by B. V. Larson
“I meant no offense.”
“None taken. I’m quite used to it.”
She’d revealed a few things about herself I’d not expected her to share with me. I smiled at her, and she looked down shyly. I felt our conversation had taken a different turn. It had become informal, almost flirtatious.
“Perhaps we might meet sometime,” I offered. “In a less contentious setting.”
She studied her hands. “I’d like that—but I doubt my mother would cooperate.”
“I thought you’d come of age.”
“Yes…”
Every heir to one of the Great Houses had a key date in their lives, which generally occurred upon their twenty-first birthday. It was an old tradition, but a sound one. After that date, they gained a great deal of autonomy, but could still be disinherited for behavior their parents found abhorrent.
“My date wasn’t all that long ago,” I said. “It occurred on a Sunday morning in June. That very same day I came downstairs to breakfast and announced to my parents that I intended to join Star Guard.”
Her eyes flashed up at me, then back to the table between us. I could tell she was not yet comfortable with her role as an independent woman.
“How upset they must have been,” she said. “It’s a wonder that they didn’t disinherit you on the spot.”
My face darkened. “Is that what you believe? That I’ve insulted my family by electing to do an honest day’s work?”
“I’m sorry, that’s not my opinion. But I know how oldsters think, you see. Did they lecture you on the demeaning nature of a military career?”
“Yes, of course. They reacted exactly as you imagined they might. Disregard my previous outburst. I shouldn’t take offense at your accurate description.”
“I can tell it’s still a sore point for you. I won’t bring it up again.”
“Back to the assassin, if you will—”
She reached out suddenly and put her hand over mine. I fell instantly silent, and my demeanor softened. For a moment, I believed she’d decided to make a pass at me—but that happy thought faded as I saw she was just leaning to look over my shoulder. Her expression was alarmed, not amorous.
“We’ve got to get you out of here,” she whispered. “My mother’s agents must have learned you’re still in the house.”
We stood and headed for the exit, but we didn’t make it. I was impressed by the quality of Chloe’s hearing, because the two agents who appeared to block the exit moved with the quiet feet of jungle predators.
They wore midnight blue, from their capes down to their gloves and boots. The powered truncheons in their hands gleamed to match the rage in their eyes.
“You’re under arrest, intruder,” said the first.
Both had short dark hair, wide shoulders and slits for mouths. The agents had been designed for this job, I could tell. They weren’t clones, but they were the equivalent of a special breed of dog. They’d been cultivated for centuries to serve their masters with unquestioned zeal.
Their kind was neither bright, nor thoughtful. But what they lacked in personality they made up for in tenacity, loyalty and vigilance.
“Where is your mistress?” I asked them. “I’ll answer to her.”
“You’ve been dismissed,” said the first agent. “When it was learned that you’ve lingered here, we were released. You will be driven from this place with pain.”
The pair stepped into the room, and I automatically placed a gentle hand upon Chloe, urging her away from me. I knew they wouldn’t harm her on purpose, but if there were difficulties, I didn’t want her to be injured accidentally.
“William, I can stop them,” she said. “Agents, there’s been a mistake. This is William Sparhawk of—”
“No,” I said to her dangerously. “Let them come. I’m a guardsman performing my duties in accordance to Earth’s laws and traditions. That must be good enough unless they wish to experience pain.”
“But William, there’s no need—”
“Let me judge the need,” I said.
Quite frankly I’d had enough. It was one thing to hinder an investigation and politely delay it, but another thing entirely to send agents to attack a guardsman in the performance of his duty.
Chloe fell silent, but her face was concerned. Her eyes fell upon the sword on my left hip, and the pistol on my right.
“Don’t kill them!” she said suddenly.
I would have assured her further, but the pair of agents had been circling to either side of me with unblinking eyes and upraised truncheons. They chose that moment to rush me.
Deciding not to draw either of my weapons, I slipped my hand to the clasp at my throat and activated my cloak. My personal shield, humming with translucent vibrancy, sprang into existence around my person. Looking through it was somewhat like observing the world through a water glass, but I was used to the effect.
The man on my right landed his truncheon first. The weapon crackled with force, and sparks showered down my back. It would have been enough to stun me, or perhaps even drop me to my knees, if it hadn’t been for the deflection shield.
I lunged for the second agent, who was only a moment behind the first. I caught his wrist and used his forward motion against him. Spinning around, I thrust his crackling truncheon into the belly of the first man, who had recovered and was coming back for more.
There was a blue-white flash upon contact. The jolt made the victim stiffen, then crumple, vomiting.
The second agent wasn’t finished yet, however. He must have fought men in shields before. Perhaps it was part of his training. He snaked his arm around my neck and squeezed.
That sort of attack was effective on a shielded man. A strangling arm didn’t trigger the shield’s automated defensive behavior because it was slow and organic. A bullet or knife was much easier to identify and repel. Personal shields weren’t terribly smart, and they couldn’t tell a strangulation attempt from a hug, or the desire to scratch one’s own face.
The agent and I strove against one another, grunting and shuffling over the floor.
“William, you’ve made your point!” Chloe said in concern.
