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by Jake Bible


  “Do I need to worry about you, Stolt?” de Morlan asked.

  “Worry? About me? Whatever for?”

  De Morlan studied the younger man for a second then shook his head. “You are good, Girard. Better than your father and better even than his father. The way you navigate politics is a sight to behold.”

  “I’m thinking that wasn’t a compliment,” Stolt smiled.

  “You have more sectors than any other steward. Yet why do I have the feeling that you have higher ambitions than just steward?” de Morlan asked then stood up and held out his hands. “Don’t bother answering. Whatever you say will be calculated and less than sincere. Just know that I have zero intention of letting the master’s plans for Station Aelon fail. You have been warned.”

  “That I have,” Stolt said, still smiling. “Good night, Alasdair.”

  “Good night, Girard.”

  Steward Stolt waited until he was alone in the great hall before he stood up as well.

  “Fools,” he whispered.

  * * *

  The sound of blades being drawn was like thunder in the close quarters of the passageway.

  “You,” Diggory sneered as Stolt walked out of the shadows, his hands raised. “In a million years I never would have thought it was you.”

  “That was the point,” Stolt said. “If the lowdeckers would never suspect it then why would the stewards? Or the master?”

  Diggory watched as the man before him removed his breen gloves and tucked them into his belt. One of those hands was extended and the lowdecker just stared, looking at the appendage as if it were covered in filth.

  “I don’t do business with those that refuse to at least be civil,” Stolt said.

  Diggory reluctantly shook the offered hand and then wiped his palm as if he’d been contaminated.

  “How pleasant,” Stolt said. “Your leader had more tact. Much more. Which doesn’t put you in the greatest light since Langley’s tact was almost nil.”

  “Why’d you reach out to me?” Diggory asked. “Why not one of the others?”

  Stolt looked past the lowdecker to the group of armed men behind him.

  “It looks like you brought them all with you anyway,” Stolt said. “I believe you misunderstood my request for you to come alone.”

  “My need to live is stronger than any traitor’s request,” Diggory laughed. “But you needn’t worry. These are all my men. Not one of them would dare speak a word of this meeting without knowing their privates will be taken from between their legs and stuffed into their mouths.”

  “Delightful,” Stolt frowned. “Can’t you just kill a man? Why does everything with you lowdeckers involve removing private parts and feeding them to your enemies?”

  “Because it’s fun,” Diggory said. “Now what business do you have for me?”

  “The same business I have had for Langley,” Stolt said. “Weapons, of course. You will need them, and a lot of them, very soon. I can provide you with a fresh supply of those horrendous blades your people prefer as well as possibly getting you the plans to the longsling. If you were to have that in your arsenal then I believe you might actually win the next round of conflicts.”

  “Next round?” Diggory asked, his eyes narrowing. “There will be no next round with the accord being signed.”

  “The accord will not be signed,” Stolt said. “I can guarantee that.”

  “How?”

  “I have my ways,” Stolt shrugged. “The accord will never finalized.”

  “You make no sense,” Diggory replied. “You would undermine your position for what? Profit?”

  “The only thing undermined is the monarchy,” Stolt snapped. “My place will always be secure.”

  “Then why should I help you?” Diggory asked. “Why support another overseer?”

  “Because the overseer you have now has caved in and given away your freedoms for the illusion of peace,” Stolt said. “Have you read the accord?”

  “I have,” Diggory nodded.

  “And was there anything in there about disbanding the monarchy?”

  “No, not a thing.”

  “And isn’t that the basic tenet of your entire rebellion? To take down the monarchy?”

  “It was,” Diggory replied. “But there has to be compromise somewhere.”

  Stolt started to laugh, but kept it under control as he saw the fire build in the man’s eyes.

  “I am sorry. Forgive me,” Stolt said and bowed slightly. “But monarchs do not compromise. Langley has given up. He has left your people to trade one mantle for another. That is all. That is why I have come to you. Because I know deep in that lowdecker heart of yours, you think compromise is an abomination. Did Helios compromise when he devoured the other gods? Will the Dear Parent compromise when the Final Feast happens and he devours all of existence?”

