The Dreams of Andromeda (The Imperium Chronicles Book 4)

by W. H. Mitchell

  "What?" Doric asked.

  "He called us from Ashetown," Candy went on, "but we haven't heard from him since."

  Although Doric was not surprised to hear something terrible had happened to Lord Groen, she made an effort to be helpful. "Have you talked to the police?"

  Candy scoffed. "They've been no help at all! I think they're afraid to go into Ashetown."

  "I have a man," Maycare said, placing his hand on Candy's knee. "Maybe he could look into it for you..."

  "The detective?" Henry asked.

  "Martel," Maycare replied. "He'll know what to do!"

  For countless years, the city of Regalis had dumped its trash in a corner of Ashetown called the Boneyards. Mounds of discarded machines and decommissioned robots became mountains of corroded parts and forgotten refuse. With every rain, the water filled with rust and seeped into the surrounding dirt, turning the ground into reddish mud.

  When Thomas Martel opened his eyes, his face was planted neatly in the crimson clay, streaks of it in his hair and smeared across his face. His body hurt, especially his head which pounded like someone was striking him again and again with a ball peen hammer.

  A few feet away, Maxwell’s brushed chrome lay partially submerged in a puddle. Wearily, Martel got to his feet to retrieve the gun and only then noticed someone lying in the mud on the other side. From the clothes, he looked like Shady O'Shea, although identification was difficult since the top of his head appeared to be gone.

  Martel recognized the damage Maxwell could do.

  Above a ridge of broken refrigerators, three gravcars bearing the insignia of the Regalis PD rose like the heads of a hydra with flashing red and blue lights. For a moment, Martel considered running, but there was really no point. The police would gladly have shot him before he went more than a few steps.

  "Don't move!" a commanding voice said over a loudspeaker. "Stay where you are!"

  Martel complied.

  Several hours later, he was sitting with his hands shackled to a metal table in a windowless room while two homicide detectives paced back and forth. Martel knew their real names from when he was on the Force, but he preferred to call them Wingus and Dingus.

  "Let's go over this again," Detective Dingus said.

  "You don't know it by heart by now?" Martel asked.

  Police protocol normally called for hitting the suspect with a phone book at this point, but since nobody used phone books anymore, Detective Wingus jabbed an electrical prod into Martel's stomach. The device had to be recharged after each interrogation, but it didn't leave a mark, so the result was the same. For his part, Martel felt every muscle in his body burn like they had set him on fire.

  After his muscles unclenched, he scowled at his abuser.

  "You must have a hell of an electricity bill," Martel said through gritted teeth.

  Wingus snickered, pointing at the table where a clear evidence bag contained an unloaded Maxwell.

  "That cannon there was fired twice, and you had gunpowder residue on your hands," he said. "We've got you dead to rights..."

  "I don't suppose Gelatinous Bob vouched for me?" Martel asked.

  "We talked to him," Dingus replied. "He said he never met you."

  Damn good lemonade though, Martel thought.

  "Now tell us why you killed O'Shea!" Wingus shouted, pounding on the table.

  "How did you know I was there in the Boneyards?" Martel asked instead.

  "Anonymous tip—" Wingus started before Dingus cut him off.

  "Never mind that," Dingus said, "this has been a long time coming, Martel, ever since you cut out on your partner and the department."

  Still muddy from lying in the dirt, Martel glared up at the homicide detective.

  "From where I'm sitting," Martel said, "it's better to be knee deep in my own muck than whatever you two are swimming in."

  Wingus gave the detective another jolt from the electric prod when the door opened and two men stood in the doorway. One was a lawyer type in a suit while the other was Lord Maycare.

  "What the hell is this?" Dingus asked.

  The lawyer shoved a datapad into his hands. "We have a court order for Mister Martel's immediate release on bail."

  "We're not done with him yet!" Wingus protested.

  "Yes, you are," Maycare said. "Now undo those handcuffs..."

  Reluctantly, Dingus unlocked the shackles and Martel joined Maycare and the lawyer in the doorway.

