“Maybe we should—” he began.
“What?” Sophi glared at him.
He felt her gaze cut right into him and tie his throat into knots. Though he tried to finish the thought, to convince her that her mother might be right, he could not find the will to break free from Sophi’s iron gaze. The words would not come, and after a moment, he closed his mouth.
“Goodbye, Mother,” Sophi said.
“Goodbye, Sophi. I hope you get what you want in the end,” Aurora left the room. From her tone, Cylus couldn’t tell if what she said was an honest wish or a curse.
“Go help her,” he said to Ben. The artificial bowed and headed out after his step-aunt.
Sophi moved over to him and put her hands on his shoulders. “I had to do that. We can’t have her giving us away, Cy. We have to be as hard as my father or he will devour us. We have to be wolves.”
He met her eyes. He’d always thought they looked beautiful, but now they just looked cold. He’d never seen her like that before.
“I’m going back to bed. Make yourself at home,” he said. It was all he could think to say. The confrontation had drained him completely.
She nodded once and left him alone in the room.
He was shaken three times before he relented and opened his eyes. The vision that greeted him made him smile. Sophi sat on his bed beside him. Her hair was perfectly braided into her customary twin tails and she wore a light-brown robe with a silver trim; his House’s colors. She looked at him with her beautiful, patient eyes. One gloved hand rested on his shoulder. For a single moment he was happy, and then he remembered the argument that morning. His heart sank.
“Good morning, Cy. Did you sleep all right?” Sophi asked. If she noticed the play of emotion on his face, she gave no indication.
Cylus stared at her and tried to reconcile his new view of her with who he thought she was, or was it who he wanted her to be? Had he been wrong about her all this time? How could the two be the same person?
“Are you still upset about this morning?” She said it as though asking if he wanted pepper on his eggs.
“Yes, Sophi. I am. I’ve never seen you so callous. The things you were saying sounded exactly like the way of life we are trying to bring down. Are we doing the right thing?” He felt like a child asking, but he had to. This was too important. He had to know.
Sophi frowned at him a moment, then reached over to the nightstand and grabbed his hair brush. She took a thick lock of his copper-red hair in her hand and started grooming him.
“I was hoping I would not have to explain this to you, Cy. I was hoping you would already understand. What mother does not see is that our lives are a battle. Everyone around us is bloodthirsty and armed to the teeth. We can either grab swords and fight back, or let them slice us to pieces.” She encountered a knot in his hair and wrenched it out, drawing a squeal from his lips.
She ignored it.
“Is there really no other way?” he asked.
“There have always been beings like my father and there always will be. People like him aren’t going to give up trying to take what we have. There’s only one way to make them stop, and that is to beat them at their own game. I’m not saying we should really be like my father, we’d only be replacing one monster with another, but we’ve got to play the game like he does or he’s going to win. That’s how he’s done it so far, Cy. No one before us has been smart enough to realize it,” she said.
He sighed. What she said made sense, though it hurt him to admit it.
“It won’t always be this way, I promise. We just have to make it through the tough times. Baron Olivaar will be here in a few hours. He contacted me last night to say he was paying you a visit and to ask what colors you like.”
“What?” The last being in the galaxy he wanted to see right now was his uncle.
“I think he’s picking out dresses for Pasqualina to wear around you.” Sophi moved the brush to his considerable beard. “Think about trimming this.”
His eyebrows rose. “What? You’ve never asked me to before.”
“We’re in a different position now. Before we represented the people, and your beard was just the kind of deranged mess that was endearing to them.”
“How do you know? Wait—deranged?” He felt something sting inside his stomach.
“Stream Four News took a poll a year ago,” she said.
“They did?” He sat up.
“It is irrelevant now, Cy. We’re on the other side and we need to look the part. I’m having a tailor come over for both of us in an hour. They should be done by the time Olivaar gets here.” She grasped his beard a handful of centimeters from his chin. “About here would be good.”
