“What the hell is going on?” She whispered to herself.
A pulsing sound brought her attention to another of her screens. Her cochlear implants detected the thrumming whine of an air-car landing behind the crowd. In her altered state of awareness it sounded like a slow-motion heartbeat. She willed her body to turn enough so the feed from her eyes could try and pick up who just arrived, but the crowd behind her was too thick. She directed her body to hold the pose until the people around her started moving.
“Shit,” she muttered.
The status on her lock pick program showed it was fifty-percent completed. Deciding to let it run on its own, she dropped her perception from her cerebral computer back into her body. She felt her own skin around her just in time for the crowd to knock her over. She fell to the pavement on her hands and knees with a curse, but froze when she saw the reason the crowd moved.
An Abyssian Praetor and a Confederate Space Authority Agent, both in black uniforms, crossed the police lines barely two meters from her. The Praetor’s presence was not unusual—they normally showed up at crimes involving barons—but his appearance was. He had buzz-cut black hair that matched the uniform he wore beneath it. His irises were steel-gray instead of the black ringed with silver that Praetors had. His face was deeply scarred, like he’d been given a makeover by a plasma-grenade. Abyssian Praetors were always baby-faced and completely devoid of emotion, but this one’s ravaged expression actually appeared concerned. She wondered if it meant he was an upgraded model—some strange attempt of Daedalus’ to intimidate and sympathize simultaneously.
The CSA Agent with him was a Relaen, a member of a species that lived on huge polygonal space ships throughout the Confederation. She was only a little shorter than the Praetor, with long, pointed ears set on her head wider than a Nyangari’s, and two braids of red hair running between them to her shoulders. Her amber eyes seemed to glow in the dim light of the park, and had vertical pupils like an Earth cat.
Cygni started an image trace on both of them as they drew up on the grisly scene, and activated her auditory enhancements.
“Oh gods,” the CSA agent said in accented Solan.
Cygni got to her feet and brushed herself off. A pop-up window in her vision informed her the lock pick was done, but she held off diving back into the Cyberweb. She wanted to see what the Praetor and the CSA Agent were going to do.
“Praetor Graves, good of you to come,” Heiress Sophiathena Cronus said. All eyes in the group went to her.
“As per your request, I’ve obtained custody of this case on my way over,” the Praetor responded in a deep voice.
Interesting, Cygni thought. She’d never heard of a Praetor being asked to take a personal request for a case before.
“There aren’t many beings we can trust right now. The regular CSA, and even the local authorities, are too beholden to the Barony to conduct a fair investigation,” Heiress Cronus said.
“I will ensure the evidence is not tampered with, Heiress Cronus,” the Praetor responded.
“Praetor Graves,” Heir Mitsugawa said.
Cygni’s image trace results appeared in another window before her. The Praetor was Nero Graves, and among his many cases on record was combat involvement in the Savorchan Conflict. Cygni concentrated on the reference and her implant highlighted it, then opened another window beside the first containing an explanation.
The Savorchan Conflict was the armed defection of an entire solar system from the Orgnan Empire to the Confederation. Its conclusion included a treaty, sponsored by Baron Mitsugawa Yoji, that granted all Savorchans living within the Confederate borders citizenship.
Cygni’s eyes moved over to the body in the fountain, then back to the Praetor where he was talking with Mitsugawa Yoji’s heir.
So, there’s a connection between them already. The Praetor’s involvement in a conflict that the senior Mitsugawa started might explain why he was specifically requested for this case.
“Did your father ingest or touch anything unusual recently?” The Praetor asked.
Heir Mitsugawa looked back at the Cronus sisters before speaking. “Not that I can say, no.”
“Alright, thank you. My partner and I need a few minutes.”
Cygni allowed their conversation to drift into the background of her consciousness while she cleared the Praetor’s information and pulled up that of his partner. Her eyes and ears were recording everything, and she would review the file later for critical pieces of information.
