This Work Is Part Of A Series (The Messenger Archive Book 2)

by DC Bastien

  [Sianor: Ah, so you're the reason for the aphorism.]

  [Ashroe: I am not that old, you cheeky mare!]

  [Sianor: You remember before the internet!]

  [Ashroe: And my parents remember slide rules! And logarithm books for calculating trig.]

  [Sianor: You said a bad word.]

  [Ashroe: Maths?]

  [Sianor: OK, I admit, I just had a major girlboner about that. I love how you make it plural.]

  [Ashroe: Math just sounds wrong. Like maybe it's a dude's name.]

  [Sianor: I think I unconsciously imitate authors I enjoy. Like, I store up turns of phrase, or story structure. Not realising it.]

  [Ashroe: That's why I stop reading when I am writing. Partly so I don't choke over my own words, but also because I... er. I echo things. Without meaning to. It's like everything I ever read is bouncing around up there.]

  [Sianor: That's pretty cool, though. No one writes in a vacuum.]

  [Ashroe: Shakespeare just trolled a load of history books. And even the Bible doesn't get off scot-free. There's flood myths in Babylonian texts that echo Noah.]

  [Sianor: So you prefer to find something presented a different way, then distil it down to words?]

  [Ashroe: Yeah. I guess the big thing these days is writing a book and hoping it will be made into a film. Me... I like to go the other way. A book can be the best way of telling a story. Yes, there's some stories that can play out over any canvas, but... you can make a book that couldn't be filmed. Could you make a film or TV show that couldn't be booked? I don't think so. You still get the dialogue, you can angle your shots with the pictures you paint, you can frame the action with sound and music... but to get the feel of paper, the shape of words, the fall of paragraphs or the step into a mind...]

  [Sianor: You're making me fall in love with books all over again.]

  [Ashroe: Not a bad charge to be laid at my feet.]

  [Sianor: I think you should write one. A book, I mean. Something... something that could only be one.]

  [Ashroe: I'd get self-conscious. I'd second-guess myself.]

  [Sianor: Why? You know you can do it.]

  [Ashroe: I know I can do it because I have the safety net up. I have someone else's paint-by-numbers. I'm borrowing colours and brushes... and I can close the laptop at the end of the night and say 'well, I do it as a hobby it doesn't matter'.]

  [Sianor: But it does! It does matter. You squealed for hours when we got that lovely response from Kyptonite.]

  [Ashroe: Because it was flattering!]

  [Sianor: It matters. You spend hours of your life doing this. Days. Weeks. Months. You have people who would read it if you wrote a War and Peace about ship-building. And I mean the kind that float on water, not the kind that... well. Bump bits. It matters.]

  [Ashroe: When I have something to say, I'll say it. Not before.]

  [Sianor: But... don't be afraid if you do get an idea.]

  [Ashroe: I'll... try.]

  ***

  There wasn't a 'sexy ceiling'. The ship had a front viewing-screen, but as they weren't using any external lights, there were only wisps of phosphorescent glow around the nose of the craft. Everything else was emergency strip lighting, which reacted to their movement and dialled up a notch upon entry.

  Vadim had been lying on the work table for some time, for no real reason, and it had become something of a game to trick the ship into believing he was either asleep or absent. As long as he kept his breathing even and shallow, the lights stayed low.

  It was a lot to take in. It was also annoying to the point of fist-through-wall. Had he known Kre would bring so much trouble down on them, would he have let her aboard? Probably not. Old Vadim would have washed his hands of her, told her to find another down-and-out crew, desperate for a few extra bricks. Old Vadim would have missed out on meeting her, and he wouldn't have minded.

  Now, though... now he wouldn't give up on her. She was part of the crew, part of the family, and he was as fiercely protective of her as he was the rest of them. Yes, life had taken a turn for the annoying, but... but it happened. It did.

  "You know there is a spare room, don't you?"

  Avery's voice entered the room before he did. The noise triggered the lights, and Vadim threw an arm over his eyes to cut through the sudden glare.

  "Yeah, I had the tour."

  "Worried I would take advantage of you, if you went to one of the beds?"

  "Maybe I would prefer you took advantage of me here?"

  Footsteps heralded his entry, and Kip found himself staring upside-down at the other man. He didn't mean to linger on his crotch, and he felt a bit guilty for starting there, but... if someone put their groin on your eye-level, they were asking for a bit of ogling. Right?

  "I have the best people on it. I have the specs of the hopper, and I know where Biann and Kre checked in."

  "Then why aren't you going to get them?"

  "That's what they want, Kip. They know you're missing, now, and they'll have just as good intel as we do. They'll use them as bait."

  "Yeah, so? If we don't pick them up..."

  "There's a risk either way. You have to ask yourself what it is 'they' want. Then you can predict what they will do."

  "That's just it..." he rolled over, onto his belly, knees bending up, boots kicking at his own ass. "I don't know. And I don't like not knowing. Kre's not causing problems for anyone. She just wants to run around talking means, modes and medians at people. Is there some huge anti-science Roq movement I've never heard of?"