He looked her in the eye. “No.”
“Cylus, you look like a mountain creature.”
“No.” There was a lump in his throat threatening to cut him off from the power of speech, but he didn’t want to give way. He loved his beard, it was his aegis. His beard and hair had grown out of negligence while he was in mourning, but now they were a part of him. They were like a badge of honor, marking his survival of the grief that had nearly ended him when his family died. He was not going to give them up to make his scum-sucking baroness want-to-be cousin happy.
Sophi stuck her bottom lip out and made puppy-dog eyes at him. He felt his resolve melting for a moment before the image of her destroying Aurora’s hope re-entered his head. He took a breath and shook his head.
She saw the look in his eye harden and shrugged. “You’ll at least have to have the stylist do something with it.”
“The stylist?” This was getting worse by the minute. “We shouldn’t change so much that we don’t know ourselves anymore.”
“We’re not changing ourselves; we’re changing how we look.” She got up off his bed. “I’m going to arrange to have some fabrics arrive before the tailor so she has something to work with. You should get cleaned up. You’re a bit ripe.”
“Thank you.” He got up, but felt like he was ready to go back to sleep again. There was an infinitesimal chance he might wake up on Anilon, far away from this madness. A wormhole could open up and put him in his own bed on his family’s estate, and then he wouldn’t have to deal with any of this.
It could happen, right?
He sighed.
The stylist Sophi hired arrived too quickly. The next few hours were filled with poking, prodding, measuring and holding extremely still for uncomfortable amounts of time. When he saw the price the Solan woman and the quill-heavy Achinoi male presented, he groaned. It was an order of magnitude past ridiculous.
His irritation with Sophi grew.
The stylist had respected his wishes to maintain the length of his hair, and the shears were only used to trim split ends and uncooperative locks. It now flowed like a red river down his back to just above his waist. A pair of braids hung from his temples at each side nearly as long; adorned with platinum clasps every four centimeters etched with the symbol of his Barony. His beard was similarly garnished with many small braids holding mahogany-brown beads to reflect the brown of the Keltan Securities logo.
The changes to his hair were significant, but the suit was dramatic. It was made of silk, slithering across his skin with cool strokes whenever he moved. The bright red shirt had a high mandarin collar that rose several centimeters above the brown jacket, and a silver cape clasped about his chest with a golden rope. The pants were loose and comfortable, matched the jacket, and had red stripes on each side that led the eye downward to his simple lace-less leather shoes. His belt had a golden buckle encrusted with rubies in the shape of the seven-pointed star. He felt a bit like a trussed-up bird, but there was a certain projection of strength to the look that partially mollified his discomfort.
Sophi met him in the same hallway her mother had left by half a day before. She was wearing a dark-brown robe with thick silver-embroidered knot work designs near its edges. Her gloves were silver as well, and she had her long white hair co
mpletely inside her deep hood.
“You look good,” he said.
“You are a bad liar, Cy. I can hear your discomfort. At least your uncle is a moron and won’t pick up on it,” she said.
He blanched. “What about Pasqualina?”
“She may notice, but she’ll be too eager to please. A lot is hinging on her ability to close the deal with you. Ten percent of the sovereignty’s wealth, to be exact.” She walked towards the platform, adjusting her hood so that it afforded her maximum protection from the light.
He trailed in her wake. “What do you mean, ten percent?”
“It’s your net worth. Keltan Securities and your House’s personal assets are worth ten percent of the entire Gross National Product of the Confederation. Didn’t you know?” she said in a mocking tone.
“I had no idea.” It was something of a shock to him. He knew Zalor had more than him, but had no idea that the gap wasn’t nearly as large as he had thought.
Outside, an oversize purple-and-red air-car was already touching down on the landing pad. Ben moved quickly to open the doors of the car and allow the occupants a graceful egress. His uncle’s security emerged first, four artificials in crisp red-and-purple uniforms with the black hammer-and-star on their lapels and hats. They quickly took in their surroundings with iris-less eyes and stood to the side.
