The Blue-Spangled Blue (The Path Book 1)

by David Bowles

  Clearing his throat, Brando gestured about. “Change of subject, if you don't mind. What's going to happen to all these buildings after the fair?”

  Tenshi sat up straighter. Her eyes blinked rapidly a couple of times. Brando worried for an instant she might think he was put off by her revelations.

  “I’ve got plans for them, but it's a little early to share. Politics are weird right now. Let's just say, it's something that you might be interested in.”

  Brando stopped fiddling with his shades. “Me in particular? Why?”

  “Because of what you do. But enough hints. You can wait for the announcement just like everyone else.”

  “And what you do when you're not building things?”

  Tenshi feigned confusion, held her chin in mock meditation. “Plan new things to build? Ha! No, seriously, I have a life, of course. Friends, mostly reformers. We get together, they talk about Jitsu's future, I back them up. A few drinks, then I go back to my designs. That’s about it.”

  “Hey, my respects. Takes more dedication than I could muster.”

  She frowned. “Don't say things like that. You’ve got the dedication inside, waiting. Everyone does. Just a matter of bringing it out. Finding the right reason.”

  Such matter-of-fact optimism was unfamiliar to Brando, whose pessimistic family had ground his idealism down into bitter regret.

  How she can know this about anyone? Why is she so sure?

  “Maybe I’ll find it here, no?”

  She tilted her head, eyebrows up, half-pouting, as if to say could be. The sound of jammed machinery made her swing about in her seat, concerned.

  “Nammach kaseru ka? Excuse me, it's just—they tend to screw things up, I'm not there hanging over them like a mother. Look, it was great talking to you. You'll be here next Saturday, no?”

  “Yeah. I’m going to sing, believe it or not.”

  “The singing professor.” Her laughter was genuine and kind and made her face glow like a moonlit, starry sky.

  “Spang on.”

  “I wouldn't miss it. See you then? Don't think I'm running you off.”

  “No, no. I understand. Just a week left, so I'm sure you'll be busy.”

  “Yeah. Stick around, if you want. Lots of things to see.”

  “I should go back to the U. Got to get ready for class, you know.”

  They awkwardly shook hands and cheeks. Tenshi smelled of soap and sandalwood. He could have sworn her hand trembled a bit. He chastised himself for being a fool.

  No way she's interested in you. Come on, Brando. You just met.

  Still, her gorgeous eyes peered into his soul as they pulled apart, and she nodded the vaguest of nods, as if approving of what she'd seen there.

  Then Tenshi Koroma smiled and walked off, shouting at her workers.

  CHAPTER 9

  In a luxurious room provided by a vice-president of Strugar-Rask, a corporate republic controlling much of p Eridani 3, Konrau Beserra stood before the heads of the six families, each accompanied by a trusted counselor. Konrau, kabesa of the Arredondo clan and kasike or godfather of the entire Brotherhood, had been unable to bring his own right-hand man, konsehero supremo Nestor Bos, to the special meeting.

  Why? The heads of the families didn’t trust Bos. Hell, Konrau himself didn’t fully trust the man, despite his strategic brilliance. Nestor’s friendships outside the syndicate were worrisome, and the subject of today’s reunion was of such importance and secrecy that the heads had decided not to take a risk.

  This decision meant that Konrau was saddled with Chuy Arredondo, his great-uncle and kabesita or regent of the Arredondo family. Arredondo controlled the clan in Konrau’s stead since in addition to being kabesa familiar, Beserra was also godfather and therefore unable to micromanage Arredondo affairs. Chuy had never approved of his great-nephew’s becoming kasike: as the bastard son of Chuy’s nephew Sami, Konrau should have risen only to underboss, at best. But the Virgin and Baby Fidensio had smiled on his efforts, and by dint of his own courage, ruthlessness and intelligence, Konrau had done the impossible.

  And he planned to do much, much more.

  “Grasias por benir,” he began in Kaló. “I’m sure yall done read the reports and my outline of a plan. Give me yall’s opinion: feasible?”

  Pejo Garsasada, pale-skinned and blue veined corpse that he was, began to speak in halting tones. “An imrizabu—that’s amazing. You say Ernesto Mendosa found it?”

