Durante stepped back from the painting and stared at it for several minutes.
Melchior. What was Melchior’s role in the plan? That arrogant little cluster! They thought themselves hidden, but the Church had been aware of them for many years, tolerating their isolationist heresy. But . . . what if they – and the Kenric heir – were removed from the plan? Durante wondered. He entered the data and waited. The wall of red turned green, just a small cluster of numbers remained an annoying crimson now. A more agreeable outcome. Their deaths would help to avoid many more. It was a price worth paying . . . He was saving people. The Gods willed it.
He should consult with the Scribe, he told himself. But then the glory would be diluted. This was his solution. Durante alone was purging the plan of deviation. He alone should take the glory for his good work.
He said a prayer to the Infinite Gods asking for their guidance and, when no reply came, he decided it was a sign that he should work alone.
So be it. If that was the Gods’ will.
Reader Durante contemplated his actions, mourning the deaths that would come, then he called Valtais Sinnsro Draig to arrange a meeting. Through the mother he would control the son.
ENLIGHTENMENT
The banquet hall was vast, like all the state rooms on the arkship Fenrir. Orcades Draig took in the excessive splendor as he walked towards the table at the center of the room. The hall sat at the top of the arkship with a view out to space along three sides. Orcades gave it only a cursory glance; he felt the slow turn of the stars unbalance him and he looked up to the giant chandeliers that decorated the high ceiling instead. He had no interest in the finery of the room, no interest in the family history that underpinned it, but it was either the ceiling or having to look at the two people waiting for him at the table. He was only expecting one.
His mother stood to greet him. Her guest remained seated until the last possible moment. Orcades saw the insult and ignored the old fool, leaving him to wait with his hand outstretched. ‘I did not know we had a guest tonight, mother.’
‘Reader Durante is always welcome at our table,’ Sinnsro Draig said to her son as she gestured to the purple-robed man by her side.
Orcades took the other man’s hand but refused to look at him.
‘That is my fault,’ Reader Durante said, offering a seat to Orcades as if he was the host. ‘Valtais Sinnsro and I had a meeting earlier today and, after our discussion, I begged your mother to permit me to join you this evening. I hope that is acceptable?’
Orcades sat, eyeing his mother with suspicion. ‘More prophecy, mother?’
Sinnsro tutted, indicating to the waiting bots to serve them. ‘Not prophecy, Orcades: strategy.’
The machines attended the table, pouring wine into ornately decorated glasses and placing one in front of each person.
Orcades sighed impatiently, knowing what was to come.
Sinnsro’s eyes narrowed, scolding him as she raised her glass. ‘To the Infinite Gods.’
‘May their reflections shine upon us all,’ Reader Durante added solemnly.
They both waited for Orcades. He picked up his glass and gestured towards theirs. ‘May their blessings shine upon us,’ he muttered.
‘Infinite blessings,’ Sinnsro and Durante said in unison. They both paused then sipped at the wine.
Orcades drank all of his and put the empty glass on the table. Almost at once one of the bots appeared and refilled it.
Reader Durante smiled, his thin lips tightening. ‘Your faith is not as vital to you as it is to your mother, is it?’
‘I have no issue with your Church, Reader,’ Orcades replied. ‘I do not object to its existence–’
‘That is wise,’ Reader Durante injected.
‘–or to those who wish to believe in its teachings, but I do object to its habit of interference in the affairs of others. No, Reader, I do not share my mother’s unswerving faith in your Church.’
‘Belief is an individual’s luxury,’ Reader Durante said, eyeing Orcades with intent, ‘but you are not an individual, and your lack of faith troubles me.’
‘Not an individual? How so?’
‘You are Orcades Draig, Heir Valtais, leader of your people–’
‘When the time is right,’ Sinnsro added.
Reader Durante bowed respectfully. ‘Of course. But one day you will lead the House of Draig and your people will look to you for direction. You are a figurehead, a beacon, a guiding light. You are not an individual and you cannot afford the luxury of an individual’s indifference. You must be clear in your beliefs, you must lead by your opinion. The Church would not look favorably on anything but complete devotion.’
‘Are you threatening me?’ Orcades asked.