The car lurched as his uncle struggled to pull himself out, his face looking puckered as he squinted in the bright sunlight. He looked like a giant balloon in the colorful clothing he wore. He huffed and wheezed after freeing himself from the vehicle. When Olivaar caught sight of Cylus and Sophi, he grinned and gestured to the last occupant of the car.
Pasqualina gently put both of her feet, adorned with purple high heels, upon the ground and slowly stood up into the afternoon sun. She was wearing a red dress that was sleeveless on one side, displaying her tattoo, while the other side encased her arm down to her fingers. The dress ended at her knees but was slit lengthwise from the hip on both sides, the halves whipping about violently in the wind. Her ringlet hair was bound in a bun, held with a long, thick, black needle. It looked like a ball of copper ramen on the back of her head.
She gave him a round-cheeked smile and took her father’s hand. The mismatched pair headed Cylus’ way. Pasqualina was half the height, and a fifth the size of her father. She looked like a little girl holding a big, fleshy balloon.
“Good afternoon, my boy. I trust that this bright day finds you well,” Baron Olivaar said.
“Well enough uncle.” Cylus frowned.
“And how is Heir Sophiathena?” Baron Olivaar nodded to her.
“Well. Thank you,” Sophi replied from within the shadow of her hood.
“I’ve been looking forward to spending some time with you Cylus,” Pasqualina said moving off of her father’s arm. She wove her arm around his.
Sophi cleared her throat.
“As have I, Heir Pasqualina,” he responded. He shifted his weight away from his cousin.
The heiress smiled broadly, her green eyes sparkling.
“Why don’t you show my daughter around, Heir Sophiathena. Baron Keltan and I have some things to discuss,” Olivaar said.
Cylus noticed Sophi stiffen slightly, and he was sure that only his intimate familiarity with her allowed him to see it through her voluminous robe. She gave a quick bow to Baron Olivaar and then reached out a gloved hand to Pasqualina. The young heiress was reluctant to let go of Cylus’ arm but did so at a look from her father.
The pair of them headed inside.
“Do you have a place where we can talk?” Baron Olivaar said.
“My solar,” Cylus said, leading the way.
When they arrived Baron Olivaar shoved his chess table aside, sending several of the pieces to the floor, and took a seat in one of the chairs. Cylus stared at the fallen pieces, sighed, and sat down across from him.
“Careful with the pieces uncle,” he said.
Baron Olivaar looked over at them on the floor and shrugged. “I want to discuss some things that have fallen to the wayside in the last few days. For one, we have yet to set the terms of the official engagement.”
He looked his uncle dead in the eye. “What do you want?”
“Assurances, the same as any father,” Baron Olivaar said with a smile that highlighted his second chin. “I want to know your intentions.”
“My intentions? Aren’t they obvious? I intend to finally take you up on the offer you made at the memorial party. I intend to marry your daughter, and finally, as Sophi would put it, heal the gap between our two houses that formed when my father married a woman of House Cronus. Isn’t that what your whole plan was, uncle?” He could not help but let the disgust slip into his voice. He was grateful that Sophi wasn’t there to stop him. It was liberating to express himself as he wished.
Baron Olivaar snorted. “Cylus, you may have spent nearly six years in self-imposed exile, but you haven’t forgotten how this game is played, have you? I’ll take mercy on you and be plain. Lord Revenant has certain things he wants to see happen here, aside from your marriage to my daughter. You have a real opportunity to make up for your father’s mistakes, Cylus. You should not waste it.”
He inhaled sharply. “Mistakes?”
“Would that my sister, Drucilla, had not died, yes? Well no sense in wishing the past different. That will change nothing. Oh, which reminds me, you are going to have to set up Sophiathena; make sure she has the proper appearance of status and so forth.” There was something about the way his uncle mentioned his mother’s name that made him cringe.
“What?”