“Almost,” I wheezed out, still sucking in a ragged breath now and then. The agent was stronger than I was, but less flexible of mind. I thought I had a way to defeat him.
When he had his arm fully around my throat, I leaned forward, forcing him off balance. Then I touched the shield button again. The shield vanished, and his weight shifted as a result.
With a deft twist, I threw him onto the ground and placed my boot on his neck. I still had his wrist with the truncheon in my grasp, but he wouldn’t let go of it. He struggled, growling, and I looked at the lady of the house.
“Tell him who I am.”
“Eight,” she said, “this person is a guest of mine. He’s a member of House Sparhawk. He’s not to be harmed.”
Eight stopped struggling. He lay still, panting and revealing his teeth at me. His twin had managed to climb to his feet again, nearby.
“What are your orders, lady?” Eight asked, coughing.
“Retreat. My guest was just leaving.”
I helped him to his feet, but he seemed not to appreciate the gesture. I watched him go with a smile on my face.
When I turned back to Chloe, I realized I’d made an error. She now looked at me as if I were a dangerous stranger.
“I can see now how you must have appeared when you killed my duplicate,” she said.
“But, madam…” I said. “I only meant to—”
“I understand your intentions. You wanted to show off. To beat my agents down for daring to do their sworn jobs. They thought they were protecting me.”
I rubbed at my throat. “They served you well, I admit.”
“I’d like you to leave now, Mr. Sparhawk.”
“Guardsman Sparhawk,” I said, correcting her. “I wish you good night.”
I walked out pridefully, but inside I was kicking myself. Why couldn�
��t I have let them throw me out without thrashing them?
As soon as my mind posed that question, another darker corner of me answered. It was because they’d angered me. Someone had set their beasts upon me, treating me as a man who didn’t belong inside House Astra. I wanted to send them a message in return.
I hoped they’d gotten that message—but I doubted it was worth losing favor with Chloe. Whatever the girl was, I was certain she wasn’t a murderer. I was already entertaining hopes of seeing her again.
As I climbed into my air car under the baleful eye of Miles Tannish, my mind churned with thoughts. Chief among them was wondering how I could determine who had sent the android to kill my father. Second on the list was how I might manage to get back into Chloe’s good graces.
Miles complained steadily as we flew back toward Capital City. He recounted my misdeeds and listed alternate paths I might have taken which would have pleased him more. I didn’t listen, but I amused myself by imagining what he would say if he ever learned what I’d done to two of the Astra agents.
-7-
I spent the night at the hospital with the leave of Captain Singh, who’d demanded I return to space by noon.
Altair and her pinnaces, including my own beloved Cutlass, were docked to Araminta Station. The station was visible to the naked eye from the city streets, a gray and silver disk that hung permanently over the capital.
Riding the sky lift up the umbilical took nearly an hour. It was a commute many were forced to make daily. I was glad I only had to do it now and then.
The umbilical was typical in design. Built with flexible, molecularly-aligned links and force fields, it hung down from space all the way to Earth’s surface. At the bottom was a terminal rather like a spaceport and at the top, which was many kilometers above Earth’s troposphere, Araminta Station hung in geosynchronous orbit. There, most of Star Guard’s ships were docked, fueled and repaired.
The umbilical was essentially a thick filament that ran down the center of the structure. Traffic in the form of crescent-shaped platforms glided up and down on either side of the filament.
I rode the sky-lift upward, standing on one of these half-disks. On the other side of the umbilical I often saw other matching platforms zooming downward.
The view was breathtaking as always, but I had no interest in it today. All I could think about were the events of last night, and the lovely face of Chloe Astra.
“This thing is slow,” complained Rumbold at my side. “I wish it would go faster.”
“We’d all die if it did,” I said absently.
“How’s that?”
“Friction. The cars are traveling at remarkable speeds, and they generate heat doing so. If the system generated any more heat, the central cable would melt. Have you noticed that we move faster with every kilometer we go upward?”
“No, not really. It seems like we’re going slower to me.”
“That’s an illusion. The Earth is farther away, so our speed appears to be dropping when it’s actually increasing.”
“Huh,” he grunted. “If you say so, sir. I suppose it’s better than being crammed into one of those bullets they fire up into orbit now and then.”
Rumbold was talking about a cargo delivery system that sent containers into orbit at violent velocities.
“The acceleration on those systems would scramble our guts,” I pointed out, “but as I was saying, we’re actually traveling faster the farther we go up. While we’re not in direct sunlight, the umbilical cars go faster still. As we leave the atmosphere the heat is dissipated by the subzero temperatures.”
Rumbold fell silent. Together, we stared down at Earth. We could see the curvature of the planet now. He looked at me and frowned, as if struck by a sudden thought.
“Did you learn anything useful at House Astra?” he asked.
“Just that Chloe Astra is real and unharmed.”
“Do you think she had anything to do with the attempt on your father’s life?”
“No, I’m fairly certain she didn’t.”
“What proof did she offer?”
I glanced over at him, and then looked back down at the clouds. A small thunderstorm shed silver rain out over the Atlantic as we watched.