‘Orcades!’ his mother scolded.
‘Threatening you? No,’ Reader Durante said, his smile fading as he stood to take in the view. ‘But the Church is concerned by your recent actions, your attack on the House of Kenric, the destruction of the Obsidian. These are matters that affect the Church, and your refusal to accept our counsel is . . . troubling. But no, the Church does not threaten. This is merely a word of caution from one friend to another.’
‘Friend? You are a guest here, nothing more,’ Orcades scoffed, emptying his glass again, ‘I do not require your counsel. You remain here at my pleasure, but I think perhaps you forget your place. Do not presume–’
Orcades’ chair fell backwards as a hand found his throat. Reader Durante knelt over him, a knee pushing into Orcades’ chest as he slowly choked him.
‘It is you who presumes, Orcades,’ Reader Durante whispered. ‘You forget yourself, and you forget who it is you talk to. I am a Reader of the Church of The Infinite. The Gods speak through me. My will is their will.’
Wide eyed, Orcades searched for help, but his mother and the bots did nothing.
‘You may be the heir to a great and noble family, young Orcades,’ Reader Durante continued, his mouth close to Orcades’ ear, ‘but you exist at our pleasure. The Church bestows its love on you so that you might live. Do you understand?’
Orcades, unable to find his breath, nodded quickly.
‘Good, I am glad.’ Reader Durante released his hand and straightened, adjusting his robes.
Orcades gasped for air, his face red. He pulled himself to his knees, his mind racing, full of impulsive thoughts of retaliation. He glanced up; there was Durante’s hand in front of him, waiting for his submission. Orcades glanced to his mother and realized he was on the wrong side in this battle. He buried his feelings and kissed Reader Durante’s hand.
Satisfied, Durante turned his hand over and offered it to Orcades.
‘The wine is good,’ Durante said as he pulled Orcades to his feet. The Reader returned to his chair, acting as if nothing had happened. ‘You have had a good harvest this year?’
‘I . . . I believe so,’ Orcades replied, still uncertain what just happened.
A bot stepped forward and righted his chair, waiting until Orcades was seated to place a napkin on his knee. He stared at the Reader, trying to hide the vengeful thoughts pushing blood to his cheeks.
‘You did not come here to discuss crops. What is it you want to talk about?’ Orcades asked.
Reader Durante smiled to himself.
‘Rumors,’ Sinnsro said. ‘About Prince Halstead of the House of Kenric.’
‘The dead prince?’
Sinnsro frowned. ‘There are rumors he is still alive.’
Orcades sneered as he took a drink from his glass.
‘More than rumors,’ Reader Durante corrected. ‘Intelligence.’
‘What sort of intelligence?’
‘The Church stands outside of quarrels between houses,’ Durante said as he pondered his glass of wine. ‘We do not interfere–’
Orcades scoffed, then saw Durante’s steely glare and he looked away.
‘We advise, we guide and steer. We do not get involved, unless it is the will of the Gods, of course.’
‘Of course,’ Orcades smiled icily. He was looking forward to planning this man’s downfall, when the time was right.
‘But,’ Durante continued, ‘if we can help our friends then we will. This . . . dispute between you and the House of Kenric–’
‘It is not a dispute!’ Orcades barked. ‘It is my right to rule.’ He turned to stare at his mother. ‘Tell him! Tell him of the prophecies.’
Reader Durante held up his hand, silencing Sinnsro. ‘Child,’ he said to Orcades, ‘the Church is the origin of all prophecy. We are the keepers of history and doctrine and projection. The Church will write your legends. But remember, there is a difference between divine prophecy and wishful thinking.’
Orcades clenched his fists, trying to keep his temper in check. He wanted to beat this man’s skull to pieces, watch as his brains stained the expensive carpet. He took a breath and smiled. ‘There are things even the Church does not know.’
‘Really? You think we do not know of your claim to the Kenric throne, that your father was the recently departed Prince Thyred – killed by your actions, I might add – that you seek to take what you believe is rightfully yours by birth?’
Orcades stared at the man, unable to respond. He turned to his mother. She sat with her hand to her mouth, tears streaming down her face.
