by Blaze Ward
“Successor-in-interest?” Isaev turned savvy.
Probably surprised that a poor tribal woman like her understood the term.
That the Free Worlds wasn’t as racist or sexist as the Sept Empire wasn’t a particularly high bar to clear, and an entire tribal nation ruled by Central African Diaspora women was probably utterly exotic to the man.
“Myself,” Daniel spoke up, using a dry, superior tone that suggested he might be wealthy enough to buy this station if he chose. “Through the vagaries of inheritance, I now own the entire collection, and have no interest in it whatsoever, either to maintain, or to even own. Thus I have retained the Commander to handle the chore.”
She liked the way Daniel stared at the man for a long beat before continuing.
“That and the fact that some of these craft apparently represent manufacturing technologies that neither the Free Worlds nor the Sept can currently replicate,” Daniel smiled. “My predecessors preferred alien technologies wherever possible. Some of them I cannot sell off because they are immobile in their current location and I have no interest in letting those coordinates be known, lest pirates decide to become involved.”
“They are at risk?” Isaev asked, perking up.
“I would prefer not to annihilate any more fools, going forward,” Daniel replied evenly. “Even pirates who probably have it coming.”
Kathra held the chuckle deep in her stomach, lest Isaev think she was mocking him.
Daniel had only killed one person, as far as she knew. But Urid-Varg might have been the worst xenocide in history, if even a portion of the stories were true.
“So the price you listed for the ship is merely a guess?” Isaev asked after nearly swallowing his tongue.
“The ship is unique in this sector of space,” Kathra countered. “Research we have done suggests that it was manufactured some one hundred and fifty to two hundred years ago, roughly seven hundred to a thousand light-years spinward and closer to the galactic core, by a species that may or may not be related to the upynth, either as an offshoot or via convergent evolution.”
“And it flies?” the man breathed as Kathra set the hook and slowly began to reel.
“We brought it aboard station from WinterStar to demonstrate that, Factor Isaev,” she said. “There are three others aboard my ship at present, which will also go onto the auction block at some point, but we decided to set a relatively low price for this ship up front, as a way of demonstrating to the Free Worlds what value we have.”
“And you contacted me directly, rather than auctioning this one?” he asked, suddenly suspicious.
Gift horses, and all that.
“You have a reputation as a collector, Factor,” she smiled primly. “The other individuals we might have talked to merely had money, and perhaps a willingness to joust with you at an auction just to make you pay more for something they didn’t really desire.”
He paused, studying her much more closely, Daniel almost forgotten. Possibly seeing her as more of an equal now, and not just a peasant arrived hat in hand to ask a favor.
Commander Omezi was offering a favor, instead. There was power in that sort of role reversal, and he had only just grasped that.
Men and their vanities. But then, fake hair, fake tan, fake smile.
Only the enormous wealth was real.
“What do you really want?” he finally asked, having processed any number of alternatives as she watched his eyes.
“Freedom,” Daniel spoke up, further roiling the waters. “My new partners are willing to explore deep into the galactic interior for some reasons I wish to pursue, but that will be an expensive proposition. I have a collection of ships that do not interest me. Converting them to cash, or other possibilities frees me up to pursue my mission.”
“Other possibilities?” he asked, perhaps missing Daniel’s reference to new partners.
Daniel turned to Kathra now and smiled, ceding the conversation again after disturbing Isaev.
She wondered how closely he was reading the man, and if it was within Daniel’s ethics right now to make adjustments to the mind of Mikhail Isaev that left him more interested in doing a deal. It might even be possible to twist the stranger hard enough to make him sign anything, but she knew Daniel would see that as the left hand of evil.
It was no more acceptable to do those things to a woman than they were to a man, but Daniel might see a wedge of daylight there, with a cut-throat businessman who might already be planning to cheat them later.
Just another reason she had brought him.
“We need the ability to travel far from friendly TradeStations, Factor,” Kathra said. “Most of my ships are self-sufficient as a tribal squadron, but we would like to explore the possibility of commissioning some new designs.”
“And I own the largest ships foundry in the sector,” he smiled at her, suddenly understanding. “The level of trust between the two of you appears impressive, Commander.”
“It is.”
She smiled, understanding that he would, of course, try to break that bond later, never considering that she had been inside Daniel’s mind, and he in hers, to know how they must pursue this mission.
Daniel didn’t want to go back to the Sept Empire. Might never be able to, unless he could convince those officials that he didn’t know anything useful from his time traveling with them, when the Sept Fleet seemed intent on chasing her.
But he also had a Star Turtle that would need to be dealt with. Somehow.
And all the potential to turn into a Mad God that came with it.
“So you wish to sell this one vessel for cash?” Isaev said, leaning back and calculating angles. “And then, having attracted my attention, possibly do a private deal for the rest, with payment in upgrades and new tonnage for your squadron?”
“It will be a long, dangerous journey, to see things no human alive has ever witnessed, Factor,” Kathra said. “We need to talk about commissioning a warship.”