  "Probably, but they do not have the money needed."

  "Then...?"

  Avery sat down on the edge of the table, facing away from him. He leaned back a little, pressing against his side, and put an elbow into the small of his back. It was comfortable, familiar, and not as threatening as once it might have been.

  "Kre is heir to the Za's throne, Kip. Whether she wants to be, or not. The Za has the right to pick his successor."

  "But she ain't been around!"

  "Precisely. She has been missing from the galactic stage, and yet Ail hasn't publically announced Eru as his replacement. His silence - his pause - is significant."

  "Eru being her sister."

  "Correct. Her sister, and the only viable alternative, once Ail is unable to rule."

  Vadim pondered that for a moment. Kre didn't seem the type to want such a powerful position. She had barely even wanted to see her family again. Although he hadn't been present during their discussion, he was starting to get an idea of what had been said.

  "Killing her would secure the line," the Captain concluded.

  "It would. Ail would either need to announce Eru, or take another wife. To go further afield in their bloodline would be to admit defeat, and their position is increasingly... gauche. All of the other Ur races are - superficially - democracy or meritocracy, not nepotistic monarchy."

  "So... her sister is trying to bump her off?"

  "Potentially. It could also be a rival house. They might seek to kill all of her family line, and take over. Or force Ail or Eru to take a political mate." A long, long pause. "Or it could be Ail himself."

  "Wait - what? Her own father?"

  "Sianar politics is complicated, Kip. He might not actually want her dead, just to scare her back into the fold. Or he might be sending assassins after both of his daughters, to see which of them has the best survival instincts."

  "That's fucked up!"

  "That's not for you to judge." Avery ran the fingers of his right hand up between Vadim's shoulder blades, then past his collar to the neatly-trimmed hair. "I don't honestly know who is to blame for the attempts, yet."

  "And is this still tied up with the Banker and Ur crap?"

  "Yes. Perhaps. The Judge knows more people of a... higher pay-grade, shall we say. There are wheels within wheels."

  "And changing our names and running away isn't possible?"

  "I don't think so."

  "Great."

  "Come to b
ed, Kip. I promise I won't seduce you, unless you want it."

  "I'm..."

  "I know. You're worried about them. But staying up all night, ruining your back? It won't help them. Get some rest. Tomorrow we're going to send a small unit to try and retrieve Biann and Kre."

  "And the other two?"

  "One thing at a time. The Judge is a smart and resourceful man, but we're talking people who can topple economies and governments."

  "...right."

  Ithon slipped back down to his feet, landing lithely like a cat. He held his hand out for Kip, leaning back to counterpoint his weight as he stood.

  They wound up too close. Much, much too close.

  Vadim let his eyes drift shut, feeling the comforting warmth of the other man's breath over his face. He didn't like admitting weakness - not ever - but... it was okay, here. His lips quirked into a smile as the taller man tilted his head to one side, his lips brushing gently over his own. They hadn't kissed before, not properly. Bedded twice, doing everything backwards. Of course.

  Ithon kissed well. Vadim approved.

  ***

  Chapter Twelve - Mission: Connotation

  The place reeked of money. Literally and figuratively. There was a certain quality to the air that only the pretentiously rich could afford. Either it was the air filters, or the cleaning products, or... something. It cloyed, and it furred up the back of Kre's throat.

  Beside her, Biann was buzzing with worry. Kre had tried to calm her, but the reality was that she felt out of her depth, too. Being swept away from your hidey-hole was sinister, not reassuring. Even if Waith was the one to do it.

  They followed him down a long corridor, and Kre tried her best not to scuff the cold marble's sheen, even as she fought for purchase. Hleen liked their surfaces reflective and sheer, even if it made traversing them difficult.

  "We're here to see the Lady Nessin," Waith told a young Roq, sitting behind a wide desk.

  The Roq - to his credit - did not flinch when he saw Kre. In fact, he barely seemed to register any of them, as if they were all well below his dignity. "She's expecting you."

  Waith nodded, and opened up the high, obsidian-plated doors.

  Inside, Nessin Tuadan was sitting - reclining - on a low bench beside a pool of fragrant, pink-coloured water. Her pale skin glistened as if she'd recently been oiled, and soft silks clung to her narrow frame in ways likely designed to drive most Hleen and Humans wild. Kre could appreciate it on an aesthetic level, but it was not her taste. The Hleen's head-scarf was neatly decorated, with bows and strings spaced equally and the colours a perfect mix of shades. The materials used would be incredibly opulent, she knew.

  When they were close enough, she turned lazily towards them. "Greetings, Kre-Tho-Tiamet, and Biann..."

  "Biann is fine," the younger woman replied.

  "Biann," Nessin echoed. "Please, be seated."

  Her gesture took in several other benches, all a little less ostentatious than her own.

