Planet Killer (Star Kingdom Book 6)

by Lindsay Buroker

  Bjarke raised his elegant eyebrows. Casmir had been startled when Bonita had patted Bjarke on the ass when they parted ways, but he decided the senior Asger was as handsome as his son, even being thirty years older and even having his face covered, once again, in garish barbed-wire-dagger tattoos. Had Dubashi been female, Casmir might have opted for a different strategy in approaching him. Perhaps putting Bjarke in sexy attire and sending him strutting in as a distraction. Or bait.

  But Dubashi wasn’t likely to fall for that. Even if he did like sexy knights.

  “You have the blueprints?” Bjarke asked.

  “I got them from the architect’s site, yes. They are, uh, forty years old, it looks like, but it’s the best I could do. There’s very little published on the network about the moon base or Dubashi. I found rumors about how people who visit never get to leave again, but they didn’t seem substantive.”

  “Let’s see them.” Bjarke didn’t comment on the rest.

  Casmir forced himself to stop talking—babbling. Bjarke wasn’t as intimidating as Rache, but the fact that he was painfully loyal to Jager and Jorg, and Casmir was taking an unapproved and roundabout way to do their bidding, made him worry. He had to be careful what he said around the knight.

  “I’ll put them up on the display.” Casmir waved, and the view of the moon was replaced by the blueprints.

  Bjarke slanted him a sideways look. “You shouldn’t have access to the navigation computer from that seat.”

  “I know.”

  “You shouldn’t be able to put things on the displays.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll do it to Dubashi, too, if I can.”

  As Bjarke scrutinized the twenty-three levels of the base, all deep underground inside the moon, Casmir wondered if he could do that. If they arrived in time for that big meeting, he might be able to make up a presentation to play on some big display in the meeting hall.

  But what could he say or promise that would rivet all of those mercenaries? A kinder, gentler Kingdom that would stay put and not offend the other systems further? No, he could hardly promise that. A crusher to everyone who didn’t go to war with the Kingdom? He almost laughed aloud at the idea. Unfortunately, he couldn’t count on everyone out there sharing Sultan Shayban’s interest in metals and robots.

  “It’s huge.” Bjarke pointed at one level. “There are a bunch of conference rooms. And there are guest quarters. Private quarters. A control room—we should make note of that. An auxiliary control room. And, uh, four more auxiliary control rooms. This looks like someone with a paranoid streak. He might be hard to find.”

  Casmir nodded. “That occurred to me too.”

  “I don’t suppose there’s any way to track him down by his chip or whatever he’s got? The intelligence report I was given says he’s got a lot of cybernetic upgrades.”

  “I know, but none of the details are published on the public network. If I can get into his network, maybe I can get some better intel, but…” Casmir paused as another thought came to mind. “Give me a minute. I may have someone I can ask.”

  Was Kyla Moonrazor still feeling thankful to him? It hadn’t sounded like she had any love for her co-high shaman. But would she do something to betray him?

  For that matter, was she even still in the system?

  Casmir sent a message. High Shaman Moonrazor, I’m going to visit your colleague, but I fear he may not wish to speak with me. Which is puzzling, since I’m an enjoyable conversationalist versed in many topics that might interest an astroshaman.

  He paused, feeling he should offer her something before asking for a favor, but he didn’t know what it would be. He half-hoped she would respond and banter with him, so he could more easily segue into the request, but it had been more than a week since their last conversation, and he didn’t know what part of the system she was in. If she’d left, then his message wouldn’t reach her in time for her to even consider helping.

  Unfortunately, a response did not come. He decided to ask straight out. If she wanted something for the information, she would let him know. Wasn’t there negotiating advice about starting low so you could go higher if needed?

  I was hoping you would be willing to share his chip ident, if you know it, or some other method of tracking him by his implants, so that I can find him and speak with him. Guilt at the lie surged to life, and he reluctantly added, Technically, I hope to kidnap him and deliver him to a rival. Thus to put an end to the war he’s decided to wage against the Kingdom. If you could help me—inspiration came between one eye blink and the next—perhaps I could help you find your people a place where you could stay until you’ve finished your studies of the gate, have built a new one, and are ready to leave the Twelve Systems.

