Eye of the Abyss
Chronicles of the Orion Spur Book III
By
Michael Formichelli
EYE OF THE ABYSS is COPYRIGHT © 2016 by MICHAEL FORMICHELLI
Eye of the Abyss is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, organization, or event is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this work or any part thereof.
Cover Art, Back Art, and Logo Art by Michael Lam © 2015, 2016
Works by Michael Formichelli
Chronicles of the Orion Spur Series
Blood Siren (Book One)
Keltan’s Gambit (Book Two)
Eye of the Abyss (Book Three)
The Golden Mean
(Short story available exclusively on Amazon.com for Kindle)
For the latest updates on upcoming works visit:
HTTP://WWW.CYGNUSORION.COM
Acknowledgements
Writing books is never a solo-adventure. My thanks go to Michael Lam for his great art and patience in bearing with me on the designs, Krystina Mueller and Barry Kirwan for their suggestions and assistance, and of course, my wife Ellie, whose support has been nothing short of amazing.
A Quick Note on New Pronouns
In the course of writing Keltan’s Gambit, and subsequently the works that followed, it became apparent that some additions to the English language were needed as there are some species in my universe that do not fit the standard English gender pronouns.
Below is a table of the gender-neutral pronouns used in this book and their approximate equivalents in our present-day English.
Pronoun (English)
Neutral Pronoun (Solan)
He, She, It
Niu
Him, Her, It
Nium
His, Hers, Its
Niur
His, Hers, Its
Nius
Himself, Herself, Itself
Niuself
For Ellie, with love.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Works by Michael Formichelli
A Quick Note on New Pronouns
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Appendixes
Cast of Characters
Glossary of Terms in the 25th Century Orion Spur
About the Author
Prologue
Taiumikai, Fuyūyōsai
38:9:16 (J2400:1702)
Ichiro raised the black, curving sword over his head as he began to turn, bringing it down in a vicious arc that traced a line from the shoulder to the waist of his imagined enemy. He felt the hilt press into his palms as he twisted his wrists inward, halting its motion, then repeated the move while turning the other way.
“Good, but pivot a bit more on the turn. Lead with your hips,” his father said. “Like this, watch.”
The man was power and grace personified, and in one fluid motion brought the practice sword down with a swish through the hot, dojo air. The tip stopped centimeters from the uminoki-wood floor as though some invisible hand seized it before the moment of impact. The precision and control took the breath from Ichiro’s lungs.
“Like that.”
He nodded, rolled his shoulders, and raised his sword to his forehead. His eyes locked onto his father’s. He felt himself tremble within, and cursed his weakness. He was being silly, allowing himself to get distracted by his desire to please his father, and it was unbecoming a warrior of his House. With a deep breath to steady his nerves, he turned and struck at his imagined opponent in a descending arc that made the curved wood sword sing in whispers through the air.
“Good.” His father nodded. “Now, be ready.”
Ichiro raised his sword to waist-level. His father did the same, and without warning, became a blur of motion.
He managed half a side step and a quick block, but his father was too fast, and the second strike clipped him on the side of his helmet hard enough to set his ears ringing. The third buckled knees and sent him to the ground.
“Don’t watch the sword, watch my eyes.”
He nodded and switched off the helmet’s aegis field. The soft blue haze protecting his face flickered and vanished. Wiping his tears with the back of his gauntlet, he got up onto his feet and faced his father with his sword at the ready.
“You’re distracted. What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
His father frowned. “Nothing? Are you nervous?”
“No.” He was, but not about the lesson.
“You know why I don’t take it easy on you, yes?”
“Yes.”
“You’ll learn nothing if I use only part of my skill, and the leader of the Mitsugawa must be persistent. He must never surrender.”
“I know, father.” He bowed his head and switched the helmet’s aegis field back on. The words were not new. His father said them at least once every lesson.
“Good.”
Relieved that his father hadn’t probed deeper about his agitation, he resumed combat stance and kept his eyes on those of his opponent. The sword came at him again in a quick chop to his forearm. He could see something in his father’s intent this time, and dropped his wrists down by a couple of centimeters.
His father’s blade missed, but reversed course and came up to lunge at his throat. He stepped forward, raising his sword to a near vertical position as he did so that it deflected the invading blade, then lunged forward, extending his weapon and arms as one towards his father’s throat. He was so shocked when the tip connected with the armored plate guarding his target that he froze, staring as his father stumbled back from the force of the blow—it was a mistake.
Mitsugawa Yoji was a master swordsman, and turned his backward momentum into a forward charge with a well-placed foot. The sword came down on his own with such force that the shock numbed his hands and sent his weapon tumbling through the air. It struck the wall at the same time his father’s came around and slammed lengthwise into a spot just below his breastplate, running down its entire length as he passed.
