“What’s wrong with you, today?” Dustin Nye said.
Richard blinked at him, then looked down at Dustin’s very large clenched fist, a fist that had stopped moving forward less than a centimeter from Richard’s abdomen.
Richard knew better than to make excuses. Combat was serious business. One’s mood was irrelevant to the outcome. When you were attacked, you forgot your other cares and fought back. If you didn’t, you died.
Nothing, in fact, was wrong with Richard, except for the absurd realization that he missed Lady Egidia Colbert and her two twin treasures, Brett and Stephanie Lerner. It was ridiculous. He had been happy enough to take his leave of them once his mission was over but somehow, he was not sure when, they had crept more and more into his thoughts.
Lady Egidia was rich, more than rich enough to employ a whole cadre of catamites. Brett and Stephanie were two beautiful young creatures, brother and sister, who she had met and offered contracts to on one of her frequent trips abroad. Brett and Stephanie seemed to have no defined responsibilities other than waiting upon Egidia’s every whim. They were neither stupid nor particularly bright. They seemed to drift through life without a care, confident that their needs would be met, content with their situation, and so far, this confidence had proven correct.
Lady Egidia was intelligent. She spent a good portion of each day tending to the family business, which was the design and manufacture of women’s perfume. Her scents contained small doses of hypnotics and sold for enormous sums. With the rest of her time, she played.
They reminded Richard of home, which was even more absurd, since he had hated his home…but then again, had he, really? Certainly, he had hated the politics, the murderous thrust and parry, the side long glances, the veiled threats, the deals made in the shadows, all the machinations of the Diamond Empire’s elegant, brutal elite. Richard had no desire to seek power. All he wanted to do was make music.
Well, and to have a little fun now and then with his slaves.
It had not occurred to a young Richard Norlin that the slaves were not having fun with him. Aristocrats of the Diamond Empire did not think in such a way. All had their purpose in life. The role of the elite was to rule. The role of the slaves was to serve the aristocrats and do as they were ordered.
He didn’t like politics but slavery had never bothered him, not until Michael Glover had showed up and explained that making other human beings do things that they had no desire to do was bad.
And if they didn’t stop it they would all die.
“Go sit down,” Dustin Nye said. “Get your head on straight.”
“Thanks.” Richard wiped his face with a towel and drifted over to the bleachers that rose up against the gymnasium’s wall.
He sat down on the lower level, sipped from a bottle of water and considered his options. They were good ones. Before leaving Norlin, his father had gifted him with a package of jewels and a credit line on the Ducal Bank of Esterly. He was rich. The jewels had been sold, the proceeds re-invested, the credit line hardly touched.
Truly, Richard’s needs were few. He had sumptuous quarters aboard one of the most advanced ships ever built. He had his instruments, his boards and access to all the music ever recorded. His compositions had been released onto the web of every Empire world they had visited and had spread outward from there, and each download increased his credit balance by a microscopic amount. His reputation and his money were both growing. He had respect, recognition and the beginnings of fame.
It was absurd to feel so…unfulfilled.
“Hey, Music Man, want to try your luck?”
Lieutenant Junior Grade Horatio Forrester stood in front of him, smirking, accompanied by two other well-built young men in shorts, tee shirts and sneakers, presumably Forrester’s friends. Richard considered the question for a long moment. Richard had extensive experience with Forrester’s type. To his lasting chagrin, Richard had not so long ago been one of Forrester’s type: arrogant, self-absorbed and casually accepting of the idea that the Universe revolved around his own unique, wonderful self.
The only thing that these three clowns knew about Richard, unless they had been smart enough to review the official bio in the ship’s databank, was his current occupation and status: musician, composer, and guest of the Commodore.
One of the three was frowning, perhaps better informed than the others.
Richard looked up at Forrester’s smirking little face and smiled. Something about his smile must have given Forrester pause. The smirk vanished, replaced by a glare.
“I’d love to,” Richard said.