  Konrau resisted the urge to sigh or shoot the old man. He had known this would happen. The family heads had no vision. They were going to drag their feet, play dumb. He’d have to beat the ideas into them before they would agree to pool resources.

  Sure, the Consortium had recently discovered another imrizabu between Tau-Ceti and Sirius 2. But it was commercially useless. By contrast, the particular vein in hyperspace the Brotherhood now controlled was the first viable one since the destruction of the Centauri Conduit, which had linked Alpha Centauri 3 to Eta Cassiopeiae 2 for nearly a century.

  Being able to move men and goods and ships across nearly three parsecs in thirty seconds: now that’s power, Konrau thought to himself. But these fucking pendehos just can’t see that. Long’s they don’t tell me they’ve got to consult with their materias.

  Lino Kintana de Samarripa—the short, swarthy head of the Samarripa clan—answered before Konrau could. “Si ya sabe usté. It’s all in his proposal, and you done heard the rumors anyhow. Don’t play the fool. Ernesto is my aunt’s second cousin, pilot on the Puro Dezmaje. Shipping weapons to the Nebula, they fenestrated real close to the edge of the dust disk, then boom, they found themselves flying through a hyperspace tunnel, coming out a few seconds later in the Nereus system. The Nereus system, Brothers, thirty light years away. Ship was kind of fucked up, but they made a two-month trip in less than a minute! Our kasike is right to be excited, and I don’t get why yall ain’t.”

  Donardo Bustamonte, his oversized head cocked to one side, laughed. “Excited about what? Like you just said, it’s the Nereus system. Home of seven interstellar corporations, all charter members of the CPCC. The only systems with more CPCC citizens and Armed Forces personnel in them are Sol and Rigil Kentaurus. We fly an armada out that fucking conduit, the putos of the Flotilla are gonna blast our arses out the sky. Plus, what about the effects on the ship? An armada of damaged vessels ain’t much use.”

  “Maje de syelo,” muttered young Tito Benemerito, who had only been a sixteen when Konrau had eliminated his second cousin Toni eight years before. Konrau suspected the punk was just waiting for a chance to reclaim his family’s place at the head of the syndicate. “So while the fucking Consortium gots an imrizabu of its own to study and fuck with, we got a useless one.”

  “Not useless,” insisted Konrau. “My plan describes how we could use this thing to seize the entire Nereus system when the time is right. As for the structural stresses on the ships, there’s ways to reinforce them. Just refer to the plan.”

  “Pa ser franko,” intoned Bustamonte, “your plans, Konrau, been looking a little weak to us.”

  Konrau leaned forward. “The fuck does that mean, Donardo? Didn’t I get the Consortium off our arse? Didn’t I move our hub of operations to an island on Atlantis, all paid for and covered up through my contacts in Transcom? Didn’t I take the heat off yall so Mars could still be Anca L’ermandá? And now yall are gonna tunnel this bullshit my way?”

  “It’s all these pendehaaz with the Neogs, mi kasike,” said Moktesuma Arreyano, finally entering the discussion. “Two years you been working with that crazy Santo Koroma, and with what results? We saw the reports, Konrau. Slaughtering fanatics in their church? That’s what this wait was building up to? I mean, fuck, I got no love for the navel-gazing shitheads, but how does that help us, eh? How does it fit in with our principles and needs?”

  Needs. So that’s what this shite is about.

  “Listen. Under me yall’s profits have gone up fifteen points in five years, Brothers
. I’m asking for the faith and support that yall owe to me. When I stood here two years ago and explained the fifteen-year plan for domination of the Kobito subsystem of Eta Cassiopeiae 2, I got this same shite. Some of yall just don’t get it. Look at the fucking maharaja of Sigma Draconis: he rules, not like the fucking Consortium nancies, Brothers, but by the right of his birth in the royal family. Everyone here has roots going back to the original split and even farther back, some. We are blue-bloods, don’t yall see? We should be kings.”

  Everyone present knew that Konrau himself wasn’t a blue-blood, not fully. But the Beserras had been loyal members of the Brotherhood legions for centuries, and that service had to count for something. In any event, he doubted any of the kabesas would dare to point out that he was the bastard son of an Arredondo.

  “Kings,” echoed Lino with an approving nod.

