Rejuvenated, he turned back to the soirée for which he felt unprepared and out of place.
“Ready to go back in, Max?”
“We've fought Legion suits in space and lived to tell it. I think we can handle this assortment of dressed-up characters.” Max, as usual, could read his emotional state.
Their host building was a graceful, organically-shaped structure. The walls and ceiling of its ceramic composition were filled with slats of crystal in blues and greens. They colored the light streaming through Gilead's roof with subtly changing hues.
People sought out others in the reception hall, having private conversations that seemed more intentional than random milling. Background music had the effect of white-noise, dampening the conversations. Even so many spoke with sound shields up.
A woman passed in a sleeveless, black skin suit. Over it was a lacy bodice and half skirts of something akin to color-changing feathers.
Most native Patram women used dark skin suits as the base of their outfits. It was an easy way to pick them out as he tried to get the lay of the land. They also walked in a way that implied martial training. Patram's compulsory military service had an effect beyond active duty years.
She continued out to where he'd been, the porch overlooking the statuary garden.
“Max, where are my parents?”
Markers appeared on Jordahk's rets. His parents were having hushed conversations in the wings of the hall, behind decorative crystal pillars. A stirring caught his attention at the main entrance. Jordahk observed the new arrivals before his eyes bulged despite themselves.
“Oh boy,” Max said.
The couple debuted formally. His arm was raised and she strode with one hand laid upon it. The woman made the entry with confidence and precision, as if practiced like a combat maneuver.
I bet it was.
Jordahk stared agog as memories rushed back. Her feminine formal-wear was new to him, yet still uniquely her. The dress was a gauzy thing, stark white on tanned skin. It was cut high up one leg. At her bust it transitioned into spider webbing which continued around her shoulders and down her arms.
His mouth was suddenly dry. “Max, call for a butler. I've got to hit the Aquarii Mead.”
Her short, bird feather hair was the same style, but tonight, color-modded in a spectrum of slow chromatic change. Her training lifestyle had not changed. Thigh muscles parted the dress slit, and a diamond-shaped cutout showed her granix-hard abdomen.
His mind raced far away. To a cramped chamber within a hollowed-out satellite where he, Glick, and Cranium launched a desperate gambit. He remembered her smile towards him, then there was a flash. He saw Cranium's dumbfounded expression before an explosion of frozen, red crystal.
Jordahk closed his eyes, rubbing them with one hand, pressing the vision from his memory.
“Kid, you're gettin' riled up,” Max said. “Here, take a swig of this.”
The humanoid, black enameled butler robot had arrived.
Jordahk grabbed a drink from his tray and gulped it down, not even tasting it. “Who's she with?”
“I'm not surprised you don't recognize him.”
The man was clean-shaven and handsome. His eyes were dark and hair slicked back. He walked upright and smiling. Something was familiar about him…
“Feliz Navidad?”
The former down-on-his-luck commissioner of a failing mining combine looked a century younger. Gone were the dark circles and gaunt body wasting away in drink. He seemed fit and sharp, and had even put on muscle.
“That's Administrator Navidad now. You haven't been keeping up with your Platinum Endeavors board member duties. You, Aristahl, and Glick voted to put him in charge of the Grehjot system.”
“Yeah, that was a while ago. He's like a whole new man.”
The couple moved to the open central area where a few pairs were already dancing in stately twirls.
“At official functions such as this,” Max said, “it's protocol for newly arrived couples to perform a single dance.”
Feliz lifted up the arm upon which her hand rested. Placing his other at her side, they did a slow circuit of the dancing area in traditional Patram style.
Though they talked, to Jordahk it appeared they were more interested in examining the guests. He stepped back, trying to blend in with the crowd. It was… a tactical maneuver. Gathering intelligence to make the best decision. His parents' markers had come together. They were talking with—
“What the deca-what?”
“This night's full of surprises,” Max said. “Here's your chance to experience one up close. Takes me back to my days with Otto Gen.”
A man made a curt bow to his parents, and then lifted Vittora's hand to kiss it with a gesture he'd only seen in cineVADs. He was taller than Kord and decked out in what looked like rich blue velour. He wore a heavily embroidered waistcoat with silver buttons and a white shirt fastened high up his neck.
His parents took the gesture in stride, perhaps aware of the protocol when meeting one of his order. He stepped back upon shiny metal boots. At his side where a sword would be in ancient days hung some sort of folded metal device. The ensemble was like something out of another age, but also with curious modern trappings joining the anachronisms.
He wore gleaming silver bracers, and extending just off his body was translucent armor resembling something out of the Age of Chivalry. It glowed more brightly seen on edge, like the plasma shields of a warship. The armor “plates” sometimes refracted light into the spectrum, shining colors upon him and all nearby.
A Knight of Utica Cyr…
Chapter Fourteen
Jordahk shook his head at the sight. “A Knight of Utica Cyr? What's he doing here?” The man wore a great pendant on a heavy chain. Three stones glowed within it matching three embroidered stripes on his upper arm. “Max, I know those stripes mean something.”
“They denote the orders in which he has standing. Three orders makes him quite accomplished. The light blue indicates he's a Poet Knight, the ochre indicates a Bow Knight, and the purple a Noble Knight.”
