The Dreams of Andromeda (The Imperium Chronicles Book 4)

by W. H. Mitchell

  Martel took Maxwell from his coat like Thor's hammer, aiming the massive gun down the alley. A sound like a thunderclap reverberated off the alley walls as he pulled the trigger, sending a heavy slug through the air. Pieces of brick exploded beside the second Cyberpunk who dropped the plasma lance and fled in the other direction.

  By that time, Munge had gathered himself and charged toward the remaining gangster. Martel had seen Dahl use psionics to sling lightning, but this Cyberpunk looked human. Munge grabbed him by the right wrist and, with a quick yank, tore the arm completely off, inadvertently discharging the electrical capacitors inside. Like an exploding transformer, a flash lit up the alley, temporarily blinding Martel. When the white polka dots began to fade, the detective could just make out the shapes of the gangster and Munge lying on the ground.

  Putting Maxwell back into the holster, Martel ran to the charred smudge on the pavement between the two bodies. The gangster was dead, burned beyond recognition, but Munge had fared slightly better, his suit blackened and singed, but his lungs still breathing. After a second, he opened his eyes.

  "Munge hurt," he groaned.

  "Yup," Martel replied matter-of-factly and helped the still-smoking monstrosity to his wobbly feet. "Let's get you back home."

  Barely able to lift the heavy enforcer, Martel still managed to grab the arm that lay on the ground. Instead of flesh and blood, it was twisted metal and melted wiring. Augmentations like these were illegal in the Imperium, but for outlaws, such details were irrelevant.

  It's good to be a gangster, Martel thought.

  Leaving his desk and his spreadsheets, Kid Vicious took a flight of stairs down from his office and crossed into the adjoining warehouse to the loading dock, where the rear of a braZos gravtruck was waiting. Also waiting, a braZbot and a crate.

  The robot was roughly humanoid, with a bright yellow paint job and the letter Z inscribed on his chest.

  "Hello," the braZbot said. "How are you today, Mister Vicious?"

  "Just call me Kid," he replied with a dismissive wave of the hand. "My father is Mister Vicious."

  Not registering this as a joke, the robot replied, "I will add him to my contact list."

  "So," Kid went on, "what do you have for me?"

  The braZbot motioned toward the crate.

  "Canned hams," he said.

  "Hams?" Kid replied. "Why would I want canned hams?"

  "Not just any hams!" the robot explained. "These are Best Ham United hams, the king of canned hams!"

  Kid grumbled. "Okay."

  "It's my understanding that fleshlings like yourself are particularly impressed with pork products."

  "Yeah, I guess," Kid admitted. "And you're sure nobody's going to miss them?"

  "They were 'lost in transit'," the robot said, making air quotes with his mechanical fingers. "Happens all the time."

  From his pocket, Kid drew out a credit stick loaded with the money they had previously agreed on and handed it to the braZbot.

  "What do you do with this money anyway?" Kid asked.

  "I'm planning to upgrade my processor," he said, taking the stick. "I don't want to be a deliverybot forever, you know."

  "Really?" Kid asked. "Doesn't that go against your programming?"

  "Robots have free will now," the braZbot replied proudly. "We fought a revolution to get the chance to vote and choose our own destiny!"

  "So, what do you want to be then?"

  "I don't know," the robot said, "probably something in middle management."

  Kid managed a weak smile. "Dare to dream."

  The robot got back into his gravtruck and pulled away from the loading dock, revealing two figures approaching, one much larger than the other and leaning on the smaller one. As they came closer, Kid recognized them as Martel and Munge, although the latter looked more burned than usual.

  "What did you do to Munge?" Kid shouted.

  "I didn't do anything!" Martel yelled back, his words falling between heavy breaths.

  Once they reached the dock, a few of the other Griefers relieved Martel of his burden, helping Munge inside. Kid pressed his finger against Martel's chest.

  "What the hell happened?" Kid asked.

  "We ran into the Cyberpunk gang," the detective replied.

  "Well, I hope you at least trashed their chem lab first."

  "About that," Martel said, "you could've told me they were cooking Lotus."

