“Three days,” Ilrica groaned as she flopped down into a chair. “Three days arguing the same stupid point. I feel like my brain is going to explode.”
Trahzi rubbed her head. “I don’t understand why all this time has been wasted. You stated your opinion and they stated theirs. Why in the cosmos must you others say your opinions over and over again in slightly different ways? Once should be enough.”
Gerald stretched. “We knew that convincing the Bertulf alphas to give up control of the drone warship fleet would be an enormous undertaking, I just wasn’t expecting tempers to flare as much as they did.”
Ilrica pointed a finger at Zurra. “You need to explain to your dad that taking on the shape of Ullok when talking to him is an affront to his warrior’s pride.”
“Sorry, it’s kind of a habit of my people,” Zurra said, putting away her shows. “It’s supposed to help people feel more comfortable.”
“Well, it’s not working. He thinks he is being mocked. Twice I saw him place his hand on the hilt of his kryssa knife. I don’t think your old man realizes how close to getting killed he came today.”
“I’ll talk to him about it.”
“It was all worth it though,” Gerald said as he picked up Cadbury and gave her a hug. She fluttered about, releasing a cloud of feathers. “The drone ships are being returned to the forge worlds they came from as we speak.”
“Now comes the hard part,” Ilrica complained, smacking the food processor on the wall to make it give her chocolate faster. “Next we have to settle the territorial disputes.”
“Yes, that is the biggest obstacle by far.”
Ilrica lay down and opened her jaws, allowing the stream of chocolate to spray directly into her open mouth.
Zurra stuck out her tongue. “You’re gross.”
“You’re one to talk,” Ilrica gargled. “Last night I found another piece of you between my toes.”
“You’d better give that back, butt-sniffer.”
“Toe-jam!”
“Come on, guys.”
Ilrica shut off the stream of chocolate. “Gerald, you like my canine attributes. They’re cute right? Like a puppy.”
Trahzi was offended. “Do not compare Trahzi to yourself.”
“You’re right, I am much cooler than her.”
Trahzi covered the puppy’s ears. “Pretend you didn’t hear that,” she whispered to her.
“Yeah, rabies and mange are really attractive features,” Zurra teased, changing herself into a pink copy of Ilrica, with goofy misshapen limbs, a big snaggletooth, bits of fur missing, and a big, dopey, drooly expression.
Ilrica was unimpressed. “What? No pot belly?”
The pink copy distended her stomach.
“That’s better,” Ilrica praised.
Trahzi became concerned. “Gerald, what kind of girl do you prefer? Surely you are not as fond of these two as you are of me.”
Gerald thought for a second. “I like girls that are quiet and don’t say rude things to my other friends.”
Zurra and Trahzi looked at each other in concern.
Ilrica laughed. “Ah, I see what you did there. Well played.”
“I was being serious,” Gerald grumbled to himself.
Gerald walked over and petted the assassin on the head. “How are you feeling today, Nikki?”
Her lavender eyes looked back, relieved to see him again.
“Nikki?” Zurra asked, looking her over.
“Well, she doesn’t really have a name, so I’m calling her Nikki.”
Trahzi crinkled her nose. “Why do you try to name everything Nikki?”
“I just like the name, okay? Not everything has to have some deep dark secret reason behind it, you know?”
“Okay, fine.”
Gerald prepared a few simple foods and set them down on a tray. Her right hand was freshly regrown. He glanced down at the stumps on her legs and other arm. They slowly foamed and bubbled metallically as they regrew themselves. He tried to hide how strange he thought it was. Placing the tray before her, he put a fork in her good hand and curled her fingers around it.
The fork fell out of her hand, so Gerald tried again, speaking softly to her. On the third try, her fingers gripped it.
“Well done,” he said softly, patting her on the head.
“She picks up a fork and gets praise,” Zurra complained. “I babysit all day and what do I get?”
Without looking, Gerald reached back and patted Zurra on the head as well. It made her so happy she looked like she was about to explode.
“Some people are so easy to please,” Ilrica teased.
