“Darling?” Pasqualina asked.
“I won’t trouble you with it.”
“You mean you won’t trust me with it,” she responded with a smile.
He sighed.
“It’s alright. Trust is something that you earn, yes? I can wait. I know you’ve been on the other side of the aisle for a long time. You’re not likely to be enjoying yourself here either, right?” Pasqualina put on her broadest smile.
“I’m not.”
Pasqualina leaned in close and whispered in his ear. “Neither am I.”
He gave her a doubtful look. She winked at him.
They danced a circuitous route to the edge of the crowd.
“Escort me to the lavatory?” she said.
Cylus nodded and followed her through the maze of tables out of the room. When the door slid shut behind them the din of the ball was abruptly cut off. A soft, calming music played in the deserted, glass-lined hallway. They walked down the burgundy rug passing solid gold fixtures sculpted into cloth-draped members of various species holding globes of light over their heads. The smell in the air was a nauseating mix of cleaning solvent and potpourri warring with the oily smells of machinery.
He crinkled his nose, refusing to breathe deeply for the sake of his stomach.
“Finally, we got out of there. This is so much better isn’t it?” Pasqualina grasped his hand.
“I can appreciate the quiet,” he said.
“And the absence of the crowd, I bet. Father told me you hate crowds.”
“That’s right.” He tried to pull his hand from her but she held on.
“He also said you hate meetings, and politics, and the Barony.” She pulled his hand back towards her as she spoke.
“That’s right, too.”
“Wouldn’t it be better if you didn’t have to do all of that?” She smiled, her perfect teeth glowing softly in the light.
“Yes, but it doesn’t matter. I’m the Baron Keltan now, it’s inescapable.” He frowned, looking at the stars scrolling slowly by on the other side of the windows.
She stopped walking, turned him towards her and looked him straight in the eye. “Not necessarily. You could send a representative instead, someone you trust to deal with your affairs. The only thing you really have to do is sign off on orders and important documents. You would only have to show up at the Barony once a year.”
“Are you trying to pitch yourself to me?”
“No, dear. Like we said before, trust is earned. I haven’t earned yours yet. I’m saying it should be someone you trust.” Her smile was back.
He stared into her green eyes trying to find some sign of what she was up to. Her proposal was as unexpected as it was tempting. He hated traveling to Kosfanter, leaving the sanctuary on Anilon, and very much hated sitting amongst Zalor and those who cost his family their lives. The thought of a surrogate had never crossed his mind. If he could trust someone who enjoyed the game they were forced to play, thrived in the Barony, and could sit through the horribly public memorials to his family, his life would be immeasurably better. He could return to Anilon, wait for word from Praetor Graves and Sable, and plot his revenge on Zalor all without having to tolerate being among his enemies.
“Thinking about it?” Pasqualina spoke in soft tones.
“Yes, it’s a tempting idea. Why did you suggest it?”
“You’re going to be my husband. A wife is supposed to look out for her husband.” She met his eyes with a steady gaze.
“Forgive me for saying so, but you’re my uncle’s daughter—”
“I’m one of them? Right?” Her face expressed more understanding than he would have thought possible.
“Yeah,” he said.
She reached up, brushed locks of his red hair from his bearded face and stoked his cheek. “Cylus, you seem like a nice man. You have a reputation for being a nice man. You’ve managed to keep a lot of the corruption and the evil of the others away from your heart. You seem kind. I haven’t had much of that in my life, but I want it. I’m willing to take a chance on you, to learn what it’s like to be brought up instead of put down.”
She let go of his hand and turned towards the window. “Do you remember when you visited us for the Feast of Paraximos?”
“My parents took me to Dargar for the first time. I was about ten I think,” he said.
It was one of the many times that she had humiliated him during a visit. She called him ball-chin in front of Sando that week.
“We played hide and go seek in the mansion’s attic,” she said.
“Our parents were discussing something downstairs. They got upset about something and we ran up to hide from them.”
“Aunt Drucilla was so mad when she found us covered in dust, but it was worth it wasn’t it?” She turned back towards him, her arms folded as though hugging herself.
“Yeah it was.” He frowned, uncertain of the point of bringing up something so long ago.
“It was a really good day.” Her eyes twinkled.
“For you.”
“What do you mean? You had fun, too, didn’t you?”
“All I can remember from that week was what you called me. Ball-chin, klutz, bow-legged, pigeon-toed, snot-face—”
“I get it. I’m sorry. I wasn’t a very mature girl, and things were bad at home.” She looked at the floor. “It’s not an excuse, it’s just that—” she trailed off.
He stared at her.
She looked up suddenly. “I’m sorry.”
He didn’t know how to take that. Twenty-plus years was too long to wait for an apology. It was late, far too late for that, but he felt that in some way her apology should still mean something. He could see for himself how her parents were, and she must have had it rough. Perhaps all of that teasing was her way of reaching out for help. It wasn’t a good way, but it could have been that.
For just a moment he felt himself warm to her. Then he remembered that she was more likely than not a spy for Zalor. Her presence in his life now was a means for Zalor to gain total control of the Confederation by murdering him.