The CSA agent was named Sorina Khepria. She was part of the CSA Cybernetic Operations division. Considering Intelligent Systems had the contract for the CSA’s software, Cygni wasn’t surprised to see her here. No doubt she was going to make sure none of the CSA’s secrets got spilled to the public, or perhaps to Daedalus, either. Cygni had heard about a rivalry between the CSA and the machine entity. Perhaps they had dispatched Agent Khepria to keep Praetor Graves in check? It was a possible angle to the story she would keep in mind.
All of the windows in her vision vanished, replaced by a message in capital letters: QUARANTINE ORDER ISSUED, REPORT TO THE NEAREST SCANNING STATION.
“What?” The word fell from her lips. In front of her, the holographic police line turned red and started expanding.
“Return to your desks, a scanning crew will be up to scan you shortly,” the officers shouted at the crowd.
“Damn.” She had no choice but to move with the crowd towards the tower entrance. She spied another officer by it waiting with a hand-scanner. If he detected her cybernetic enhancements she’d be caught. No office worker she knew of had media and forensic implants.
She dropped to her knees beside a line of thick shrubs behind one of the park’s benches and allowed the crowd to flow around her. Just before the last person went past she pretended to look for something behind the bench, then wedged herself between it and the shrubs. She prayed to the Matre that none of the police had seen her. Her heart pounded in her chest, her blood thickened with epinephrine as she waited. On impulse, she directed her chameleon implant to change her hair and skin color back to normal in the hopes that the darker shades would help hide her in the shadows.
A crystalline hoof below the hem of a dark policeman’s pant-leg interrupted her view of the next line of hedges from below the base of the park bench with a sharp clapping sound. It was joined shortly by a second, and above, she heard the officer speak in the thick, guttural tones of Volgothic. She didn’t bother to activate her translation program, it didn’t matter what he said. If she was caught she’d find out in a minute anyway.
The seconds passed with agonizing slowness. She did her best to control her breathing, grateful that Volgoth were not known for their sharp hearing like the Nyangari were known for their sense of smell. If the officer had been Nyangari, she would already have been caught.
He stayed over her so long that the edge came off her fear. Her thoughts wandering, she decided that she better find out if she’d been exposed to whatever they quarantined the area for. She placed her left hand over her chest and activated the forensic sensors in her palm, then dove back into the Cyberweb—as might as well be productive while she waited.
The screens materialized out of the darkness around her. The first she looked at was her lock pick.
FAILURE TO COMPLETE: SYSTEM ALARM TRIPPED
“Oh fuck,” she said. The program should have alerted her the moment it tripped the system alarm—
The image of the quarantine order flashed through her mind. It would have superseded any other messages from her implant masking her lock pick’s failure to penetrate the Intel-Sys database. No doubt, security programs guided by the building’s AI were already in the process of tracing her digital footprints. Fortunately, she’d bought the lock pick from a fairly reputable black market source. She wasn’t too worried that they would find her. On the minus side, she would get nothing from the tower’s system now. All of the databases would be in high alert, no longer accepting comman
ds or uploads from the outside, and re-encrypting themselves.
She disconnected and dropped back into her body. At least she still had the recording from the crime scene. She would review it tonight and find something to—
A hand with two thick fingers and two opposable thumbs closed around her ankle like a robotic claw and dragged her out from under the bench. Cygni gasped, staring up with wide eyes at the barrel of a gauss pistol. Behind it, the officer’s muzzle broke out into a crystal-toothed smile.
“Got you, Solan!”
Excuses were useless, so she put her hands up. At worst they would have her for trespassing, and maybe violating the media law if they figured out who she was.
The Volgoth officer turned his head. His curlicue horns flashed in the park light. “I found the hacker! She’s right here!”
Oh shit! She was stunned that the system had been able to find her at all—let alone so quickly. She made to upload the AV recording to her publication’s secure server before they locked down her Cyberweb access, but it was too late. The message: LAW ENFORCEMENT LOCKDOWN, UNABLE TO COMPLY scrolled across her vision.