  "What about Maxwell?" Martel asked.

  "I'm afraid that's still evidence," the lawyer said. "You can get it back after the trial."

  Between the two sneering detectives, Maxwell sat alone in the evidence bag on the table. Martel gave the gun a final glance before leaving, nodding to the weapon as if to say, "I'll be seeing you soon."

  In the Imperial palace, the television in the Emperor's private residence had such high resolution, Prince Richard could count the pores on Sylvia Flax's nose as she spoke.

  "In a stunning development," she said on the screen, "VOX News has learned that Prince Richard has nominated himself at the Imperial Conclave. This unprecedented action has sent shock waves throughout the government. Meanwhile, Lady Veber has temporarily suspended the conclave while its members deliberate on what to do next..."

  "Well," the Emperor remarked while giving his son the side eye, "you've really screwed it up this time."

  Richard adjusted uncomfortably in his chair.

  "I don't think so," the prince said after a pause.

  "Lilith is responsible for this, isn't she?" the Emperor asked. "This has her fingerprints all over it."

  "It was my decision, Father. I don't appreciate you dragging my wife into this conversation."

  "Sounds like she dragged you into this conversation..."

  "Lilith is at the hospital with contractions," Richard continued. "She could have the baby at any moment."

  "Mazel tov!" the Emperor remarked. "A bit early though, isn't she?"

  Richard tried his best not to scowl at his father. "Yes."

  "Don't be cross, boy," the Emperor said. "Family comes before all this other nonsense..."

  "Exactly!" Richard replied. "Why do you think I nominated myself? I wanted my son to be safe from people like Tagus!"

  "Then why not support Olivia Montros?" the Emperor asked.

  "You know her as well as any of us," Richard said. "Sometimes I think she'd be just as bad as Rupert."

  "Careful," his father replied. "Your mother was a Montros. You're a product of both our houses, Augustus and Montros."

  "But Olivia is not my mother and I don't trust her to run the Imperium as well as you or I."

  "What makes you think you'd be a better emperor?"

  "What do you think I've been doing for years now?" Richard replied. "Whenever you were loath to make decisions, I had to do it for you!"

  The old man rose from his chair, his eyes trained on his son. "How dare you!"

  "It's the truth," Richard replied coolly.

  A tired sigh escaped from the Emperor's chest.

  "Perhaps you're right," he said. "I may be guilty of coasting of late, but that doesn't mean you can throw tradition aside whenever it suits you. Withdraw your nomination before you destroy what we've been building here for centuries."

  Richard stood and bowed his head to his father.

  "I'll think about it," the prince replied.

  "You do that," the Emperor said, putting a hand on Richard's shoulder. "In the meantime, go see your wife at the hospital. I was too busy being emperor to be there when you were born..."

  Maycare's private gravcar dropped Martel at the corner of Marlowe and Vine. Although his shirt and pants were still splattered with mud, the detective went down to the Sous-Sol instead of up to his office. He decided that he needed a drink more badly than a fresh change of clothes.

  "You look worse than usual," Red remarked, pouring a shot of whiskey at the bar.

  "Thanks," Martel replied, taking a seat on the closes
t stool.

  The detective downed the shot and motioned for another, which Red graciously obliged.

  "Somebody came in and said Shady was dead," the bartender said. "They were saying you did it."

  "Would that bother you?" Martel asked. "Having a murderer across the bar?"

  Red shrugged.

  "I've served worse," he said. "Besides, as far as I'm concerned, humans killing humans is a helluva start..."

  Martel drank the second shot slower than the first.

  "Somebody else killed Shady," he said, "but they used Maxwell to do it."

  "Well, I never saw the need for guns myself," Red replied, showing off his fists, "not when I have these." He reached behind the bar and pulled out an oversized meat cleaver. "Also, this..."

  Red took a hack at the top of the bar, leaving the blade buried in the wood. Martel leaned back on his stool.

  "So, what happened?" the bartender asked, pouring more whiskey.

  Extending his arm as far as he could, Martel retrieved the shot glass.