She turned slightly and looked out at the stars, refusing to meet his eyes. The pearls in her dress filled the air with the sound of falling water.
“I don’t know what else I can say.”
“You can’t, there isn’t anything—but you can tell me what’s with the flowers.”
She looked at him over her shoulder with one big, green eye. “Sophi will tell you when she wants to. It’s not for me to say.” She took a deep breath. “I’m going to get refreshed. Meet you back at the party?” Her voice was so quiet it was nearly drowned out by the music.
“Sure.” He watched her walk off and turn into one of the doorways down the hall. He felt like she’d thrown some kind of uncomfortable cloak about him he couldn’t shake off. There was no name for it, just a sensation crawling up and down his body.
He moved to the glass window, and stared at his own tired reflection. It would be nice to be able to return to Anilon, to get away from all this and let someone else deal with it. Sophi was the natural choice, she thrived on politics, and he supposed her recent displays of ruthlessness showed she was well suited for the Barony. She was her father’s daughter. Maybe she could take him on and actually do some good. Other than Sable, she was the only one from their class that he felt he could trust, even despite what she said to her mother. Aurora didn’t understand what they were trying to accomplish anyway.
Sophi played the part she had to play to get through this, better than he could have imagined she would. Yes, she was the natural choice and really, the only one he had with Sable being gone. He could give her the reigns and retire back to Anilon free of all of this. Sophi was a baroness now; the others would have to listen to her. The only thing he had to do was put up with this betrothal to his cousin. He could have his isolation and, when Nero got back, his revenge. They were the two things he really wanted. It could work.
A reflection passed by his own in the
ship’s window. He turned his head and saw Baroness Altair moving down the corridor at a brisk pace. She had walked right past him without noticing.
His heart pounded in his chest.
He took off after her.
Her dress canted back and forth like a shaking bell. Her back was stiff and her shoulders high. She didn’t glance behind her once as she strode to the lifts and stabbed the button. She drummed her long, manicured fingers against her arms staring at the lift indicator panel with tightly pressed lips.
He used the curvature of the hallway to hide his presence when the doors opened. Once he was sure they shut, he ran over to the lift control and watched. The lift rose three levels and stopped.
He summoned the other lift, tapping his foot nervously until it arrived. He directed it to the floor on which he saw Baroness Altair’s stop. His blood pounded in his ears.
The lift rose.
He ran like a race horse from the gate when the doors opened. The hallway here was identical to the ones below it. Placed on the outer edge of the habitat torus, the curvature of the reflective glass walls and soft lighting allowed him to quickly scan down each way. For a few moments he saw only the image of the hallway wall on the surface of the glass.
He’d been too slow; the lift had taken too long to arrive. He was so close! If he couldn’t find Brudah now he would never forgive himself for wasting this opportunity.
Then he heard the fluttering, off-key notes of her voice commanding her room door to open down the hallway.
He took off like a rocket down the corridor. His feet pounded the deck like claps of thunder. She would hear him coming, but she seemed agitated enough that maybe she wasn’t paying attention. Either way, it didn’t really matter. He had to catch her.
He came around the bend of the hallway in time to see the double doors of a luxury suite closing. He threw himself through them. A moment later he hit the thick carpeted floor of the suite’s sitting room. The air rushed from his lungs but he dared not gasp. Instead, he forced himself to draw breath slowly. He half expected Baroness Altair to be standing over him when he rolled over onto his back, but she wasn’t.
He was in luck. The inner doors of the sitting room were already closed. She was in such a hurry she failed to notice his pursuit. He got to his feet, allowing himself to pant hard until he got his breathing under control.
The sitting room was only two and a half-meters on a side, and contained a variety of chairs and a coffee table with a pyramid-shaped node for downloading magazines. He knew from his own suite that beyond the inner doors was a large living room flanked by a bedroom and a spacious refreshing chamber.
He strained his ears trying to determine where the baroness might have stalked off to within the suite so he could plan his ambush. He heard voices. If she wasn’t alone his plan would fail. He needed her by herself for the interrogation. She’d never admit to being part of a conspiracy unless he could pressure her without anyone around.
A male voice spoke. He didn’t recognize it, but it sounded odd, tinny, like someone speaking inside an empty room.
“He neglected to tell me he was departing before he left with the Relaen girl.”
“Zalor’s not going to like that,” Brudah responded.
“I did my part, I steered him towards Thein, but the stupid Abyssian didn’t take the bait. They’re immune to our powers of suggestion thanks to that computer you put in their brains.”
“I did no such thing. My company produces the food that feeds the empire.”
“I meant you in the plural sense. As in, you humans did that,” the voice returned.
“Daedalus, that abomination the Cronuses created during the war that you started, did that. And I meant you in the plural sense,” Brudah snapped.
“Do you think yourself clever, human?” The voice had a strange accent, but it wasn’t one Cylus was familiar with. It wasn’t the buzz of a Cleebian, nor the gravel and sand of an Achinoi.
A few seconds of silence passed.
