Tyche's Demons: A Space Opera Military Science Fiction Epic (Ezeroc Wars: Tyche's Progeny Book 1)

by Richard Lloyd Parry

  The table also held coffee and cake, so the day wasn’t a total write-off. Nate sauntered to the table, helping himself to a cake. It wasn’t bad, rich and nutty. Fuck me, this feels like a kid’s dance hall. Team Empire — Nate, Grace, Kohl, and the two Black — were on one side of the table. On the other, four trade delegates, and an unnecessary five soldiers. Nate finished his cake and poured himself a coffee. “So,” he said. “Do we ask you to dance, or do you ask us? I get so confused about the rules.” He noted every person on Team Asshole, sorry, not sorry, Team Cantor wore one of the mind-blocking bracelets. So much for trust.

  Not a smile. Not a word. He finished pouring his coffee, selected a cube of what he hoped was sugar — so difficult to tell on the fringe worlds — and stirred it in. He took a sip. Gun fingers — sugar. “Okay,” said Nate. “I’ll go first.”

  “You can start by telling us why you’ve brought an Empire carrier to peace negotiations,” said Pietrina.

  “Or, you can go first,” said Nate. “Sure, fine. Well, see now.”

  “The thing is,” said Grace, stepping beside Nate, “you keep sending death threats alongside the coffins of our envoys. You have a real issue with the Empire.” She shrugged, the scabbard at her back clacking. “Which is fine. You want to be out here on the edge of the hard black without support, that’s on you. But you called us. This time, you sent a message through your Guild Bridge, begging us for aid.”

  A man Nate identified from holo comms as Gilchrist Waugh wiped a hand down the front of a silk shirt. “Empress,” he said, earning him a sideways glance from just about everyone on Team Cantor. “We’re fighting a civil war. You know how these things are.” He gave a what can you do shrug of his shoulders. “I mean, you’ve just gone toe to toe against the Republic. It’s larger in scale than what we face, but I’m sure you can understand that the situation is … fluid.”

  “That’s one fucking word for it,” said Kohl. He stared at the sergeant across the table. “I promise you one thing, though. Your boy over there keeps giving me the eyeball, we’ll have a whole bunch of new problems.” Nate wouldn’t have guessed he’d spent the shuttle trip slugging back whiskey, not a slur in word or movement evident.

  “Kohl,” said Nate. “Maybe you and the sergeant can take a moment afterwards to work this out.”

  “Maybe we can,” said Kohl. He said it in a way that suggested it was already on his calendar.

  “Anyway,” said Gilchrist, easing himself into what might have looked like a conversational gap. Nate admired his tact, as the gap was too anorexic for anyone except a seasoned pro. “We wanted to get you here to see if we could … entreat with you.”

  “You want soldiers,” said Nate. “You want servants of the Empire to win your civil war.” He held up a hand, forestalling objections. At least the coffee’s good. “And when we do, on account of the carrier out there,” and he pointed his golden hand in the general vicinity of where he hoped the Mercenary still orbited, “you claim we came in without authorization, and kick us out.” He smiled. “Not my first rodeo.”

  The nervous-looking woman on the right side of Team Cantor cleared her throat. Meenaz Lodhi. She was one of those rare people who looked in person like they did in the still images Chad supplied. “Emperor Chevell—”

  “Prirene,” said Nate. “Emperor Prirene V, of house Fergelic. But my friends call me Nate.”

  “Uh…” she said.

  “Nate’s fine,” said Nate.

  “Uh,” she said. “Emperor, I can’t help but notice you brought a case.” She held a hand out, palm up, at the case Nate had set aside. “What’s in it?”

  “Gifts,” said Nate.

  “What gifts?”

  “Surprise gifts,” said Nate. “For people who deserve ‘em.” He bent over, hefting the case, before setting it on the table between them. He placed his hands on the lid, gold hand beside flesh and blood, drumming the fingers of both. “Do you want to see what’s inside?”

  “I want to know why you’ve all got mechanical weapons,” said the sergeant. “Damn dangerous, kinetic rounds on a station.”

  “Just being prepared,” said Kohl. “You fight giant roaches that shrug off plasma fire, you work with the old standards.”

  The sergeant blinked. “They can shrug off plasma fire?”

  “The big ones, sure,” said Kohl.