  Casmir remembered her admitting that her people preferred to stay in hiding, something that would be challenging now that their secret under-the-ice base had been damaged and made known to all.

  I’ve recently made the acquaintance of a renowned real-estate developer who might have suggestions, but if that doesn’t work out, and you’ve got some chutzpah, I happen to know of an astroshaman base in a national forest on Odin that was recently vacated. The former chief superintendent kept it hidden from all the satellites and technology of the Kingdom, so I know it’s possible.

  Casmir hurried and hit send on the message before his morals forced him to delete those last sentences. It wasn’t as if he could legitimately give her land. All he was doing was sharing a potential hiding place. On the home world of one of the most insular and unwelcoming cultures in the Twelve Systems…

  He sighed.

  Noticing Bjarke watching him, Casmir said, “I’ll let you know if I hear back in time.”

  That earned him a grunt. Bjarke studied the blueprints a while longer, downloaded them to his chip, and put the moon back on the display.

  A message came in for Casmir. Not the text response from Moonrazor he expected, but a video from Oku.

  He sat up, his boots thunking onto the deck, and Bjarke glanced at him. One of the Kingdom couriers must have gotten through the blockade and distributed fresh mail.

  Casmir was tempted to run back to the lav or another quiet corner of the shuttle, yank out his tablet, and watch the video in private. But they weren’t that far from the base. He ought to stay in navigation in case something happened.

  Reluctantly, he let it play on his contact, resolving to watch it later on a larger display. He hoped it would be something light to bolster him before he started this mission in earnest, but as soon as Oku came into focus, with her father, the humorless King Jager, standing beside her, fear replaced the pleasure that had been burgeoning in his heart.

  Had she been caught communicating with him? Would Jager refuse to allow that? Was Jager about to deliver some threat?

  Casmir couldn’t imagine a possible scenario where Jager sending him a message—or standing nearby while Oku delivered one—was a good thing. The monarch he should have thought of as a leader and protector of the Kingdom and his world was a source of fear now. Had he done that to himself? Or was Jager the bully picking on him for no reason?

  No, Jager had his reasons… Casmir couldn’t pretend he hadn’t made choices to create this scenario.

  His dread grew when Jager spoke first. Oku tried to smile but it looked forced. Very forced.

  As Jager detailed all he knew of Casmir’s deviations from his orders, Casmir sank into his pod, as if he might disappear into another dimension if he burrowed deeply enough. Especially when Jager said, “I’m concerned by my most recent report, which hints that you might not be precisely obeying my son either. I don’t know what it is you hope to gain out there by working against us, but if you fancy yourself some future ruler of the Twelve Systems, know that assassins will find your back and you’ll never sleep.”

  Ruler of the Twelve Systems? Dear God, how could anyone think he aspired to that? Did Oku think that? She appeared more stunned and startled as her father rattled off Casmir’s crimes. No, n
one of them had been crimes. Jager had no more right to that gate than anyone else, and he certainly had no right to choose the president of Tiamat Station. Casmir wasn’t the criminal here, damn it.

  But assassins? Assassins more competent than Dubashi had sent after him?

  Casmir imagined his life like a wine glass dropped on the stairs, shattering further with each bounce down to the landing.

  “I’m offering you one last chance to come back into the fold,” Jager continued in the video, “to take your place as court roboticist—you requested that position, as I recall—and to work at my side. Should you return to Odin and prove your loyalty, I’m even willing to offer you a prize.”

  Casmir’s stomach churned. There was that word again. Prove. Prove your loyalty. Prove your worth. What kind of man was Jager that he insisted everyone prove that they had a right to exist in his realm? Couldn’t people just be allowed to be?

  Still, he sat a little straighter, less at the idea of some vague prize, but more because there might still be a chance to return home to his old life. And to ask Oku for that coffee date? Casmir didn’t know yet why she was in the video. She hadn’t spoken. Had Jager usurped her—and her chip—as a way to get a direct message to him?