“Do you know where he’s going at least?” Brudah’s question.
“You don’t? I would have thought your master would have told you. He’s going to Elmorus.”
Cylus heard Brudah stifle a shriek. The male laughed.
“What are you laughing at? That’s where the Siren factory is!”
“Was. He really doesn’t keep you in the loop, does he? Still hasn’t forgiven you for that daughter of yours,” the voice said.
“That’s none of your business,” she said. Cylus couldn’t tell if she sounded defeated or sad.
“She’s the one who started the Cronuses on Zalor’s trail, isn’t she? Didn’t she hand your data files—files that should have been deleted—to that Gaian operative?”
“Shut up!”
“I’m surprised you and your daughter are still alive. It’s not a mistake my kind would have tolerated.”
“Well, I guess I’m lucky I’m not of your kind,” she said.
“That’s a matter of perspective. Back to the matter at hand. Zalor dispatched a little surprise for the Abyssian, I don’t think we’ll have to worry about him much longer. He shouldn’t have been involved anyway. Daedalus’ attention—”
“It won’t matter. The opposition’s collapsed in the Barony and it looks like the Council will as well. Once that happens Zalor will be the single most powerful being in the galaxy. His election to the seat of Premier next year will be a formality.”
“—is the biggest obstacle to our plans. It can’t be bargained with, nor can its agents be stopped by conventional means. Even if the Barony revokes its official powers, it will continue to operate in the shadows. It doesn’t help things that you humans made its location a secret from yourselves,” the male said.
“Your kind gave us no choice, remember?”
“I was barely a twinkle in my mother’s eye then, but the point is well made. Who got the Abyssian involved in the first place?”
“It wasn’t us. Not even Zalor’s contacts have been able to trace down the source of Daedalus’ involvement. The CSA normally sends an agent, but not an Abyssian. Something’s not right about it,” Brudah said.
Cylus wasn’t sure if Daedalus’ attention on him was a good thing or not. The machine entity didn’t usually take such an interest in the affairs of biological sentients, not even barons. What could he have done to draw its attention? He’d spent the last few years in self-imposed exile.
The next few exchanges of conversation were lost to his ears, but then Baroness Altair’s voice came through the doors. “Did it at least work?”
“Like a dream, one-hundred percent infection. We geared this batch to induce a berserker rage in the subject population. Captain Solus reported nearly one-hundred percent of the population dead. They tore each other to pieces. With completion of this test we will soon be able to move to the next stage.”
Who was Captain Solus? Cylus recorded the name in his cortical implant’s planner to follow up on later.
“Ugh, spare me the details,” Baroness Altair said.
“Fine. Yes, it worked. You can tell him that we’re ready to move forward to phase three,” the voice said.
“I will,” Baroness Altair responded.
“And now, you might want to take care of that little issue in your sitting room.”
“What?”
Cylus hesitated. His heart pounded in his chest, and his stomach trembled. He knew he should burst into the room, corner Baroness Altair and whoever or whatever she was with. He ought to demand to know about her role in his parents’ death, but what he just heard turned his guts to liquid. How did the man know he was there?
If he could have recorded that conversation, Zalor, Brudah, and their lot would be finished. Cylus cursed his stupidity. Why didn’t he think to set his implant to record? Zalor’s influence made him nearly invulnerable to the machinery of government. Without something really solid and undeniable, they couldn’t get him on anything. Conversations could easily be denied
, and if Praetor Graves died, he’d have nothing.
If his parents were to be avenged, if the souls of the planet they were talking about, whichever it was, were to be laid to rest, then he might have to go outside the system to do so. How would he do that? How could he take down someone whose agents could be everywhere? Someone who ruled nearly every part of the Confederation? He couldn’t comprehend it. He needed help. He needed to consult Sophi, or Sable, and maybe Aurora and Hephestia too. He was in over his head, this was all beyond him. He’d spent too long in mourning, too long isolated, he wasn’t good at this intrigue. It was Sophi’s arena.
He needed her.
Move or you’re going to die, the thought hammered into his brain. Though he didn’t know where it came from, the thought that his life was in danger was so sharp it cut through his fear induced paralysis.
He made his legs move towards the outer door. It started to open, and then he heard the hiss of the inner door opening behind him.
His eyes went wide.
“Baron Keltan?” Brudah’s voice said.
The outer door finished opening.
“You cannot move,” the thought flooded his consciousness. It was all pervading, undeniable, a command from a will not his own speaking in a voice that was not his.
His body froze.
He felt a cold hand grasp his arm. His eyes moved down, spying gray-white flesh on a hand that was too narrow to be human. It had odd markings, lines and circles, tattooed in its flesh. He followed the hand to an arm, and the arm to a shoulder, and then to a tear-drop shaped head.
His vision filled with black, almond shaped orbs, rings of violet sparks floating in darkness. The thought of what he was looking at was half formed in his brain when the pain came. Rainbow colors exploded in his vision, dancing so violently that he felt the room spin around him.
His body, released of its paralysis, flowed to the ground as though it were water poured from a cup. That was the last sensation he had before the dark closed in.
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