Tale of the Spinward March: The Great Khan (Tales of the Spinward March Book 1)

by David Winnie

  The lights in his chamber didn’t come on when he entered, he noted with some irritation. No matter, the switch was a few feet inside the door. Still, the lights should be on now. He would have a firm meeting with the head of maintenance.

  The switch didn’t work.

  “Please, great Khan, allow me,” came a disembodied voice. The lights came up at a low level. There was a hooded figure standing in the opening of his balcony.

  “Ryder Finn!” gasped Angkor.

  “No,” the figure pulled back his cowl. He was Mithranderer, pale blue skin and steel hair. His face was smooth, unlined by the passage of time. His violet eyes, though, spoke of aged wisdom and timeworn concern. “I am Cassius Finn, son of Ryder Finn, servant to Mithranderer. She has sent me here with an urgent question and an imperative mission.

  “Mithranderer asks the Terran Emperor Angkor Khan, why have you not written the law?”

  “May I?” Angkor indicated the couch. Cassius nodded. “I have been quite busy with an important project,” stated the Emperor as he sat heavily on the settee. “One that I need to personally oversee. Mistakes were clearly made with my son. I will not allow it to happen again.”

  “Mithranderer says, what you need to ensure is the safety of your Empire,” Cassius replied. “She says the mistakes you are making now are having a far greater effect on the future of the Empire than a single line of misplaced code.”

  “I have to be certain!” thundered Angkor. “I cannot, will not allow the imperfection I allowed with Buru!”

  Cassius was calm in the face of Angkor’s fury. “And in the meantime, the very Empire you seek to have this perfect child rule is staggering and stumbling about. You are building a mansion on a foundation of sand. The builders are shirking their sworn duties, slapping the building up just enough to please their overseer while stealing the finer things for only themselves.

  “Mithranderer asks, have you forgotten the murder of your father? Have the perpetrators of this great crime been punished?”

  “No,” Angkor buried his face in his hands. “No,” he repeated, shuddering. “I have failed my father, though I know who the criminals are.”

  “Why?”

  “I need them,” Angkor responded. “Xaid is an astute businessman. His investments for my Empire have increased its value immeasurably. Salaam maintains my intelligence mechanism quite efficiently. And Dawlish, my god, Dawlish. What would I do, how would my Empire stand without Dawlish?”

  “So your Empire is really a triumvirate, with you as a figurehead?” accused the blue skinned man. “Mithranderer says that was not the agreement, Angkor Khan. Are you the leader of your Empire, or have you acceded your throne to lesser men?”

  “It is my Empire,” Angkor snapped through gritted teeth. “Does Mithranderer send you to tell me different? Perhaps she has someone else in mind who can do this cursed task? If so, let him stand here, now, and I will gladly turn over this damnable job and retire to Indianola with my wife!”

  “No. Mithranderer says you are the one chosen because you are the nexus for this part of time/space. She only desires you to do what is needed to set this Empire for its future,” Cassius stated. “Speaking for myself, Lord, I am offering myself and my services to you. My father, Ryder Finn, served your father honorably for many years, He sits now in perpetual communion with Mithranderer in his twilight years. He and I agree that I am the correct deputy for Mithranderer to sit at your right hand to help guide you.”

  “What of my heirs?”

  “The Vinithri you call Three, along with the Doctors Lumburg, has the situation well in hand,” Cassius said. “Master Tok has prepared Master Ng well for his role as head of your file committee. You must learn when to delegate important matters to qualified people,” his voice went to a whisper, “and when to take matters into your own hands when dealing with your enemies.”

  “There is always a price to be paid,” argued Angkor. “If I agree with your plan, what is the cost to be?”

  “The price you pay will be accepting me as your friend,” explained Cassius. “I will gladly pay my measure in full to you. The price Mithranderer asks is that you give the whole of your being to your Empire. It is all she asks.” He extended his blue hand.

  “Ryder Finn was my father’s closest ally and friend,” Angkor brooded. “And in the end, I suppose, he sacrificed this friendship to ensure the future of my father’s dream.” He pondered for long minutes.

