To Ride the Chimera

by Kevin Killiany

  Anson Marik had been dead two months now. It had been just over a month since her mother had ordered her to find the Silver Hawk Irregulars. Nikol thought she knew where they had gone: they’d taken themselves off the Lyran-Wolf sensor net. But she hadn’t gone after them yet.

  She was the minister-general. She’d made up the title herself, at gunpoint, and that made it official. And her official duty was to minister to the people of the Free Worlds League; to make sure the worlds of the League stayed free.

  The Silver Hawk Irregulars didn’t need ministering to.

  At least not as badly as a lot of worlds that were under the heels of the Lyrans and the Wolves.

  Nikol had not so much ignored her mother’s instructions as she’d weighed them against the needs of whole worlds. Interplanetary triage. She had gone to the worlds she thought needed her most and found too, too many of them to be beyond her power to help.

  Her mother wanted the Silver Hawks. She would get her mother the Silver Hawks. Soon. A few more weeks wouldn’t matter. And there were two, maybe three worlds between where she was and where she was fairly sure they’d gone to ground. Worlds without Clan Wolf; worlds she could help.

  Nikol took a deep breath and expelled it in a long sigh. She bobbed at the end of her tether.

  Enough.

  Grabbing the safety line, she pulled herself to the bulkhead. Moving swiftly from toehold to grab-ring, she pulled herself toward the captain’s ready room. She was the minister-general. There were worlds that needed her.

  44

  Amur, Oriente

  Oriente Protectorate

  8 August 3138

  Not sure what to make of things, are you, brother?

  Frederick sat at his ease, legs stretched out in front of him and fingers laced across his stomach. Thaddeus had not quite adopted the Oriente habit of feeding you something every time he wanted to discuss something; which in this case was a shame, because a drink would make the evening perfect.

  Thaddeus had called him into a private conversation for the first time since he’d tried to sound out Frederick on the Carbonis issue. That his little brother was a genuine force in Protectorate politics seemed to put him off his stride—not an advantage Frederick often enjoyed.

  For his part, the war hero had done well for himself. The army he’d raised from that cobbled-together alliance of his had proven to be the darlings of the Andurien War. And Thaddeus—as their leader cum ambassador cum close adviser to the captain-general—enjoyed a popularity usually associated with trivid heartthrobs.

  Quite a change from your cold reign in The Republic, eh, Thad?

  Of course, he’d come a long way too—which is what so disconcerted his brother. And that spoke volumes about his relationship with his brother.

  It was blatantly obvious Thaddeus had never considered Frederick to be anything other than an ornamental drone, buzzing about social events looking for an advantageous union. Or two. To find him situated as a power broker, particularly on such glamourless issues as domestic commerce, was just outside the former paladin’s preconceived little world.

  Of course Thaddeus thought military campaigns and politics ruled the fate of nations. He hadn’t tumbled to the fact that commerce was the true driving force, running deeper than nations or ideologies. The yin-yang of supply and demand was the constant from which all human endeavors sprang.

  “There’s a situation.” Thaddeus broke the surface of Frederick’s comfortable thoughts with a handful of wooden words. “Something not yet on the public horizon. It has been determined that you should not only be aware of, but have a role in upcoming events.”

  “Indeed?” Frederick asked, more intrigued by who was doing the determining than any bit of political intrigue Thaddeus was about to reveal. “It’s good to know you’re still thinking of me.”

  A flush spread across his big brother’s broad features. More of a darkening from chestnut to russet given the amount of sun the war leader had been getting. It occurred to Frederick that continuing to play the fop was a misstep. Annoying pompous Thaddeus was amusing in the short run, but not wise in the long.

  Particularly since something of substance seemed to be in the offing.

  “I’m sorry, Thaddeus,” he said aloud. “Old habits and all that.”