  “Here’s the trouble,” Donardo Bustamonte interjected. “You already got one fifteen-year plan in place, making sikaritos do all sort of strange shite like massacre Neogs in a church, just so that sumbitch can run off the CPCC, become tyrant or whatever and then give us the other system. Fucking long term, Konrau. Now you bring up a, what was it, a thirteen-year plan to start in two years. And this shite you want: moles in the AF, Brotherhood presence on worlds that’re controlled by our enemies, buildup of refitted ships and men in secret locations, hiring merks and ronin and assassins, kidnapping politicians’ kids, buying up corporate stock, on and on: how you’re going to keep track of all that? Solo eres omme, kompa.”

  “Only a man? With respect, Donardo, you ain’t met someone greater in all your dog’s life.” The others stiffened at the slap to Bustamonte’s honor, but Konrau continued. He felt no weakness, and he would never pretend to have one for anyone’s benefit. Every kabesa lived in fear of what he knew about them and what he could do to them. “Soy kasike de L’ermandá, Brother. I went beyond being a man fucking years ago.”

  Lino stepped in. “Brothers, just look at the way this works out: Kobito is just five light years from Nereus. We get control of both at one time, we got two whole… wait, three, because you ain’t gonna let that fucking Neog bishop hang onto Jitsu and the Higante system, right? You ain’t said it, but that’s bloody brilliant, Konrau. Three naffing systems, Brothers, under our control. Talk bout an empire.”

  Beserra smiled at Lino’s perspicacity. Of course he wasn’t going to let Santo Koroma keep Jitsu. Konrau Beserra hadn't ever settled for less than everything. Not as a gang leader on Tenochtitlán Platform, not as a lieutenant in the Brotherhood, and certainly not now that he was that mafia’s head.

  “Four. Don’t forget Beta Pictoris.” Konrau watched the heads’ eyes slowly begin to kindle with the twin fires of greed and a will to power. “We’ve spent the last five years supplying the Nebula as a fall-back retreat. Got a planetoid outfitted to be Brotherhood HQ, the need arises.”

  Arreyano smirked. “Four systems. An empire. Well, empires can be lost, and most times they are. The first fucking Moktesuma, whose name I got. Alexander, Napoleon, Mussolini, the Nuova Pace Romana. The Brotherhood’s survived so long because we ain’t trying to be no empire. We just get what we want, and fuck the rest of them.”

  “No,” Konrau countered. He had thought this objection through many times. “What ruined those other sumbitches was a lack of planning and patience. Oh, they knew more of less what they wanted, they planned some, but most times they went from victory to victory, just kind of letting the fucking wave of power carry them, you know, wherever it did. We’re going to be thorough. Every step’s gonna be planned with precision. By ’98, AF forces in the Nereus system will have thinned quite a bit, the Brotherhood will have major holdings in the corporations there, and the corporate presidents will be in our pockets. Not like with Transcom and Strugar-Rask and so forth. Not as partners. They’ll be ours. When we roll down that imrizabu and pop out the other end, corporate police will be waiting to back us up. Trust me.”

  He had them, Konrau knew it. Even Donardo. Arreyano was hesitant, but he would probably buckle soon enough.

  “You’re asking for a lot, ermano.” Arreyano ticked off items on his thick, ringed fingers. “Hundred ships per family. Money. Weapons. Guards sworn to secrecy for more than a decade. A thousand men, who’ve got to go off to some unexplored system and train for two years before the invasion, leaving their families. By the by, why aren’t we expanding outward? Why are we gonna attack the CPCC if there’s so many worlds out there for the taking?”

  Konrau leaned forward, his stubbly jaw firmly set. “Because we’re kings, and we need serfs. The Brotherhood doesn’t make bread or anything else. We rule, we protect, we move stuff from people that don’t require it anymore to people we want to have it. But we must have those people under us to survive. We try to ignore that, it’ll mean our destruction.”

  “You keep taxing us for your Jitsu project, we won’t be able to provide what you need for the Nereus thing,” Arreyano pointed out, trying to the last to find any possible counterargument.

  Konrau nodded. “You’re right. That’s why yall don’t have to provide anything else for Jitsu. That’ll be taken care of by the Arredondo family, mainly by my own personal Red Legions and Nestor’s men, plus dummy crews that I’ll throw together from new recruits.”