  “Classics never go out of style,” said Nate. He noticed that Baggs and George had moved out to flank him when he’d set the case on the table. They were Emperor’s Black through and through, heads on a swivel, hands close to weapons. If it came to drawing steel, Nate was sure they would move faster than anyone, perhaps even Grace. “What you should wonder, though, is why we brought kinetic weapons best used for fighting Ezeroc to your station.”

  Pietrina leaned forward. “You’ve come here for something,” she said. “You’re here for more than just … peace talks.”

  “You betcha,” said Nate. “I’m here to cut the head off the snake. No one wants to see inside the case? No? Okay.” He stepped away from the table, leaving the case alone. “How much do you know about espers?”

  “Vile scum,” said Pietrina, with a curl of her lip.

  Grace, ever at Nate’s side, shifted her weight, but said nothing. Nate gave her a look, then turned back to Pietrina. “Well, since you’ve got the universe’s most powerful esper in the room with you, that’s a bold comment.”

  “Ah,” said Gilchrist. “I’m sure what Pietrina means is that the Intelligencers were vile scum. Mostly. I’m sure there were exceptions.”

  “People who can read minds,” said Pietrina, running a finger under her bracelet, “shouldn’t be allowed.”

  “I guess that’s one point of view,” said Nate. “The other is that without them we’d all be dead, hey?” He shrugged.

  “What you don’t know is we can read your mind even when you’re wearing a bracelet,” said Grace. “Takes us a while. But it’s just like any other armor. Hit it hard enough, long enough, and it breaks down.”

  “It does?” said Gilchrist.

  “It does,” said Nate. “Pays to not rely on ‘em. Given enough time, even a baby Queen will get on through. An old Queen? Make short work of you, I’d expect.” He flashed another smile, still getting no takers. “I guess, you know, having a few humans able to go toe to toe with those assholes is useful.” He noted that pretty much everyone on Team Cantor stiffened at his use of asshole. “Oh, hey, sorry about my language. I’m not big on ceremony. I figure that’s one thing that fucked up the last bunch, you know?”

  Wide-eyes, open mouths. At least you’re making an impression. Keep going, Nate! “Anyway, we’re not in the business of letting humans die. Not what the Empire’s about, hey? So, when we got your distress call, we came.”

  “Even though it’s a trap,” said Grace.

  “Even then,” said Nate. “Because for every one of you clowns who wants to put plasma through my ribcage, there’s another who doesn’t like having your boot on their neck. That’s who we’re here for.”

  “Uh,” said Gilchrist, hands out in a hold-the-fuck-on motion. “I thought we called you.”

  “Oh, sure,” said Nate. “You did. It’s just that you’re also the ones who thought you’d lure me in to a trap.”

  “Way it works,” said Grace, leaning forward, “is that we figure you were hoping we’d kill the good guys for free, and then you’d off us. But if we’re wise to that because, I dunno, we can read minds, you stupid fucks, then you’d just off us anyway. Not a perfect solution, but not a terrible one.”

  “Wait—” said Pietrina.

  “Nah,” said Nate. “Not today. Do you know, espers have a bunch of curious abilities?” The soldiers moved forward, getting edgy with their weapons, so Nate held up his gold hand, metal glinting in the light. “Hold up, guys. This doesn’t have to go bad. I think it will, on account of some of those abilities, but it doesn’t have to. You get me?”

  “No,” said the sergea
nt.

  “Well, hell,” said Nate, slipping into a chair in front of the case. He leaned forward, flipping it open. As he did that, all the delegates but Meenaz dove for cover as panels set in the ceiling yawned wide, auto-turrets dropping out. As the weapons spun up, Nate slammed his hand on the big red button inside the case.

  Nothing like an explosion happened. The lights blinking inside the case went out, as did the lights in the room, and his metal arm and leg spasmed, a tremor from beyond the grave, like his forgotten flesh and blood still wanted a piece of the action. Then, the auto turrets slumped, limp, dangling from their mounts.

  Baggs and George had their sidearms out, the barrels of weapons so old school they were still at kindergarten pointed across the table at the soldiers. Nate saw the sergeant’s narrowed eyes despite the gloom, raising his weapon to fire. Baggs, who already had the drop on the sergeant, squeezed his trigger. The short sidearm, a custom unit whose design had been dredged from the annals of history, hammered bright yellow-orange blossoms of fire from its barrel. The sergeant’s body stuttered and staggered, blood spraying the white wall behind him, before he fell to the ground.