The gymnasium floor stretched out for over a hundred meters, covered by padding and divided into circles. Perhaps a third of the circles were occupied by sparring men and women. Dustin Nye and the other instructors went from circle to circle, observing, correcting and pointing out deficiencies. Dustin Nye blinked as he saw Richard and Forrester move onto the floor together and wandered over. Marissa and Matthew Oliver, who had just entered the gym and begun to warm up, stopped what they were doing and drifted closer.
“Ready when you are,” Richard said.
Forrester attacked. Gyrating, his arms moving around his body in a series of feints, he charged across the floor. He wasn’t as fast as he thought he was. Richard moved his head to the side and angled his body. Forrester’s fist slid past. Richard grasped him by the upper arm, pulled down and raised his knee. The knee hit Forrester in the abdomen. Forrester gasped. Richard guided him down to the mat, slid around his back and wound his own arms under Forrester’s shoulders and up around the back of his neck. Forrester was helpless. If Richard wanted to, in this position, he could break Forrester’s neck.
“Point,” Dustin Nye said.
Matthew Oliver laughed. His sister made a tsk-tsk sound and smiled.
Richard let Forrester go and rose to his feet. Forrester charged again, his arms spread wide, trying for a full body takedown. Richard grasped one hand, twisted to the side and kicked Forrester in the back of the knee. Forrester fell again.
“Point,” Dustin Nye said.
“Had enough?” Richard said.
Forrester growled. His lips drew back, his face grew red and he stepped in once again, swinging.
Have to give him credit, Richard thought. He’s got guts. Not a lot of brains, but guts.
Richard flicked one punch off with the back of his fist, then another. He stepped in, pivoted, dropped to the mat and swept Forrester’s legs out from under him. Forrester fell. Richard slithered around his body and extended Forrester’s right arm over his thigh. Forrester was effectively immobilized. If he struggled, he would snap his own arm.
“Bout,” Dustin Nye said.
Richard let him go, rose and bounced a little on the balls of his feet. He looked over at Forrester’s two cronies. Both of them frowned. Neither met his eye.
Forrester slowly rose to his feet, the fight finally knocked out of him. He breathed heavily, looking down at the mat.
“See me after the session, Mr. Forrester,” Dustin Nye said. “Your technique needs work.”
Amazing, Richard thought, how a little light activity could improve one’s mood.
Chapter 15
“Forrester again,” Michael said. “That guy is getting to be a real pain in the ass.”
Frankie chewed on a piece of bacon. “If you didn’t know him, and if you didn’t know better, you might think that Richard was an easy mark,” she said.
Rosanna grinned. Curly rolled his eyes.
Richard didn’t interact as much these days. He stayed mostly in his rooms and seemed distracted when in the company of others, but with bladed weapons or hand-to-hand, he was one of the deadliest fighters Michael knew.
“Forrester got what he deserved,” Michael said. “Maybe he’ll wise up.”
Gloriosa spooned some scrambled eggs onto her plate, looked at the pancakes and decided against it.
Matthew and Marissa, both of whom had full plates sitting in front of them and seemed to ha
ve bottomless pits for stomachs, glanced at each other and smiled. “His sort never wises up,” Marissa said. “But it’s fun to keep beating them down.”
Michael shrugged.
They were two days out from their next destination, a world listed in the Akadius database as Clowning-3, a low-gravity, Earthlike world inhabited by an intelligent, avian-like species. By this point, Michael wasn’t expecting much. They were thousands of light-years away from the Second Empire. The trading ships of the Corporate States rarely came so far. By now, information on the stars they were contacting consisted of little more than their names. Almost all were inhabited, if inhabited at all, by aliens. They seemed finally to have reached the limits of prior human exploration.
Michael was frustrated. Their mission, nebulous as it had been from the beginning, had gained them nearly zero. They had accumulated valuable data and contacted many worlds, some of which might prove in the future to be allies of the Second Empire, and in the case of the Corporate States, possibly enemies, but none of them were the enemies they were looking for.
