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

by Michael Formichelli

  Hiroaki’s eyes glazed over. “They have announced themselves as the CSS Gerecht Weltraum, a cargo and passenger hauler based out of the Solan core systems. It was expected, but not this soon.”

  “Why are they here?” Ichiro asked.

  “The ship’s captain stated he has a VIP passenger who wish to make contact with you directly,” Hiroaki responded.

  Ichiro looked around the table. The Einagas, save for Hiroaki, looked surprised.

  “Our defenses are standing by, my lord,” he said.

  “Connect me,” Ichiro told Mamiya-san.

  A moment later his implant pinged him with an incoming transmission. He accepted, and a figure clad all in black wearing the long, sleeveless coat and silver pin of an Abyssian appeared staring at him with purple eyes. He was surprised that she was female, having thought all Abyssians were made to appear male. Unlike the others he had heard about, she had dark, chestnut-brown skin and black hair that hung in curls to her ears. He hadn’t realized that Abyssians were so personalized though this one, and Nero before her, proved his idea of them incorrect.

  “I am the Abyssian designated Athame. You are sheltering one of our number on your planet. I have been sent here to retrieve him. My stay on your world will be brief, Baron Mitsugawa Ichiro. Daedalus sends niur well-wishes for your reign. Tell Nero Graves to be ready when the shuttle touches down.” With that she vanished.

  He frowned. Something was amiss about this. It’s too soon since we arrived. No message could have reached Daedalus in time unless by q-comm, but even then, even an Abyssian in the next closest system would take weeks to arrive.

  Setha shifted her weight, looking at him.

  “Strange news,” he said. “Excuse me, but I must leave breakfast early. Please finish without me.”

  He stood up, causing everyone else to do the same and bow.

  Setha followed him out.

  When did this start? Prospero asked when Nero started jogging around the edge of the parade ground in a pair of borrowed shorts and a loose fitting tunic.

  “Are you going to say I told you so?” he responded, trying to find a pace that wouldn’t wear him out too quickly.

  That depends. Answer my question.

  “Just now, if you must know.” Nero took in a deep breath. “Can we just say that my experiences on Elmorus made me realize you were right about exercise? My muscles are maintained by your nanomachines, but I need the endurance. I know that now.”

  He could sense Prospero’s amused triumph, and it irked him but he resisted the urge to lash out. The truth was that his counterpart was right, and he needed to make this change. His level of endurance without the SCC to block his body’s discomfort was pathetic.

  Well, Nero, I will not say it. I’m pleased you’re finally taking care of us.

  “Thank you,” he said, starting to pant.

  You are very welcome. Would you like some music to exercise to? I can play any song or piece you’ve listened to in the whole of your life, or download something from the local Cyberweb.

  Not all of my life, he thought with some bitterness.

  All right, mister smarty-pants, never mind. Prospero snorted in his thoughts.

  He got most of the way around the perimeter before his thighs were burning and Nero felt he had to slow down. Several of the guards on the wall above him looked down. Up ahead a group of men and women were sparring in white gees while a handful sat around the mat-covered area watching. Deciding a the guards might be chuckling at him, Nero detoured up the middle of the parade-ground to avoid additional eyes among the sparring group.

  Now you’re cheating, I should have known.

  “Can it, Prospero. You should be happy I’m trying anything. Aw, screw this, then.” Nero slowed to a walk, breathing hard.

  Don’t you dare, Nero. You started this now you’re going to finish it. More laps!

  He scowled. Up ahead the two-story tall door of the donjon swung open. Mitsugawa’s man, Mamiya, walked out with Khepria and signaled him to come over. Nero nodded, wondering what was going on. For the most part, Mitsugawa’s men had left him and Khepria to their own devices since they arrived, and their appearance together made him nervous.

  “My apologies for the intrusion, but you must be notified of recent developments,” Mamiya said once Nero came within speaking range.

  “What’s happening?” he asked, with an inquisitive glance at his partner.

  She shook her head.