“On your feet.” The Volgoth pulled her up by her arm in its painful, double-thumbed grip.
“Hey, you don’t have to be so rough. I’ll comply,” she said.
Three more officers were approaching her with pistols drawn, keeping their weight low on triple-jointed legs.
“I’m not a violent criminal. You don’t have to keep so much heat on me like that,” she said.
Cops! she thought as they wrenched her arms behind her back.
Chapter Eight
Ikuzlu City, Kosfanter
41:0:46 CST (J2400:3053)
Ben set Cylus’ sky-limo down in the courtyard of the Mitsugawa compound. Eight large pagodas marked the corners of the octagonal block. Rock gardens and cleverly twisted trees speckled the thirty meters of flat granite around an oversized donjon three-hundred meters square. Six levels, each with upward-swept corners, led to the white-walled Mitsugawa apartments at its apex. The symbol of House Mitsugawa was emblazoned in white on all four sides of the structure’s highest roof. Two serpentine dragons with long gold whiskers, jade scales, and red talons raised at one another were painted on either side of the symbols.
A chill, sticky wind off the lagoon tried to tear Cylus’ cloak from his body the moment he emerged from the vehicle. He clutched the cloth at the clasp and pushed his way through the furious current to the driver’s window. He told Ben to return for him in two hours, then headed towards the donjon’s massive double doors.
Although they looked like wood and iron, the doors were actually constructed of modern, carbon-reinforced ceramic-metal poly-alloys. They could withstand several blasts from an x-ray laser cannon before collapsing. The Mitsugawa always had a flare for ancient style, and spent equal time on military considerations in everything they made. Cylus supposed it was part of the neo-military culture they founded on Taiumikai, but he also felt it was a bit silly. To him it looked as though they expected the galaxy to declare war on them at any moment.
The two guards in ceremonial armor with broad helmets and ornate plates made to resemble those of 16th century Japan bowed to him as he approached the entrance. Cylus returned the gesture and moved through the doors before they finished opening.
Sophiathena stood in a white robe within the donjon’s echoing entrance hall. Her robe matched the color of the stark walls, and the false wooden floor provided the only contrast to the color around them. She waited until the doors were shut behind Cylus before removing her hood and kissing him briefly on the lips.
“How is Sable doing?” He drew her to him, feeling her body through the layers of cloth between them.
“He’s with the remains of his father. They’re upstairs in the gallery,” she said.
“Is he alright?”
“He will be.”
“And you?”
“He wasn’t my father, but he was one of the many good people we will lose before this is over.” Sophi’s face was passive.
He nodded. He knew that Sophi and Yoji were never close, but he expected a little more emotion from her than this. Perhaps she was emotionally further apart from her step-father, than he realized.
“How did your meeting with my father go? You’ve stayed away for three days. I am assuming, not well.” She led them to a lift at the back of the hall.
“It was not as productive as I would have liked. I think he expected us. He was able to out-maneuver Praetor Graves without much effort. I was hoping for something more than what we got, I guess. I’ve spent the last three days trying to find something suspicious in Cosmos Corp’s dealings after my family’s murder. I couldn’t.” Cylus cast his eyes towards the floor and let Sophi lead him into the lift car.
The lift contained the traditional blend of scents the Mitsugawa clan used for their funeral incense. Sharp and dry, it stuck in the back of his throat and stung his sinuses.
“He doesn’t give away things readily. You should have anticipated that. Gallery,” Sophi said. The ornate red and gold lift doors slid shut.
“I suppose you’re right.” His ears popped as the lift accelerated upward.
“He has twenty more years of life than you, and all of it spent playing this game. Neither you nor Praetor Graves is going to beat him anytime soon.”
“You sound like you admire him.” Before now he had written off her occasional comments about her father as looking for something positive in being his daughter, but he was no longer sure that was the case.
“I do. He is not only my father, he is the most powerful baron in the Confederation. We should all aspire to be like him,” she said.