“This is the last,” Michael said. “After this one, we’re going home.”
Frankie raised her brow. Gloriosa shrugged. Curly glanced at Rosanna, who smiled. “Fine by us,” Curly said.
“Have you considered the possibility that we’re being herded?” Henrik Anson asked.
Captain Thorenson frowned.
Michael, whose training and experience had stressed paying attention to unlikely possibilities, smiled. “Yes,” he said, “the thought had occurred to me.”
“The only actual clue we’ve come across is those ships at Akadius.”
Michael nodded. “Not an insignificant clue.”
“Where did those ships come from?” Anson said.
“That,” Commander Dumas said, “is what we’ve been trying to find out.”
“And so far, we haven’t succeeded. Presumably, we’ve been looking in the wrong place.”
Michael took a long sip from his cup of chocolat, then placed it back on the table. “Let’s try Akadius again. This time, we’ll try to be more subtle.”
Akadius had ships—how many ships remained a mystery—of unknown size, derivation and capabilities. What else did they have? A detector for visual and EM screening posed a unique challenge. It seemed only prudent to keep Gehenna far away from the planet and major habitats.
The Lady Luck, captained by Jeffrey Billings and his crew, emerged from slip-space and oriented her nose toward Akadius-3. The system-wide web contained no information regarding military activity of any sort. Routine information and queries flew from world to habitat to world, some encrypted, the rest of it mundane.
A day later, they were hailed, gave their identification and were assigned a landing slip at the main port. They registered their cargo and requested bids, which came in a few hours later.
Jeffrey Billings, ostensibly a mid-level employee of Jensen, knew the routine.
Under cover of darkness, a thousand tiny drones emerged from the Lady Luck and spread out over the city. The next day, Lady Luck, having completed her business, rose on her AG and headed out into space, toward Jensen.
Frankie was lying back on a couch, propped up against some pillows, reading a book as Michael entered the lounge. She frowned and gave him a doubtful. There might have been amusement mixed in. That look gave him pause.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“I’ve been reading,” Frankie said.
“So?”
“Have you ever heard of this?” She held the book up for Michael to see. The title read, Legends of the First Empire.
He groaned. “No, but I’m pretty sure I can guess.”
“Listen:
And so the Lord Ptolemy, not yet grown into his power and his wisdom, gloried in his youth and his strength. None could defeat him. Many challenged him and all fell before him.
Then one day, a small, elderly man appeared, while Ptolemy walked along the side of a road. The old man seemed unassuming. His face was wrinkled. His back was bent and he carried a staff. “Would you challenge me, young man?” he asked.
Ptolemy frowned at him. There was no glory in defeating the weak and decrepit. “I would not,” he said.
“Then I will challenge you.” And the elderly man put down his staff and straightened to his full height and suddenly, he was tall, and his limbs filled out and his face smoothed over and he was young once again. “Let us fight,” he said.
And they fought. They fought for three days and three nights and finally, the elderly man, who was no longer elderly, stopped and smiled and he said to Ptolemy, “If you strike me down, I shall rise again, more powerful than you can imagine.” And Ptolemy struck and his adversary smiled a huge smile that was full of delight, and he disappeared.
Many years passed. Ptolemy thought often of that day and of those events and finally, after all the years and decades of his glory and his fame, he grew old and small and wizened. His face wrinkled. His back bent and he carried a staff. He put down his power and his cares and he wandered, and after many long weeks, he came upon a young champion at the side of a road, a champion who gloried in his youth and his strength and had never been defeated. “Would you challenge me, young man?” Ptolemy asked.
“Why should I?” the young man asked.
And they fought.”
Michael blinked. He cleared his throat. Frankie looked at him, her brow arched.
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” Michael said.
“There’s more,” Frankie said, “a lot more. There’s a whole section here on the legend of Ptolemy.”