“Cylus, I mentioned this at the Barony. She is going to need something like a minor barony, at the least, if she is to prove her worth to us.” Baron Olivaar leaned back, removed a cigar from his suit and lit it with a thumb sized lighter that his ham-hand seemed to choke as he worked it.
Cylus thought a moment. “Didn’t you say Zalor was going to take care of that?”
“Did I?” Olivaar responded.
He sighed, and thought some more. He should have known better than to rely on his uncle.
“I can find her a small business complex enough to give her a challenge, I guess. Please don’t smoke in here, uncle.”
“I’ll smoke where I please,” Baron Olivaar said.
Cylus frowned. The cigar smoke smelled like a wet dog in rotting leaves. It would be days before he could use his solar again.
“What of that Mitsugawa friend of yours? Ichiro was it? Where does he stand on this?” Olivaar asked.
“He’s busy burying his father.”
“So where does he stand?”
“With me,” Cylus said.
“You can promise that?” Olivaar’s jowls vibrated nauseatingly.
“Yes.” He tried to put as much confidence into the answer as he could.
Baron Olivaar nodded for a much longer period of time than was necessary. When he finally stopped he took another puff from his cigar.
“The official engagement will occur in a few days. Baron Revenant will preside of course. My daughter is a very special girl, Cylus. I expect you to treat her right.”
“I’ll treat her like she deserves.”
“Excellent! Now cheer up, my boy. You’re getting married. It’s a happy thing. Why don’t you have one of your artificials get me a sandwich and a brandy so we can discuss who will be invited to the engagement party.”
Cylus suppressed a groan and forced a smile to his lips.
Sophi better know what she’s doing.
Chapter Twelve
Ikuzlu City, Kosfanter
41:1:2 CST (J2400:3061)
The Gaian Biodome was a lattice structure of interlocking triangular windows enclosing an area of twenty hectares and rising to over two-hundred fifty meters at its peak. Through the one-way polyglass could be seen a verdant space broken by ponds and lakes, thick with trees, shrubs, and tall grasses from Earth’s primordial past. Basking in the simulated Sol-
light projected by the inner surface of the dome, the plants shared an environment with all manner of Solan fauna from genetically resurrected iguana to Birds of Paradise that hadn’t been seen on Earth in centuries. Every dome the Gaians built was a slice of the Earth-that-was before humanity crawled to the stars. The Kosfanter Dome was nestled among rounded residential towers like a glistening stone among dark gray reeds.
Nero set his air-car down in the area designated by yellow and black stripes about fifty meters from the dome’s entrance. Although a religious building, the dome had no symbols or monuments before it. The structure itself was its own icon.
Khepria walked over to the car before he had pulled himself clear. The bright morning sunlight had already turned her face pink. Her ocular implants shrouded her corneas in a polarized, reflective coating to protect her eyes. It was a strange thing to see them as solid silver spheres set in her skull.
“Morning, Praetor Graves. Are you well today?”
He nodded at her. “As well as any day. And yourself?”
“I am, thank you. Thank you for inviting me along, too,” she said.
“It’s as much your investigation as mine.” He looked over towards the dome. When he turned back, she was smiling.
Say good morning for me, Prospero said.
He let Prospero link to Khepria instead.
“Good morning, Prospero. How are you processing today?” Khepria’s voice sounded in his thoughts.
He frowned. It was an odd sensation, different from Prospero’s familiar intrusion. It felt distant and yet familiar like a half-remembered taste.
I’m clocking quite well, thank you, Agent Khepria.
“How did the meeting with the VoQuana go?” she asked, addressing Nero.
He felt Prospero’s amusement.
“Do you mind using your voice? I’ve got enough voices in my head as it is.”
“Oh, sorry.” Khepria looked about to say more, but didn’t.
“Go ahead.”
“Well, it’s just strange that you find thought-linking so odd. None of the other Abyssians I know do, and none of them openly talk to their SCC’s like you do.” Her ears twitched.
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