by Tyler Chase
She gave him a stern look, but he knew the argument had won her over. “Give me your word that we’ll never use this against any enemy in the Sellusion Empire. Not against Nostrom, Dredfort, Warbrenger, or any of them.”
He bowed his head and placed his hand on his chest. “I give you my word. We will not use it against them.”
She exhaled deeply and her shoulders sagged. “I just pray we never live to regret this.”
Chapter 9
“Again, I implore you, Your Highness,” said the highly esteemed Chancellor Trin Zhang. The apprehensive look in the older nobleman’s eyes was a warning. “How did you learn of these things?” His tight grip on the arms of his chair and the slight crouch in his posture suggested he was ready to bolt. This was not the time to alienate the man. Vaush had to set him at ease.
She smiled warmly and replied, “You must trust that as Empress, I have my sources and that the utmost discretion will be exercised. Furthermore, I am beyond delighted to learn of your true origins.”
Trin sat back in his chair and levelled her with those clever dark eyes. Vaush knew what he was thinking—there is a traitor in my camp!
More assurance would be required. She spread her hands in a welcoming gesture. “I would have you act as intermediary between our worlds. Opening trade with the Shinzhao of the Hinter Worlds is what I desire most as it will help facilitate the process of weaning the empire off the Hegemony teat, if you will.”
Trin shifted in his chair, his sharp onyx eyes searched the room.
“Lord Chancellor, this isn’t a trap set to test your loyalty, though I understand your hesitation,” she said empathetically. “I am asking you to trust me when you hardly know me or my intentions. Therefore, I will be the first to extend trust to you.”
His eyebrows arched a degree. She had his interest.
“I will deposit ten billion credits in an escrow account that you alone will have access to.” When he smirked, Vaush quickly added. “The transaction will be legally documented. This is not a set up in any way. I want you to take the funds as an opening bid to the Shinzhao to demonstrate to them just how committed I am to this path.”
He took a deep breath and exhaled. “And where does the trust come in?”
Vaush leaned back in her chair. “Those ten billion credits are legally yours while they sit in that account. Either you will do as I ask and negotiate with the Shinzhao or you will flee into the night with it, leaving me with absolutely no legal recourse to regain the funds or prosecute you. If you truly believe this is an attempt at entrapment, that’s precisely what you should do with the ten billion credits.” She clasped her hands together. “If, however, we demonstrate mutual trust in one another, you will still be an extremely wealthy man and a celebrated hero to your people for brokering a trade agreement between our worlds.”
He placed his hands in his lap, one over the other. He looked askance at the empress, but held his silence for a spell. Just when Vaush began to grow weary of the staring contest, he finally spoke.
“You are of House Hrollaugr-Nostrom, some would say, the ceremonial head of the Hegemony. Would you cut off your nose to spite your face?”
“I would cut off the head to destroy the body,” she held up a hand when he started to reply. “This is not treason or disloyalty, Chancellor. For how can you be disloyal to a thing to which you’ve never pledged your allegiance. I’m an outsider, Trin. My mother is dead because they could not bear to have someone of less than royal blood to exist in their midst. What loyalty has the Hegemony shown to me or mine?”
“Then you speak of vendetta?”
“No, I speak of a higher path, a path where the Hegemony no longer holds the reins. Mind you, I don’t mean to completely destroy the Hegemony as they do serve a purpose. I merely intend to … defang them.”
“Ah,” he said with a hint of a smile that said this was a thing he could understand, “but you still haven’t told me the why of it, Your Excellency. You are the empress, which means you hold the leash of the one who holds the reins. Ultimate power is yours, is it not?”
If that were the case, would I be concealing a husband? This was a delicate moment—while the right answer could seal the deal, the wrong would send him running.
“In a sense, yes. However, those who came before me established the rules for how the game is to be played,” her smile vanished and her tone grew stern, “I don’t like their rules. I want a new playing board.”