  “I wanted to tell you both in person. There is an Abyssian inbound for this planet. Her name is Praetor Athame. She says she is here for Praetor Nero Graves,” he said.

  “What?” Nero looked to Khepria.

  Her ears twitched.

  I was not informed another Praetor would be coming. As I said, Daedalus has been rather silent since I rebooted, Prospero said.

  “Daedalus appears aware of what we do here at a speed that implies it knew you would be here before we arrived,” Mamiya said.

  Nero looked at Khepria.

  “I am not sure how this could be.” Her ears danced in waves. “Daedalus may have a q-comm connected to the palace systems, and it is possible Praetor Athame was in a neighboring system when we arrived.”

  “I am unaware of any such device, but it must exist as you say,” Mamiya said.

  “Or someone in the palace reports directly to Daedalus.” Nero frowned.

  “Daedalus is involved in several of the Shiragawa weapons projects, that could be a conduit for other information. I will check into it. Thank you.” Mamiya bowed and turned back for the donjon.

  “No, thank you,” Nero said after him.

  “Can we talk?” Khepria asked.

  He looked down at her in surprise. “Of course.”

  She nodded and started walking. Nero fell in at her side. A salt-laden breeze kicked up and swept across the fortress.

  “What do you suppose Praetor Athame wants with me?” he asked after it became apparent she wasn’t going to start the conversation.

  “Perhaps she is here to bring us to Kosfanter,” Khepria proposed.

  “Maybe,” he nodded. “Though if Daedalus was supporting us, why has he been so silent since we arrived here?”

  “Has he?” she asked.

  Confirmed, Agent Khepria. Daedalus has my report, but has made no move to respond, Prospero transmitted to her.

  “That is strange.”

  “I agree,” Nero said.

  They kept walking, listening to the crunch of their boots in the gravel.

  “It has to be about what happened on Elmorus. I mean, with Prospero,” he said.

  “Must be,” Khepria responded. Her tone had him worried.

  “Never mind that. What’s going on here? Why are you so hesitant now?” He gave her a pointed look.

  “I got the response back,” she said.

  “What?”

  “From my query into your old friend, Sergeant Kaeden Faen.” Her ears were twitching, something was wrong.

  “Is he dead?” Nero asked.

  “No,” she said.

  “What’s wrong, then? You look like you’re upset.” He moved in front of her and turned around, stopping in the middle of the parade ground.

  The soldiers by the practice mat cheered. Nero looked over to see one had flipped the other and was standing over him. The winner bowed and helped the other man up. He watched them square off again before turning back to Khepria.

  “I was coming to tell you when Mamiya-san came by my room,” she said.

  “Okay, you’re making me worry now. What’s this about?” He frowned, unable to imagine why looking into an old military buddy he couldn’t remember upset her so much.

  “Sergeant Kaeden Faen left the service at the end of the Savorchan Conflict. The file indicates he went AWOL.”

  “Oh, is that all? I’m sure he must’ve surfaced somewhere. I mean, it makes him a wanted man but—“

  She stopped him with a raised hand. “He did surface elsewhere.
The next record indicates he was captured on Sasstossa, and then the charges were dropped by order of an Admiral Drego of the Olympus Battle Group.”

  “Drego?” That was the captain’s name from his vision. “Okay, that’s a bit unusual.”

  “The next record indicates he registered a ship a week later. Nero, I’m sorry.”

  “That he registered a ship?” He had an icy feeling in his gut he didn’t like. “Where’s this going, Khepria?”

  “I wanted to be sure before I told you, so I cross referenced the ship’s registry with what we have on it.”

  “We have something on his ship?” Nero scowled.

  Oh, no, Prospero said.

  “When you said his name before I thought it was familiar. Humans share a lot of family names without being related, though, so I thought maybe it was not him. I really had to be sure before I told you.” She was grabbing the white stones beneath their feet with her long toes. Her agitation was palpable in the air between them.

