The Lost Secret

by Vaughn Heppner

  Ural accepted the letter. It was an invitation to the briefing…which was about to begin in six minutes.

  Ural jumped up and pushed Franco aside, donning a dress uniform, combing his hair and brushing his teeth. Then he strode down the corridors, showed the guards his invitation and hurried to his chair seconds before the Emperor arrived. It would have been bad form to arrive after his Highness.

  The assembled sat at a long, mirrored table with the Emperor at its head. Strand was here, Artaxerxes Par, Samos of Thetis, Venna—

  With a shock, Ural noticed her for the first time. It was incredible she should attend an official briefing. She sat on a small stool behind and to the left of the Emperor. Venna wore red slippers, a long red dress that hid her legs but showed her cleavage to excellent effect. A gold chain hung from her neck, the ruby on the end between what he could see of her breasts. She wore a silver collar, no doubt, so she remembered her status as a harem girl. Her purple-painted, beguiling eyes matched the wonder of her artfully done up curls—

  Quit looking at her, Ural told himself. She’s here to distract you. Remember where you are.

  The other ship captains were at the briefing along with several of the Emperor’s chief advisors, making it a packed chamber.

  Venna glanced at Ural as the Emperor reached down and put a slate on the table. Ural felt her gaze like a sizzling shock to the frontal lobes of his brain. He swallowed and wondered why he should react this way to her stare.

  Damn, Strand studied him, the wizened Methuselah Man like the Emperor’s personal demon to bedevil him. Did Strand have anything to do with Venna’s presence here? How could that be possible? Was this a ploy of Strand’s?

  The miserable Methuselah Man—Ural forced himself to stare down Strand. He could feel the dwarf’s strength of intellect. Strand seemed to have grown greater than before, as if an aura had developed in him. For a second, Ural feared Strand could read his thoughts. He then dismissed that as ridiculous.

  They’re preying upon my suspicions and fears. I must control my thinking or I’m lost. Ural frowned. Has Strand ordered technicians to focus rays upon my mind from the other room? The possibility of that grew as the Emperor spoke. Ural found it difficult to follow his cousin’s logic, especially when the ruby between Venna’s breasts glittered strangely. He needed air, for he suddenly wished for nothing more than to jump across the table and take Venna for his own. He swallowed, tore his gaze from her—this was insanity. Concentrate, you simpleton. You’re making a spectacle of yourself. He needed a mind shield or jammer, one that would block rays aimed at his mind. His gaze slid back to Venna. No! Concentrate. Don’t look at the wench. She means to defeat you through sexual allure.

  “I suggest we inspect the wreck first, Your Majesty,” Strand was saying. When had the Methuselah Man started talking? “I see no reason anyone should object to—”

  “I do,” Ural heard himself say.

  Strand fell silent as everyone at the mirrored conference table—and Venna in back—stared at Ural.

  “Why did you interrupt my counselor?” the Emperor asked softly.

  Ural considered asking for forgiveness, but immediately rejected that, as it would make him appear weak. He squared his shoulders, deciding to bull his way through. “Sire, the Methuselah Man has proven his worth many times this mission. Yet, I remember a day when he ruled the Throne World. I suspect he would like sit on your throne and govern us in his old imperial manner once more.”

  “Your Majesty,” Strand said. “Notice how he is—”

  “Going to play your old teach-us-simpletons-how-it’s-done ruse?” Ural asked.

  “This is too much,” Strand said in what was surely mock outrage. “He interrupted me for a second time, Your Majesty.”

  “Sire,” Ural said. “I was answering your question.”

  The Emperor glanced from Strand to Ural and back to Strand again and then the general audience. “Yes. You were answering me. Go ahead, cousin. I want to know why you interrupted Strand when I gave him leave to speak.”

  “Thank you, Sire. The simple truth is that I don’t trust the derelict ship.”

  “Why interrupt Strand because of that?” the Emperor asked. “You’ll have your turn to speak. What caused you to break protocol?”