Eight
Amirin Pasdar would still be a naupati in command, at least on paper. He would continue to command Septagon Vorgash, but he would do so in a different manner than he had before.
Looking around his office, nothing had changed. And yet, everything had.
The Great Ships, for all their terrible firepower, were essentially defensive weapons, even on the attack. You parked in orbit of a planet you wished to control, and allowed the Axial Megacannon to simply awe them into submission, perhaps after destroying a city or two from orbit if they chose to resist, just to make your point.
He could not chase down a fleeing vessel, as speed on the valence drives was a factor of the same mass that made a Septagon such a dangerous weapon. And the Patrols that fanned out like wolfpacks could only drive off the pirates, calling in the Fleet once such a world as hosted them had been identified.
Pasdar could not do that here.
The Mbaysey were not tied to a single star system. They could mine the resources they generally needed from any average solar system, crushing up asteroids and small moons for solids, and finding water in the frozen depths. Any sufficiently-large gas or ice giant and patience would see them most of the trace gases they needed as well.
Only bulk production of food and advanced electronics prevented them from leaving human space forever.
So Pasdar was functionally promoted to argbadh now, commanding a flotilla of vessels, rather than just the Septagon around him and the usual two Patrols of smaller craft that he could use as scouts. He would need half a dozen Patrols on this mission. That required the attachment of over fifty other vessels to his normal force, just to supply the food, fuel, and supplies that four hundred thousand soldiers and support staff consumed on any given day.
Squadrons of cargo vessels would fly to and fro regularly. Those would require escorts, bases, resupply of their own.
He felt like an ancient general, planning a campaign of conquest down off the Persian plateau in pursuit of one of the ancient mobs of
horsemen that had once run wild across the grasslands of the north.
Pasdar had studied his enemy in preparation for this mission almost as closely as he had studied the history of such things. They were almost never successful.
Instead, some would-be conqueror would build a fort or two at a spot and the barbarians would simply ride out of sight rather than offering battle. After enough time, such large armies would have to march somewhere else to put down uprisings or conquer other cities, leaving the new city weak.
The barbarians, depending, could then either demand trade, or simply sack the place, if they chose. In many instances, trade had been more dangerous over the long term, because the merchants then began to demand more trade and less taxes.
Unless you successfully built a sophisticated bureaucracy, empires built on the personality of one man were like sand castles, rising in the morning but gone when the afternoon tide returned.
Amirin Pasdar was not trying to conquer new domains for his emperor to try and hold. No, he was only to pursue the woman. That much had been communicated to him by the Vuzurgan himself.
Kathra Omezi was a footnote, as far as Pasdar was really concerned. The entire Mbaysey tribe were just minor rebels that had never been important enough to deal with, and even today had not risen to that level.
But she had found allies. Powerful, unknown, obviously alien. Before their spy had been discovered and presumably executed, they had been told that they would find something at Azgon. Something magical, and equally dangerous.
Septagon Uwalu had found a turtle. One capable of shrugging off Ram Cannon fire. And smart enough to dodge the terrible beam of the Axial Megacannon.
But then it had done…something.
Reports were generally consistent enough to be accepted as truth, as much truth as the soldiers interviewed were capable of explaining. A primal scream that everyone on the vessel seemed to hear at the same instant.
Rage so great that power systems and computers failed and rebooted themselves, rendering all sensor data broken and suspect.
And then, one final message communicated: You will never catch me.
Pasdar’s orders stated that he didn’t need to catch this creature, whoever he was. Pasdar only needed to pursue him. Identify him as a species and a location.
Determine if the Sept Fleet should return with an entire battle squadron of Septagons, something they had not formed in decades, in order to eliminate any threat posed by that vessel and its ilk, as it knew enough to fear the Axial Megacannon.
What could an entire squadron do?
Pasdar nodded to himself, alone in his office, and rose.
Exiting, he crossed the many corridors to the Command Node of the great vessel, the place where twenty men commanded the one thousand who in turn led three hundred thousand.
Troopers only registered his progress by opening hatchways as he approached, closing them after he passed. One of them would notify the Node that he was coming, but they should already expect that, as he was only four minutes early for the shift he had scheduled.
Was it excitement that drove him?
That itself was an interesting datum to consider. Was the thrill of the hunt capable of changing him from who he had been into someone new? Amirin Pasdar had no doubt that he would need to think in new patterns in order to deal with Kathra Omezi as well as to understand her new ally.
Perhaps he would indeed need to become a new person in order to succeed where he and others had failed. Perhaps others had chased her with classical Sept rules that she knew as well as they did, and thus were always destined to failure?
Pasdar made a note to meditate on the concept during his next rest period.
He entered the Command Node via the Great Causeway, taking in the whole of the horseshoe-shaped bridge at a glance. Below him was a deck as he walked, two groups of officers seated in semi-darkness under his balcony, with oversized screens set so that he could walk over and stand above an officer should he choose. Thus the twenty were always at hand to take his orders.