  Nero stared at her as the cold feeling through the middle of him grew. The reason for her mood hit him like a tidal wave. He blinked, and the corners of his mouth drifted downward. There could be only one reason why she was so hesitant to tell him what she knew about Faen, the same reason why they already had data on him.

  “You’re about to tell me Sergeant Faen is now Captain Faen,” he said.

  “Of the Katozi Slynn,” she nodded. “The ship that visited Brogh Prime before the ambassador died and the war started.”

  “The one that left Elmorus loaded up with the Siren nanoweapon,” he nodded. “The one that went to Zov, the VoQuana planet.”

  “Nero, are you okay?”

  Strangely, he was. Rather than be upset that the man he thought he had to find to recover his past was the same one they were hunting, he found he was relieved. It made things simpler, like being handed the piece to a puzzle that completed the picture.

  “I’m fine, really. Thank you, Sorina. I owe you everything.”

  She moved to say something, but hesitated before speaking. “What are we going to do?”

  “Believe it or not, we’re going to go to Zov.”

  She cocked her head to the side. “What about Praetor Athame? What if she has other plans?”

  Nero clenched his fist. “Then I’d say, like it or not, her plans just changed.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Ikuzlu City, Kosfanter

  41:2:23 (J2400:3150)

  The three-tiered fountain was bereft of water. Perched on the rim of its widest basin, four stone nymphs held their arms up in supplication to the fish-man-god at the fountain’s apex. Without the flowing holographic dresses that once adorned them, their naked stone was exposed to the eye. Even the trident-wielding god looked bare, devoid of the vitality that he had when the fountain was active. The sight of it washed Cylus in feelings of awe, guilt, and anger. This was where Yoji died. This fountain, dedicated to some long forgotten water deity, was where the course of his own life was set. Scrubbed clean by nanomachines, it was almost as if Yoji’s death never happened. It felt bizarre, unfair that nothing remained to mark his passing, but this was the way it always was with these sorts of things; the galaxy moved on regardless of sentiment.

  He sighed.

  They both were dressed in formal attire, Cylus in his suit with the shoulder-cape, and Pasqualina in a long, cowl-neck dress. From over their right breasts the seven-pointed star of Keltan Securities gleamed. He hoped it would send the right message to the Cronus sisters.

  Nearly a kilometer above them the base of a huge, egg-like structure hung suspended by the four, dark-blue towers of Intelligent Systems Incorporated. This was the stronghold of House Cronus. Once, in a different age, he was at home here, but now he was an interloper, an uninvited guest, and he felt it with every breath.

  Aurora’s words, “you don’t have to do this” echoed in his head.

  “I do,” he whispered.

  “You do what?” Pasqualina asked.

  “Nothing, don’t worry about it. We should get on with this.”

  She nodded and took his hand. Together they entered the east tower, shadowed by his faithful Ben. They were waved past the front desk by the artificial secretary. Ben had the foresight to call ahead and secure a meeting with Baroness Hephestia Cronus before they left Keltan tower. Truly, Cylus didn’t know what he would do without him. After a short, ear-popping ride, the lift opened directly into a sitting room. The rounded wall and narrow window told him they were in the lower section of the egg structure—the living apartments portion of the tower complex. He had never been in this room before. Usually, when he came to visit, he flew directly to the landing platform at the tower’s apex. It was reserved for family and important dignitaries. Today he was neither.

  A single sofa and two tables took up half the room’s available floor space. In front of the inner wall, floating like spectral sentries, were meter-tall holograms of the various artificial servant models offered by Intelligent Systems rendered in neon blue. Aside from the lift, a single inner door between two of the holograms was the only other portal.

  Pasqualina walked over to the window and gazed out at the city through the afternoon glare. It faced eastward, towards the center of the atoll where Xur’qon Island lay. He shuddered and sat down on the sofa facing away from it. He didn’t want to look at that place ever again. The thought that as the next Premier he would have to live in that palace of horrors was almost more than he could bear. Perhaps Zalor would let him live in his own tower instead?

  Ben sat down beside him.

  “I wonder how long they’re going to make us wait?” Cylus asked.