“Are you being serious Sophi?” He couldn’t tell from her tone.
“Yes.” She drew the hood of her robe up and over her head, disappearing within its shadow.
Cylus suppressed a frown.
The lift slowed to a stop and the doors slid open. Light poured in from the gallery’s three enormous windows. A large rectangular chamber with darkly varnished wooden floors, the gallery walls were lined with priceless works of art from masters across the Confederation and beyond. Yoji was both a collector and patron of the arts who favored paintings and sculpture representing the best of what the Confederation’s people had to offer. Cylus noted that Sable selected some of his father’s favorites for the last viewing they would have before he brought their owner back to Taiumikai.
Sable stood over his father’s body in a wide-shouldered kamishimo that rendered the white scabbard of his family’s sword nearly invisible in his obi. The family symbol was displayed in black on each shoulder.
Yoji was dressed in black and white armor with the barony’s symbol displayed on his chest. He clutched a mimic of the sword that Sable now had tucked into his obi with both gauntleted hands on its hilt. The armor left Yoji’s face bare. His skin looked like it had been molded from gray clay, the effect of the preservative nanomachines the embalmer injected. The body would be preserved until it reached Taiumikai, where Sable, as the new Baron Mitsugawa, would light it ablaze on a traditional funeral pyre.
“I’m glad you could make it.” Sable’s voice echoed in the chill of the gallery.
“I wouldn’t have missed the last chance to say goodbye to him. Are you sure you don’t want us to come with you to send him off?” Cylus asked.
Sable shook his head. “It is tradition; no outsiders. I’m sorry.”
Cylus frowned. He hadn’t known his friend considered him an outsider.
“Cy, don’t be like that. It’s not up to me. The clan won’t have anyone not of our blood there. Even Sophi can’t come.”
“Sorry,” Cylus said.
Sable took a deep breath. The lines of his face drew tight. “It’s all right, brother. I appreciate the sentiment.”
Sophi moved to stand beside her half-brother and Cylus stood on Sable’s opposite side. The three of them stared down at the body for several long moments.<
br />
“So did he do this?” Sable’s voice was like a whip.
“He didn’t give anything away at the meeting, but if I had to guess I’d say he did. I think he did the same to my family as well. We still don’t have proof. I doubt we ever will,” Cylus said.
“I thought you wanted to wait until you were sure before taking action,” Sophi said.
“I’m starting to think that if I do that, I’ll be an old man before I get revenge.” He shook his head and sighed heavily. “With the number of things Zalor is involved with, even if we are wrong, and he didn’t kill Baron Mitsugawa, we’ll still be giving him justice.”
“Mitsugawa Ichiro is now Baron of the Mitsugawa Bakufu and the Shiragawa Zaibatsu, Cy,” she said.
Cylus blushed and bowed his head. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend.”
“You didn’t.” Sable gave his half-sister a sharp look. “Did you glean anything else from your meeting?”
Cylus took a deep breath from the frigid air. “Baron Revenant intends to wed me to Pasqualina Olivaar.”
“She’s your cousin,” Sable said.
“Since when has Zalor cared about formalities like that? If I were to wed my uncle’s daughter, and tragically die afterwards, she would be the Baroness of Keltan. I don’t doubt that she is as much Zalor’s creature as her father. Marriage to her would give my family’s holdings to Zalor on a silver plate,” he said.
“And he would go from control of thirty-percent of the Confederation’s wealth to over forty. It is an intelligent move on his part,” Sophi said.
“You think it’s intelligent that he wants to kill me and steal my family’s wealth?” Cylus stared at her.
“I said on his part. It is a good move from his perspective, but I didn’t say I agreed with it. Calm down,” she chided.
“At least he won’t kill you unless you marry Pasqualina. If you died now your father’s will would take effect, and the Keltan fortune would go to my mother. I think Zalor would rather kill himself than see that happen,” Sable said.
“If I thought that were true I’d kill myself just to have the galaxy rid of him,” Cylus said.
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