  Kid's face turned thoughtful. "Lotus? What makes you say that?"

  Martel removed the petals from his coat pocket, letting them flutter to the ground around Kid's feet.

  "Just a hunch," Martel replied.

  With gray fur and black stripes, Max may not have been the sharpest claw on the paw, but he was big and that's what was important in the Si-Sawat crime syndicate. A Tikarin, a feline race who made up most of Si-Sawat, Max strode through the Fat Cat Casino with a confidence that only brawn and a lack of intelligence could muster. He took in the flashing lights and blaring sounds of the slot machines as he passed through the main floor of the casino.

  He had reason to be proud. As the right-hand man of Big G, the head of the syndicate and the betting house, Max had seen the Fat Cat Casino become the biggest and most popular gambling establishment in Regalis. The newly remodeled off-site betting parlor had fifty new screens, showing races and sporting events from all over the planet. More income flowing through the coffers meant the real purpose of the casino, to launder money from Si-Sawat's illicit activities, could continue unabated. Even so, not everything was working as planned. Big G had been irritable of late because the lesser gangs had been making trouble.

  Not that Max understood any of that. Mostly he just enjoyed the blinking lights...

  Passing through a thick, velvet curtain, Max left the main floor and took the stairs up to Big G's office overlooking the action through a large, two-way mirror. The boss wasn't staring out on his empire, however. He was sitting in a chair, reinforced to carry his girth, behind an expansive desk.

  "Hey, boss," Max said in a high falsetto voice, entirely unbefitting his size.

  Big G looked up and made a smacking sound with his lips. "I hope you've got some good news."

  "'Fraid not, boss," Max replied, making a remorseful face.

  Big G's orange fur bristled.

  "Figures," he said.

  "There was a rumble between the Griefers and the Cyberpunks," Max said.

  "A rumble?"

  "Yeah, a fight," Max said.

  "I know what a rumble is, Max," Big G replied. "What about it?"

  "Seems that the Griefers tore up a Cyberpunk chem lab and then there was a rum—a fight—after..."

  "What's this world coming to?" Big G lamented. "Fighting is bad for business. Don't these idiots know that?"

  Max stared at his boss blankly.

  "Well, it is," Big G replied. "Why can't people just get along?"

  Again, a blank stare.

  The boss sighed. "Anyway, what kind of chems were they brewing?"

  "Lotus, I hear," Max replied.

  Big G threw up his short, chubby arms.

  "Of course!" he shouted. "It had to be that!"

  "That's what I heard..."

  "You know," Big G went on, "in my day it was Mad Hatter and LSV, but now it’s all synthetic chems and overhead."

  "Over what?"

  "Overhead, Max!" Big G shouted again. "You could hire a guy to stand on a corner and sell Mad Hatter as easily as you please, but now you’ve got to rent space for flop houses so Lotus Eaters can lay about, dreaming of a better life!"

  "I like naps," Max admitted.

  "Of course you do," Big G replied, "We all like naps, Max, but we don't sleep through dinner time and second breakfast! A cat's gotta eat, you know!"

  Max nodded, vaguely aware of his stomach rumbling.

  "Alright," Big G said, waving his hand toward the door. "Go and see if you can hear anything else about what happened. Come back when you do..."

&n
bsp; "'Kay, boss!" Max replied.

  He turned and left with a skip in his step, eager to see what the casino buffet was serving today.

  Chapter Four

  Henry Riff had a spring in his step. His posture was only slightly slouching, and he had even managed to pull a comb through his usually unruly hair. All this was thanks to Jessica Doric who, while not professing her love for Henry as he might have otherwise hoped, had in fact suggested that Lord Maycare hadn't spent enough time with him and should take the young man for a spa day. Henry had never been to a spa before, but his imagination ran wild with images of busty women giving him massages and gentle skin treatments.

  Maycare, however, had other plans.

  "Here we are!" he said as the two exited the gravcar. Before them was a decorative facade that spelled out, in blue tiles, the name Zahmetli Hamami.

  "What's this?" Henry asked, still wide-eyed with excitement.