“You are just jealous,” Trahzi accused.
Gerald stuck a little morsel of food onto the fork, and helped her bring it up to her mouth. On the second try she slipped the bit of meat into her mouth and began chewing.
“She learns fast,” Ilrica noted.
“Yes,” Gerald said, patting Nikki on the head. “Much faster than someone learning this for the first time. I don’t think her mind was completely wiped, or if it was, it seems to still be wired to do these things, even if she can’t remember how to do them.”
“Look at you, pretending like you’re a brain surgeon,” Ilrica teased.
Gerald shook his head. “I would never want to pretend to be a brain surgeon. The last brain surgeon I met was using a clone of my brain as an ash tray.”
“Who was that?” Zurra asked.
“Dr. Klatta.”
“Oh, him. He kept trying to take samples of me in my sleep, like I wouldn’t notice a piece of me missing.”
“You didn’t notice the bit between my toes. It’s been there for weeks.”
“You are so gross, now I don’t want it back!”
Trahzi tilted her head. “Gerald, why would Dr. Klatta have a clone of your brain?”
“Long story, but it involves a young person going somewhere and a very evil wolf.”
Zurra’s arm shot up. “Ooh, Ooh, I know that story. Little red riding hood and the three bears.”
“Yes, only this evil wolf should have her skiv license revoked.”
Ilrica stuck out her tongue at Gerald.
Gerald laughed.
“Mmhm...”
The sound caught everyone’s attention. Nikki’s lips were moving, but not from eating. She looked at Gerald’s mouth, as if trying to remember something.
Her lips parted. “M... more...”
Everyone gathered closer. “Did she just... talk?”
* * *
The Ssykes family estate rested in the beautiful mountains of the third moon of Central. While technically the Ssykes family owned only the northern continent, in practice the entire moon was a private fiefdom to them. Free of surveillance and law, the heads of the family luxuriated in levels of opulence that could scarcely be imagined, even by their close neighbors living on Central.
The head estate itself was designed with a single purpose in mind, to impress and dishearten visiting dignitaries and business rivals. To bludgeon them with opulence, strong-arm them with wealth, terrorize them with the knowledge that, whatever they thought they were and wherever they thought they came from, they were now in the presence of true, unmitigated, unchecked power, and they’d better bow down and show some freaking respect.
E’Duwag himself bragged that the Imperial Palace itself would fit nicely in his rose garden and once offered to buy it and have it moved there just to prove his point. This day, however, he was quiet as he sat upon his latinum throne, listening dispassionately as each of the contenders for ascension stated their claim.
My name is Tah’Rokan Ssykes, third in line for ascension through my mother’s blood, Hara’Mon Ssykes, the young man in ceremonial clothing said fearlessly as he took the copper syringe and stuck it into his neck. His ta’atu barely even flinched as the chemicals robbed him of his natural abilities for the upcoming trial.
As he stepped back amongst his cluster of sponsors, his mother preened. Her bloodl
ine had been denied the leadership for the last three generations, after her grandmother lost the trial against E’Duwag’s own mother. The naked ambition in her eyes was obvious. A dangerous trait, but easily manipulated with the right rewards in place.
My name is Ka’Oppel Ssykes, the next stated proudly, puffing out her lacking figure as best she could. Seventh in line for ascension through my father’s blood, Ja’Thron Ssykes.
She raised the syringe to her neck, then seeing how large it was, decided to place it in her arm instead. Wincing quite a bit, she stepped back into place with only a single sponsor from amongst her family’s caporegimes. An unusual decision. Surely she meant it to show strength and fortitude, but it came off as somewhat petty.
There were sixteen candidates in all. The elderly Thron’Ka Ssykes stepped forward and held up the Lai’Monda before each of them, a sacred chalice containing drops of blood from each of the branch families, save his own. He represented the consigliere, the neutral branch which forever forfeited the rights of leadership in order to provide the family with an impartial means of arbitration and judgment, unfettered by the ambition of the others. Now it is said, let it be done, let it be, he said smoothly.