“Where you write the new rules?” he said, cocking an eyebrow.
“Where I oversee the council who writes the new rules. I would fully expect Shingzhao to be a key member of the Imperial Council.”
“You offer them a voice in this new regime of yours.”
Vaush leaned forward in her chair. “Yes, Chancellor—a very loud voice.”
She could see the gears turning in his head, the possibilities, the potential. It was too enticing a prospect to ignore.
“So, you will do this for me?” she asked in the prolonged silence.
His poker face returned. “Deposit the ten billion into my account and you will find out.”
She nodded. “Consider it done, Lord Chancellor.”
Chapter 10
“Van Laven …,” Supreme Bashar Erlacher said in breathless wonder as he gazed out at the impressive armada of Murkudahl-inspired battleships and weapon’s systems housed in Fort Extremis’ voluminous hangar bay.
Comron smiled inwardly at the awe in the seasoned veteran’s voice. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back matching Erlacher’s relaxed military stance.
“You’ve been a very busy man.”
“This is my backup plan for the Murkudahl invasion in the event that Chaiyse’s plan fails.” He delivered his canned rational for such an enormous undertaking.
Erlacher turned to him and cocked a brow. “So you won’t be pointing those elegant titanium canons at any of the locals then?”
“Not unless they give me a damned good reason to.” Seeing Erlacher’s wary expression, he reframed his answer, “No, Admiral.”
“So you’re going to keep this …,” he shook his head, “marvel of modern engineering locked away in this hanger until the Murkudahl come knocking.”
Comron hesitated. “That is the plan.”
“Bullshite,” Erlacher snickered and looked at Comron. “This is Nethic’s new space fleet, isn’t it?”
Comron’s gaze remained locked on the battleships. “The last time canons were pointed at Nethic, I was forced to marry a woman I despised. I don’t mean to be placed in such a vulnerable position ever again.”
Erlacher looked away but not before Comron felt the sense of regret emanating from Erlacher.
“I thought I was doing what was best for my granddaughter.”
“And now?”
The corners of Erlacher’s mouth turned down. “Well, the jury is still out … but I’m starting to believe in redemption and second chances.” He turned to face him. “Yaeger’s of the opinion that your feelings for Vaush run fairly deep, and that you just might be the best thing for her … for now anyway.”
Comron’s lips cracked into a smile. “Why Bashar, that sounds remotely like an apology.”
Erlacher shrugged. “Maybe.” He hitched his thumb at the hanger bay. “Now, about these technologically advanced warships,” his dark brown eyes narrowed perceptively, “should I be worried, Van Laven?”
“It is my hope that, if ever this fleet was put into service,” Comron said evenly, “that you would be the one to command it, sir.”
Erlacher’s eyes widened slightly, clearly not expecting that answer. He gazed back out at the magnificent, state-of-the art machinery. “If ever that day should come, I’d be awfully tempted to,” he shook his head. “I’ve never seen their equal.”
“When the Murkudahl arrive, you will,” Comron said, his voice dripping ominous overtones. Erlacher was one person he needed to have in his corner. With his combined skill as a former genera
l’s elite and his unswerving loyalty to Vaush, he was an invaluable resource.
“My granddaughter has appointed me as her Supreme Bashar to head the single most powerful military force in the empire. You want me to step down to command this force?”
Comron stifled a grin; Erlacher was dying to accept. “Well, I thought I’d give you first shot at it. But, if you’d prefer sitting in a comfortable office and growing old and fat, you go right ahead. I’ll find someone else to command,” he extended his hand out toward the warships, “all of this.”
Erlacher stared at his shoes for a second, two at most before his head popped back up. “I will need to know everything there is to know about the fleet’s capabilities, arsenal, and ship’s complement. I’ll start putting together a list of personnel that would be ideal to train on these beauties.”
Comron looked at him. “Good. Once you have the list, send it to me, and we’ll work out the training schedule and confidentiality protocols. I intend to keep this close to the breast. It’s my pet project, Bashar. Speaking of which, Vaush and I think you should still keep that title. You’ll just be working here instead of that ivory tower office.”