  “It is done,” Angkor declared, slapping his knees and standing. “Cassius, I will accept your friendship and advice. Should you do half so well as your father, then it will be an investment cheap at half the price. All I stand to lose is a job I don’t want. And my gain is a trusted friend and valuable ally.”

  The men clasped forearms. “The Buddha said, the value of friendship is greater than its equal measure of gold.” Angkor said. “I daresay, I need that friendship today even more than I need the very air I breathe.”

  “Then, my Lord, shall we get to work?” Cassius produced a stylus and a pad. “We have your laws to write.”

  Chapter 27

  March 3070 A.D.

  Spring had come to Cascadia.

  There was still a bit of winter’s chill outside the cabin at Indianola. The cabin’s heater could have easily blocked the chill, but the couple enjoyed the sharp, cool temperatures of the early morning. A window near their bed was a welcome portal to the odor of early spring; moisture hanging heavily on the weighted boughs of the ancient cedar forest, the ferns and Oregon grape awakening from their winter slumber, the piquant of the Puget Sound seasoning the fertile bouquet.

  Sophia murmured and rubbed her naked breasts against Angkor’s chest. Their lovemaking last night had been epic. Then again, “Angkor pondered, it always is better in this place. His hand rubbed up and down the warm, soft skin of her back as he glanced about the room. The mirror might take a bit of explaining, the spider web of on its surface. Indeed, he wasn’t entirely sure how they had managed that. And she’d be disappointed with the broken kitchen table. They had spent weeks searching for just that table years ago. Repairing it would take some explaining, he was sure. Maybe they should just replace it.

  Fewer questions that way.

  He kissed the crown of her head. Her flaxen hair, so brilliant and golden in their youth, had begun to dull. She fussed about it as a matter of course, but refused any treatment to restore it to its youthful luster. “I am fifty-seven years old!” she would proudly declare. “I am not ashamed of that; so why should I be ashamed that my hair is no longer that of a silly young girl?”

  He sank his nose and inhaled her scent. Jasmine and flowers as he remembered from the first night they had spent together nearly thirty years ago in the tiny room in Calcutta. She wouldn’t let him touch her then, that night, as they hadn’t married yet. That wouldn’t be proper, she had declared, until they were married the next morning.

  As soon as the ceremony had been completed, though, she had nearly dragged him back to their room.

  Angkor sighed happily. The news reports always depicted the Empress as a soft spoken, demure lady of unfailing manners and politeness. Would they ever believe she was the same woman in the throes of passion? “Mmmm,” she moaned. “Good morning, Husband.” Her eyes were slits as she awoke and smiled. He leaned down to kiss her.

  “GAGH!” she cried, her eyes open wide, turning her head away and gagging. “Angkor, you silly, romantic fool! Your breath smells like a goat and I’m sure mine is twice as bad! Let me brush my teeth first!” Nearly to the bathroom in an instant, she called over her shoulder: “And I have to pee.”

  He admired her firm, round bum as she disappeared into the white-tiled cubicle. She certainly has fine hips… he recalled. He threw the covers aside and followed her to the bathroom. We haven’t showered together in quite some time…

  The airship rose high into the tangerine twilight. Below, the passing daylight slid across the landscape, leaving behind a jewel-encrusted ca
rpet of black. While its engines pressed the ship forward, the terminator line easily outraced the ponderous vessel.

  Xaid Singh reclined on a chaise raised from the chambers floor. Its biofeedback sensors formed the cushions to support his form, kneading and vibrating his body. A flute of sparkling was in one heavily ringed hand, while the other tapped away on the keypad issuing from the malleable white ceiling. Lines of data scrolled through the perfumed air.

  Commerce continued twenty-four hours a day. Xaid’s ship journeyed with a purpose at its altitude while the trigibytes of data were intercepted and analyzed seconds ahead of Xaid’s competitors. Seconds were all it took in many deals across the Empire. While intercepting the signals this way was technically illegal, none would complain, fearing their own questionable tactics would be exposed.