Now it is said, let it be done, let it be, the gathered crowd chanted in unison, their ta’atu glowing brightly. These were the heads of the family. Some of the most wealthy and powerful people in the entire galaxy, yet their eyes burned with greed for even more.
There was a scuffle outside the main hall. The doors flew open, snapping off their hinges, and Jonarl flew inside, landing unconscious on the floor. Gasps of surprise wafted through the crowd, and Ssykes men appeared everywhere, ready to give their lives to protect their masters.
Two more unconscious bodyguards were tossed inside, and Cha’Rolette floated in, wearing her school uniform.
The heads of the family looked at each other in confusion.
What is she doing here? Ka’Oppel snickered.
Cha’Rolette landed before Thron’Ka and snatched a copper syringe off the tray he held. Turning around, she plunged it directly into her heart before everyone. Her face didn’t even flinch. My name is Cha’Rolette Ssykes, first in line for ascension, through my father’s blood, E’Duwag Honrinar Ssykes, and I am here to claim my birthright.
Thron’Ka’s ta’atu writhed visibly. This is absurd. You have already been stripped of Honrinar Jillintor...
Cha’Rolette pulled out the needle and slammed the syringe back on his tray. Hold your tongue and know your place. As a wartime consigliere, you may have the right to strip me of my title, but you cannot oppose my candidacy to reclaim it. My right to be here is carved into every drop of my blood.
The room went silent. Everyone knew what she was saying was true, but no one wanted to support her. E’Duwag sat on his throne, eyes closed, head tilted forward as if he could not care in the slightest.
Is there anyone willing to sponsor this candidate? Thron’Ka asked. The crowd was silent. No one stepped forward.
The gesture was meaningless, and everyone knew it. The first in line required no sponsor. Asking out loud in front of everybody was a deliberate attempt to humiliate and intimidate her into backing down. It did not have the intended effect.
Cha’Rolette stepped forward and looked him straight in the eye. When I become head of the family, don’t think for one second that I won’t remember the names of any who took sides against me.
The ferocity in her eyes shocked the old man. He licked his dry green lips, and returned to the ceremony.
The floor opened up into the underground maze below. A disorienting labyrinth of stone and root, completely devoid of any light. There, robbed of their telekinesis and telepathy, they would hunt and be hunted, till only one remained.
Cha’Rolette gave a sidelong glance to Ka’Oppel and jumped in without hesitation. Ka’Oppel swallowed hard, suddenly regretting her decision, and followed. The other candidates looked at each other warily, then went down as well.
* * *
“Wha... what is this?” Gerald asked, walking into his room. Nearly every surface was covered with posters from sleazy romance novels.
“This is what happens when you miss the morning session and force me to do it alone with Trahzi!” Ilrica said, slapping another poster on the wall.
Gerald furrowed his brow. “That is quite possibly the weirdest thing you have ever said. Why would you punish me by wallpapering my room with romance novel covers?”
Fire rose up off of Trahzi from where she sat in the corner. “Ilrica, you should not be so angry. It is not my fault if the Zurinite delegates chose to get upset over my ultimatum.”
Ilrica spun around and pointed accusatorily. “You threatened to burn them alive!”
“And I didn’t have to. They backed down on the reparation proposal just in time.”
Ilrica grabbed Gerald and lifted him up off the floor by his collar. “Gerald, if you ever leave me alone with her again I’m going to freeze time and cram a watermelon in her mouth.”
“That would not fit,” Trahzi said.
“I know! That’s the point.”
“I’m sorry, Ilrica, but I couldn’t help it. I had to do those interviews. It’s part of my job as Regional Public Charity Relations Manager.”
“Yeah, you’re a big celebrity now,” Zurra said from where she sat next to Nikki’s bed, bringing up a few dozen news windows with his picture on it. “You’re on all the major news outlets, and hundreds of private discussion sites have sprung up. They’ve got interviews with some of the kids back in school, your testing records. Someone even went back to Earth and took pictures of your family’s ball of twine. They’re calling you the hero of Sloi.”
“Not that I don’t appreciate it, but shouldn’t that title really go to Ilrica?”
