During the negotiations which established the new Frontier, he’d occasionally felt probes directed at his thoughts by members of the opposing team. Mikelatz had likened them to fireworks, a clumsy and obvious show to distract a person from the real threat lurking in the shadows. But it hadn’t mattered back then; Mikelatz had accompanied him to every meeting, the young Warden’s Gift powerful enough to squash any attempts to pry.
And now, Mikelatz was here again…
Only this time he was on the other side.
* * *
Tris sat on the bed in the luxurious cabin he’d been assigned, and wept.
The tears had come over him the second he found himself alone. Now they wouldn’t stop; pouring out as a wound never fully closed was torn wide open.
Dad… oh Dad. Why did you have to go? Why did you listen to Kreon… Why didn’t you take us all, Mum and me, and go live somewhere that no-one could find us…?
Questions that could never be answered.
Not even by the imposter who shared his father’s face.
Tris had come here hoping against hope that he’d unearth some information about his dad.
Not for one second had he expected to meet the man in the flesh… only to find that it wasn’t even him.
Just another damn clone.
At times like this, Tris hated himself. Hated what he was — what his dad had made him.
Is self-loathing a genetic weakness? Does Dad’s clone hate what he is? Tris felt the urge to hit something — anything — to see if the pain made him feel more real.
Damn all of them! Kreon and his pet ‘Mikelatz’, and this new motherfucker who’s stolen dad’s identity…
Mostly though, he missed him. Missed him more than he’d done for years — even seeing the hologram spring to life on the Folly’s bridge couldn’t compete with this. He missed his dad with every sob that tore out of him; great fat childish sobs, as though he’d regressed in an instant to the moment when he’d first realised his dad wasn’t coming back.
“You’re a fucking misery.”
Tris glanced up in surprise. He’d been so deep in his funk that he hadn’t heard Kyra come in.
“You can knock, can’t you?” he flung at her.
“Yeah, I thought about it, but I didn’t think you’d hear it over the self-pity.”
Tris glared at her. Kyra was smiling — only slightly, but he knew it meant she was joking. Kyra wasn’t big on sympathy, he remembered; the closest she’d ever come was cheering him up by snogging him.
It was a sign of how truly wretched he felt that even that didn’t appeal to him.
“Look, I know that was a bit of a blow,” she said, taking a seat on the bed next to him. “But you’ve got to understand what’s at stake here. If we show weakness around these people, they’ll tear us apart. They’re like…” she fumbled for a word. “Those big fat fishes on your world, that eat people? You have to blow them up to kill them.”
Tris almost choked as a snort of laughter took him by surprise. “Sharks, you mean? That was only in a movie. Shit, how old are you anyway?”
Kyra eyed him. “Yeah, well. On my world it’s the plants that eat you. But my point is, we’ve got to stick together. We’ll get through this, but only as a team. I know this has been rough on you, but we’ve all lost people we care about. Part of the job is taking that pain and stuffing it somewhere out of the way — far enough not to bother you minute by minute, but close enough to reach if you need it.”
“Need it?” Tris wrinkled his brow. “Need it for what?”
Kyra reached out and squeezed his knee — a little too hard for comfort. “Need it for when you have to remind yourself that you’re human.” She stood up, casting her eyes around the room before looking down at Tris. “And for when you need to kill a whole bunch of people in one go. That’s when it really comes in handy.”
Tris started to reply, then gave it up as a bad job. Kyra’s pep-talks, whilst always slightly disturbing, tended to do the trick. “Thanks Kyra,” he said instead.
“Don’t worry about it. And don’t worry about these bastards, either. Kreon and me, we’ve got your back. And you’ve got ours, right?”
Tris met her gaze. “Right.”
“Good. Just remember, if we get into it with these fuckers — they killed your dad.”
“Um, Kyra? Kreon killed my dad.”