  “No,” Diggory said and was echoed by his men behind him.

  “No,” Stolt smiled. “Then let’s talk terms. I was a little harsh with Langley on the profit margin, but you, Diggory? I see good things with you and might be able to lower my price if you are willing to take a good quantity of blades.”

  “What about the longsling?” Diggory asked, already hooked and almost landed.

  “Let’s focus on those blades first,” Stolt said. “Once you take control of the station then the longsling will come into play. Can you imagine what the other stations would pay for that design? Best to keep that in your back pocket.”

  “You have to think long term,” Diggory nodded.

  “I knew I liked you, my good man,” Stolt replied. “You are a man with true vision, that is for sure.”

  * * *

  “This is ridiculous,” Dormin Sloughtor said as he stood next to Derrick in the lift. “The stewards each want their own copy of the accord? Signed? Why?”

  “I don’t know, Dormin,” Derrick said. “But do shut up about it.”

  “Yes, sire,” Dormin replied. “I apologize. It is not my place to criticize the nobility. I am here merely to serve you.”

  “That’s right,” Derrick said and gave the man’s cheek a firm pat. “And the way you’ll serve me best is by keeping your mouth shut once we get down to the lower decks. And also by lugging the copies of the accord for me.”

  Dormin looked at the handcart stacked with heavy boxes filled with copies of the accord. He sighed and said a few words of prayer for his poor back. He had been Master Henry III’s valet at one time, but that was many years ago. Now he was relegated to be the minor’s assistant in all matters. There were plenty of worse jobs for an aging servant, so he didn’t complain. Much.

  “We will be at your beck and call at all times, my lord,” a guard said from the back of the lift. “And I would still like to stress that we should take point. Letting you walk from this lift unprotected is not a wise strategy.”

  “Nockmon, right?” Derrick asked.

  “Yes, my lord,” the guard nodded.

  “Well, Nockmon, what do you think will happen if I let the royal guard lead the way? What would you do if heavily armed men came out of the lift at you?” Derrick asked. The man was silent. “Exactly. If I walk out of this lift first then it shows that the monarchy has faith in the accord. If you walk out first then it can be interpreted a million ways, one of which is as an attack. We’d be under siege before I could even get past you to explain.”

  “Of course, my lord,” Nockmon nodded. “I was only thinking of your safety.”

  “And I’m thinking of the entire station’s safety,” Derrick replied. “That’s why I’m a Teirmont and you are not.”

  “Yes, my lord,” Nockmon replied. “As you wish, my lord.”

  “You bet your Vape ass it’s as I wish,” Derrick grumbled. “Shitty enough I have to do this duty. I sure as Helios don’t need a guard questioning my moves.”

  “My lord! I was never questioning—”

  “Oh, shut up,” Derrick said. “I was talking to myself. I had a long night last night with so
me of the pleasure girls in Sector Forbine. You know how those women are trained, right? You get your credits’ worth there, that’s for sure.”

  “I’ve never had the opportunity, my lord,” Nockman responded. “The pleasure girls in Forbine are strictly for the nobility.”

  Derrick kicked the boxes of accords. “Should have had that put into this thing,” he laughed. “Although I would guess that in of itself would prevent the stewards from signing off! The nobility doesn’t like to share whores with commoners. I could give a grendt’s ass feathers who a whore screws as long as she washes up after. Right, Dormin?”

  “If you say so, my lord,” Dormin frowned.

  Derrick was about to respond when the lift lurched to a halt and the doors slowly slid to the side. Everyone inside tensed as they faced the unexpected.

  “Ah, good,” a man said as he stepped forward to take the hand cart. “We were hoping it was you coming down. Langley is not happy about this and having to sign all of these copies will cut into the important business of his day.”

  “No one said it would be easy to wrap up a rebellion,” Derrick said, looking the man square in the eye.