‘Forgive me, Valtais Sinnsro,’ Durante said softly, ‘I did not wish to upset you. Perhaps we should continue without you.’
Sinnsro’s holograph flickered then broke apart, evaporating into the air.
‘What did you do?’ Orcades demanded.
‘Turned her off. Oh, don’t worry, her matrix is safe. I have deleted the last few moments so as not to upset her.’ Durante chuckled to himself. ‘It’s funny how much respect we give such simulations, isn’t it? We treat them as flesh and blood, worrying about their feelings, when in fact your mother has been dead for over a year, has she not?’
Orcades stood, his rage boiling.
‘Oh, do sit down, boy,’ Durante said. ‘We both know you’ll end up on the floor again.’
Orcades glared at the Reader, locking eyes with his, and his anger seemed to leave him. An overwhelming compulsion to obey flooded his mind, soothing his thoughts. He would sit, he decided, and listen to what this man had to say. ‘Please, continue.’
‘As you wish,’ Durante replied. ‘The Church knows many things; the Church sees all. The Church sees a boy with ambition to rule, but he is stupid and impulsive. His ambition, left unchecked, will start a war, a war that will spread throughout the entire Cluster. We see death and destruction . . . possibly the end to our fragile race. The Church does not wish that. The Church needs believers, otherwise . . . the Church will have no purpose, and without purpose the Church will cease to exist as well, Gods or no Gods. You are the pinnacle, a vertex of uncertainty. The calculations are too erratic. Without guidance, without our support, you may be the death of us all. But I bring good news, child. The Gods have spoken, and they have bestowed their love upon you, Orcades Draig, Heir Valtais to the House of Draig, son of Thyred Halstead Kenric.’
‘They . . . have?’ Orcades asked. He sensed an embrace of love washing over him, and he felt whole for the first time in his life.
Durante walked round the table and stood over him. ‘Yes, child, they have. They see your mission to claim your birth right and the Infinite Gods’ reflections shine brightly upon you. Through me they will help and guide you, but you must know that there remains an obstacle in your path to enlightenment.’
‘An obstacle?’ Orcades repeated softly.
‘The son of Thyred still lives.’
Orcades shook his head. ‘His ship was destroyed along with the Obsidian. He is dead.’
‘No, the heir to the House of Kenric is alive. Prince Halstead, the second son of Thyred lives. He is the legitimate child of Thyred and Evanine Kenric, ordained to rule. He is the rightful heir. Your claim is invalid as long as Halstead lives. You cannot sit on the Kenric throne until he is dead.’
‘Then . . . I must seek him out,’ Orcades replied, thinking quickly. ‘I will hunt him down and kill him.’
Durante beamed malevolently. ‘The Gods smile upon you, Orcades. The Church knows where he is.’
MOVEMENT
The dockside was alive with activity, even at this early hour. Wynn walked past a giant ore mining vessel that was unloading its cargo onto a conveyor belt. The clumps of rock trundled out of the craft, throwing up dust that danced in the ship’s spotlights, and disappeared below the dock to be crushed and processed. He heard the miners shouting from inside the ship, talking and laughing as they went about their work, just tiny dots high above him inside the vessel.
He weaved past a wall of containers waiting to be loaded onto a smaller craft, and followed the steps down to the next level. Sparks fell through the grating, their little lights dying as they dropped close to Wynn. A dock worker hosed down a patch of spilled oil while a bot brushed it clean. The man nodded to Wynn as he maneuvered past the slick. Ahead, he saw the distinctive shape of Bara’s ship, Lexica. Its repaired hull seemed to glisten in the harsh spotlights of the dock, making the ship stand out from its grey-black mooring.
A grinding noise drifted on the slow breeze, bringing with it the metallic smell of burning. He followed the sound and saw a helmeted figure perched on top of Lexica, half hidden in a cloud of billowing smoke.
Wynn called up, waving his arm.
The figure switched off the grinder and revealed her face from under the protective helmet. Bara acknowledged him and shouted, ‘Hatch’s open. C’mon in.’
Wynn smiled to himself as he found the entry ramp and ambled inside.