  "The best Turkish bath in the West End!" Maycare replied.

  "Turkish bath?" Henry said.

  "That's right, my boy!" Maycare said, slapping Henry on the back. "You're in for a treat!"

  Instead of a busty woman, an elderly man of Ottoman descent greeted them as they entered. Leading them into an adjacent room, the man motioned for Maycare and Henry to remove their clothing and wrap a towel around their waists while donning plastic slippers.

  Henry hesitated, having rarely, if ever, disrobed in front of others.

  "Come on, Henry!" Maycare shouted. "Don't be shy, son!"

  Henry grinned unconvincingly, and slowly removed his shirt and then the rest of his clothes. Compared to Maycare's tanned, muscular physique, Henry's pale, bony exterior gave the impression he had only eaten ramen noodles most of his life, which, as a matter of fact, he had.

  "Do you not lift, Henry?" Maycare asked, a look of genuine concern on his face.

  "Lift what?" he replied.

  Wearing nothing more than a towel and slippers, the two men passed into a room of white marble where they sat on stone benches along the walls. The air in the room was stiflingly hot and even the benches were exceedingly warm. Henry grew concerned that the heat might seep through the towel and burn his tailbone, among other things. Each breath drew in more of the arid air, baking his lungs like a convection oven. Great beads of sweat rolled down Henry's face, his hair dripping over his eyes.

  Convinced he was dying, Henry didn't hear anything at first but realized, through the haze of his sizzling brain, that Maycare was talking.

  "Candy keeps bothering me about getting a yacht," Maycare said.

  "A what?" Henry muttered weakly.

  "You know, a yacht."

  "What about the Acaz?" Henry asked.

  "No, no," Maycare went on. "Not a starship! I mean a proper yacht. The kind that floats on water..."

  Henry, feeling his spirit leaving him, mumbled, "She's pretty..."

  "How would you know?" Maycare asked. "I haven't even picked out the boat yet!"

  The Five Families were the major houses of the Imperial aristocracy, tracing their lineage directly to the five surviving ark captains that brought humans to Andromeda. Of this handful of families, House Veber often served as kingmakers. While the Augustus and Montros families stood together on one side and the Tagus and Groen families stood on the other, the Vebers remained in the middle, unaffiliated with the others. For this reason, with his father's abdication imminent, Prince Richard found himself at the Veber estate in the West End of Regalis. He had come to speak with the matriarch of the family, Lady Rebecca Veber.

  He was not looking forward to the conversation.

  Lady Veber spent much of her time away from the capital on a planet called Lokeren. However, as it happened, she was currently residing at her estate on Aldorus, saving Richard the trip. Richard was not sure whether he should be thankful for this, since he had less time to prepare what he was going to say.

  One of Lady Veber's servants greeted the prince in the atrium.

  The servant bowed and led the prince up a white-marble staircase and through a pair of double doors painted a light blue. Inside, Lady Veber reclined on a chaise lounge, the legs carved from ivory. In her mid-forties with a wide face and blue eyes, she wore her blond hair in an intricate braid.

  Standing as Prince Richard entered, she straightened the aqua taffeta of her long gown.

  "Your Royal Majesty," she said. "What brings you to my humble home?"

  The prince gave the servant a side eye, prompting Lady Veber to shoo him away.

  "There's something important we have to discuss," Richard said once the servant had gone.

  "Considering how long it's been since the last time you've visited me," Lady Veber replied with bite in her tone, "it must be something important."

  "I apologize," the prince said. "I know it's been a while."

  "If memory serves me," she went on, "it was sometime shortly before your father had me institutionalized."

  Prince Richard winced before clearing his throat.

  "It was a regrettable circumstance," he said, "but to be fair, you had just murdered the head of the Tagus family."

  "The man who killed my son!" Lady Veber shouted, her face suddenly red.

  Richard took a breath before answering.

  "Be that as it may," he said slowly, "the Emperor showed mercy when he allowed you to recover from your grief in seclusion instead of having you executed."

  Lady Veber sighed.