She rolled her eyes at him. “Yeah yeah, whatever. Hey, how do I look?” She tugged on her sword-belt, resettling it around a long, flowing garment that started out as a scarf and interweaved to form a dress by the time it hit her waist. It showed a fair bit of flesh — enough to make him blush — but it was hard, muscular flesh, criss-crossed with the tattoos that he knew covered ancient scars.
“Looks… good?” he hazarded.
“You’re a help. I want it to say, ‘Yes, I’m hot, but if you come any closer I’ll cut your balls off and make you eat them.”
Tris looked her up and down once more, careful not to let his gaze linger on the more revealing areas of her outfit. “Yeah… I can get that. Of course, I know that’s a literal definition of what would happen.”
Kyra grinned at him. “You’re damn right it is. Now you gonna put your Lord of the Realm get up on, or what?”
“I guess so. Do you… want to wait outside?”
“Do I look like I’m going anywhere?”
Tris sighed, hauling himself to his feet. He should have known better; Kyra seemed to thrive on making him feel awkward. It was like her third-best talent, after flying and kicking ass. He fumbled around for conversation to distract himself as she slumped back down on the bed to watch him dress. “So, there are plants on your world that eat people?”
Kyra shot him an incredulous look. “No! What the hell kind of shit-hole do you think I come from?”
* * *
The party, when Tris finally got himself together and looked around, was incredible.
The centre of the room — if room was even the right word — was dominated by a five-storey column of air; a dance floor with suspended gravity, allowing the kind of moves only skydivers could pull back on Earth. For guests not interested in aerobatics, one vast wall was transparent, offering breath-taking views of the setting sun — as seen from the edge of space. The building itself stretched from the surface of the planet almost into orbit, a feat of engineering so mind-boggling that even Kyra swore at the sight.
Gerian’s ship had docked directly with the tower, decanting them right into the thick of things. The opulence of the place was staggering. Chandeliers made of glinting, glimmering crystal hung three floors high, casting fractals of light over the dance floor. Surrounding that were plush lounges, tables, booths, bars and columns, all crowned in what he guessed were pieces of sculpture. Stone gleamed everywhere, but it was brilliantly polished marble rather than the plain sandstone that had comprised Homeguard and the Warden’s fortress on Atalia. Glowing, iridescent balls floated here and there, creating pockets of light and shadow depending on the mood of the guests, and everywhere there was chatter. It was a bit like being in an aviary, Tris thought; the flowing gowns and shimmery fabrics worn by the party-goers only added to that impression.
“Wow. Where do we start?” he asked Gerian. His father’s clone had accompanied them from the shuttle, and now steered the group towards the dance floor.
“With these,” he replied, taking glasses of an iridescent purple liquor from a passing waiter. He handed one each to Tris, Kyra and Kreon, last as always. “Wait here please. I’ll announce you.”
Tris fussed with the silver braids dangling from his shoulders. It looked vaguely ridiculous in his opinion, but he could tell it was meant to emphasise the silver trim that his new-found status entitled him to. The rest of his outfit was well-tailored, if a bit snug here and there; all that training with Kyra had muscles popping out all over him. It was probably quite flattering, if highly impractical, but he kind of hoped he’d be able to keep the chunky combat boots th
ey’d given him.
Kreon was in his usual spirits — which was to say, the old man was seriously pissed off. With his personal items still under lock and key, he’d been left with no choice but to wear the wide poncho issued by their hosts. Belted at the waist, it made him look like a medieval peasant — an effect which, given the dazzling arrayment of everyone else at the party, had to be deliberate.
Lower purity… Tris could see the parallels with fascist regimes back on Earth. But now was not the time to start preaching acceptance and equality. They were here with a mission; Kyra had reaffirmed his commitment, and if he could suck it up and get on with it, then so could Kreon.
Admittedly, Tris wasn’t wearing a poncho, but still…
Always lecturing me about sacrifice aren’t you, old man?
He would have chuckled at the thought — had Gerian not chosen precisely that moment to introduce them to the crowd.