  "I went to see Gelatinous Bob," he said, "and asked him some questions about my case."

  "He hates being called that."

  "So I gathered," Martel replied. "He slipped me a mickey and I woke up in the Boneyards."

  "What about Shady?"

  "He was lying next to me with half his head blown off."

  "Sure you didn't do it?" Red asked.

  Martel finished the drink and set the glass upside down on the bar.

  "Of course not!" he said. "There were two shots fired from Maxwell. They killed Shady with the first and probably put the gun in my hand for the second, just so the residue was on my skin."

  "Seems like they went to a lot of trouble just for calling him Bob."

  "Maybe," Martel said, not sure if Red was being facetious, "but I think he didn't like the questions I was asking."

  "So, why aren't you still in jail?" Red asked.

  "My client got me out."

  "Must be nice to be human," Red replied. "I'd still be rotting in my cell."

  "He also gave me more work to do," Martel went on, oblivious to the bartender's comment. "There's a missing lord he wants me to find."

  "Well, good luck with that..."

  For the first time, Martel became dimly aware of someone else in the Sous-Sol. Behind him, he spotted a tall, dark shape in one of the booths. In the flickering light of the candle on the table, Mister Munge's burned face appeared in and out of the shadows.

  "What is Munge doing here?" Martel asked Red.

  The bartender shrugged. "Louis hired him."

  "For what?"

  "Bouncer."

  Martel's eyebrow went up. "There's never anybody in here to bounce..."

  "What can I tell you?" Red replied, losing patience. "I guess Louis felt sorry for the bastard now that the Griefers are kaput."

  Since hearing the news about Kid being killed, Martel hadn't had much time to process the repercussions, but seeing Munge in the bar would not have been one of them. The detective crossed the room and sat across the booth from the newly minted bouncer.

  "Sorry about Kid," Martel said, lying out of courtesy.

  Munge grumbled something unintelligible.

  "But at least you got a job here," Martel said, "for some reason..."

  "Munge grateful."

  "Maybe it's the whiskey talking but if you're looking for extra work, I might have a job for you."

  Munge stayed silent, but Martel was keenly away of the man's eyes burning into him.

  "I lost Maxwell recently," the detective continued, "so I could use someone with a little muscle in case things go sideways."

  "You want Munge as enforcer?"

  Martel coughed into his hand. "Let's just say bodyguard for now."

  To his surprise, Martel watched as a smile cracked the seared face across the booth.

  In the southern part of the West End, Saint Eligius Royal Hospital rose like a brick monolith of mercy and medical expertise. St. Eligius catered exclusively to the rich and powerful of Imperial society, including the Emperor's own family. When Prince Richard arrived at the maternity ward late in the day, the head nursebot accosted him with multiple mechanical arms flailing in the air.

  "Lady Lilith is already in the delivery room!" the egg-shaped robot shouted, hovering a few feet off the ground. "We need you to scrub up immediately!"

  Richard followed in a daze, his eyes overstimulated by noises and faces blurring past him. Leading him into a small alcove, the nursebot directed the prince to roll up his shirt and stick his arms into a pair of sleeve-like devices. After flashes of ultraviolet light sterilized his skin, Richard removed his arms and donned gloves and a medical gown. Moments later, he was standing in a delivery room like a surreal dreamscape. Wires and cords stretched to infinity, and faceless people filled the room like ghosts.

  "Over here," someone said weakly.

  Richard recognized the voice coming from the person lying on the table, but both the tone and seeing Lilith's ashen face created such a discrepancy in his mind that he could not bring himself to believe what he saw or heard.

  "Get over here!" Lilith repeated, promptly removing any doubt.

  Richard appeared at her side as if carried across the room by her will alone. A sheet hanging across her chest served as a barrier between Lilith and what the medical staff were doing, providing a degree of privacy between the patient and her husband.

  "How are you feeling?" Richard asked.

  "I've been in labor for hours," Lilith replied. "How do you think?"

  "I'm sorry," he said. "My father wanted to berate me about the conclave. He thinks I should withdraw my nomination..."