  Kre suddenly realised that she didn't actually know Biann and Saidhe's family name. She'd never have dreamed of asking when they first met, and then it had simply become unimportant. If they didn't want to share it, it wouldn't be polite to push for it. The Sianar took the lowest bench, even though it was the most awkward, and allowed Biann to take the higher one.

  "If you do not need me, m'Lady?"

  "You're free to go, Waith," Nessin agreed.

  Kre watched as her old tutor bowed his thin-skinned head, his body showing a little more strain in the curtsey than she liked to see.

  "Thank you, Maister," she purred at him.

  When he'd gone, Nessin laughed. "He stopped being your Maister over a decade ago, you know."

  "No. He stops being my Maister when I can no longer learn from, or respect him," Kre replied, gently. "He is a revered teacher."

  "He teaches my children now, you know."

  "How many do you have?"

  "Just two, so far. Twins: a boy and a girl. They are three."

  "Congratulations."

  "Yep. Congratulations," Biann pushed in, her voice still strained.

  Kre wanted to reassure her so very, very badly. "Nessin, it has been many years since we last saw one another. I did not, exactly, announce my arrival. Why are we here?"

  "Didn't announce... Kre. You came in on a battered old cruiser, flying the Za's colours, bringing heavens knows what in boxes, spying on Hleen planets, and you think I wouldn't notice?"

  "We weren't flying Sianar colours," Biann said, a little snippily. "Just boxes."

  "Very well, no colours. But you did come on his behest."

  Kre flexed her rear claws, keeping the gesture hidden. She very much wanted to flex her upper claws, but wasn't prepared for the diplomatic incident that would follow. "We were not spying, Nessin. We were doing a simple shipping run. My father wanted to thank my crew by giving them stable employ."

  "Thank them for what?" Nessin rolled a little more, letting the simple shift she was wearing slide over her legs.

  Kre wondered if it was conscious, this flirtation? All three of them were female, and Biann had never shown an inclination towards her own gender. Or did Nessin act this way around everyone? Her memories of the woman were very old, now, and if she'd been flirtatious back then, Kre hadn't had the sexual acumen to appreciate it.

  "For assisting my mission to spread the love of learning. My mission is a didactic one, you see. I learned a lot from Maister Waith, and I travel to find other minds to inspire, too."

  "...you really want me to believe you fly about as a... what? A teacher?"

  "It... it is my calling. I was inspired, once, I only wish to do the same for others."

  "So they can free themselves of the burden of working for a living?" Nessin's short, sharp bark of a laugh was cutting. "Spare me."

  "Whatever Kre wants to do, I don't see how it's anything to do with you," Biann said, her voice tighter than usual. "No offence. It's her life."

  "It is. I'm merely trying to get to the bottom of all the security alerts that have sprung up on my systems," Nessin answered. "I find that pushing people to extremes reveals their true colours... and you both pass with flying colours. Tea?"

  The Sianar was back-footed by the sudden jump, and she looked over to the tea set on the table. Nessin poured herself a glass of fragrant flower infusion, then held up the teapot.

  "Oh... thanks. Yes, please," Biann said.

  Kre wasn't sure if that was politeness or thirst talking. She nodded and mumbled a polite assent as well, and took the tiny cup of herbal water.

  "You have to be careful, you see," Nessin said, when everyone had sipped from their miniscule little cups. "I have not seen you in years, Kre, and your sudden flighty behaviour... well. You can see how it might be suspicious."

  "I suppose it could," she allowed. "But it wasn't. Isn't. I simply wanted to go into the world alone, for a while. Alone... with friends." That came out more awkwardly than she wanted, and her ears flattened in discomfort. "I am not here to spy."

  "Your father is a difficult man to get a reading on."

  Kre smiled at that, trying to hide it in her tea. "Yes. Yes, he is."

  "Why would the Za want to spy on you?" Biann asked. "I know, I know. I'm just a back-water nobody, but I'm still here."

  "It's a good question, Biann," Nessin said, putting her cup down, and turning to face her more squarely. "Why does anyone spy on anyone else? To see what's worth hiding. Everyone is suspicious of everyone else. Everyone is on the lookout for an opportunity, a weakness, a threat."

  "But you're... you're a..." Biann flustered, clearly chewing her own words.

  "It's alright, my dear," the older Hleen said. "You can say it."

  "You're an entertainment mogul, right? Isn't that what your company does?"

  "Yes. We sell happiness."

  That was so trite that Kre's lips pulled back from her teeth in an instinctive flinch, as if she'd licked something tart.

  She
expected to cause offence with that, but instead... Nessin's laughter was like a peal of pleasant little bells. "I'm sorry; it's the company ethos. When you are around such... driven entertainers, you learn to speak their lingo. They believe in what they do so utterly, so completely, that if you ever criticise them in the slightest, or burst their bubble, they..." she made a gesture that completely conveyed a person's whole world turning to nothing.

  "Well, what would you have that the Za of the Sianar would want to know?" Biann pushed.