  “I have never understood—”

  “Nor I,” Frederick cut him off. “But I suspect from the setting and your opening remark that now is not the time to revisit our mutually exclusive perceptions of the past twenty years. I apologize for my comment. Please continue explaining the situation.”

  The stunned surprise on Thaddeus’ face was comic. Frederick fought the urge to find a reflection and discover if he’d sprouted a second head.

  Just violating expectations.

  Frederick could almost hear the creak of unoiled gears as Thaddeus considered him for a long moment.

  “I begin to see Philip’s point,” he said at last.

  Frederick knew he didn’t actually jerk at the mention of Jessica’s estranged husband, but it was a near thing. To his knowledge no one had seen Philip Hughes in weeks and his whereabouts were the topic of frequent speculation. That his brother, who had quite definitely been nowhere other than the Andurien front and the diplomatic residence adjacent to the ducal palace, was evidently in contact with the man threw a new and unexpected light on events.

  Now who’s being the fool of his preconceptions?

  “I was unaware you—or anyone—had spoken to Philip in some time,” Frederick admitted. No point in not rising to what was obviously bait. “I take it he is on Oriente?”

  “He’s in the room,” came a voice from behind.

  Frederick pushed himself forward, twisting to look over the high back of his chair. Philip Hughes was at the sideboard, pulling the cork from a squat bottle. He would have risen to his feet, but Philip waved him back down.

  “You’re hoarding the Fuentes brandy again, Thaddeus,” Philip said as he poured generous dollops into three snifters.

  “A reasonable precaution,” Thaddeus answered solemnly, “given the known supply is limited to a single planet.”

  Frederick didn’t bother trying to keep his face impassive as his mind boggled at the easy familiarity the men shared. He was quite certain his brother had not made a joke since age fourteen.

  “It seems there’s more to this situation of yours than I imagined,” he said aloud.

  “Oh, quite a bit more,” Philip agreed, handing him a snifter. “None of which can leave this room.”

  “I understand.”

  The brandy was excellent.

  There was an edge of tension to the room, of course. Philip and Thaddeus were midprocess in broaching some proposal. But Frederick perceived that sharp note did not disturb the pair’s informal comfort.

  Philip never left Oriente. He’s been holed up here the whole time and Thaddy-boy has been keeping him company.

  Contemplating the layers of significance behind that realization, and the possibilities beyond, threatened to swallow all of Frederick’s attention. With an effort he tabled speculation and focused on the situation at hand.

  “I think it will take me a while to regain my feet after discovering you alive and well in the palace, Your Grace,” he said. “I’d begun to imagine I’d developed some skills in ferreting out the goings-on about Amur.”

  Philip chuckled.

  “I’d noticed,” he said. “Not much to do on house arrest other than observe the world around you.”

  “House arrest?”

  “Self-imposed seclusion, then,” Philip corrected. “Though to be honest the only thing I’ve missed these past months has been my golf. Used to play two, sometimes three times a week.”

  “I’ve recently taken up golf,” Frederick said, keeping to common ground.

  “One of the reasons I suggested we bring you onboard,” Philip said. “You puzzled out where and how we locals conduct business behind the scenes, then took steps to become part of the
process. You’ve also been shedding the more flamboyant of the foppish mannerisms that—and here I’m guessing—used to stand you in good stead in the halls of Terra.

  “In other words, you adapt intelligently to changing situations.”

  And it seems everything is a “situation.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  A glance to Thaddeus assured his older brother was watching the exchange with interest. And perhaps a bit of bemusement.

  “Though Jessica must remain on Oriente in the current crisis, I will be journeying to the Rim Commonality for our daughter’s wedding,” Philip said. “In fact, I’ll be giving her away to Michael in the wedding ceremony.”

  The unusual turn of phrase threw Frederick for a moment. Then he remembered the arcane practice of the father transferring ownership of his daughter to her new husband. He hadn’t realized anyone still did that.

  The farther one moves from Terra, the farther back in time one goes.

