Keltan's Gambit: Chronicles of the Orion Spur Book 2

by Michael Formichelli

  “You’re one of Zalor’s,” he said before it could speak.

  “Correct. Baron Revenant wishes for you to follow me,” it said in a female voice devoid of emotion.

  “Unbelievable. I’m sure he did this on purpose.” He looked at Pasqualina’s carefully controlled face and rolled his eyes.

  “Inappropriate.” She nodded and shifted her weight.

  “Follow, please. Your servant shall remain behind.” The android turned, lingering momentarily in profile before proceeding towards a set of huge bronze doors in the stone edifice of the building. They had Relaen and Cleebian figures constructing the palace sculpted in high relief adorning their imposing surfaces. He looked at Ben, feeling a bit nervous about leaving him behind. Ben’s combat programming was his only real protection if Zalor tried anything. He opened his mouth to tell Ben to ignore Zalor’s wishes but Pasqualina interrupted him.

  “We’ll be okay. Zalor isn’t dumb enough to try anything here.”

  “Are you sure?” He felt his mouth go dry.

  She nodded. “I’ll watch over you.”

  He smiled for a moment and decided to trust her. “Okay. Stay here, Ben.”

  His servant nodded.

  He took her hand and did as she suggested. Instead of watching the android’s vulgar buttocks he looked past it at the myriad of windows set in the palace’s two-meter tall rectangular niches. Their crystalline appearance and delicate gray metal frames made him think that they lacked the carbon nanotubes that reinforced so many modern materials. The closer they got the more imperfections his eyes picked out.

  “The machine must’ve been malfunctioning.” He gestured at the glass.

  Pasqualina giggled. “There was no machine. All the windows in the palace were hand made by the Cleebian and Relaen artisans who first settled here. The palace rests on the spot where some old temple used to be. When Kosfanter was designated the capitol of the Confederation, they tore it down and built what you see here.”

  “Oh.” He hadn’t any idea there used to be a temple on this island. “What kind of temple was it?”

  “I don’t know, but it predated the Cleebian presence here. I think parts of the old temple still exist beneath our feet, but I’m not sure. It’s been a long time since I had a class in Kosfantari history.”

  The massive bronze doors swung outward with such ease at their approach he wondered if they had Higgs-Boson reduction fields around them. Within was a ten-by-eight meter room adorned with antique wooden chairs and holographic busts of previous premiers hovering before its wood-panel walls. Three doors punctuated the chamber’s archaic appearance. The lack of handles gave away the fact that they were automatic, but they resembled antique portals in every other respect. A bright purple flash from outside drew attention to the chamber’s floor to ceiling windows. Through them he could see and hear the city’s aegis field hissing in bursts of static as lightning struck its charged surface. Between the pulses the steady sound of rain vaporized by the aegis crackled in the air like cooking meat as a storm began.

  “You will stay here,” the artificial said to Pasqualina.

  “Excuse me?” She made the question an accusation.

  “You are to wait here for Baron Keltan’s return.”

  “The invitation was for both of us,” he said.

  “It is, but Heiress Olivaar must remain here.” The artificial leveled its pinhole gaze on him.

  He sighed. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s all right. I expect nothing less from a man like Zalor.” She scowled and crossed her arms before her chest.

  “Come.”

  He gave a last look at Pasqualina with his heart pounding, and followed the artificial through one of the doors. They traveled through wooden corridors lit by chandeliers and lined with both holographic and physical art. The artificial led him down a flight of carpeted stairs, then through two more corridors smelling of dust, mildew, and potpourri to a room at the end. Though not grand, the space was large enough to hold an eight-seat table with a green velvet top, six sitting chairs, and a full bar without looking cluttered. The walls were covered by thick, green velvet curtains. A shell-like crystal bulge in the ceiling provided the room’s soft white light. His uncle’s oozing bulk was squeezed between the card table and a chair. Nearby his wife, Helena, sat holding a narrow stemmed glass in the air near her shoulder while she chatted with a man standing beside her.