“You would have maybe ten or twenty minutes of life left,” his father said from behind him. He heard the swish of the blade a moment before he felt its impact shudder through the back of his neck armor. “Less, now. Never assume your opponent is dead until his head and shoulders have parted ways.”
Ichiro turned around and bowed deep. “Yes, father. Thank you.”
“Excuse me, Mitsugawa-uesama,” Mamiya-san said from the dojo’s entrance. His father’s most trusted retainer made a stiff bow, looking at them both with the red, multi-faceted eyes that took the place of his natural ones ages before. As a cyber-evolved life-form, or CEL as they were commonly called, Mamiya-san had replaced more than half of his body’s systems with machines. He could keep pace with an AI, yet was still part-human, which made him an invaluable asset to House Mitsugawa. CELs were outlawed in the Confederation, but his father gave them safe-harbor within Taiumikai territory as they were valuable to the House. Now tha
t he was legally an adult, Ichiro wondered if he would have his own CEL retainer soon. His aunt, Aki, had shunned hers. In his opinion that left a gap in their household that he was happy to have filled.
“Yes, Mamiya-san?” His father gestured with his sword, and Ichiro ran to retrieve his own. When he returned they crossed the tips of their practice blades, squatted down, and sheathed them at their hips.
“Irin-sama and his entourage have arrived. They will be landing in the parade-ground shortly,” Mamiya-san said.
They rose back to their feet and bowed to each other.
“Good. Let’s get changed.”
“Yes, father.” Despite the hours of practice, he was excited. This would be his first meeting with a Savorchan. Before now he’d only seen digital images of the species his father had freed from the Orgnan Empire.
“Very good, my lord.” Mamiya-san bowed again. “Shall I inform your sister?”
“If you must.”
He couldn’t suppress the smile that rose to his face when his father winked. Aunt Aki was a disciplinarian with a firm hand, and he’d disliked her since his younger years. He wished her to be gone from the donjon numerous times in the past, and though such thoughts did not become the man he was now, Ichiro still entertained them from time to time. It made her more bearable to know that his father was at least aware of how intractable she was.
“Also, notify our other guests. I want everyone there to greet Chief Irin-sama.”
“Yes, Mitsugawa-uesama.” Mamiya-san bowed and vanished behind the shoji door.
Ichrio beamed at his father.
“You’re eager to meet them?” he asked as they retired to the dojo’s changing room.
“I’ve never seen a live Savorchan before. What are they like?”
“Stoic. They speak in an ultrasound language so they could be chatterboxes and I wouldn’t know.”
He frowned. “You don’t have Mamiya-san listen in with his audio implants? Do we have a translation program for them?”
His father displayed a tight smile on his narrow face. “I wouldn’t say if I did, and yes, we do.”
Ichiro smiled back.
It didn’t take them long to get cleaned up and changed into their formal, black kimonos. As they were receiving foreign dignitaries, they both donned the wide-shouldered jackets with their house symbol emblazoned on the shoulders and back. Ichiro put his hair up in a high cue that left it in a loose tail behind his head. His father did his in the more traditional chonmage style that he would be required to wear when he became the lord of his House. The thought of that day scared him, though he would never admit it. His father was always so in control, like his fighting style, and he just didn’t think he would ever be able to live up to the man.
The smell of brine stung his nose as he stepped out into the thick, wet heat beneath a summer sky. Following a step behind his father with Mamiya-san on his left, he did his best to keep his eyes focused straight ahead despite the temptation to stare at the small crowd assembled in the shadow of an aerospace shuttle parked on the white-stone. Eleven pairs of eyes, one of them belonging to Aunt Aki, and four eyeless heads tracked them as they crossed the parade ground. The Savorchans among the group towered a meter over the tallest of the others. Their ivory-plated bodies shone in the sun as did the long metal staffs they held in their hands. Each had a tail held up in a gentle curve behind them with an end wrapped in some sort of textured, blue cloth. Their robes were bound at the waist, and made of what appeared to be the same fibrous textile, and the two in the center had robes with wide cowls the others lacked. As they came within talking distance, Ichiro found himself mesmerized by the yellow-veined musculature that shifted like flowing clay between the plates of their exoskeletons.
“Mitsugawa-uesama.” One of the cowled Savorchans stepped forward and bowed in an awkward fashion. A light on the metal bonnet gripping the top part of his inverted, pear-shaped head blinked as it translated their ultrasonic speech into human-audible tones. “My wife and I bring you greetings and gratitude from Savorcha.”
His father returned the bow. “I am honored to have you as my guests, Chief Irin-sama. If I remember correctly, this is your wife, Chieftess Ailn-sama?”
“You have a good memory, and good sensory organs. Not many humans can tell us apart,” Chief Irin responded.
