The Lost Secret

by Vaughn Heppner

  Ural stepped near Franco. The subman shrank back. Ural sniffed his breath. It was normal. “Have you ingested any drugs?”

  “No, Master,” Franco said.

  Ural nodded. “You claim to have seen these things?”

  “Yes, Master. I did see them. The ship—”

  “The derelict, you mean?”

  “Yes, the derelict is shifting, adjusting just the slightest bit. I’ve been watching, trying to catch it when it happens. I can’t, but then I realize there aren’t as many hull rents as before.”

  “That’s impossible,” Ural said. Yet—

  “It should be,” Franco agreed.

  Through the polarized window, Ural stared at the derelict. Something was happening out there. The evidence was too strong now. Franco had seen what Ural had seen, and reported independently. Could the derelict come to haunt the mission on the second planet? He didn’t think so, but once he returned to the Emperor, he was going to demand a second expedition here with the best equipment, just to make sure about all this.

  “You’re relieved,” Ural told Franco. “Go to my quarters and await my instructions.”

  Franco peered at the mighty derelict one more time. Then he crossed the control cabin, hurrying out the hatch.

  -52-

  Upon the shuttle’s return, Star Cruiser Paralos left the third planet and used its star-drive jump to arrive several million kilometers from the second planet of the system. It arrived in time to see another star cruiser maneuver across the planetary horizon to the other side of the winter world, which indicated that the rest of the flotilla had left the Oort cloud as Strand had suggested.

  The Library Planet was far from the cool red dwarf: 310,000,000 kilometers, more than two AUs. There were five moons: two of them the size of Luna, one of them half that size and the other two small, like Phobos around Mars. The moons created tidal heating in the planet, caused by their competing gravitational pulls against it, creating interior friction.

  The planet was 1.47 times the size of Earth, making it so someone on the surface would weigh about one and half times as much. Unlike the third planet, this one was rocky with few metallic ores located in the planetary crust. Because of its distance from the red dwarf and the low amount of ambient heat, the Library Planet was a cold Niflheim world, the surface made of frozen volatiles. Substances that would be liquid or gases on Earth: water, ammonia, methane and nitrogen, were all frozen solid here. An exposed man teleported onto the surface would instantly turn into an ice cube. For all that, due to the tidal heat, there was an ocean of liquid water deep under the ice sheets.

  Golden Ural was on the bridge as Samos’s crew collected data. There was no evidence of planetary, moon or orbital defenses. There was no evidence of ancient or modern ships or wrecks. If one did not know better, the Library Planet appeared as simply another bare, lifeless world. It was the same for the moons.

  “Strand is sure this is the correct star system?” Samos asked.

  “The planet is forbidding,” Ural replied. “I imagine Strand has already told the Emperor how to reach the Builder tunnels. The Emperor has not yet confided in me how we’re going to do it, though.”

  “Nor to me,” Samos said. “Helm, take us around the planet. Let’s join the others.”

  The Paralos increased velocity, negotiating past the largest moon as it headed for the Library Planet. Soon enough, the Paralos reached low orbital space, slowing its velocity as it spotted the other five star cruisers.

  They held a geostationary orbit above an equatorial location.

  “Sensors, what do you see down there?” Samos asked.

  The sensor officer manipulated his panel, and his head jerked back.

  “Well?” asked Samos.

  The officer swiveled around. “Captain, a large shuttle has landed on the ice. I also detected a metallic object near the shuttle. I can’t tell if the object is an entrance to deeper levels. Such, however, is my supposition.”

  “The Emperor sent an exploratory shuttle already?” asked Samos, directing the question at Ural. “I would have thought they’d wait until we gave our report about the derelict.”

  Ural nodded, silently agreeing.

  It appeared Samos would say more, but he didn’t.

  “Captain,” the communications officer said. “There’s a message from Artaxerxes Par. He says it’s urgent and for your ears only.”

  Samos glanced at Ural before he picked up an earpiece, holding it against his left ear. Samos listened, frowned and glanced sharply at Ural. “It will be done,” he said curtly. With that, Samos set aside the earpiece, stood and drew a blaster, aiming it at Ural. “I’m sorry to—you’re under arrest, Golden Ural.”