  He was human, with black hair cut to a uniform termination just below his ears. A thick, close-cropped beard forested his cheeks and chin, but left the space between his upper lip and the hook of his nose bare. He had dark olive skin and fiery auburn eyes that made him look like he was trying to burn the world with his gaze. He wore a voluminous robe of black and gold. Mathematical symbols were embroidered into the edges with platinum thread. About his neck was a thick chain of gold terminating in a medallion of a four-pointed star in a circle. It was the symbol of the Daewonist faith, and only the scions of that religion dressed in such a fashion.

  The Cleebian stood by the wall dressed in a floor-length cloak of a shimmering, metallic-silver cloth and a gold band around his domed head. His center eye was fixed on a Solan woman seated near him, and the flesh-cords of his external larynx buzzed as he engaged her in conversation. His lateral eyes focused on the rest of the room with yellow-rimmed irises as big as saucers. There was something familiar about him, though Cylus couldn’t quite place it. So many of the Cleebians looked alike that unless they had a unique feature like a scar or tattoo, he was hopelessly lost as to which was which without an ID-query of their implants.

  When he looked at the woman, his breath caught in his throat. Brudah Altair, Baroness of AgroWorlds Corp and Pasqualina’s true mother, was the Cleebian’s companion. Dressed in a long dark green gown, she stood with her nose up in the air as if deigning to talk to a Cleebian was beneath her. With her curly-blond hair spun into a bun behind her skull and the makeup caked on her face, she looked matronly, though he doubted that was its intended purpose. His heart thundered in his chest and he swayed on his feet. The image from his dreams, rings of spinning blue sparks, flashed before his eyes. He averted his gaze and resolved not to look at her again if he could help it.

  Shaken, he turned his body to face the bar and the remaining occupants of the room. On the right was Premier Dorsky, a powerfully built man with flowing salt-and-pepper hair, stared into his drink with dark eyes. A frown fixed his wide mouth in a long arc that distorted the fullness of his cheeks and accentuated his square jaw line. He looked like a different person than the one depicted in the Cyberweb broadcasts. Thick bags hung beneath his eyes conjuring a tired air that belied the strength his broad shouldered suit was meant to convey. His hand rested on the counter beside that of a young woman wearing a black dress with a shimmering gold sash. She had dark olive skin and long, black hair up in a bun held with a pair of gold sticks. Her dark eyes were the most alert and intelligent-looking in the room. He felt himself shift under her gaze until his own took in the person seated on the Premier’s other side.

  Baron Zalor Revenant reclined with his back to the bar counter in a black formal suit with a white jacket. His shoulder-length hair was razor-straight and hooked around the arched lobes of his ears. He greeted Cylus with gleaming azure eyes and a smile that spread like spilled blood across his angular face. Transfixed, he never before realized how much like his daughters the man looked. Sophi’s eyes were paler, Pasqualina’s nose was narrower, but the three of them shared the same high, defined cheekbones and overall facial structure. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed it before.

  “Welcome Baron Keltan, please join us,” Zalor said loud enough to cut through the murmur of conversation in the room.

  “Ah, yes! Welcome my boy!” Baron Olivaar rose, overturning his chair in the process.

  His wife rolled her eyes.

  “How is my daughter?” Baroness Helena Revenant asked in a more subdued voice. Her eyes flickered over him as though sh
e could detect how he was treating Pasqualina by how he dressed.

  His eyes flickered to Brudah’s stone-faced expression.

  “Well, thank you. She’s in the sitting room. You should call her down here if you want to see her.” He hoped they would. A cold sensation was creeping through his gut as he realized he was trapped in a room full of his family’s enemies.

  “That won’t be necessary. I wanted to introduce you to our guests,” Zalor rose from his seat.

  “Premiere Dorsky you know. His companion for the evening is my latest employee, Cygni Aragón. The baron in the corner there is Shisharav Xitar of the Cleebian Greater Prosperity Sphere.”

  Cylus nodded at the Cleebian beside Brudah. Baron Xitar leaned his head forward and spoke in buzzing tones that were a melodic mimicry of the Solan language. “We have met before at the house of your father when you were a boy.”