  She wore a grimace as Jager continued on.

  “Princess Oku is not yet betrothed, and I gather you have some interest in her. Royal Intelligence has been kind enough to decrypt the videos you two have been sending back and forth and share them with me.”

  Blood rushed to Casmir’s head, and his heartbeat pounded in his ears. Betrothed? Was Jager saying that he knew of Casmir’s incipient feelings for Oku and… wasn’t going to forbid a relationship? More than that, he was offering a relationship, Casmir realized as Jager continued on. If Casmir played the part. Court roboticist. Loyal subject. Obedient servant to the king.

  His heart soared at the idea… and then crashed. He couldn’t marry Oku as some prize. How could that even be a possibility in this modern age? He knew the royals and some of the nobles still arranged marriages for their children, but nobody in the real world did that. He couldn’t marry someone who didn’t want to marry him. And nothing about the wan, shocked expression on Oku’s face suggested she was pleased by any of this.

  Finally, her father nudged her, and she spoke. But it wasn’t to say anything about marriage. She very formally said she looked forward to seeing him again and mentioned Chasca. After hesitating, she added that his family was safe in the Citadel, and relief flooded him. Had she done that? Ordered them retrieved? Or—no, she must have gone out to get them herself. She mentioned a childhood picture of him that he knew was in his parents’ apartment.

  Tears threatened to film his eyes. A reaction to the relief he felt that his parents were safe and that she’d been willing to go out and retrieve them at whatever risk to herself.

  If only Oku were the one suggesting marriage. He would be far more tempted by that, tempted to dance on her father’s puppet strings for that opportunity. But they hadn’t spent enough time together for him to assume they would have some idyllic fairy-tale future if they got married. The rational part of his mind knew that. It was just hard not to speculate and dream.

  The video finished with Jager speaking again, threatening again. “Support the Kingdom, and you’ll have a place in it forever. Become its enemy, and you’ll regret it.”

  No room for misinterpretation there. As the recording ended, Casmir lamented that there hadn’t been a private addendum from Oku. But he feared, from that comment about Royal Intelligence intercepting their previous correspondence, that there might not be any more. Even if her father didn’t forbid it, she might feel inhibited, knowing other eyes would see anything he sent.

  The idea of not hearing from her again until he—somehow—managed to return to Odin stung his battered heart. As did the realization that he couldn’t return to Odin unless he obeyed Jorg and helped the prince’s fleet win the day.

  Dare he hope that his present mission, however self-assigned, might turn out in such a way that it would please Jorg and Jager instead of ruining his chances of returning home forever?

  Casmir wiped his eyes, glad for the high sides of the pod that kept Bjarke from seeing his face. He needed a moment to regain his focus, his clarity.

  He looked back to check on the crushers—and the two boxes. Poor Tristan and Asger had been locked up in them for the last hour. They hadn’t wanted to risk being out when they got within scanner range of Dubashi’s moon.

  When the shuttle was within forty minutes of the base, the comm beeped for the first time. Bjarke checked the identification before answering it.

  “It’s from the moon. Here.” He unhooked flex-cuffs from his belt and tossed them to Casmir. “Look captured.”

  “Right.” Casmir hesitated before snapping them around his wrists, reminded that Bjarke hadn’t liked this plan, didn’t like that they were acting without orders, and might not like Casmir much either. What if he decided to change things up?

  Bjarke reached for the comm button but frowned over at Casmir.

  Casmir snapped the cuffs on. If he needed to, he could have Zee break them. Casmir had to remind himself that, as strange as it seemed, given Bjarke’s brawn and his own extreme lack of brawn, he was the one with the power here. He not only had Zee, but he had the eleven others. Casmir glanced back to make sure the crushers wouldn’t be visible to the comm camera. They had all glided out of sight. Dark silent ghosts. Not even the boxes were visible.

  “This is Johnny Twelve Toes,” Bjarke answered. “As I messaged earlier, I’ve got something you want. Where should I land and drop him off?”