  “You are addressing Minor Derrick Teirmont, lowdecker,” Dormin snapped, slapping the man’s hand away from the cart.

  “I know who I’m addressing,” the man said. “We’ve been expecting you.” He reached out once more, but his hand was slapped again. “Stop doing that! I’m here to help wheel this into Langley’s quarters for you!”

  “I have been entrusted by the meeting of stewards to see that these copies of the accord are delivered directly to Lucas Langley,” Dormin nearly shouted. “I just spent four hours on a lift to come down to this Helios forsaken place and I will not have an impertinent commoner like you take that duty from me!”

  “Calm down, Dormin,” Derrick said. “He’s not taking it from you, just helping you wheel it to Langley. That is a good thing since it will get us there faster and get this job over and done with.”

  “Of course, my lord,” Dormin said. “I spoke out of turn.”

  Derrick shook his head and looked at the lowdecker sent to greet them. “What’s your name?”

  “Sperry Langthon,” the man replied. “I’m from one of the original engineering families of the lower decks.” He nodded towards the lift. “My great grandfather ten generations back invented the servo in the lifts that allows it to maintain equilibrium even when getting closer to the rotational drive core. You think four hours is long? It used to take three days to get from the surface to this deck before that. Show a little respect, will ya?”

  “My respect is earned, not shown,” Dormin snapped.

  “Dormin? Calm down,” Derrick said. “Just push the cart and let’s get done with this business.”

  “Yes, my lord,” Dormin nodded then looked at Langthon. “Will you lead or should I guess where I am going?”

  “Testy servant you got there,” Langthon smiled. “We could use his scrap down here.”

  “I would never—”

  “Dormin, shut up,” Derrick growled. “No more talking. That’s an order.”

  Dormin nodded and waited for Langthon to show the way.

  “Come on,” the lowdecker waved. “Langley is this way. We don’t got no fancy great hall for you to see. You’ll just have to make do with the mess hall like the rest of us.”

  Langthon and the rest of the lowdeckers turned and started walking briskly down the passageway. Not another soul was seen as they passed door after door, passageway intersection after passageway intersection, but the sound of whispers and hushed exclamations could be heard in their wake.

  “We are being intentionally mislead, my lord,” Nockmon said quietly from behind Derrick. “It does not take this long to get to the mess hall on this deck.”

  “It does if you have to go around all the fortifications we have in place,” Langthon responded, making it known he could hear the man perfectly well. “Feel privileged you are being allowed this far into the heart of things. Just a couple days ago and you wouldn’t have lived long enough to take five steps off that lift.”

  “Yes, we feel quite privileged,” Derrick said. “The honor is overwhelming.”

  “I am sure it is,” Langthon snorted. “You can express your gratitude directly to Langley. We’re here.”

  Langthon stopped before a set of double doors. He pushed them wide with both hands until they locked into place then stepped aside for Dormin to wheel the cart of boxes into the dimly lit mess hall. Men and women that were busy chatting and eating all stopped and turned to look at the delegation from the surface.

  “No weapons,” Langthon said, stepping in front of the royal guards after Derrick and Dormin had already entered.

  “My lord?” Nockmon said. “I cannot give up my blades to these men.”

  “Understood,” Derrick said then looked about the mess hall at the many heavy blades set upon benches and on tops of the tables. “Then I would expect the same from your people. My guards will leave their weapons out in the passageway once your folks do the same.”

  All eyes instantly turned to Langthon. He licked his lips then sighed.

  “Fine,” Langthon said. “Keep them. But any moves toward those blades and this room will fall on you like a Vape storm.”

  “When have you seen a Vape storm?” Derrick asked. “Because I’ve seen more than my share on the planet. Have you even left this deck?”

  Langthon moved quickly and was in Derrick’s face before the guards could even twitch.

  “I’ve been off this deck plenty, you spoiled royal brat,” Langthon snarled. “I led the slaughter of two hundred of your men in Sector Gwalter. They thought they could hem us in on Lower Deck Forty-Seven. They thought wrong.”