  That was why he felt a familiarity. The baron was at Mitsugawa Yoji’s funeral procession. Baron Xitar was the chief Cleebian conspirator against Zalor until he voted counter to Mitsugawa interests in the last Barony session. What was he doing here? Was this a sign that the Cleebians intended to support Zalor? A pawl of dread descended upon him. If they did that, whatever Sophi was planning might be in serious jeopardy. The Cleebians were one of the founding species of the Confederation, and their technology and military power were on the cutting edge. It was only through great fortune that their society was as corporate-culture obsessed as that of his own species. The similarity of economic systems and their mutual enmity with the VoQuana, allowed humanity to rise to prominence in the Spur. Without the Cleebian counterweight any opposition to Zalor was doomed to failure. The realization made him shudder. Was all of this for nothing?

  “Baroness Altair you met on the cruise,” Zalor continued.

  He avoided making eye contact with the baroness.

  “You know your own uncle and aunt, of course. The gentleman you do not know is Baron-Scion Viktor Vargas.”

  “It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Baron Keltan. Both Baron Revenant and your father spoke well of you,” the Baron-Scion said.

  “You knew my father?” He looked the scion in the eye.

  “We had occasion to speak in the past. It is terrible what happened to him and the rest of your family. Would that the workings of the Matre had not brought them to such a grizzly end, but She is the machinery of the universe, and such deeds are but the invention of the flawed reasoning to which we all sometimes succumb.” Vargas watched him with his smoldering, dark eyes.

  “It was indeed a deep tragedy. The galaxy will not see Mylar’s like again,” Hagus said. Helena elbowed him in the ribs.

  Zalor cleared his throat. “Shall we get to the matter at hand? Next year is an election year, Cylus. This Premier’s run is over.”

  Dorsky grumbled unintelligibly into his glass.

  “The Barony will select a new leader, one who will finally end this long war with the Broghite Commonwealth and bring much needed peace to the Confederation.”

  Cylus couldn’t help the sour smile from appearing on his face. Earlier this year Zalor passed a measure that ensured the Confederate government’s bankruptcy. Sometime in the next hundred days the treasury would be forced to take out an enormous loan to keep the government and the war running. It was a foregone conclusion that Zalor would be the one to loan the Confederation the money and by doing so become a defacto one-man shadow government.

  “I think we all know who that leader is,” Zalor said looking around the room. Cylus followed his gaze and saw the others nodding.

  He moved over to the bar, keeping Dorsky between himself and Baron Revenant, and signaled the artificial bartender to bring him something strong. The woman, Cygni Aragón, stared at him with a pensive expression on her face. He had no idea who she was, and her attention was uncomfortable, so he shifted away from her a couple of centimeters.

  “The people are growing weary of war and the financial instability that it brought,” Zalor continued. “The Confederation has lost too much ground. Too many worlds have fallen to those gray-skinned bastards. The people are demoralized. They need a leader who can sweep away the blunders of the past.”

  Premiere Dorsky rolled his eyes. He looked about to say something, but visibly bit the inside of his cheek. The look of pain on his face made Cylus flinch.

  A translucent green fluid in a crystal tumbler arrived before him. The vague smell of honey could just barely be detected beneath the stench of alcohol. He raised it to his lips.

  “I cannot think of a better candidate than Cylus Keltan,” Zalor finished.

  A numbness overcame him at the sound of his name and the glass fell from his fingers. He felt it strike his boots and splash sticky fluid over his silk pants. His eyes widened so much they began to sting from the dry air. He wasn’t the only one surprised. Baron Olivaar’s thick lipped mouth hung open in a rounded rectangle with his jowls vibrating around it. Helena’s frosty blue eyes went wide. The hand she put over her mouth could not stop the yip of surprise from passing through her lips. Baron Xitar’s three eyes darted about, looking at the others. He gave no outward indication of surprise or lack thereof, but his species was notoriously unreadable to Solans. At the baron’s side, Brudah had a curious look of barely suppressed relish on her face. Cylus couldn’t imagine why. Vargas smiled and took a few steps closer to him. Dorsky’s date appeared unphased, and looked somewhat concerned, which made him wonder again who she was.