  She stared at him. "And what did you say?"

  "I said I'd think about it."

  Lilith screamed, sending Richard backwards on his heels.

  "The baby's coming!" one of the doctors shouted.

  "Come closer," Lilith said, biting her lip. Richard hesitated but leaned his ear as close as he dared, slightly concerned she might bite it off. On the contrary, however, her voice was soft.

  "I've been thinking about his name," she said, nearly whispering.

  "Yes?"

  "I'd like us to name him Mason, after my father..."

  Richard nodded. "That's a good name."

  From the other side of the cloth partition, the doctor said, "Push!"

  Lilith closed her eyes, the strain apparent on her face.

  "One more time," the doctor said. "Push!"

  Richard saw his wife sacrificing every ounce of her strength, and then the burden lifted and her face turned calm.

  "He's out," the doctor said, and the delivery room filled with the wailing of a baby's cry.

  Richard peered over the partition and caught a glimpse of his son, covered in blood. He turned back to his wife, but her eyes were still closed. Over the screams of the baby, alarms began sounding.

  "She's hemorrhaging!" someone yelled.

  A nurse, a human this time, pushed Richard out of the room and told him to wait. After more than an hour, the same nurse reappeared and handed him a baby wrapped in a towel. At the same time, the doctor came out of the delivery room to tell the prince that Lady Lilith was dead.

  Prince Richard held his son, a tiny pink face surrounded by white terrycloth. No one could have been more vulnerable or more needing of protection. At that moment, Richard made a vow he intended to keep no matter what happened.

  "I will keep you safe," he said.

  Chapter Ten

  Family members and dignitaries gathered at the Fogmore Gardens for the funeral of Lady Lilith Augustus. Fogmore was adjacent to the Palace estate and contained the mausoleums for each of the Five Families. Even so, the Emperor did not attend. Lady Veber wondered how Prince Richard felt about his father's absence.

  Dressed in black, Lady Veber sat quietly alone in the chapel where the funeral service was being held. The rest of the pews were filled with people, and a few robots. L
ord Tagus III had brought his own, the one named Burkebot.

  What a curious pair they make, Lady Veber thought. Perhaps a robot is the only friend Tagus still has...

  Lord Devlin Maycare was in attendance, along with his current girlfriend, Lady Candice Woodwick. Lady Veber had known Maycare for many years, and Candy had been best friends with Lilith.

  What a small world it was, these tight circles of nobility. Everybody knew each other and loathed one another more often than not.

  Lady Veber took another glance at Tagus.

  Prince Richard spoke at the podium, talking about how much he missed his wife and how important their son Mason had been to her. Lady Candice was crying by the end of the speech, but Lady Veber's own eyes remained dry. She had lost enough tears when her son Philip had died, and she had no intention of losing more.

  After the service, Lady Veber caught Prince Richard near the large picture of Lilith beside her coffin.

  "My condolences," she said, touching his hand. "How is little Mason?"

  The prince pulled his hand away, perhaps a bit too abruptly.

  "He's well," he replied. "I thought it best to leave him at the palace."

  "Of course," Lady Veber said. "A funeral is no place for a baby."

  "With Tagus here, it's better to be safe than sorry."

  "I'm surprised he came," Lady Veber remarked, "but I doubt he'd pose a danger to a child..."

  "You can never tell," Richard replied. "He's capable of anything."

  Lady Veber saw a glimmer of paranoia in Richard's gaze, but thought better than making a point of it. Nevertheless, she knew she might not have another chance to press him about the conclave.

  "Have you thought more about your nomination?" she asked.

  "Yes," he said firmly. "The nomination stands."

  "Are you expecting me to support it?"

  "If you did," he replied, "I would protect you from Tagus."

  "Who says I need protecting?" Lady Veber asked.

  "From Tagus, we all do," the prince said. "We all do."

  Lady Veber left him alone but encountered Lord Tagus himself outside the chapel. His robot was standing awkwardly behind him.

  "Did you talk any sense into him?" Tagus asked gruffly.