  “On whose orders?” asked Ural, who felt surreal but also unsurprised.

  “Yes. That is an interesting question. Artaxerxes says on the Emperor’s order.”

  Ural considered that. It didn’t make sense. “Why doesn’t the Emperor give the order himself?”

  “We’re going to find out, as you, Strand and I are heading to the Shapur.” Samos grew thoughtful. “Do I have your word as the victor of the Battle of Gomez System that you won’t attempt to attack any of us on the Paralos and shuttle or attempt to escape?”

  After a moment’s hesitation, Ural said, “You do.”

  Samos holstered the blaster. “Then come with me. This sounds strange, and it’s best if we get to the bottom of it as quickly as possible.”

  ***

  It was a tense shuttle ride. Ural sat with Franco while Methuselah Man Strand sat across from them, with the three gunmen of the Emperor’s entourage watching all of them.

  “Do you know what this is about?” Ural asked Strand.

  The wizened Methuselah Man looked up and silently shook his head.

  “Oh come on, you must know something,” Ural said with heat.

  “Shut up for a minute, why don’t you? I’m gathering my…you wouldn’t understand the concept. Something odd is afoot…” Strand glanced at the three gunmen, stern superiors with eagle gazes and sharp, handsome features. Strand shrugged. “Wait and see, Golden Ural. This could be interesting, or it could be our death sentences.”

  “Why yours?” asked Ural, surprised.

  Strand grinned like a hunting wolf about to seize its prey. “A shuttle has landed on the surface. Artaxerxes is giving orders and doing so in the Emperor’s name. He has demanded our arrests. No one is asking what we found at the derelict ship. Clearly, something critical has occurred in our absence. Now, why don’t you shut your yap and let me prepare for the struggle that is obviously about to come. Frankly, as far as you’re capable of it, I suggest you do the same.”

  Ural turned away. Strand clearly spoke about a Throne World power play. Ural’s gut tightened as he realized the Methuselah Man might not be his primary enemy. Was he going to die in the next few hours? Ural inhaled sharply. Soon—he was going to find out soon.

  Damn, but he hated waiting.

  -53-

  No one met them in the Shapur’s hangar bay, which was more than strange. Samos asked for instructions over the comm. Then he, five of his most trusted men and the three from the Emperor’s entourage escorted Ural, Franco and Strand down the Shapur’s corridors.

  Soon enough, they reached a large audience chamber. In it were the other four star-cruiser captains with several of their men each, the Emperor’s main advisors headed by Elder Marius Keen, with a dozen royal guardsmen.

  Elder-Advisor Marius Keen was an older dominant, with wrinkles around his eyes and a slight droop to his shoulders. He was shorter than the other Throne Worlders, and, unlike any of them, had a beard. It wasn’t much of a beard: a scraggly wispy thing that an ancient Confucius-style scholar might have possessed. He was dressed in a long scarlet robe, perhaps to add to the conceit of ancient wisdom. The royal guardsmen to a man had harsh scowls, with purple sashes from the right shoulder to the left hip. Their gun hands did not stray far from their holstered blasters.
<
br />   All of those present were standing and armed. Only Ural, Strand and Franco lacked weaponry.

  The leanest of them was Artaxerxes Par with his facial scars. He stood at the head of the chamber, and when he saw the prisoners, he raised his hands for attention. The quiet talk near him became silence as the others waited for Artaxerxes to comment. He did not disappoint, and pointed at Ural, saying, “Guards, take him back to the hangar bay and kill him. Those are the Emperor’s express orders.”

  Shocked silence greeted his words. None of the guardsmen moved to execute the command.

  “Guards,” Artaxerxes said. “Those are Imperial orders. Now do as I’ve commanded.”

  Golden Ural grew aware of a sensation of heat at the back of his head. He turned and noticed Strand staring at him fixedly. The evil dwarf of a Methuselah Man seemed to be trying to impart a message to him. Did Strand think they were allies joined by duress? With a start, Ural wondered if that might be a good idea. Perhaps due to his New Man nature, he spun on a dime, as the ancient saying went—emotionally, anyway—reversing all his hatred and distrust of Strand and deciding to accept the wizened schemer as an ally of the moment.