  He was about to comment to this effect when he realized the other two were watching him expectantly.

  “A test of analysis?” he guessed.

  “Essentially,” Philip agreed.

  “Your presence and adherence to the old forms will give the union legitimacy in the eyes of the traditionalists.” He pointed out the obvious. “At the same time, your apparent estrangement from your wife and the Protectorate throne will make you a lightning rod for those who oppose the closer ties between nations that the marriage represents. A quick and easy test for dissenters.

  “Of course, the fact that your estrangement is only apparent means a reconciliation of sorts in the future, no doubt brokered by your daughter with the help of her new husband.” He sipped his brandy. “This will capture the hearts of the sentimental, making the coming alliance popular as well as practical.”

  Thaddeus was looking at him with the complete lack of expression Frederick knew indicated his brother was making an internal reassessment.

  Are you really so surprised I’m not an idiot? Brother dearest, you do not know the half.

  “Accurate,” Philip said, nodding his approval, “as far as it goes.”

  Which leads us to the “situation” part of tonight’s presentation.

  “Shortly after our departure—at a time determined by our propagandists—it will be announced that the duchess Jessica has decided to remarry,” Philip said. “This coming October she will wed her dear friend and trusted adviser Thaddeus Marik.”

  Frederick was glad he had not been sipping his brandy when the words registered. He had to struggle to keep from gaping as he looked from Thaddeus to Philip and back, half expecting them to burst out laughing at him for falling for their prank. There was no trace of humor in either expression.

  “You’re serious,” he said unnecessarily.

  “Very,” Philip confirmed.

  The room seemed to drop away as Frederick’s mind turned inward, wrestling with the new information.

  “That brings the Covenant Worlds—which, if I understand the current crop of foreign relations rumors, will soon include everything from Acubens through Rochelle?—solidly into Duchess Jessica’s camp. Halas becomes a Marik House.” He was vaguely aware he was babbling as he brainstormed, but didn’t particularly care. “Irian. Irian is alienated—”

  “A public relations minefield,” Philip admitted. “But those who matter in my family are fully onboard.”

  Frederick nodded acknowledgment of the information as he rolled on.

  “The reconciliation with the Rim Commonalities is bittersweet, creating the illusion of checks and balances. Redux of the dissenters’ lightning-rod effect, perhaps alienating Regulus the more, but that’s an irrelevant matter of degree, while attracting some of the more independent worlds.

  “Thaddeus adopts the Halas-Hughes children, of course. That creates a crop of legitimate Marik heirs without having to—”

  Frederick stopped abruptly, shocked that he’d been out of control enough to almost blurt out his next thought.

  “Don’t be concerned,” Philip said, evidently assuming Frederick had embarrassed himself by alluding to Thaddeus begetting children with Jessica. “It will be a marriage in name only.”

  I thought she was trying to marry off one of her daughters. The game was being played at a level I didn’t even recognize.

  More disconcerted by that realization than anything the others had revealed, Frederick missed their next few sentences as he resorted past events in light of this new information. When he came to himself, he realized Philip and Thaddeus were looking at him expectantly.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I was lost in thought.”

  “It is a bit much,” Philip agreed.

  “We were saying your role in this will be to bridge the private sectors,” Thaddeus said. “You can be the conduit through which the financial powers of the Rim Commonality and the Oriente Protectorate communicate.

  “Your status as a Marik and what will become known as your complicated relationship with me puts you in a unique position to broker economic bonds that might otherwise take years to develop.”

  “As often happens among the friends of a couple who divorce.” Frederick nodded. “Thaddeus remains loyal to the ex-wife while I—” He broke off. “You’re asking me to go to the Rim Commonality.”

  “Of course.”

  “Sorry,” Philip added. “We’d assumed that was the part where you were lost in thought.”

  Frederick nodded, his mind racing.