  Ural laughed in a deprecating way. “I do not have the Methuselah Man’s easy ways and smooth tongue, Sire. He can sell snow to Eskimos, as the old saying goes. We are far from home and deep in the old domain of the Builders. I expect surprises and would rather we struck like a cobra and then vanished. We need the ancient knowledge. So, let us raid the Library Planet for it and be gone. We will map everything and study later, after we’ve secured the Throne World’s future and your person.”

  “Secured me, Golden Ural?” the Emperor asked.

  Be careful. Watch what you say. They’ve set you up. You have to unravel the net of their trap. “You’re the heart of the Throne World, Sire. We have many of the boldest and greatest dominants in your train. If we perish out here, Sire, that would be a great blow to the Throne World—and a great boon for Strand.”

  “This is interesting,” Strand said in a mocking voice. “Golden Ural fears being out here.”

  “Not fear,” Ural said sharply. “I’m employing game theory. Grab the critical knowledge, build our strength and strike again when we’re better informed and better set for any surprises here.”

  “And pray tell why would stopping at the derelict vessel harm any of us?” Strand asked.

  “It’s about time,” Ural said, wondering how he’d gotten into this mess. Oh, right, he’d been daydreaming about Venna and that Strand’s scientists had possibly been beaming harmful rays at his mind. He stared at the assembled dominants and superiors, desperate to maintain control. “The old conqueror Napoleon Bonaparte once said to his generals, ‘Ask me for anything but time.’ I think we’ve been taking this all too leisurely. Hard, decisive action has always been our standard. I say we should stick to that, Sire. Let us raid the Library Planet quickly, not letting anything divert our attention.”

  The Emperor pursed his lips, soon saying, “Spoken like an NSS officer and Throne World soldier. There was a reason I always chose you as the admiral of our greatest fleets. What say you to that, Strand?”

  Strand glanced sidelong at Ural before saying, “I agree we’re in the deep domain of my former masters. They were a tricky lot. That is why I suggest we study the wreck. I don’t trust it either. Let’s see if we can discover why it’s there. Maybe that will help us avoid a similar calamity ourselves as we approach the Library Planet.”

  “In that case, Sire,” Ural said, “why not send one ship to the wreck. The rest can head straight to the Library Planet. I also mistrust the ancient Builders. If they’re anything like their children, the Methuselah Men, they were tricky indeed, with a hidden card always up their sleeve. The Builders and their Methuselah Men always liked to rule from the shadows. Hidden tricks and traps are their way.”

  “Enough of your innuendoes,” Strand said. “We can all see what you’re trying to do.”

  “No more than you, Methuselah Man,” Ural said. “Does it irk you to have to ask for permission when once you snapped your fingers and made us dance to your tune?”

  “Your Majesty,” Strand implored the Emperor. “I’m trying my best to aid you; you know that.”

  “Are you?” asked Ural. “Are you really?”

  “What does that mean, cousin?” the Emperor asked.

  Ural waited and pondered. The assembled dominants and superiors watched him closely. Like good intriguers, it was impossible to know what they thought about his performance. He’d been acting out of character. Usually, he was the calm and collected one. He needed to turn this around, and fast.

  “Sire,” Ural said, dipping his head. “May I speak frankly?”

  “I thought you were.”

  “I am, but may I strike to the heart of the matter?”

  “By all means,” the Emperor s
aid, “enlighten us with these fevered thoughts about time, danger and hidden menaces lurking around every corner.”

  Several ship captains and advisors chuckled.

  Ural forced himself to shake his head. “If I seem…concerned—”

  “Frightened,” Strand muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear.

  That was a terrible slur for one dominant to cast at another. It could result in a challenge to duel. Ural could not very well call out Strand—ah! Here was a way out of his dilemma.

  “Again he insults us—all of us. I am concerned! And rightly so.” Ural pointed at Strand, who sat across the table from him. “There is the master intriguer. He ruled us once. He did it with a heavy hand, treating us with contempt, demanding we treat him like a god. Why shouldn’t he have expected that from us, though, as he believes he created us?”

  “I am indeed the father of the Throne World,” Strand said calmly. “It was my genius that gave you such glorious gifts. I overstepped the mark back then. This I freely admit. Years of imprisonment has helped clarify my thinking on the matter. I have seen the error of my ways, and like a father, I wish to atone and aid my sons so they can reach even higher than before.”