“She’s not the type for subterfuge and assassination. If you’d met her, you’d understand.”
He released a rumbling laugh. “She charmed you! The ice prince has been smitten!”
“I don’t like that name, Rumbold. I’m just one more officer of the Guard up here. But I admit I’ve been affected by Lady Astra’s charm. I’m quite certain someone purposefully built a replica of her person and sent it to kill my father—but without her knowledge.”
“Who then?”
“She recently came of age. As the newly declared heir to her house, her DNA must be mapped.”
“Oh, right. So that in the case of an extreme event, she could be regrown and assume her place at the head of the house…” Rumbold studied me thoughtfully. “I get it. You think that’s when they did it. Officials copied her DNA to secure her genetics—and someone stole the file.”
“That’s my suspicion.”
“How will you pursue the matter?”
“It will be difficult,” I admitted. “Captain Singh is anxious to go out patrolling again.”
Rumbold boggled at me. “That’s not so bad! Advancement for a young officer like yourself requires time logged in space.”
“Contrary to popular belief, I’m not a desperate rank-climber.”
He grunted. “Then you should spend your time convincing your family to vote more funding for the Guard. We can’t fly our ships on spit, sir.”
I heaved a sigh. “I’m afraid my family is on the wrong side of the fence on that point, Rumbold. They’d be happy to see the last ship in the fleet dismantled and dropped into the sea to make a reef.”
“Could that be why someone tried to kill your dad?”
Frowning, I turned back to him. “What?”
“He’s on the wrong side of many votes, from the point of view of a spacer. I hate to bring bad news, but I’d say plenty of guardsmen would have liked to see him die last night.”
Shaking my head, I returned my gaze to the streaked tubing that flowed by like a waterfall just a few meters away from my face. Above us, the space station was now visible. Closer and closer it loomed, brightening every minute. The station transformed into a glaring white disk as it shifted out of Earth’s shadow and into sunlight. In response, the sky-lift’s outer casing darkened around us automatically, protecting us from radiation and the blinding glare.
Rumbold’s ideas had disturbed me, even though I took pains not to show it. Could my family truly be hated by the rank and file of the Guard? Certainly, my father was well-known as the head of a party of domestic spenders. His policies demanded that tax money be spent on public works first, with the military getting the scraps after. But could that simple truth have driven someone to murder? Worse, could one of my fellow guardsmen be behind the plot?
I felt and heard the sky lift shudder, interrupting my thoughts. We were slowing down as we finally came to a rest at the station. The crowd in our car—there had to be at least a hundred aboard, many with carts of luggage in tow—moved quickly for the exits. The gravity was light, but provided enough weight on our boots to allow us to walk normally.
Instructions in Standard were blared from every speaker, ordering us off the elevator and into the station proper. The car was on a tight schedule, so we were urged to depart without fanfare.
A two hundred meter escalator took me to customs. As a guardsman, the process was blissfully brief. Emigrants and tourists were given a much more thorough examination.
Joining the general river of people moving to and fro on the station, Rumbold and I were soon ferried by escalators and tubes to our assigned berths. Captain Singh was waiting for us there, and he dismissed Rumbold with a stern glance.
“I’ll be off if you don’t mind, sirs,” Rumb
old said. He vanished, doubtlessly planning on raiding a bar somewhere.
My own stomach churned, but I could tell by the look on Singh’s face that he had no interest in my personal comfort.
“You requested my immediate presence, sir?” I asked.
“You took your time getting up here, Sparhawk.”
“Sorry sir—there were difficulties last night.”
“Yes, I heard about that. Who gave you permission to take over the local investigation? We have teams for things like that, you know?”
“I took a personal interest,” I answered carefully, “as I was personally involved.”
“That’s another mystery,” Singh said, crossing his arms. “How did you know the assassination was going to play out right then?”
My face froze. I hadn’t expected recriminations upon my return.
“Sir, I had no idea the attack was coming.”
Singh pulled a computer scroll out of his pocket and thrust it under my nose. I stretched it out and eyed the video it was playing on its thin, glossy surface. I watched myself stand at the bottom of the marble steps. My attention was distracted, that was plain to see. I was watching the android raptly.
I cleared my throat in embarrassment. “I can understand how this might be misinterpreted. But I wasn’t expecting the android to do anything rash.”
“You’re asking me to believe you moved to the base of those steps at the exact moment the assassin attacked by chance? That you were staring at this—thing because it was clothed in plastic flesh pressed into a female shape? I don’t know which story is worse, Sparhawk.”
“May I ask, sir, how you came into possession of this video? Who shot it, who gave it to you?”
“Does that matter?”
“Yes, it might.”
“It was shot by a camera drone. The Grantholm people sent it to me, saying it might be useful. I think they’re right.”
I handed the scroll back to him. “Grantholm. I might have known.”
“Isn’t your mother a Grantholm?”
“That doesn’t mean they consider us to be family.”
He eyed me intently for a few moments. “You know what I think, Sparhawk? I think you and your father set this up. I’m not sure why—but it’s the only explanation that makes sense.”