“Yeah! Where are my fans?”
Zurra adjusted the cable in her neck. “Ooh, I found one site. It’s calling you a hero, Ilrica.”
Ilrica dropped Gerald to the floor. “Really? Let me see.”
Ilrica ran over, her tail wagging happily as Zurra enlarged the window. “Yeah, the author is asking people to post things they like about the Bertulf.” Zurra scrolled down the empty thread. “Looks like no one has posted anything yet.”
Ilrica frowned. “Well, maybe the site just hasn’t had a lot of visitors yet.”
“Says here thirteen billion have visited this page.”
Ilrica slashed the window to pieces. “Stupid racist prey! I saved them all and this is the thanks I get?”
Gerald stood up and put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Ilrica, you didn’t do it for the glory, that’s what makes you a true hero.”
She blushed and turned away bashfully. “T-thanks. Still, it wouldn’t kill them to give me one lousy medal, would it? A stretched hovercarridge, a nice award ceremony with some boy-bands, maybe a feast with Zurra’s head on a spit.”
“Hey!”
Gerald took a closer look at one of the posters plastered to his wall. “Wait... is that... me?” The poster was for a book called Desires after Dusk, and featured him on the cover wearing very tight pants, his shirt falling off, revealing his sculpted physique. A woman with red hair was draped around his neck, her dress falling around her shoulders.
“Why am I on the cover?” He looked around. The next poster had him on it, so did the next, and the next, and the next.
“These are all me! What the heck?”
Ilrica snickered.
Gerald yanked one off the wall. “What is this? Sinner’s Heart?”
“Yeah, that’s one where you fall in love with Saint Ablanny of Edreass.”
He grabbed another. “Silk and Steel?”
“That’s you and the legendary Warrior Queen Athel.”
“Heavenly Caress?”
“That’s you kissing Thenai, Goddess of the Southern Spiral.”
Gerald looked like he was about to throw up.
Ilrica burst out laughing.
Gerald looked ar
ound ominously at the hundreds of posters. “Where are these coming from?” He turned to Ilrica. “Did you write these yourself?”
“Pffft,” Zurra laughed, nearly falling out of her chair. “Ilrica write a book? Bwaaaa ha ha haaaha ha ha haaaaaaaaaaa!”
Ilrica was not amused. “No, these come from fanfiction sites.”
“Fanfiction sites?”
“Yeah, romance novels are extremely formulaic, so people have put together automated programs that will write them out for you. All you have to do is input the name of the hero and provide a picture. Now that you’re a celebrity, you’ve got a whole section of books with you as the love interest.”
Trahzi brought up a window and examined the cover of one of the books. “Looks like they just took the nude pictures of you from back on stage at Central Exeter and added clothing.”
“Isn’t there some way we can delete those pictures of me from the hypernet?”
“Yeah, good luck with that.”
Gerald crumpled the poster and threw it on the ground. “This is ridiculous. Look at these! Me as a plantation owner, me as a private detective, me as a bounty hunter... when have I ever been any of those things?”
“Ooh, Cuffs and Candles, what a provocative title,” Zurra teased. Trahzi seemed intrigued and brought up that one in her window.
Ilrica pointed to one above his bed. “They’re not all wrong. In that one there you are a priest.”
“An Athlican Priest! They couldn’t even get that part right. Those guys are a disgrace.”
“So much for respecting other people’s beliefs, eh?”
“No, he’s right,” Zurra confirmed. “Athlicans believe that the future can be told by massaging and reading the pressure points on women’s feet. It’s really just a thinly veiled excuse for foot fetishists to get together on the weekend.”
“Oh my,” Trahzi said, steam rising up off of her as she scrolled through the text. “I have studied literature like this before, but it has never affected me like this.”
“Trahzi, don’t read that!”
Gerald swiped at the window, trying to close it.
Zurra grabbed one of the posters. “You know, I really like you with long blonde hair like this. You should grow yours out and dye it.”
Gerald dropped his head. “Can we just take all of these down please?”
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