  The other four soldiers were pointing plasma weapons at Team Empire, pulling triggers, and generally looking confused as nothing happened. George fired a burst across the table, her weapon a strobe in the gloom, a soldier’s head bursting apart like an overripe melon. She dived across the table, short blade a flash of silver, slicing through another soldier’s weapon, arms, and body armor. The soldier slumped like a deflating balloon as red loops poured out of their stomach, making a keening noise as they fell.

  Kohl, not one to be left out of a good fight, also vaulted the table. He had his own kinetic sidearm in one hand, lifting a soldier off the floor with his other hand. He turned back towards Nate and Grace, neither of whom had moved, and fired a single round into the windows out into the hard black. The bullet penetrated the glass, a decompression alarm sounding. Kohl hefted the soldier and tossed her into the window, where her back met the glass, creating a seal with the window.

  The last soldier punched Kohl in the kidneys, and then died immediately after as three bullets from Baggs hit him in the chest, chest, and neck. Kohl turned around, looked at the dead soldier, then at Baggs. “I had that one.”

  “I know, boss,” said Baggs, dropping a magazine from his weapon, then loading a new one. “Man, these weapons suck. They need more feeding than a teenage boy.”

  “You don’t have kids, Baggs,” said George. She was turning the soldiers over, checking they were dead. “How do you know?”

  “Used to be a teenage boy,” said Baggs. He looked at the soldier whose back was to the window. “Say,” he said to her. “Are we going to have a problem, or are you going to stay there?”

  “We’re not going to have a problem,” she said, eyes wide, head nodding like she had a nervous tic. “We’re good. We’re really good. Just, you know, when you can get someone here to fix the window, I’d take that as a personal favor.”

  “Got you,” said Baggs, his grin glinting in the gloom.

  The delegates, all four of them, were unharmed. Covered in blood spray, looking shocked — the most emotion Nate had seen from them — but alive. “Hey,” said Nate. “You all still with us?”

  “How are you … sitting down?” said Gilchrist. His voice had gone up about thirty octaves, coming out as more of a squeak.

  “Well, the thing with an EMP is, it’s non-selective,” said Nate. “This one here,” and he patted the case with his flesh and blood hand, “is powerful. My augmented arm and leg got hit with it, so I’m not going to be good for a fight right now.” He smiled, putting some tooth in it. “That’s why I have an empress who kicks an epic level of ass.”

  “But … but … she hasn’t drawn steel,” said Gilchrist.

  “No,” agreed Grace, hand on the hilt of her sword. “Would you like me to?”

  “No! No,” said Gilchrist. “Uh. This is awkward.”

  “Excuse me, uh, Emperor,” said Meenaz. “I’m … having trouble.”

  “Take your time,” said Nate. “I figure it’ll be a while before a bunch of assholes burst in here, on account of them needing to get the lights on and find weapons that don’t have computers in ‘em. We’ll have this whole mess squared away by then.”

  “It’s just, you know,” said Meenaz. “You’ve spoken like we’re seditionists, trying to kill you. But we’re not.”

  “No,” said Nate, “you’re not.”

  “This the one, Cap?” said Kohl.

  Nate sighed, rubbing his face with his good hand. “Yeah, Kohl, that’s the one.”

  “You don’t want me to kill her?”

  “No.”

  “How about the others?”

  “Let’s see where this goes first,” said Nate. “You okay with that?”

  “Not particularly,” said Kohl. He produced a chemical glow stick from a pocket, cracking it open. A brilliant pearlescent light illuminated the room as he dropped the stick on the floor. “Like, what if one of ‘em makes a move?”

  “Then, you know,” said Nate. “Do your thing.”

  “Okay,” said Kohl. He stepped over a soldier’s body. “Cap?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What’s my thing?”

  “You’ll work it out,” said Nate. He turned to the delegates. “Okay, here’s the thing—”

  A shot rang out, a single hammer of sound that made Nate jump. Smoke curled from the barrel of Kohl’s sidearm, one delegate spinning to land on the floor. “Fucker twitched,” said Kohl.