  “Sir,” Ural told Strand. “If those are your true thoughts, I applaud them. You are a genius, and your cunning is legendary. I wonder, though. Have you forgiven the Emperor for casting you from your height of power?”

  Strand glanced at the Emperor. So did Ural.

  Trahey watched the proceedings silently, his face unreadable, although there seemed to be a hint of disapproval in his eyes.

  “The Emperor does not need my forgiveness,” Strand said. “He proved himself the boldest, strongest and wisest among you. I am glad he rules the Throne World, and I admire how he wishes to bend fate and destiny in order to propel you all onto a new and higher road that will lead to stellar dominance. With all my heart, I hope to aid him and all of you onto the path of greatness.”

  “Noble words,” Ural said. “Will your deeds match them?”

  “I see,” Strand said. “The Emperor has given me leave to join the expedition. But Golden Ural objects. I want to prove myself, but you’re going to stand as judge, doubting that the Emperor knows what he’s doing.”

  Ural made a show of sitting back. He raised his hands to indicate everyone at the conference table. “I cannot wield words like Methuselah Man Strand. I am a soldier as the Emperor has said. I will obey whatever the Emperor decides. This is a meeting where the strong speak freely in order to give our lord the best advice possible. I know the Strand of old. He was cunning and treacherous. Can a leopard change his spots? Can a liar and deceiver become the model of honor?”

  “No,” Strand said. “He cannot. What he can do, though, is show his greatness through the power of his sons. Yes! I want the universe to know how great I am. My means is you, the New Men of the Throne World. To that end, I will do anything to help you achieve the heights you deserve.”

  “Deserve—why?” asked Ural.

  “Because you dare,” Strand said, “and because you have the strength to make it stick.”

  Ural looked at Strand frankly. He didn’t know what else to say. The Methuselah Man was better at this than he was. And there was the weight of Venna watching him, and him wanting to take her and—

  “Hear me,” the Emperor said into the silence.

  Once more, Ural had to concentrate his thoughts to actually hear Trahey.

  “I appreciate my cousin’s boldness to speak as he believes,” the Emperor said. “That is one of the reasons I trust him. Samos, will you allow Ural to join your ship as it inspects the derelict vessel?”

  “Yes, Sire,” said white-haired, hard-eyed Samos.

  “Will you go with Samos, Ural?” the Emperor asked.

  “If you bid me, Sire, I will gladly do so.”

  “I do so bid you,” the Emperor said. “Strand will join you.”

  The Methuselah Man looked sharply, seeming surprised.

  “Each of you can choose three men to accompany him,” the Emperor said. “Samos will provide you with a shuttle.”

  Samos of Thetis nodded.

  “You will go tomorrow,” the Emperor said. “The rest of the flotilla will await your verdict. Are they any objections?”

  Strand looked as if he wished to speak, but the Methuselah Man held his tongue.

  Ural sat back, wondering what ploy his cousin was playing. Either Strand was a wonderful actor, which was more than possible, or the verdict had surprised him as well.

  -47-

  The next day, shipboard time, the Star Cruiser Paralos used its star-drive jump to move from 9000 AUs in the Oort cloud to three million kilometers from the third planet of the system. It was a dark world with low nickel-iron mountains and sludgy valleys of sulfur, bubbling from vents reaching to the mantle.

  Golden Ural was on the bridge, sitting to one side. Samos of Thetis was in the captain’s chair. He was a thickset dominant with large hands and prematurely white hair. He ran an efficient vessel, which soon neared the five-kilometer ship. From what they saw on the main screen, their target was in even greater disrepair than originally suspected.

  There was a long main body: a tubular section five kilometers long. Attached to the tube were thousands of independent cylindrical pods. Slender shafts or spokes connected the pods to the main tubular vessel. The bow held the obvious bridge and the stern had the thrusters and engine and presumably fuel pods.

  “During its operational days, they might have rotated the ship to simulate gravity in the pods,” the science officer suggested.