“I get the first two. The arts and ranged combat. What does the third really mean?”
“A Noble Knight has proven himself in deed and honor, and is trustworthy for any leadership role in the land.”
Jordahk found his mind focusing on the translucent armor as it seemed to push through dimensions. His eyes took in the rainbow hues…
“It's mystic!” he whispered with sudden excitement.
“No kidding. You knew that.”
“Yeah, I guess. But it's different when you see it, or sense it in person.”
After a moment of conversation the three nodded congenially and a butler bot approached holding something. Kord spoke to it and gestured toward the stage area. Vittora let the bot escort her, then took the device, giving it a gentle stroke. It unfolded into circular keys of hard air and metal. It generated hemispheres of light and colored panels.
Her pianochord.
It'd been some time since he'd heard his mother play. Eyes were already turning toward her, which he'd come to realize was not uncommon. She wore a black skin suit in keeping with her Patram roots. Its top a low-cut tank, and the lower short shorts. Over it she wore a draping red dress, slit up to the waist on the sides, with an open back. Glowing crystals were woven into the bunched tassels that substituted for tonight's braids.
The song to which Feliz and Glick danced ended. They nodded politely to each other and turned to different conversations as his mother began playing. The tune sounded traditional and vaguely familiar. Chatter began to die down, and attention turned to the performance.
Playing the pianochord was a treat for the ears but also entertainment for the eyes. The body movements required for more complex sounds were like a dance. Vittora twirled as the song marched on, her dress flaring out. Then she swayed gracefully as the song took on a somber tone. Almost haunting. The crowd was being affected.
But why so much
?
Glick stopped her conversation, and for a scant few seconds an expression of loss crossed her face that he'd only seen once before. He remembered a red-eyed Glick and a recorded goodbye...
Vittora continued to move to the rhythm, her hand and foot gestures, even her undulations influenced the sound and color generated by the pianochord. Half the hall was mesmerized. By the time she brought the piece to a close, ending on a hopeful note, all conversation had paused. After a moment of respectful silence applause filled the room and talking began anew. But now the tone seemed uplifted.
Vittora's skin glistened with a sheen of perspiration. Jordahk was not surprised to see her head out toward the statuary garden for some air. His father, beaming with pride, was still talking with the knight.
“Okay, I give.” His father and grandfather inculcated him to not become reliant on AIs. But the answer, so close, wasn't coming. “Can I get a little mem-stim?” Max stimulated the saved brain patterns from when Jordahk last experienced this song with knowledge. “The Anthem of Raetia?” He relocated Glick. She was starting a protected conversation with an outrageously dressed man. “Is this a costume party?”
“That's indeed quite the get-up.”
“Get-up? Another Max-ism?”
The man wore shiny black boots, folded over below the knee. His oversized red coat, something out of an ancient era, sported huge cuffs and covered a ruffled white shirt.
“You know, outfit. Togs. This one's from way before my time.”
The man bowed with exaggeration, doffing a strange black hat speared with a large feather. Glick was nonplussed. Their conversation continued, but her stance softened little. Serious talk was occurring beneath the masquerade. The man put on a smarmy grin, moved close and put a hand on her bare shoulder.
Something rose up within Jordahk. Something he had no right to feel.
We aren't an item. Maybe we never were.
She grinned, but from this distance Jordahk couldn't tell whether it was real or the predatory kind she once gave him while luring him into a Pankido match.
He couldn't just stand there and watch. “Hey—”
Before he could take a second step a hand grabbed his shoulder, shocking him back into decorum. He was addressed formally.
“Jordahk Wilkrest. A pleasure to meet you again, under better circumstances.
“Feliz Navidad.”
“That's Administrator Navidad now.” His face broke into a grin. “Of course I can't pull that on you since you put me there.” Confidence filled his voice along with a touch of deference for which Jordahk was unaccustomed. Being on Platinum Endeavor's small, four person board took getting used to. “The metals are flowing again and we've incentivized enough specialty link-heads to regain our premier javelin facility reputation.”
“Sorry I haven't been paying more attention. I've been so busy since… since I was last there.”
“So I've heard. Don't be troubled. Aristahl and Glick have been keeping an eye on things, not that they need to of course. No one knows the ins and outs of Grehjot like Feliz Navidad.”
Despite the man's sudden use of third person, Jordahk was ready to believe it. “I'm glad the mining fields have resumed being just that.” He glanced away to check on the status of Mr. Feathered Cap.
Feliz was too shrewd not to notice. “Ahh, I see you've noticed Glick's friend.”
“Her friend?”
“He does have quite the reputation.”
Jordahk's heart sank without orders. “For what?”
“Why, piracy of course.” Jordahk relaxed. “And he's a bit of a ladies man.” Just as quickly Jordahk felt punched in the gut. Feliz chuckled before taking on a conspiratorial tone. “I'm going to pass you this file. Read it with privacy before you think too much on things. I see someone I need to speak with. Talk to you later.”
Jordahk turned away from the dance floor, and from distractions. “Let's see it, Max.”