“Citizens of the Empire!” Gerian stood on the edge of the dance floor, but his voice boomed from concealed speakers, reaching evenly across the vast space. “We have a group of very special guests with us tonight. May I present to you, the delegation from our lost colony, the Followers of Sydon!”
The music, which Tris hadn’t noticed until it was gone, faded away, leaving scores of garishly-dressed people all focussed on him. Kreon and Kyra stood off to either side of him, as though he were the guest of honour and they merely his escorts. He was instantly self-conscious; the trousers of the suit were very tight in certain areas, and he felt a sudden rush of heat to his face.
“To the left we have Lord Anakreon Sustralitz, Warden of the First Circle of Atalia — and as some of you will no doubt remember, the legendary Beast of the Border!”
A ripple of polite laughter ran around the room. Tris cast a sidelong glance at Kreon. It made sense that the Warden had fought for the Frontier he eventually helped establish. There were bound to be some good stories there.
“To the right,” Gerian continued, “we have Kylimnestra Loreak, of the Royal House of Esper — known locally as the ‘Eagle’s Talon,’ and the saviour of her people!”
Gerian’s spiel was punctuated by the sound of breaking glass. Out of the corner of his eye Tris saw Kyra blanche as though struck, her drink slipping through her fingers to shatter on the marble floor. Clearly, the Lemurians knew more about her than she’d expected. In other circumstances, seeing her caught unawares like this would be something he’d tease her about later — to say nothing of the full account he’d demand — but here, now, it seemed altogether more sinister. Like they know everything…
“And finally, my Assembled colleagues, we have a very special guest indeed.” Gerian paused for dramatic emphasis, really milking the crowd. Tris wanted to cringe — then did, as a shimmery spotlight flickered into life around him.
“Tristan Andrews, recently a resident of the planet Earth!”
An audible gasp ran through the crowd, before Gerian carried on.
“You may notice the family resemblance,” he joked, waving a hand at himself. “Tristan here is my nephew. He is the gene-born son of the late Mikelatz Andoss… and the heir to the Dynasty of Seven Systems!”
13
Still reeling from the implications of Gerian’s announcement, Tristan managed to keep his game face on for the first circuit of the party hall.
It was magnificent — palatial even, or beyond palatial. It was like stumbling into a costume ball hosted by some eccentric Russian billionaire, only in place of tiger-skin rugs and caviar they had anti-gravity and alien seafood.
He was greeted with everything from polite nods to cold stares of assessment as he progressed around the room, but he didn’t stay still long enough for anyone to pin him in conversation. All he wanted was to get back to Kreon and Kyra — and to start asking questions. Like, what had Kreon done to earn himself that title? And what had Kyra done to save her people? And above everything else…
What the hell is this ‘Dynasty of Seven Systems’?
Curiosity was killing him, but he’d forced himself to act like he’d heard nothing out of the ordinary. Putting an opponent on the back foot was such a basic trick that he’d be embarrassed to fall for it. For all he knew, it could be one big joke; he could be about to inherit an intergalactic dungheap. Even worse — would the Lemurians try and lay claim to him? Cloning was their bag after all, and it was illegal in Kreon’s part of the galaxy. Tris lived daily with the knowledge that he’d been artificially grown. What if he turned out to be someone’s property?
The party had cranked back into full swing, with dancers swirling in the air beside him as he completed his circuit. He could see neither Kreon nor Kyra. Despite the eye-opening introduction, they’d all stuck to the plan they’d discussed on the way here — act as though this was an expected part of their ambassadorial duties, make a brief show of mingling, then re-group to analyse their situation. Only neither of the others had made it back yet. Tris didn’t think they could have beaten him; not unless they were sprinting. Hopefully they’d just been caught up in conversation, but his mind was already listing the alternatives. The trouble was, they still didn’t know if they were genuinely here as guests, or as prisoners on display. They hadn’t been offered a choice in coming to the party — then again, they hadn’t asked for one. Kreon didn’t trust anyone here, which tallied well with the advice from Mikelatz’s hologram. Kreon didn’t trust anyone really, so the advice was almost unnecessary. But Kreon’s strategy was always bold; hiding in the ship while pretending to have a headache wasn’t really his style.