Erlacher gave him a curious look. “So, the empress does know about your pet project. This operation must cost billions, and I’m guessing you’re not bankrupting Nethic to finance it.”
Comron smirked. “I gave Vaush the grand tour a few weeks ago. I’m not bankrupting Nethic to finance this project, nor am I skimming off the imperial treasury. It’s all quite legitimate, I assure you.”
“I’m not even going to pretend to understand all the financial wizardry you and your ilk do, in fact, I don’t even think you all understand it and one day I imagine you’ll all be indicted for securities fraud,” he grinned then squinted his eyes at the furthest corner of the facility. “What the hell is that?”
The object appeared to be a pulsating sphere of light encased in a prism. “Oh, that thing of beauty? It’s still in the early stages of development, but when it’s complete, it’ll make the Star Harvester look like a mere child’s toy.”
Erlacher whistled and shook his head. “Damn, Van Laven. If this technology ever fell into the wrong hands, not saying yours are the right ones.”
Comron brushed off the jab. “Choose competent officers to cover your day-to-day administrative functions. For the most part, I’d like to have you devoted exclusively to Fort Extremis. I’ll have some of my own men to add to your list of recruits, trusted Nethicaen officers, special forces division.”
“Ah,” Erlacher said, nodding as he stroked his chin. “Well, as long as they know how to obey an order, they’re welcome to train under me.”
“The best of your men have already been assigned to guard the empress and I’d have it no other way. So we’ll recruit heavily from Nethic and selectively, from the Hinter Worlds.”
Erlacher’s brows rose appreciably. “That’s risky.”
“I said selectively,” Comron reiterated. He wasn’t ready to tell Erlacher that there was a strong chance they could go to war with the Hegemony and that they’d find no greater ally than in the Vlodostok and Shinzhao. “We’ll start out slow with my people and your hand-picked crew.”
Erlacher looked askance at Comron, and scratched his own short, curly hair. “You don’t plan to stay married to Spira very long, do you?” He waved a finger at the arsenal. “I’d love to command this fleet, but I won’t charge into battle against Dredfort or Warbrenger because you picked a fight with them over Vaush.”
Comron inclined his head at Erlacher. “Bashar, if you don’t have more faith in me than that, then I don’t know that I should place my faith in you to command this fleet.” Physical warfare would be the absolute last resort to lay claim to Vaush, especially when economic warfare was so much more gratifying.
“Don’t get your drawers in a bunch, Van Laven,” Erlacher said, shaking his head. “I’m just letting you know where I draw the line. I’ll do whatever is necessary to protect the empress, maintain peace in the empire, and protect it from outside invaders. But that’s it.”
Comron shrugged. “What else is there?”
Chapter 11
In the midst of the Reserve Board’s charity ball, Comron smiled charmingly at the matronly Duchess of Trosedale as she droned on about the various accomplishments of their house’s charitable foundations. He had already grown adept at ignoring the feel of Spira’s hands wrapped around his arm, as he was dutifully compelled to make an occasional public appearance with his new “bride.”
This event was carefully chosen, as it would provide him with the opportunity to engage Linton Rogueport in conversation, for it was time to trade up Nethic’s subordinated board seat for a permanent senior one. Granted, if their plans to break the Hegemony succeeded, the board would hardly resemble itself in the aftermath, but he needed to deliver some tangible proof that he’d not forsaken Nethic—the very accusation his family had levelled against him repeatedly, particularly Crausin. It was getting more difficult to ignore Crausin’s incessant pleas for him to return home to Nethic and abandon his foolhardy ambitions that would only result in himself being killed. A senior board would be just the ticket to prove he was in a position of power and reaffirm his commitment to Nethic.
Comron patiently endured the small talk and was relieved when the conversation finally turned to the state of the imperial economy. All the groundwork had been laid, now was his chance to reel Rogueport in.