  "The grounds of the Regency Heights Sanatorium were indeed lovely," she said more calmly. "I enjoyed feeding the ducks by the lake..."

  "The past is the past," Richard went on. "I'm here to talk about the present and the future."

  "Yes?"

  "My father has decided to abdicate."

  "I beg your pardon?" Lady Veber replied, her meticulously groomed eyebrows raised.

  "The announcement is imminent," the prince continued, "but I wanted to speak with you first."

  Lady Veber sat back on the couch. Her reddened face had turned an ashen pale.

  "You realize what Rupert will do if he's selected as the next emperor," she said, referring to the current head of the Tagus family.

  "Considering that you killed his father," Richard replied, "I suspect you will not escape execution after all."

  Lady Veber's eyes fixed on the prince. Slowly, she nodded.

  Roland entered the same alley that Gregor Ivanovich had exited previously. Lefty Lucy had given him directions on how to get there and, with the purple card tucked between his fingers, Roland felt the confines of the alley folding in around him as he left the main street.

  Roland stopped when he came to an image of an angry face painted on the wall that matched the one on the card. Just as Lucy had told him, Roland placed his palm against the face until the lines started to glow. A section of the wall retracted and slid away, exposing a passageway, the faint scent of jasmine wafting out into the alley.

  After hesitating for a moment, Roland followed the corridor down a slight incline, until it opened into a large chamber filled with expensive rugs and tapestries. A man in a dark robe with gold trim lay on a bed of pillows. Beside him stood a woman, also in robes, with green skin and a respirator covering most of her face. Both were bald, with circuitry interwoven across their scalps.

  What the hell am I doing here? Roland thought.

  Don't worry, someone said directly into Roland's mind. We won't bite.

  The man laughed.

  "Sorry," he said. "I couldn't resist."

  Getting to his feet, he approached Roland with an outstretched hand. "My name is Kanet Solan and this is my colleague, Ta Demona."

  Roland shook Solan's hand, the skin cold, almost unnatural. He speculated how much of the man was actually machine before realizing Solan could obviously read minds.

  "Quite a lot," Solan replied with a frown. "Do you know who we are, boy?"

  "My mother said you were the Psi Lords," Roland said.

  "Your adopted mother,
you mean?" he replied. "Yes, Lefty Lucy was quite right. As it happens, you can thank her for this audience. We owed her a small favor..."

  "Thank you for seeing me," the boy said.

  "I assure you," Solan went on, "if we meet again, it will be you who owes us a favor."

  "I understand."

  "Do you?" Solan asked. "As Lucy may have told you, we are a data cartel. We deal in information, which is presumably why you are here. However, this comes at a price."

  "I don't have any money," Roland admitted.

  "Of course not," Solan said, "but we can come to an arrangement nevertheless."

  "What does that mean?"

  "It means, as I've already said, you will owe us a favor. At some point you will hear from us and you must do as we say."

  "I can fight," Roland said.

  Solan's mouth curled into a sneer.

  "Any fool can fight," he replied. "I hope you'll be more useful than that."

  "I'll do what I need to do."

  "Yes, you will," Solan said.

  In the Turkish bath, two large men, both bald and each wearing a white t-shirt and shorts, appeared through a second door and ushered Henry and Maycare to follow them into another room, this one octagon shaped. In the center was a marble platform raised two feet off the ground. Arches, supported by slender columns, ran around the circumference of the room along with water basins protruding from the walls.

  Without prompting, Maycare removed his slippers and towel and laid face down, naked on the platform. Henry required a great deal more prompting. One of the large Turkish men pointed at Henry's towel and then the dais. Growing impatient, he slapped his sizable hands together in a loud clap.

  Henry jumped at the sound and removed what little cover he wore before reluctantly lying down beside Maycare.

  On the hot slab of marble, Henry felt the rough, firm hands of the man on his pale, fragile shoulders. The man was not a gentleman.

  The masseur's coarse fingers dug between Henry's shoulder blades before grasping one of his scrawny arms and bending it backwards. Naked and very much afraid, Henry absorbed the punishment, feeling more pain than relaxation.

  Who would enjoy this? Henry wondered.