  Pietrina and Gilchrist shared a glance. Nate noted they didn’t look at Meenaz. Meenaz was looking at the bodies, the ground, and the other two delegates with a growing desperation. After a moment, she threw up. Okay, not desperation. Nausea. “It’s the smell,” said Nate. “You get used to it.” He wiggled his metal hand, the servos coming back online. Hope had explained to him that the neural net controlling his limbs would get disrupted by an EMP of sufficient size, but they’d work it out, whatever that meant. It looked like she was right. His leg was getting twitchy too. “What I’m curious about is why you two,” and he pointed his flesh and blood hand at Pietrina and Gilchrist, “are not at all surprised about how today went down.”

  “Well,” said Gilchrist. “I’m shocked.”

  “You’re not disagreeing.” Grace pulled her sword a couple centimeters from its scabbard.

  “But,” said Gilchrist, patting the air with his hands in a let’s all just relax motion. “But. I think we can work something out.”

  Kohl fired again, Gilchrist’s head exploding in a shower of brains and bone fragments. “Huh,” said the big man. “I mean, they make a lot of noise, but these guns have an effect, you know?”

  “What the hell did he do?” said Nate.

  “Well,” said Kohl, walking past Pietrina’s wide-eyed stare to roll over the body of Gilchrist. He held aloft a knife. “He was pulling this from his boot. Shoe. I guess it’s a shoe? Kind of a half-boot, maybe. I don’t know. Fucking fashions on these ghetto border worlds have me all confused. Make a boot a boot, a shoe a shoe, that’s what I say.” He tossed the knife onto the table, where it clattered to a halt. Nate leaned forward, picking up the blade. The metal’s reflection was almost muddy in the light from the glow stick.

  “Is this poison?” said Nate.

  “It’s not a good time,” said Kohl. “I guess we could get the geeks in the lab to look it over, but I dunno. Is it worth it?”

  “It’s an assassin’s blade,” said Meenaz. “The … separatists use it.”

  “Figured,” said Kohl. “He was just too damn nice to be a real politician.”

  Pietrina chose that moment to make a run for the door, black robe billowing like a shroud. George shot her in the back of each knee, her sidearm’s bang-bang noise so close together it was almost a single sound. Pietrina tumbled to the ground with a scream.

  “Okay,” said Nate, turning back to Mee
naz. “Governor. How would you like to progress?”

  “Governor?” she said. “I’m … not a governor.”

  “Well, about that,” said Nate. “Is there anywhere we can get a beer around here?”

  • • •

  The walk from the delegation room was a welcome relief. Nate had seen more than his fair share of bloodshed, but he didn’t like it. He’d been hoping that things would turn themselves around, but no. That was something else Grace had been right about. Didn’t stop Nate hoping for it, but hope felt a little wasted these days.

  Meenaz took them down a level, the elevators stuttering back to life. As they left the car, she said, “Won’t the Mercenary come for you?”

  “No,” said Grace.

  “They don’t care if you’re alive?”

  “I can use my mind to communicate over vast distances,” said Grace. She touched Nate’s arm. “Captain McDonald says you owe her some coins. Some bet or another?”

  “Yeah,” said Nate.

  “What did you bet?”

  “That we wouldn’t kill everyone,” said Nate.

  “Technically, you didn’t,” said Grace. She eyed Meenaz. “Yet.”

  Nate saw Meenaz flinch. “Tell you what. Why don’t you leave this next part to me?”

  Grace gave him a hard stare. “You don’t think I can handle this? A simple negotiation?”

  “I think you’re better with a blade than anyone I know,” said Nate. “I also think of the two of us, I’m the better liar.”

  “That’s fair,” said Grace.

  They rounded a bend leading to a dim concourse, only about a third of the lights back on, scared people walking about. Nate wasn’t sure if they were scared because all the power, and therefore life support, on their station had died, or because the emperor of all humanity was here with the Captain of his Black and two of his team. Fifty-fifty, maybe.

  Meenaz was leading the way to a cavernous opening that looked like about sixty people had left drinks on the tables before running out in a panic. Those people, and their panic, were long gone. Meenaz walked into the bar, looking lost. Nate followed her, Grace, Kohl, Baggs, and George mooring themselves to the doorway. The four of them kept watch, making sure whatever Nate and Meenaz discussed was private.