  Farther away from Terra, and farther back in time. There’s no point in becoming a bigger frog if the ponds become too small to accommodate you. He sipped his brandy, aware of the others watching him. On the other hand, there’s only so far one can go peddling influence within a single nation-state. To be a power broker between nations—to be the nexus through which influence flows—that is a future without limits. The Rim Commonality is too small, but directing commerce within a reunited Free Worlds League from behind the scenes? Just about right.

  “This really could reunite the Free Worlds League, couldn’t it?” he asked aloud. Publicly, particularly when the public of the moment were two of the most influential men in the Protectorate, one must always focus altruistically on the greater good.

  Thaddeus nodded, his face in the crumpled expression Frederick recognized as indicating strong emotion. Philip’s smile was less emotional, but his eyes were bright.

  “We may very well be on the road to putting it all back together,” he said.

  Frederick nodded in his turn, giving the thought process another few seconds.

  “Gentlemen,” he said at length, packing his words with sincerity, “I can think of nothing I’d like better than to be a part of this venture.”

  Smiles and nods all around. Philip poured another round of brandy.

  For his part, Frederick listened as the other two discussed the finer points of the reunification plan, his mind on his own future.

  When swimming among sharks, don’t settle for becoming a shark. Become the biggest damn shark in the ocean.

  45

  Amur, Oriente

  Oriente Protectorate

  11 August 3138

  She stopped two steps across the threshold.

  The bokor-woman’s consort sat across the hearth carpet from Frederick Marik’s armchair, a snifter of brandy cradled in his hands. He knew her. He had seen her on a daily basis years before, as a minor clerk in the MarikPalace administration. The killer of his son.

  “Quite a shock, eh, Ayza?” Frederick chuckled. “I thought he was dead too.”

  “Sorry, sir,” she said, resuming her businesslike stride toward her employer.

  “Philip, this is Ms. Aborisha. She’s become my good right hand when it comes to analyzing what this damnable Protectorate economy is up to. I’m thinking she will be an invaluable asset on our mission.”

  “Charmed, Ms. Aborisha,” Philip Hughes said, rising to his feet with an old-fashioned courtesy the ruling cla
ss almost never wasted on their minions. “Sir Frederick has said nothing but good things about you.”

  “Thank you, sir.” She did not extend her hand, fearing contact would break the illusion of her disguise. Instead she bobbed her head, playing the commoner overwhelmed in the presence of noble power.

  As expected, the monster’s husband smiled condescendingly and waved her toward a third chair. Not the straight-backed wooden one she normally chose—that was against the far wall near Frederick’s deceptively useless-looking rolltop desk—but one of the four identical wingback armchairs grouped in front of the fireplace.

  Careful not to sneer at the obscene softness of the cushion, she perched on the edge of her assigned seat.

  She wished she had worn her hair loose so that she could screen her features. She reminded herself the eyes of the lesser races naturally slid off the features of the people—and the pink patches of her ersatz vitiligo could confuse even a practiced observer. Her body language: she focused on doing nothing like her former self as she looked to her employer with professional attention.

  “Nothing said in this room leaves this room,” Frederick said, reciting his household’s standing policy for Philip’s benefit. “Ayza, I have a proposal for you. Technically, I could simply make it an assignment, but this venture will take at least months, quite possibly years, and requires a level of dedication that only one who is truly committed can bring to the table.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What do you know of the Rim Commonality?”

  “Originally a feudal aristocracy of some half dozen worlds. In the aftermath of the Jihad, the exclusive rule of the nobility was overthrown and a representative commonality established,” she recited by rote as she tried to deduce where the unexpected turn was leading. “Now composed of fifteen worlds, the current government of the Rim Commonality is not recognized by the Regulan Fiefs nor the Duchy of Andurien, but enjoys solid trade relations with the Duchy of Tamarind-Abbey and the Marik-Stewart—I’m sorry, former Marik-StewartCommonwealth and a cordial if less robust trading relationship with the Oriente Protectorate.