  “Master?” The voice had shocked many. It was a high, melodious tone, unmistakably that of a young boy. While many had raised an eyebrow, Xaid was too wealthy to concern himself with the opinions of lesser beings. He had a wife, of course, necessary to maintain the correct social standing. She had even dutifully produced him four children he rarely wanted to see. She had her palace in the south of France, the children their tutors and nannies. So long as they caused him no embarrassment and stayed quietly in the background until he needed them, he was content.

  “Master?” the voice had called.

  “Yes, Joaquim, what is it?” Xaid responded, lost in the flow of the numbers.

  “The broadcast you directed me to watch for has started, Master,” the ship answered.

  “Very well, reduce data to one third, center the broadcast and expand to full size.”

  The columns of numbers reduced and positioned themselves to Xaid’s left. The hologram assembled itself from the ether, forming a handsome couple walking comfortably across the tarmac of Ulaan Baatar, returning from a two-week vacation at their home in Occident, the announcer stated. It was early spring, so he wore a fashionable grey suit and a heavy charcoal overcoat. A traditional Mongol fur cap covered his head.

  She was wearing a similar coat and cap. Xaid would have wagered that she wore a sari and blouse. They held gloved hands, smiling and waving brightly at the crowds who had gathered to see the Royal Couple. They smiled and waved until the long black ground car swallowed them up for the thirty-mile voyage to the Keep.

  “Volume, up by half,” directed Xaid.

  “So there goes the Emperor and Empress to meet the heir children on the occasion of their fifth birthday,” the announcer’s voice couldn’t have sounded happier. “The palace has been quite clear; the ceremony is in keeping with the Emperor’s Khalkha tribe’s tradition. The mother, or in this case, Empress Sophia and the Keep’s colony of monks and proctors, have raised the children. The heirs will then enter an intense schedule of education and training as a competition to decide who will succeed the Khan.

  These grandchildren of the Emperor Angkor and Empress Sophia…” the voice droned on, though Xaid wasn’t listening. A flick of his hand and the holo disappeared, replaced by the columns of numbers. He tried to focus, but the scene he had just witnessed had him seething.

  Angkor’s destruction of the Shurkorov Corporation had cost Xaid billions. The losses had been recouped over the years, thanks to the production contract Angkor had awarded him. This technology for producing heirs clearly fell into the terms of the contract. All new technology was to be passed into his hands for development for the next five hundred years. Since Dawlish had exposed the Augmenton program on Luna fifteen years ago, Xaid had struggled to regain the upper hand in the competitive and illegal superior human project.

  The Augmenton project had moved far out into the rim, far enough away from the Empire to be safe for hundreds of years. There was still the issue with the brains of his investments. The human brain could maintain its sanity for about six months before it began to disintegrate, resulting in the necessity to terminate the expensive test subject. The project, while holding a great deal of promise and profit, was currently costing Xaid hundreds of millions every year.

  Xaid was convinced the technology used by his college companion was the solution. If only he could find a steady supply of the Vinithri eggs and DNA sequencing to amend the brains in the subjects, it would result in a success for his investment. Perhaps they could even grow their own subjects.

  It would also present Dawlish with the superman army he intended to march across the stars.

  Angkor must be made to understand. He had dallied for years now, writing his silly laws that were clearly not meant for Xaid and his contemporaries. He had made an agreement with Xaid and he would fulfill that agreement. Or he would be made to suffer.

  “Joaquim!” he commanded, “I wish to speak with General Zoltan, immediately! I do not care what he is doing, tell him I will speak with him.”

  “Good morning, children!” Ng’s voiced reflected the joy he held in his heart for the precious blossoms in his care. That Tok had made him Chief Bonze in this temple was a great honor. That the task of his order was the creation and education of the future Khan for the Empire humbled him.

  He could not imagine a greater joy in anyone’s life than to live each day with the heirs. They had been “born” self-aware. Within a week, they were vocalizing. Days later, they were speaking in complete sentences. At two months, they were walking, albeit clumsy.