  “I suppose it depends.” Pasqualina drummed her fingers on her knees.

  “On what?”

  “On how angry she still is.” She shrugged.

  “We’re going to be here until the end of the universe then.” He slumped.

  “Don’t be so sure. You don’t know that. She may have already forgiven you,” she said.

  “Do you think?”

  “I wouldn’t put good odds on it, but I’ve heard Heir-Representative Cronus is good natured.” She gave him a half-smile.

  He groaned.

  “She’s not good natured?”

  “No, she is. I’m just not optimistic about all of this.”

  “Cy, please. You’ll be fine.”

  He looked over at the wall, his eye drawn to one of the holograms. “Ben, is that your model?”

  The artificial looked over. “Yes, master. It is.”

  “I didn’t know you were an Intelligent Systems design,”

  Ben’s face scrunched in simulated puzzlement. “I’m sorry, master. I thought your father would have told you. I should not have overlooked this detail.”

  “That’s all right. I never asked.”

  “I am an IS-302 artificial servant built on J2350:7503. I was a gift from my first owner, Baroness Hephestia Cronus, to Baron Mylar Keltan on the day of his wedding to Heir Star Cronus, J2350:15355, or by Confederate accounting, 31:5:3.”

  “The wedding I remember. They didn’t want to have a big production, so they had a small ceremony in the garden on Anilon. Hephestia showed up with this big container. I was only fourteen at the time, but I remember everyone trying to guess what it could be.” Cylus stroked his beard.

  “I love that garden. It must have been beautiful,” Pasqualina said.

  He noted the distant look on her face and realized she wasn’t at the wedding. By the time his father and step-mother got married, the Olivaars and the Keltans were already enemies.

  “Oh, Lina, I’m sorry. I forgot—”

  “What?” She focused on him.

  “I’m sorry, I forgot that you weren’t there. I didn’t mean to—”

  “No, not that. What did you call me?” A smile formed on her lips.

  “Oh, um, Lina?”

  “Yeah, that.”

  “Oh, sorry. I don’t know why I did,” Cylus said.
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  “Don’t apologize, it’s what you used to call me when we were kids. I like it,” she said.

  “Oh.” He’d forgotten about that, but she was right. When he saw the happy expression staying on her face, he felt his own broaden.

  The inner door slid open.

  He stood up when the Cronus sisters, both dressed in flowing blue and white ankle-length dresses, entered the room. Each had her golden hair laced with bells that rang in light, unearthly chimes around their cherubic faces.

  “Baroness, Heiress.” His eyes flickered between their dower expressions. His chest tightened.

  Aurora seemed startled by the rolling gravel in his voice, but Hephestia looked stern. Her jaw was set in an expression he had only seen her use at the Barony. It was her public face, reserved for strangers, and it hurt to see her use it with him. Aurora got over her surprise a moment later and warped her face in open anger. Her scowl seemed to deepen when her eyes fell on Pasqualina.

  “Baron Keltan, to what do we owe your presence?” The tone of Hephestia’s voice made him cringe.

  It took him a moment to realize she hadn’t acknowledged Pasqualina. It didn’t seem right.

  “Heiress Olivaar and I hope you are both well.”

  “Cut to it, Cylus. I’m busy preparing for my re-election campaign,” Aurora snapped.

  His mouth went dry. For some reason he picked that moment to try to swallow, causing a jam when his tongue stuck to his palate.

  “We have come to ask you a favor,” he said after several awkward moments trying to get his mouth to work properly.

  “Oh? And what favor does Baron Keltan ask?” Hephestia said.

  “Um,” he stammered.

  “The only reason why we agreed to meet you is because you were once family, though you and Sophiathena decided you didn’t want to be included in that group anymore. I don’t have all day for you, Cylus.” Aurora’s voice made him feel like he was bathing in ice. Her eyes darted to his companion again.

  “Not only that, but you dare to bring her here?” Hephestia pointed a blue-lacquered fingernail at Pasqualina.