  At that point, three royal guardsmen stepped up to Ural from behind, two of them grabbing his arms.

  “Just a moment,” Ural said, surprised at how calm he sounded. He felt lightheaded and surreal, realizing he might soon be dead, but he would do this with dignity and resist to the finish.

  “No!” Artaxerxes said in a ringing voice. “The Emperor has spoken. His loyal guardsmen will now obey his command.”

  Ural tore his right arm free of a guard’s grasp. He forced a harsh laugh, saying, “You seem in a great hurry to kill me, Artaxerxes Par. Yet, we have no confirmation of these so-called ‘orders.’ You’re afraid, afraid because your deed thirty years ago has finally come back to haunt you.”

  “This isn’t about me,” Artaxerxes said. “This is about your crass disloyalty to the Emperor. Guards, take Ural to the hangar bay and kill him.”

  “Artaxerxes the cowardly back-shooter,” Ural said. “I know you fear me, and this is about you. Still I say, what confirmation do we have the Emperor gave such a surprising and unlikely order?”

  “Here now,” Samos said. “I don’t know why the Emperor would give such an order to Artaxerxes, but we know he’s no coward. Hell, Artaxerxes Par is the boldest among us and has never shown fear.”

  “You’re wrong,” Ural said. “Over thirty year ago Artaxerxes and six others murdered my brother Oran. I have proof, and because of this proof, Artaxerxes fears me and has engineered my death. Perhaps he’s slain the Emperor as well and now attempts to usurp the throne.”

  “You’re mad,” Artaxerxes said with heat. “You dare to accuse me of such foul deeds?”

  “I dare because I speak the truth,” Ural said. “You lust for the throne. How did you slay the Emperor? With a knife thrust in his back?”

  Artaxerxes stared at Ural, soon glancing at the assembled leaders and their men. “Ural is a traitor, trying to drag others down with him. I received the Emperor’s order as the Paralos came into view around the planetary horizon.”

  “Now that’s interesting,” Strand said in a steady, powerful voice. “Perhaps you could clarify your statement. How did you receive the order?”

  The assembled Throne Worlders stared at the wizened Methuselah Man, the little dwarf that spoke with such sure authority. A few looked at Artaxerxes Par, doubt evident in their eyes and bearing.

  “What does it matter how I received the order?” demanded Artaxerxes.

  “Who says it matters?” Strand asked. “I’m curious. However, now that you ask, it is quite important. Critical, even. You are, after all, claiming to speak in the Emperor’s voice.”

  “It’s not a claim,” Artaxerxes said sternly. “I am speaking in the Imperial voice. The Emperor granted me that privilege by ordering me to do so.”

  “Of course it’s a claim,” Strand said. “Your word doesn’t make a thing so. What if you said, ‘Fly, my old friend?’ Could I then fly? No. That’s ridiculous. Now, what evidence do you have to support your outrageous claim?”

  “Firstly,” Artaxerxes said, as he raised his chin, “I don’t have to answer you, as you lack authority to demand such questions. Secondly, you’re not my old friend. Thirdly, you’re a devious schemer who has spun his web against us for far too long. Fourthly and lastly, the Emperor instructed me to put you back in solitary confinement where you belong.”

  Strand barked a short laugh. “Isn’t this a pretty sight? Frightened and nervous, Artaxerxes Par is trying to take command of the expedition through sheer gall. He’s literally telling the royal guardsmen to kill the Emperor’s favorite cousin and former commander of many a notable and victorious battlefleet. If that isn’t enough, brash Artaxerxes is trying to murder the father of the Throne World, the one man able to fix your gravest defect. Those don’t sound like Imperial commands. Either he’s making them up himself—or they are those an enemy and intriguer would spin to divide us.”

  Strand obviously hoped to give Artaxerxes a way to back out, to acknowledge the possibility the order was faked—but he did not seem inclined to do so. “How dare you accuse me of being an enemy of the State,” Artaxerxes said, “when you’re the literal enemy of us all?”

  “You’re not a witless fool,” said Strand. “Nor should you imply that we are. I never said that.”

  “I just heard you say it.”

  “You did not,” Strand said. “I accused you of being a gullible dupe to the hidden enemy. There’s a difference, you know.”