  The mess hall let out a loud cheer then went quiet. Derrick looked once more at the faces that filled the hall and saw nothing but pure rage. And bloodlust. He had to wonder what in Helios his brother was thinking in agreeing to Steward Stolt’s request and sending him down here with only his assistant and a small band of guards. They would all be ripped apart in seconds if it went sour.

  “No offense meant, Langthon,” Derrick said and gave a slight bow.

  “Hey, Langthon!” someone shouted. “You just got a royal curtsey! Ain’t you something special now?”

  “Shut up!” Langthon yelled then nodded to Derrick. “Follow me.”

  The man led them to the far right corner of the mess hall where Langley was seated; busy eating a plate of porridge that looked like it had congealed several days before. He was the only one seated at his table, but the surrounding tables were filled with men, their hands gripping the hilts of their heavy blades.

  “Minor,” Langley smiled as Derrick walked up to him. “I am sorry you had to make the trip.”

  “What do you mean? Four hours in a metal box is exactly how I like to spend my day,” Derrick chuckled.

  “I am sure it is,” Langley laughed then looked over at the cart of boxes. “Your meeting of stewards is more than a little paranoid, don’t you think? Requiring my personal signature on each copy of the accord? Do they plan on signing each one as well?”

  “They have,” Derrick said. “It took forever. The signatures towards the end of the day ended up being nothing but drunken scrawls since more than a few barrels of gelberry wine were consumed.” Derrick rubbed at his temples. “I may have participated in that, as well. So the sooner we can get done the sooner I can look forward to another four hour ride in a lift.”

  Langley pointed to an empty space by the far wall then looked at Langthon.

  “Set the boxes there,” Langley ordered. “Then clear this line of tables. Set out all the copies and I’ll go down the line, one by one, and sign them. It’ll be faster if we do this assembly line style.”

  “Yes, sir,” Langthon nodded.

  “Langthon and Langley?” Derrick asked. “Any relation?”

  “No more than someone named Teirmont and someone named Peirpon
t,” Langley said.

  “Point taken,” Derrick replied.

  “Good,” Langley said. “Let’s get this over with.”

  “My sentiments exactly,” Derrick grinned. “Dormin? Go set the boxes over there and oversee the laying out of the copies.”

  “Yes, my lord,” Dormin bowed and pushed the cart towards the wall.

  “May I sit?” Derrick asked, gesturing towards the empty bench across from Langley.

  “If you must,” Langley said.

  “You’d rather I stand right here and hover over you?” Derrick glared.

  “I’d rather you weren’t here at all,” Langley said as he looked over at Dormin as the assistant began to unpack the top boxes. “Your guards aren’t going to help? It will take your man forever to get all of those out of the boxes.”

  “Then maybe have some of your men help,” Derrick said as he took a seat across the table. “Neither of us want to deal with this so how about a little less attitude and a little more cooperation?”

  “I have no desire to cooperate with royals,” Langley said. “But the sight of you is ruining my appetite. The sooner you are gone the sooner I can eat in peace.”

  He shoved his bowl of porridge away and crossed his arms over his muscular chest. He studied Derrick for a minute then looked over at the table of lowdeckers closest to Dormin and the cart.

  “Micho? Treal? Morgie? Help the old guy out,” Langley ordered. “Now.”

  The three men looked at each other, glared at Langley, then glared even harder at Derrick before they stood up and started to help.

  “What are you eating?” Derrick asked as he reached across and took the bowl into his hand. He sniffed at it and frowned. “Smells off.”

  “Fermented wheat berry porridge with myco-oil swirled in,” Langley replied. “It doesn’t taste as good as it sounds.”

  “It sounds disgusting,” Derrick said. “No shaow bacon or cutlets? Grendt eggs?”

  “This is the lower decks, Teirmont,” Langley responded. “I haven’t seen shaow bacon since I was a little kid and my father took me up to the surface for one of Henry III’s random feasts.”

 

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