  At five, they now had strong, developed personalities. Blue was a natural leader, while Red was a fiery debater. Yellow was introspective and sensitive. Purple was clever, Black quiet and observant. Green was curious while Orange was confident. And White. Dear sweet White, the dreamer. She would spend hours at a window, staring, daydreaming.

  They assembled before him, dressed in traditional pants or skirts and jerkins. Their vests matched their names.

  Sixteen emerald eyes focused on the proctor as they formed a perfect line. There was no fidgeting as one might expect from five-year old’s. They had been created to be superior and superior beings were not nervous. As heirs to the Khan, they would show no fear.

  The door opened with no ceremony; the royal couple entered, arm in arm. “Majesty,” announced Master Ng, “may I introduce the heirs? Children, these are your grandparents, Angkor and Sophia Khan.”

  As one, the children kowtowed, their foreheads touching the floor, then rose. As one, they snapped their hands to their hips, their heads tipped imperiously at the couple. “We are honored,” they said in a single voice.

  Angkor stepped before each child, bent at the waist and studied it meticulously. Four boys, four girls. Each stood precisely three feet high, its hair as black as the void. From there, the file committees demonstrated their mastery of combining Angkor and Sophia’s features.

  Skin tones ran from cream white to butternut. Their jaws started with one boy echoing his grandfather’s square chin to Sophia’s refined taper on one granddaughter.

  As Angkor bent and studied each child, Sophia knelt and wrapped loving arms, hugging and kissing each youngster. It was better than any test Ng could hope for. The children registered looks of bewilderment, fright, suspicion or happiness. Ng whispered the results into his pad. Later there would be time to analyze the reactions with each child’s committee.

  Angkor clasped his hands behind his back, as he recalled his father’s pose in his mother’s yurt so many years ago. “Your grandmother and I are so pleased to meet each of you and congratulate each of you on your fifth birthday. In our tribe, the Khalkha, you are now of the age to start school. However, your proctors tell me that each of you are well ahead of an average child. As a reward, Grandmother and I will dine with you this evening.

  Further, in two months is the Naadam festival. On my fifth birthday, my father took me to the festival. To honor my father, each of you will serve as the Khan’s honored guest.” He bowed to the children.

  “They are so darling, don’t you think, Husband?” They were cuddled in their bed in the Keep, the evening chill forcing them to burrow deep
er under the covers and nestle closer. A gentle spring shower freshened the chilly air outside the screened and barred window.

  “Hmmmm,” Angkor replied, “they are a fine addition to the tribe. The file committees have done a marvelous job producing candidates for my crown. I wonder which will prove to be superior?”

  Sophia elbowed Angkor. “You are a terrible man, Husband,” she chided. “We have eight beautiful grandchildren to watch grow up and all you can wonder is who will replace you?”

  “It will come to pass, Wife,” he told her. “And I, for one, will be glad when the time comes. My father wanted this and died for it. I do not wish to die as Khan. When my successor is ready, I will abdicate and we will retire to Indianola for the best of our years.”

  “Hmmm, that sounds so wonderful, Angkor,” cooed Sophia. “I’m sure the rest of the children will love playing in our woods or exploring the beach.”

  Angkor startled. “That is not what I…” He felt Sophia quiver and shake, her face burying itself into the grey hair on his chest. “You are a very evil woman!” he declared as Sophia rolled on her back, choking as she laughed.

  “As our friends in Indianola would say, Husband,” she gasped, “gotcha!”

  “No, my dear wife,” growled Angkor as he rolled atop her. “I got you.”

  Chapter 28

  April 3070 A.D.

  General Dawlish Zoltan picked an imaginary piece of lint from his impeccable uniform. Decorum demanded a soldier’s dress be perfect when meeting with the Emperor, even when the Emperor was one of the soldier’s oldest companions.

  Xaid had been most insistent about this meeting. Dawlish’s lip curled at the thought. Using him, Marshall of the Imperial Armed Forces, as a messenger boy! He had protested that this was a task far beneath him. However, Xaid had been infuriatingly calm and insistent. Dawlish would take this meeting to Angkor, he would present Xaid’s demands and be certain the Emperor understood that, Khan or not, he would be made to comply.