  “And once we got us this empire of yours? What then? Consortium ain’t just going to sit back and leave us alone.”

  “Yall’d be surprised. We won’t have any problems, I foresee, in getting them to sign a treaty with us. We’ll just promise to stay within our little fiefdoms, and what with our military might, they’ll have no choice but to agree. Besides, part of the plan, as yall no doubt noticed, is funding anti-expansionists and localists so they gain the majority in the Diet. Dirtying their more hawkish opponents. Those dumb fucks will then water down the AF and loosen Consortium local control to the point that they won’t be able to stop us.”

  Most of the kabesas were looking around at each other now, nodding their heads in contented agreement.

  Of course, what yall don’t know is that I ain’t stopping there. I plan to bring the whole of humanity under our control. But no use mentioning that just now. Yall are skittish enough as is, hotos.

  “I’m in,” Lino said, calling the matter to a vote by his announcement.

  “Yo tammen,” agreed Tito Benemerito.

  “I yo,” Donardo said firmly.

  Pejo nodded his white head, and Moktesuma Arreyano sighed. “Weno. Toy dencho. But we give nothing to the Jitsu plan. That’s your baby. And keep fucking Nestor in the dark. We let him stay on as konsehero supremo because of his sister Ria, Baby Fidensio give her peace. That and his connections. But we don’t trust him, Kasike, and you shouldn’t neither.”

  An hour later, Beserra was riding an executive lift down to the berth where his private junk was docked. He had been invited to stay as long as he liked as a guest of Strugar-Rask, but he had politely declined. There was much work to do, and the sooner he got started, the better he would feel. Keeping his mind and body occupied was vital to his sanity, he had found.

  Beside him, Chuy Arredondo cleared his throat. “You know, Konrau, that would’ve gone chingos easier if you would just bend a little on some issues.”

  Turning annoyed eyes on his uncle, the Brotherhood boss of bosses coldly asked, “Like what?”

  “Well, you’re in a sort of, shite, tenuous fucking situation. You worked your way up, you killed Toni Benemerito and did a buggered lot of good for everybody, but to those ohetes you’re still just the bastard son of a minor lieutenant. Tomorrow they could band together and throw you out.”

  “Wouldn’t be so fucking easy,” Konrau spat.

  “Maybe not. Maybe there would be a big fucking war. But your claim on the kasike position could for reals be strengthened, if you would just fucking marry Donardo’s daughter Isabel. You’d bring the Arredondos and Bustamontes together, make your self legitimate in everybody’s eyes.”

  Ko
nrau felt rage building, but as he always did, he kept it down, analyzed it, froze it, used it. To him, the Brotherhood was more than just the opinion of the six intractable family heads. They were important, the rituals and traditions were important, but the Brotherhood had to be bigger than that. It had to be, it had to be greater than him as an individual or his life made no sense. His sacrifices had been in vain if the Brotherhood weren’t something more valuable than everyday emotions and motives. As a result of this broader vision, he rebelled against having to kowtow to the kabesas’ ideas of legitimacy, which weren’t necessarily required by the tenants of L’onda. Konrau had proven himself to them on a more visceral level, and his power was now more than they could afford to take lightly. He didn’t need to marry Isabel Bustamonte to retain his position.

  Besides, he didn’t trust women enough to marry one. His mother was a treacherous puta, and the kasike had always suspected that it was her fault that Sami Arredondo hadn’t given Konrau the family name before dying in prison. Rather than be faithful to her man like a good sancha or consort should, she’d opened her legs to every pissant who’d knocked on the door.

  Toward Sami himself, Konrau felt ambivalent: at times he despised the dead lieutenant for not being there to show his bastard son the ropes, but at others he sympathized with Sami’s desire to stay far away from Karmen Beserra. Besides, Sami had had his muher and his three daughters to take care of, all legitimate members of the Arredondo clan.

  No, better not to marry. Better to keep a few sanchas here and there, for when the urge arose. Consorts who meant nothing and had no real power, no emotional connection. Mindless females whose loyalty was bought and paid for.

  Women it was impossible for him to betray.

  Suppressing that dangerous chain of thought, he shook his head decidedly.

  “No, Chuy. Not gonna happen. I ain’t giving the Bustamontes no more say in my kasikeria than what they got it now.”