  Ural was inclined to agree. That struck him as strange, however, as it implied the ship lacked gravity control. How was that possible for an ancient Builder vessel? The Builders had possessed greater technology, not lesser.

  Samos turned to Ural. “I’ll bring you to within five thousand kilometers of the wreck. You can board the shuttle and complete the journey with it.”

  Ural stood. “Do you mind if I monitor your science officer?”

  Samos gave the barest of nods before swiveling back to the main screen.

  Ural crossed the bridge to the science station and watched and listened as the officer ran his scans of the derelict ship.

  It had hundreds of hull breaches to the main tubular section, tens of thousands if one counted all the cylindrical pod attachments. Most of the breaches were the size of Samos’s fist—larger than an ordinary fist. This seemed to imply a shotgun-type weapon. The science officer confirmed the lack of life or energy readings. He estimated the wreck at seven hundred years old, give or take several decades.

  When finished, the science officer looked up at Ural.

  Ural touched the sub-superior on the left shoulder before turning to Samos. “I’m satisfied. With your permission…?”

  “Freely granted,” Samos said. He paused, eyeing Ural. “I was with you at the Battle of Gomez System.”

  “Ah.”

  “I have always admired your tactical brilliance.”

  “Thank you. I admire your ship handling.”

  “I…wonder about Strand,” Samos said.

  “Oh?”

  “Naturally, the Emperor has the situation under control, and that includes the Methuselah Man scoundrel.”

  “Such is my own opinion,” Ural said.

  Samos stared at him. “Yet…I mistrust Strand.”

  “I will be on my guard.”

  “Perhaps…he had better be on his, eh?”

  Ural thought about that. Samos had been among the first to cheer the Emperor’s suggestion about traveling to the Library Planet. Would the dominant have changed his opinion in such a short span? It seemed unlikely. Thus—a test, Ural suspected. Trahey must have put Samos up to it.

  Ural smiled softly. “If Strand performs for the Emperor, who am I to complain? I, too, wish for the greater glory of the Throne World.”

  Samos nodded sagely, giving nothing away. “Success to you, Golden Ural.” />
  “Success to you, Samos of Thetis.” With that, Ural took leave of the bridge.

  ***

  A powerful shuttle with extra weaponry left the Paralos. Ural piloted, with Servant Franco at sensors, an NSS regulator at weapons and an NSS enforcer in back. The enforcer watched Strand and his three companions, tough superiors belonging to the Emperor’s entourage.

  Ural wondered if the three were Strand’s guards or if they were here to protect him. He doubted it would go well with the three if Strand perished. In many ways, it was reckless of the Emperor to let Strand stray like this. The Methuselah Man was the key to finding and using the special data to “fix” the New Men, allowing them to sire girls as well as boys.

  What was Trahey attempting to prove with this stunt? It was a stunt, wasn’t it? Ural wouldn’t have been surprised if Strand had shown up with Venna. He winced while thinking about that. In truth, he’d hoped she would accompany the Methuselah Man as a ploy on their part against him. In that way, he might maneuver the situation and gain a chance to speak to her alone.

  Reckless, you’re being reckless. You need to forget about her.

  Ural concentrated on the derelict vessel. It was five kilometers long, a massive ship. “Do you recognize its type?” he asked over his shoulder.

  No one answered.

  Ural looked back at Strand.

  “Oh, were you talking to me?” asked Strand. “I thought you distrusted me.”

  “I do.”

  “Then why ask for my opinion? I’m probably lying to you, right?”

  “You sound hurt,” Ural said. “Why is that? Have my mere words offended you somehow? Are you so weak?”

  Strand sneered. “I’m doing my best to aid my sons, and this is the thanks I get?”

  Ural swiveled around this time. The three superiors—they were fighters, gunmen in reality. They barely rated as superiors, as none of them was considered smart. The three were shrewd, however, and fast. They wore body armor and thigh guards. They were protection for Strand. Yes. That was obvious now that he considered the situation. It meant the Emperor trusted Strand to stay on course while at the derelict. The guards were protection against “accidents” of any kind, including Ural murdering the Methuselah Man. Was Strand’s manner an act or was it genuine hurt?