His aspbad was on duty today, rather than one of his marzbans, as this would be a momentous event. Hadi Rostami rose from his lesser command chair as Pasdar entered and turned to face his commander.
Technically, even a vessel as large as a Septagon was only under the command of an aspbad, just as Patrol squadrons were. The naupati commanded the entire force, but he did so from an aspbad’s deck.
Pasdar had selected Rostami personally, after his predecessor had retired. Although he was named for a great warrior from history, this descendent was more of a scholar, tall and skinny, compared to Pasdar’s own powerful build. It was his mind that Pasdar required, as Hadi Rostami was one of the most intelligent men Amirin had ever met, capable of tracking an impossible number of threads and details simultaneously as Pasdar needed them.
The man came to attention and smiled silently.
Pasdar smiled back. He studied the backs of heads below him, and the few screens he could see, but the lower deck was generally in shadows.
“Status?” Pasdar asked simply as he came to rest in front of the man, both of them standing in front of the Command Thrones from which they controlled their respective charges.
“All vessels ready for departure, Naupati,” Rostami replied quietly, proudly, for his name would share some of the glory of this mission. “Two staging depots have been established forward for rendezvous and are awaiting further orders.”
Pasdar took a deep breath and considered the endless darkness out the bow of Septagon Vorgash, those unknown seas he must sail on the greatest voyage of exploration in more than a century.
He would make his name, either as a hero or a fool. Thus had the elders of the Empire chosen him.
Amirin Pasdar would ensure that his name was never forgotten.
“All vessels transition to valence drives,” he ordered.
History awaited.
Nine
Daniel’s head hurt, but a glass of wine was helping grind that sharp edge down to a duller one right now. Still, he had been focused on that Trade Factor long enough to have left a sour, dirty taste in his mouth.
Some of Kathra’s good Malbec was the cure.
They had flown back to WinterStar after the meeting, the comitatus again scrambled and flying escort, since it would be generally known that the Commander was aboard the strange craft. Nobody had bothered them, and WinterStar had withdrawn to a distance Kathra had considered safe.
Daniel would have liked to have brought the Turtle with them, but he understood the need to hide it from prying eyes. He just had to remember not to become psychologically dependent on the craft.
He was alone in his quarters with the bottle, having had enough of everyone else, thank you very much, so the knock at the hatch was not particularly welcome. He considered reaching out with his mind to see who it was, but that sounded like even more work than just opening the damned thing with the switch by his bed. There were only so many people it might be.
The Commander entered and closed the hatch, so he would have been right on his second guess and Daniel considered that a win here.
At least she caught him drinking alone with a glass, rather than straight from the bottle.
Daniel looked around his chambers and sighed. He rarely spent time here, except to sleep, so it was still as impersonal as the day he moved in nearly a year ago. No art. No collections of gadgets, like most people accumulate. Just a bed, a chair, an end table, and a footlocker for his clothes.
He was seated on the bed. Kathra took the chair.
“Would you prefer the glass or the bottle?” he asked as she settled herself.
“That bad?” she asked.
Daniel handed her the half-full glass.
“Mikhail Isaev is a shit of the first order, Commander,” Daniel said. “Reading the man like an open book just meant that I knew where to apply pressure and how to do it effectively. He’d still cheat you in a moment if he thought he could.”
“What happened at the restaurant?”
“There was someone,” he replied, feeling a cold spike of something go through him at the memory. “They had something similar to the gem that I inherited from Urid-Varg, but much less powerful. They touched me briefly, almost as if confirming who I was, and then retreated from my power before I could find them again.”
“Another Mnapyre?” She took a sip, mostly companionably it seemed, rather than striving to get as drunk as he was aiming for.
“There are no more,” Daniel said decisively. “I killed the last of them.”
“As far as he knew,” she corrected.
“As far as he knew, yes,” Daniel agreed. “But he had outlived his species by several millennia, so I think it must be someone else.”
“Who?”
Daniel took a long pull from the bottle and let the warm redness tamp down the jolt of fear that wanted to run through his body like electricity.
“I have only his ghosts,” Daniel began. “You killed the thing that had his mental matrix inscribed on it, so I cannot tap his memories, except as they were somehow shared with his victims.”
“And?”
She sipped.
“I think he was fleeing from someone,” Daniel said. “The z'lud are the key.”
“How so?” she leaned forward and focused those dark, deadly eyes on his flesh.
“He ruled them for centuries,” Daniel said. “Destroyed them as a nation, effectively, some five or six thousand years ago. After that, he never tried to take over an entire nation and rule it for a long time. He might stay for a time, looting and doing whatever sordid things caught his fancy, but then he would move on again. Not until he got to the K'bari did he try, and that blew up eventually, too.”
“Someone was chasing him?” she leaned forward, brow furrowed. The patterns buzzed into her short hair were distracting enough to catch his eye for a moment, before he pulled things back down to her face.
“Quite possibly, yes,” Daniel nodded. “Who, or for what reason eludes me, but it is probably a thing to consider, going forward. You are probably at risk, though.”