  Casmir was disappointed but not surprised when someone other than Dubashi answered. A young female officer in a black military uniform came up on the display, frowning at Bjarke. Some trusted lieutenant? Maybe Casmir’s sexy-knight plan could be put into play after all. Alas, she didn’t look like someone who would be led astray by a pretty man.

  “We read two human life signs in your shuttle, Twelve Toes, and that’s not a craft registered to the Druckers.”

  “Most of their ships aren’t officially registered,” Bjarke said dryly.

  Casmir trusted that the shuttle, whatever its registry, also didn’t point to Rache.

  “And myself and Dabrowski are on here,” Bjarke said. “What else did you expect?”

  As he shifted the camera toward the co-pilot’s seat, Casmir closed his eyes and slumped his head against the side of the pod, as if he’d been drugged or knocked unconscious. He made sure his cuffed wrists were in his lap and would be visible.

  “He’s supposed to be dead,” she said coolly.

  “I can make that happen.” Bjarke twitched a shoulder. “It’ll cost you two thousand extra.”

  “It should be less work to bring us a body than a living person.”

  “Not really. He’s already unconscious. If I shoot him, there might be blood to clean up. Extra work on my part.”

  “Just bring him in. I’m sending directions and a code that’ll lower the forcefield for thirty seconds. You’ll have to fly in fast.”

  “I can do anything fast, but I prefer slow, precise, and ensured to be enjoyable by all parties involved.”

  Casmir opened his eyelids enough to see Bjarke offer a sultry smile.

  “The only parties involved will be the security androids in the bay. If you don’t come out with Dabrowski dead, they’ll have orders to shoot you.”

  Bjarke abandoned the smile. “So long as the money hits my account before we do the exchange.”

  “You’ll get your money, pirate.” She sniffed and cut the comm.

  “She was kind of condescending,” Casmir said.

  “She works for a prince. I’m just a scruffy pirate accountant.”

  “I’m half-surprised your Druckers aren’t here for the meeting.”

  “Pirates don’t get involved in other people’s wars. Their whole schtick is to be powerful enough to take what they wa
nt without risking themselves. That doesn’t work when you’re battling entire government fleets.”

  A soft beep sounded.

  “We’ve got directions and the code,” Bjarke said.

  Casmir nodded. Nothing to do but wait.

  After a few minutes, a message came back from Moonrazor, and Casmir scanned it eagerly, hoping for some useful tidbit.

  I’m sending along his chip ident, Professor, her note said, but I don’t think you’ll find it very helpful.

  He paused, wondering why that would be.

  What may be of more interest to you is that Dubashi asked for a loan from several members of the astroshaman high council earlier this year. We were surprised, since it’s always been assumed that he’s the wealthiest among us. It’s possible he just didn’t want to spend his own money on his war, but who knows? I don’t believe any of us gave him that loan. Money is so plebeian, so human.

  Good luck and don’t get yourself killed. I’m on the other side of the system, so hardly in a position to offer you an android body this time.

  Casmir sent back a thank you, read the message twice more, and burned the ident into his mind in addition to saving it on his chip. He would look for it on the network as soon as they were close enough to access it.

  Bjarke shifted in his seat and checked the instruments. Casmir thought about sharing what Moonrazor had given him, but since she’d warned him the ident might not be useful, he was hesitant to suggest he’d gained some advantage.

  “In case this all goes to hell and we both get killed,” Casmir said instead, “thanks for being willing to try it. To work with me. I know my methods are a little unorthodox, but I really do want to stop the war and make sure everyone back home is safe. Even if this wasn’t exactly what Prince Jorg had in mind, it seems like it could work. Remove the head and the warmongering snake dies, right?”

  “It depends what kind of power infrastructure he has in place,” Bjarke said without commenting on the rest. “I do wish I had some men at my disposal.” He glanced back at the crushers. Zee was back in sight, keeping an eye on Casmir, as always. “I’m not sure I can count on William and Tristan. And you’re—” He glanced at Casmir but didn’t finish the sentence.