  “By your expression I can tell you expected someone else, perhaps myself, to take the position?” Zalor inclined his head towards Cylus with a smirk on his face. After a moment he continued. “By this time next year, well before the election, I will have complete financial control of the Confederation. It would make the other barons nervous if I assumed the role of Premier while actually ruling Confederate space. Nervous barons do stupid things, like question who they want in charge. None of us in this room can afford that. I know what they say about me, and what all of you in this room say as well. If I were to assume the Office, that which you all whisper about might be spoken in public. Even I cannot assuage the fears of the Barony while fighting a war and running the economy.

  “You, on the other hand, are a perfect choice. Your personal tragedy was broadcast across every world in the Confederation. There isn’t a baron in the Spur who doesn’t have some sympathy for you. My sources tell me that even the general populace thinks they know you, and they feel for you. Your ascension to the Office of Premier would be greeted with optimism. They will say, ‘here is man who may live in a corporate tower, but who has felt the pain of loss as we all have. He will be sympathetic to us.’”

  Cylus felt his stomach gurgle and he bent over.

  “When you are elected, the public will expect you to make things better, and you will. You will lead the charge to victories that will end the war. You will reverse the economic decline gripping our great Confederation, and working with the enemy you turned into a friend, you will usher in a new age of interconnectivity and near-instantaneous communications. Do you understand what you will be, Cylus? You will be the Great Savior of the People.”

  His head swam. He was stunned almost beyond thought. The urge to run home to Anilon was stronger than ever. He had a sense that Zalor had trapped him in a deep pit from which he would never escape. He didn’t want to be the Premier or Zalor’s political puppet. Sophi was wrong. She hadn’t led him to bait Zalor into revealing a plan they could attack, she’d led him into being Zalor’s tool. If he agreed to this he would be the instrument of tyranny. He would betray everything that his father, mother, and his friends fought for their whole lives.

  “I won’t do it.” The words surprised him. He didn’t even realize he said them until Zalor gave him a look that turned his guts to water.

  The zeal vanished from Zalor’s eyes, and the muscles of his face sagged. Looking at those pale orbs was like staring into a black hole. Goosebumps rose on his skin and he felt the
gaze sucking him in and tearing him apart one organ at a time. His body shook as he remembered all of the enemies the baron made disappear over the years. Zalor once said that he didn’t kill his enemies, he bought them. Looking into those eyes, Cylus knew the truth.

  He was a dead man.

  His chest burned and he couldn’t breathe. He felt like he was falling from a great height, and then the contents of his stomach rose. With a cough he vomited foul smelling bile all over himself and the varnished wood floor.

  “By the Will, he’s sick!” Olivaar exclaimed.

  “He’s weak,” Helena said.

  He saw Miss Aragón try to move as he swayed on his feet but the Premier’s hand on hers restrained her.

  Zalor snapped his fingers, and the bartender moved out from behind the counter. Cylus looked up into the pinhole eyes of the android, unable to tell if it was coming to help or not. Another spasm rocked his body and he doubled over, his mouth yawing wide as his guts twisted and leapt. A white hand descended into his vision, then launched itself up at him. He felt its cool, silicon fingers close about his throat. They squeezed so tight that it seemed to him his entire head was about to explode. He wondered if this was the stupid machine’s way of trying to get him to stop vomiting. It wasn’t until the artificial lifted him up and slammed him down on the bar counter that his fear-addled mind realized the machine was here to end him. He heard the muffled sound of urine on cloth, and there was a sudden, hot wetness in his pants.

  In a burst of motion, he clawed at the artificial’s hand. His fingernails had about as much affect on it as they would have on stone. The android held him down with ease, choking the life from him as he flopped around on display atop the counter like a dying fish.

  Zalor walked up to him, looking down with cadaverous eyes.