“Granted, the Wolsen theory of reciprocity in derivative driven markets is elegant in its simplicity,” Comron said when there was a brief pause in conversation. “However, the more seasoned economist favors the Kendrill Cole model for good reason.” A charming smile graced his lips. “I know, the full exposition is a bit of a tiresome tome, but there are excellent points to be gleaned … for the avid fox.”
While all others nodded their agreement at the newest subordinated member of the reserve board, Linton Rogueport’s eyes locked fiercely with his. Comron lifted his glass toward Rogueport and sipped his drink.
“Lord Van Laven,” Rogueport said amicably, “I would love to discuss the Kendrill exposition at length with you, but I don’t wish to bore our dear guests exceedingly.” He gestured to the side. “A moment of your time, please.”
Comron nodded. “My lord,” he said, disengaging his arm from Spira to follow Rogueport over to a private alcove.
The moment they reached it, all humor vanished from Rogueport’s face. “You are the avid fox,” he said tersely, his thin lips going pale and taut. “How does someone in your position come to have such intimate knowledge of those structured deals?”
“May I presume that I was correct in my conjecture?” Comron asked the older, gray-haired gentleman.
“Impeccably so, which I find extremely unsettling.”
“Fear not, good sir,” Comron said disarmingly. “The knowledge is not widespread, and I value discretion as much as the next man.”
Rogueport’s dark gray brows drew low over his watery blue eyes and long beak of a nose. “How did someone of your status come by such guarded information?”
A lowly mid-size banker of a minor house is what he meant; Comron ignored the jibe. “I must protect my sources, my lord. Surely you can appreciate this.”
“Van Laven Capital has recently been granted a subordinated seat on the reserve board. A huge achievement for a second tier house,” he said in a mildly insulting manner. “However, I suspect you have your sights set on something greater … perhaps a chair on an influential committee.”
The corners of Comron’s mouth turned down but he said nothing. He’d let Rogueport tip his hand, indicate what he was willing to put on the table. Thus far, Comron was unimpressed. After exposing a business partners betrayal and urging Rogueport to unload his short positions in Lesco alone should have earned him more than that.
“Earning your way into my good graces was obviously your goal since you failed to demand any monetary reward for the
information you provided.” Rogueport gave him a condescending pat on the shoulder, like one might give a faithful dog. “Good work, Van Laven. I never forget a favor.”
“The Imperial Inquisitor’s office has been extremely busy in the Orwan territory, doing their best to crack down on the parts of the singin trafficking market that they don’t already control. My sources tell me that they plan to indict all the major players and financiers in two weeks.” Comron leaned in and lowered his voice. “Might be a good time to distance yourself from the Dolsec consortium,” he said, naming the crime syndicate that ran most of their elicit funds through Rogueport’s banks. Again, this was knowledge that only his most trusted associates were privy to.
“How the hell did you—” The color rose in his face and his jaw clenched. “Obviously, your surveillance technology is second to none. But tread carefully, Van Laven.”
Comron’s eyes widened, and he placed a hand on his chest as if offended. “Sir, I’ve done nothing but use what I’ve learned to spare you great financial loss and public humiliation. I would hope that would earn your gratitude, not your disdain.”
But Rogueport was no fool; nobody who climbed their way to his position could afford to be. Comron was counting on that.
“Don’t be coy with me,” Rogueport said impatiently, drawing himself up to his full stature, which happened to be equal to Comron’s. “What is it you’re really after?”
Right on cue, Comron thought. He squared his jaw, his eyes narrowed in earnest. “In less than four weeks, Lord Karim Duhal is scheduled to retire, leaving a vacant seat on the senior reserve board. Give me the seat.”
A sharp bark of laughter escaped Rogueport, and he looked in utter amazement at Comron. “You ambitious little crag mite. We throw you a few scraps from the table and now you fancy yourself worthy to sit among us?”