And so they were here… weren’t they?
Where are they?
The kaleidoscope of light and colour made it impossible to see across the gathering, even from a vantage point. Tris hoped they were okay.
“So you’re really from Earth?”
Tris spun quickly enough to make his tassels dance. The woman who stood behind him — more of a girl, really — was dark and slender, and gazing up at him with a mischievous smile.
“Ah, yeah… I mean, I grew up there. I had no idea that all of this—” he flapped a hand around the room, “—existed.”
The girl’s eyes sparkled in the light of the massive chandeliers. “Fascinating! I’ve never met anyone who’s been there. Do you mind if I ask you what it’s like?”
Tris couldn’t help but notice that her outfit was every bit as revealing as the one Kyra had been given, if not more so. But instead of hard muscle and scar tissue, the bare flesh this girl revealed looked enticingly smooth and soft.
“I don’t know where to start, to be honest,” Tris admitted. “For me it was all normal. What I find incredible is all this galavanting around in spaceships and shooting laser beams at people.”
Her eyes went wide as saucers. “Ohhh! Now that does sound exciting! You’re a warrior as well as a nobleman.”
“Err…” Tris glanced around to see if any of the others were in range. No dice. “I guess so. It’s all kind of new to me.”
“Have you been in many battles?”
He shrugged. He no longer needed to pretend nonchalance about such things. “A few. Some I just saw, but Kyra is teaching me to fly and the last time we were out we ended up in a massive dogfight with a load of smugglers.”
“You have your own ship?” she sounded genuinely interested, and Tris couldn’t help himself.
“I don’t have a fighter, we just borrowed those. But I do have an… um, kind of a ship, that I inherited.” He suddenly wondered if he’d gone too far. This chick could easily be a spy. A seriously hot spy, but weren’t they all?
“And you’re here on a secret mission?” a note of playfulness in her voice spoke of a shared joke.
“Ah, no, not really.” Stay away from religion and politics, he advised himself. “We’re mostly here on a research mission.”
“Research?” She raised dainty eyebrows at him. “You should have said! I know just the place.”
She took his hand — hers fel
t small and delicate in his — and snatched him away, strongly enough that he nearly dropped his drink. He drained it in a gulp and reached out to place the glass on an empty table as she dragged him past. Where was she taking him? What was her angle? She towed him deeper into the building, away from the swirling colour of the dance floor. Along a back wall she pressed a smooth stone panel, which swung slowly inwards to become a door. Still holding onto his hand, she drew him through.
“Are you sure we’re allowed in here?” he asked. Not that it really mattered. If some element of the Lemurian hierachy wanted to make life difficult for him, they hardly needed to accuse him of trespass.
“Shhh!” she said, pushing the door closed behind him. “It’s a library!”
And she was right. The room they entered was surprisingly small and cosy, with bookshelves lining the walls. Over-sized leather armchairs dotted the plush cream carpet, and a simulated fire burned below a heavy wooden mantlepiece. It could have been a posh private study anywhere on Earth — not that he’d been in any of those.
She must have caught him staring around, because she giggled. “Do you like it?”
Tris didn’t quite know what to say. “It’s… very impressive. Are these books from Earth?”
“No, silly!” She stepped up to him, taking his hands again. “But they’re very pretty.” She moved closer, placing his hand on the bare skin at her waist. Her scent was as exotic and mysterious as she was.
Tris felt his pulse quicken; a second later, his breathing matched it. Was she coming on to him? Or were they all this familiar? “You’re… also very pretty,” he said. He couldn’t help himself; it was like he was hypnotised. Her eyes, soft brown with flecks of green, looked right into his. Her hands slid around to the small of his back, and then she was kissing him.
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