‘Morning, Wynn,’ a voice said as he entered.
‘Hello, Lexica,’ Wynn replied. ‘How are you?’
‘Better, for the most part,’ the ship replied in its disinterested voice. ‘Bara has completed most of the repairs to my satisfaction, although there are still a number of minor fixes that need her attention before I am ready to leave.’
Wynn laughed. ‘Good to hear. Where’s Bara?’
‘Keep going up, you’ll find her.’
His memory of the ship was vague, and Wynn got the impression that Lexica wasn’t in the mood to help, so he followed the faint trail of noises coming from the top of the ship. Eventually he found himself back on the bridge, looking out over the dock. He saw Bara on the hull and decided to join her. He left the bridge, found an open hatch and climbed out of the ship. The view was specular, he could see the entire vista of the dock from up here: ships being repaired, others unloading their cargo, people going about their work, service vehicles driving along the walkways, bots making sure everything ran smoothly. He took a moment to take it all in, then he walked towards Bara, making sure his footing was sound.
‘Hiding from me?’ he teased.
‘Jobs to do, Wynn,’ she replied without looking at him.
‘It’s great up here, isn’t it?’
Bara stopped for a moment, looked down at the dock then returned to her work. She knelt at an open panel, replacing a box-like component with a dozen wires trailing from it.’
‘What are you doing?’ Wynn asked, trying to make conversation.
‘Replacing the skin sensor,’ she replied quietly.
Wynn hesitated, then tried again. ‘What’s that do.’
Bara sighed. ‘Checks for impacts or things stuck to the hull . . .’ She put down her tools. ‘What do you want, Wynn?’
‘Want?’ The question took him by surprise. ‘I don’t know, I just came to see you, and to help, if I can.’
Bara returned to the sensor. ‘That’s great, but I’m kinda busy right now.’
‘Oh, right,’ Wynn replied. ‘Well, okay. Derward’s planning on leaving this evening. Will I see you before then?’
Bara attached the final wire and hit an intercom switch on her wrist. ‘Lex, how’s that?’
‘Skin sensor online again,’ Lexica’s voice came from the wrist
communicator. ‘Calibrating now.’
‘Bara . . .’ Wynn said.
She held up her hand to him.
‘Sensor fully functional,’ Lexica said.
‘Okay, good,’ Bara replied. ‘Give it a test. You should pick up us two on the starboard wing.’
Wynn shook his head. ‘Bara, please, can we talk?’
Lexica’s voice broke over the com. ‘Scanning . . . scanning. Scan complete.’
‘Well?’ Bara asked.
‘I have detected two objects on the starboard wing,’ Lexica said flatly.
Bara nodded. ‘Good, that’s us.’
‘. . . and another object under the port wing.’
‘What sort of object?’’
‘Unknown. Metallic with a low-level power source. It appears to be trying to mask itself from my scan . . . it is powering up now . . . Bara?’
‘Yes, Lex?’
‘Bara, the object is moving. It is moving towards you.’
MANEUVERS
Orcades Draig stood on the flight deck of the arkship Fenrir as it accelerated to full speed. The lights were dimmed, as was standard procedure during flight, giving the entire space an air of dread about it. The sea of consoles threw a sickly green light onto the faces of their operators, little floating heads in the darkness. At the center was the vast operations map which currently showed their flight progress to their target, a tiny flashing dot of red.
He looked out of the windows; there was no obvious sense of acceleration – no indication of movement of any kind – but he could feel the deep vibration of the engines cascading through his stomach. He put his hand to the bulkhead around the window: the vibration was more obvious now, a surge of power pushing the giant vessel faster and faster.
Satisfied, he walked back to the center of the flight deck and rested his hands on the ops map. Next to him stood Commodore Thorwald, doing his best to hide his nerves. He had only just been promoted yesterday, and this would be his first mission in command of the Fenrir, not to mention the rest of the Draig fleet. Orcades still had his doubts about Thorwald. He had risen through the ranks quickly, had proven himself to be a competent leader, but he had never been fully tested in battle. Today would be the making of the man.
Arkship Obsidian (The Arkship Saga Book 1) Page 10