his chin through the scraggly beard. “I know a few barons like that. You saved me from one earlier.”

  The baron’s hazel eyes drifted shut, and he slipped back into his former position of lying slumped on the seat with his legs at odd angles within the tight confines of the rear of the cockpit.

  Nero flew on while the baron slept. The hum of the engines and the rush of wind kept him company. Once they were out of the clouds it was a beautiful pre-dawn morning. Only the brightest of stars were still in the sky, and a smooth arc of orange-yellow tinged with green was just spreading across the horizon. Nero smiled, enjoying the tranquil view.

  They were just about at the spires of the Keltan Arcology when the Baron’s voice broke the silence. “Praetor Graves, what planet are you from?”

  Nero swallowed. “I don’t actually know, not really. My first memories are of the inside of a Ravager-class dreadnaught on its way to Quae.”

  Baron Keltan frowned. “Ravager class? They’re not in service anymore, are they?”

  “No, sir. The Ravagers were decommissioned in the year twelve of the Confederate calendar,” Nero said.

  The baron’s scowl deepened. “That’d make you at least fifty, and that’s if you were a year old when you made that memory.”

  “I think I was, actually, but the memory isn’t from twelve. It’s from seven.”

  The baron’s glassy eyes narrowed. He ran a hand down his face and yawned. “That makes you fifty-eight. You look like you’re in your mid-twenties. I mean, you’re all scarred up, but you’re young looking.”

  Nero smiled. “Abyssians age at about one-third the rate of humans. We’re made as adults, but the parts of us that are still flesh are all as brand new as a newborn; or something like that. Plasma explosion and Savorcha’s atmosphere gave me the make-over. Prospero’s nanomachines did their best, but there’s only so much they can do.”

  “Who’s Prospero?”

  “My SCC,” Nero said.

  “They have names?”

  “Model designations, technically. Mine is a Prospero-nine-seven-ex model Symbiotic Cerebral Computer, but it’s quicker just to refer to it as Prospero.”

  “Oh, that makes sense. About the scars, why don’t you have them removed? It’d only take about thirty minutes in a makeover shop.”

  He shrugged. “Yeah, probably. They’re mine, though.”

  Baron Keltan gave him a long, puzzled look. “But you could be better looking, more appealing, right?”

  “I’m an Abyssian, who do I have to be better looking for? Besides, it works with the intimidation part of the job. Your uncle can attest to its effectiveness.”

  Baron Keltan laughed until he coughed. “That was quite priceless. It’s rare that I see my uncle honestly afraid. I’m going to remember that for the rest of my life. I’m not horribly fond of my uncle. My mother was his younger sister; my father’s first wife before he married Heiress Star Cronus. Mother died in a gas leak in our arcology when I was five.”

  “Gas leak? That’s unusual—ah, I mean, I’m sorry, sir,” Nero said.

  “Don’t be Praetor Graves. You’re right, it is unusual. It’s what they told me—what they told society, I suppose. I found out later that she actually died from a rare adaptive virus. She contracted it from one of her illicit non-human lovers. The virus is most common among the Isinari, I think. Apparently, the truth was too embarrassing to deal with.” Baron Keltan took a deep breath, staring out at the passing clouds for several moments.

  “It happened ages ago, and even though she was my mother I have no doubt I would’ve hated her by now. We barons aren’t usually worth the skin we’re in let alone the air we breathe.” The baron snorted.

  Nero’s mouth almost fell open before he caught himself. He’d never heard a baron denigrate his own class.

  “Praetor Graves, may I call you by your given name? It’s much friendlier. I know you’re an Abyssian, but I think I can be friendly with you, can’t I?”

  He must still be drunk, Prospero said.

  Nero suppressed the urge to give the baron a look. This assignment was getting stranger by the minute. “Ah, yes, of course, Baron Keltan. It’s Nero.”

  “Call me by mine, Nero. I’m Cylus, nice to meet you, Nero.”

  “And you, sir,” Nero said. They were past the arcology now, he had overshot it during the conversation. He swung the craft around and headed in for a second approach.

  Baron Keltan snored once and it startled him awake. “Thank you for the use of your time, Nero. There is a shortage of decent people in the galaxy, try to be sure that you stay one.”

>   “Thank you, sir. I will.” Nero set the air-car down gently on the landing pad on the top tier near the tower with the baron’s living quarters. “Shall I help you to your door, sir?”

  “No, I’ll take it from here. You get yourself home, Nero, and remember to call me Cylus.”

  “Alright, Cylus. Take care of yourself.” Nero bit his tongue. Calling a baron by his first name felt wrong. He hoped the baron would forget about it by tomorrow.

  “You too, Nero.” Cylus pulled himself up off the seat. He paused. “Oh, and I know I’m a few days early, but Happy New Year.”

  “To you too, sir,” Nero said.

  All quiet on the local Cyberweb, Nero. The Keltan arcology network appears secure, Prospero said.

  Nero watched the baron nearly fall flat on his face as he climbed out of the air-car, then stumble and lurch his way to the tower’s large double-doors.

  “Have our security drones report in every hour on the hour. Make sure one of them follows the baron to his room,” Nero told Prospero.

  Strange beings, these barons.

  “We’re in agreement on that. I don’t think he remembers the mission requires me to stay on the premises as long as he is in residence.” Nero closed the canopy and had Prospero activate the air-car’s stealth mode.

  The vehicle’s surface shimmered, then appeared to vanish as fiber-optic micro-filaments channeled electromagnetic radiation, including light, through the vehicle’s skin to the other side. Super-conductors absorbed heat and channeled it into a special module within the engine, converting it into electrical power. The combination rendered the car virtually invisible to the outside world, while filtering a small percentage of light to instruments, so that Nero could select any external viewpoint to display on the cockpit screen.