“There's a lot of board member data here. Mining, processing, the repair facilities, etc. But he's highlighted some info.”
Two images came up in lenticular privacy mode. The Monte Crest.
“What? Who kicked the dross out of it? This isn't from the Egress Incident.”
“Yeah. After. Look at those date tags. Two separate repair entries into Grehjot's staryards.”
The ship had been shot up. Both times. He knew Glick had controlling interest in the ship. What had she been doing? She was prone to taking risks, but still was practical. This seemed unlike the woman he knew. Maybe this was a new post-Egress Incident Glick.
A post-Cranium Glick...
One about which he knew, well, nothing.
“Don't get negative on me,” Max link-said. “You have company.”
Jordahk had a lot on his mind and moved too quickly, turning right into the toned and soft flesh of a woman with whom he'd risked all. The soft parts, barely contained in spider-webbing, wasn't helping his composure.
He could stay Kelvin against a Hektor... Okay, maybe not Kelvin, but he could face one without panicking. However a single woman about whom he cared could throw him off his game... whatever game that was.
He stared into her hunter green eyes, mouth suddenly dry.
“Jordahk,” she said without emotion.
The silence lingered. “Nice dress,” he finally said to stop it. The uninspired response was, at least, neutral.
She shook her head, a faint upturn touching the side of her mouth. “Dance?”
“I'm not very—”
She grabbed him and took two steps back. Suddenly they were dancing. She maneuvered his arms for traditional Patram style, like he'd seen earlier. Then he stepped on her foot, and turned the wrong way.
“You're not good at this sort of thing, are you?”
She and Feliz had made it look easy. “I've concentrated on other skills.”
She exhaled, but it was more about thinking up a plan than frustration. “You know that footwork in that second part of the first Pankido ring?”
“The spacing steps and turns? Of course.”
“I'm going to modify them. Follow me.”
Jordahk found himself doing the steps with nary a thought. He was so familiar with them that it was easy to concentrate on Glick's modifications. She lengthened steps and half turns became quarter turns. It transformed into a unique and passable dance.
He glanced down at her feet clad in elevating shoes of black and clear with a glowing blue stripe. Impractical to be sure, yet even in them she was surefooted. That was Glick. They danced in amiable silence. She wasn't cold, but she wasn't warm either. She was probably fighting on a battlefield beyond their usual. One upon which victory wasn't always so neat. Bitter feelings over the loss of her brother were not easily vanquished.
She activated a privacy field around them. Was she inviting him to speak?
Perhaps a neutral subject? “We're at Patram for the Banking Confederation's envoy mission. But this reception's sub-informative. I don't know why most of these people are here.” She listened, her expression giving nothing away. “I don't know why you're here, and I sure as ingots don't know why I'm here. It's not for the Banking Confederation.”
“No one's talked to you about the League yet?”
“The League?”
Glick looked past him. “Probably want you to concentrate on one mission at a time.”
“You sound like my father.”
“It's not my place to say more.” She glanced about conspiratorially. “You have a... unique skill set.” She said it without derision, but could not purge her tone of all hostility, not on this subject. “I'm sure they want you to master it before it melts you to slag.”
“Now you sound like my grandfather.”
She couldn't look him in the eye. “Or before someone else gets caught in the maelstrom.”
Ouch.
He had to believe he'd done his best to protect her brother that fateful night in space. They both had. The bond between t
he three of them had been forged in battle, but between the two survivors was tempered with tragedy. It strained in a gravity well from which it might never escape.
The chance to talk about... what had transpired, had yet to occur. He'd carried guilt for a long time. For the sake of their bond, for the memory of his friend Cranium, and for his own emotional well-being, he needed to let it go.
“I'm sorry... Just sorry.” He said it with all he had.
Glick turned back to him, her expression changed, but still unreadable. She began to open her mouth when a sub-audible tone blared in his link.
Jordahk grabbed his ear reflexively. “Max!”
“It's a family alert—there's trouble in the statuary!”
He turned to the doors in time to see Kord bust through them in full stride.
▪ ▫ ▪
The light of Aventicia's sun was dim and inconsequential. Gas giant Granamar provided the warmth, some might say too much for a habitual world, and its self-illuminated bands shed light greater than Earth's moon. Aventicia had even taken one of the giant's misshapen moonlets and moved it to become a satellite of their own. The famed fleet base called the Jetty.
A greenish yellow nebula shed light everywhere else. The bile-like illumination showed three foreign squadrons in-system. The complex situation in space matched reports coming up from the planet that spoke of governmental instability and unheard of political shenanigans for a Banking Confederation world. A great contrast to their usual policy of political dullness to put investors at ease.
“We have an alert, Prime Orator,” Capt. Gimmelstau commed from the ship bridge. “AI systems predict the Svals are preparing to advance.”
Janus stood and let his cape, donned again for this occasion, ruffle as he took a lap around the under-crewed flag bridge. The media shills, some newly arrived, looked on with admiration. He braced for the most risky and complex gambit of his life.
“Barbarians,” he said. “Just when our negotiations are on the cusp of success. How's Aventicia responding?”
Tethered Worlds: Star in Bankruptcy Page 18