Ichiro made a quick study of the Savorchan at the chief’s side. At first glance she was indistinguishable from the rest, but as he looked he noticed she was thinner than the chief, with the plates of her exoskeleton appearing subtly narrower than the other three. From what he could make of those that protruded from her clothes there seemed to be fewer of them. She also wore a metal bonnet over the top part of her eyeless skull, which he noted the two remaining Savorchans did not.
“My brother has keen eyes,” Aunt Aki said with a wry look.
“I am sure I would agree if I were experienced with such organs,” the chief said.
A chuckle brought Ichiro’s attention to his left where their other guests, the LeRouxs, stood. Baron LeRoux was the head of the EpiGenome Corporation, a powerful conglomerate barony that produced nanomachines, cybernetic implants, and provided genetic modification services through a network of hospitals and clinics. All four of the LeRouxs were taller than Ichiro and his father by a head, but the two younger ones, Enéas and Europa, were even bigger than their parents. The family resemblance was strong among them as well, a fact reinforced by the seaweed-green suits and dark-red capes they wore. All had deep-blue eyes and pale skin with a slight grayish tint which made them look otherworldly, like the bakemono of Ichiro’s ancestors. The children shared their father’s light brown hair, but had Baroness Delphine LeRoux’s elvish nose and pointed chin. They looked like male and female echoes of the same person, as though identical twins of opposite sexes were possible; they even wore their hair in the same spiky, close-cropped style.
Ichiro blanched and looked away when they caught him staring. Over the course of the last week they managed to lure him from the fortress for some unsanctioned activities in the city. He still hadn’t forgiven them for the embarrassment he felt. If his aunt or father ever found out they went to the floating world…
“Perhaps we could give you a pair of eyes, if you liked.” Baron LeRoux stroked his short beard.
“I assure you, baron, I do not need them,” Chief Irin responded.
“How do you know I am a baron if you have no eyes?” LeRoux asked.
The chief shifted his weight, a maneuver that made parts of him sag and parts firm up while his tail moved behind him. “You are here, and you have more cybernetic implants than most humans I have encountered, except Mitsugawa-uesama’s aide. You are not wearing armor or weapons, so you are not a guard. That leaves you as a relative of Mitsugawa-uesama, or a guest of high rank. You do not sound like the other relatives, so I took a guess.”
“That’s a hell of a guess.” An amused smile appeared on Baroness LeRoux’s face, and she looked at her husband.
“Yes, it was.” He tightened his lips for a moment. “I’m impressed. I thought the Savorchans relied solely on sonar to see.”
“Sonar, and our wits,” the big chief replied.
“Baron Hugon LeRoux is head of the EpiGenome Corporation. His visit here is coincidental with yours, but in some ways convenient,” Ichiro’s father said. “You must be tired after your long journey. Savorcha is many parsecs from here.”
“I am fine, but I am sure my daughter would appreciate some human comforts. She gets so few on our world.” Chief Irin stepped to the side, allowing the beings standing behind the wall of Savorchans to be seen.
Ichiro hadn’t missed the comment about the cybernetic implants. Did that mean the LeRoux’s were CELs, or CEL-supporters as well? He made a mental note to investigate, but forgot it as soon as his eyes saw the human girl standing beside a large, white-and-tan cerberai. Her shimmering green eyes captivated him. Even with the wide array of cybernetic corneas available on the market,
he’d never seen anything like them before. Their beauty made him wonder who made them, and how it was she saw with them glowing as bright as they did. An involuntary smile came to his lips, and his stomach filled with a prickly tingle like it had fallen asleep. He realized he should be fighting this feeling, a Taiumijin did not show such emotion in public, but her eyes robbed him of the strength to do so.
He glanced over at his aunt. Had she seen it? Her stern face stared at him with narrowed eyes. Kuso! She had. There would be hell to pay later. He was the heir, supposed to display the embodiment of dignity and stoicism at all times. He could feel the pain in his legs already from the punishment she would inflict on him. With some regret, he looked back at the girl and found her beautiful green eyes still on him. He felt the corners of his mouth tug upward and resolved not to let the mask of his public face crack again. To distract himself, he took the rest of her features in with small sips.
Her hair was black, like a Taiumijin’s, and flowed down to her ankles in cape-like locks. She wasn’t beautiful in the traditional sense—her nose was a bit large for her face and her cheekbones were a bit too prominent—but there was something about her that seized him in a way he could not explain. She wore a robe of the same strange, blue material as the Savorchans, and everywhere her skin showed it was covered in circle-and-line tattoos. That was strange. Much like her eyes, he’d never seen anything like them before. They flowed into each other like they were made from one, continuous line. He thought he could get lost tracing them over her body. When the smile formed on her petite lips, nothing his aunt could do to him mattered anymore. He felt like he could float right off the parade ground into the sky and fly like the winged amphibians circling the fortress above them.
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