“That idiotic ‘more powerful than you can imagine’ line has been used in a thousand stories for thousands of years. Nobody even knows where it comes from. It certainly didn’t start with me. Also, I wasn’t a lord. I was on the honors list for the next investiture, but I disappeared before it could happen.”
“No truth to it at all?”
“Not that one.”
Frankie pursed her lips. “Care to hear another?”
Michael sighed. “Do I have to?”
Frankie smiled. She read:
“The Azarian Empire took many slaves, raiding the worlds and habitats of The Empire of Mankind. This was after the Swarm had challenged humanity but before the Hirrill made their first incursion into human occupied space.
The Imperator appointed Ptolemy to treat with them, seeking the return of all humans held in captivity.
This was an unusual concession for the Empire, which in the normal course of things, would have presented the Azarians with an ultimatum: cease your incursions into human occupied space; release our people or die. But the conflict with the Swarm had taken many lives and had used many resources. The Empire was not as strong as it had been.
Ptolemy presented his case to the Queen of the Azarians, who offered him a bargain: “Serve me,” she said. “You are one of your people’s greatest generals. Serve me for seven years. Help us defeat our enemies and I will free your people.”
The Azarians’ enemies were a race called the Kliya, a lizard like people who posed a grave threat to both humanity and the Azarians. Ptolemy agreed. He led the fleets and the armies of the Azarians for seven years and at the end of that time, he once again approached the Queen.
“I have served you as agreed,” he said. “Now keep the bargain we have made and free my people.”
The Queen pondered Ptolemy’s request. “I shall free your people, as we agreed,” she said, “but you must realize that in the seven years you have served me, your people have had many children. Those children were not a part of our bargain. I will free the rest but I shall keep the children.” The Queen smiled and leaned forward on her throne. “Unless you serve me for another seven years. At the end of that time, I shall release all of your people and all of their children. I shall release every human being who is left in my domain.”
Ptolemy was angry. “This is not the spirit in which I entered our a
greement,” he said. “This is neither right nor just.”
“I will abide by the letter of our agreement,” the Queen said. “No more.”
Ptolemy sighed. He restrained his anger and he agreed to the Queen’s proposal. By the end of the second seven years, the Kliya were defeated, their worlds in ruins.
“Now free my people,” Ptolemy said to the Queen. “All of them.”
The Queen nodded her head and agreed. For thirty days, every human being in the Azarian Empire gathered together. They entered ships that the Empire of Mankind had sent for this purpose, and led by Ptolemy, floated upward. One day later, as the ships passed the orbit of the Azarian’s farthest habitat, Ptolemy received a transmission from the Azarian Queen.
“I have changed my mind,” the Queen said. “You will land your ships on the nearest habitat. You are too valuable a resource to let go. Land, or be destroyed. You and your people shall serve me forever.”
“Lord Ptolemy,” the ship’s captain said, “a fleet is rising from the planet of the Azarians.”
Ptolemy sighed and raised his arms. “Oh, Lord our God,” he said, “who delivered his people from bondage in Egypt, hear my prayer. Deliver us now from the hand of our oppressor.”
And the sun of the Azarians grew bright, and its light flared, and the sun sent a gout of flame that engulfed the Azarian world and its oncoming fleet. And when the light died, there remained only a blackened cinder where the world of the Azarians had been.
Thus did The Lord High God hear and answer the plea of the Lord Ptolemy, most favored son of the Empire.”
Frankie closed the book and smiled at Michael. “There’s quite a lot about God in this book. He’s mentioned in almost every story. God seems to have had a real fondness for the First Interstellar Empire of Mankind.”
Michael shrugged and seemed for a moment to have trouble meeting Frankie’s eye. “That was a long, long time ago.”
“So, tell me, oh most favored son: any truth to that one?”
“Yes,” Michael said. “There is a little truth to that one.” He smiled. “Just a little.”
The Well of Time Page 13