  Ural knew that Strand was giving Artaxerxes a second opportunity to adjust his position, to back away from the brink of murder, regardless of the truth. But—

  With a snarl, Artaxerxes bulled into the crowd, heading for Strand as others moved out of his way.

  Ural tore his other arm free and hurried to intercept. Strand had helped him. It was time to help Strand.

  Artaxerxes stopped short of Strand as Ural planted himself before him. The lean dominant’s right hand dropped to his holstered blaster. “Move aside, dead man, before I kill you myself.”

  Ural sneered. “Look at this. Artaxerxes Par plays a bold game indeed. You never did answer the question. How did you murder the Emperor? How many others here have sworn to back you in this play? What gives you the daring to attempt this, eh?”

  With another snarl, Artaxerxes drew his blaster.

  Expecting just that, Ural lunged, catching the wrist, holding it so the weapon could not rise high enough to fire at him.

  “Guards,” Artaxerxes said in a hoarse voice.

  “Hold,” said Strand.

  The two guardsmen that had started moving now stopped, seeming confused.

  Ural continued to pin down the wrist. He spoke in a winded voice, asking, “Why can’t the Emperor give his supposed kill order in person? Why can’t we hear the recording to confirm it? Because you already slew him? Because there was no order?”

  “No,” Artaxerxes wheezed. “I have no idea why. Take your hand off me.”

  Ural maintained his grip as Artaxerxes began to attempt to wrench his wrist free.

  “Wait!” Samos shouted. “This is wrong. Artaxerxes, look at me. We’re friends. We’ve been friends for a long time.”

  Artaxerxes ceased struggling as he stared at Samos.

  “I ask you to holster your weapon,” Samos said. “Please, holster it so we can discuss this like statesmen instead of squabbling like ruffians dividing loot.”

  Without looking at Ural, Artaxerxes studied the others around him. “Yes,” he said.

  “He’s given his word,” Samos said.

  Ural knew that statement was for him. He gambled on Artaxerxes’s honor, released the wrist and stepped back.

  For a wild moment, rage flared in Artaxerxes’s eyes and his tense body seemed like a coiled spring about to unleash, raise the blaster and fire.

  He’s going to kill me, Ur
al realized. I hope he doesn’t blast me in the gut and make a mess of it.

  The moment passed, however, as Artaxerxes regained control of his passions. He holstered the blaster and forced his hunched shoulders to relax. Then he raised his head to regard the others once again. “I’ve spoken the truth. The Emperor asked me to head this meeting. You others know I speak the truth because the Emperor summoned the rest of you to attend. Why else are you here?”

  Several captains and advisors nodded agreement.

  Strand began to laugh. He pointed at the assembled Throne Worlders and laughed louder, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe what he saw.

  “Have a care, Methuselah Man,” Artaxerxes said. “You’re next on the chopping block.”

  Strand choked back his laughter, shaking his head more. “Artaxerxes Par, Samos of Thetis, the Elder-Advisor and you others…you’re supposed to be among the deadliest soldiers in existence. Instead, your enemy is playing you for fools, dividing you against each other and giving them the freedom they need to accomplish their goal.”

  “You’ve alluded to that before,” Samos said. “It’s time you explained that. Who is this hidden enemy?”

  “A shuttle has landed on the planet, right?” asked Strand.

  “So…?” asked Samos.

  Strand turned to Artaxerxes. “Who took the shuttle down to the planet?”

  “How should I know?” Artaxerxes said.

  Strand turned to the Elder-Advisor. “Who took the shuttle down?”

  The older man stroked his scraggly beard. “You raise an interesting point, Methuselah Man. I don’t know who.”

  Strand raised his voice. “Does any among us know who gave the order to send the shuttle to the planet?”

  No one responded.

  “Isn’t that interesting?” asked Strand. “Here we are arguing and threatening to kill each other and someone has taken a shuttle down to the planet. Does any among us know who departed on the shuttle?”

  A royal guard spoke up. “I saw several inner guards take a hooded prisoner through the corridors. To pass me, I needed to know their destination. They said they were taking him to the shuttle. I thought it was to Lord Samos’s shuttle, which I assumed was on the way. Now, I suppose it must have been the shuttle that left earlier.”