Keeper of the Sun (Starhold Series Book 3)

by J. Alan Field

  “Let me think about it,” she said with a wink. “After all, you should know better than most.”

  “Know what?”

  “Tactics, sir. Never give away your moves too early. Besides, it will give me something to ponder as I lie in the shuttlebay posing as a human popsicle for the next six months. But until we get back home, I think it’s best if the two of us are all business—agreed?”

  “Agreed.” The lingering warmth of her lips on his mouth made it a difficult word to say, but she was right. Extended leave would be a better time to explore a possible relationship. Perhaps there would actually be advantages to six months of hypersleep. After all, a drug-induced slumber sounded much better than a half-year of sexual frustration.

  “Permission to return to duty,” she said stepping back from him, adding a brisk “sir.”

  “Carry on, lieutenant.” As she left the cabin, he wanted a moment to reflect on what had just transpired, but Tempest’s AI would not permit it.

  “Commodore Pettigrew,” called Ship over the speaker. “Massang Commander Harradoss is calling from the Yaxa and would like to speak with you.”

  * * * *

  “Warlock and Maroth are scheduled to arrive within three standard hours,” reported Captain Nyondo.

  Not only was the arrival of the two trailing Sarissan ships imminent, but two Massang destroyers had translated into the Summit system earlier that morning—the reinforcements Harradoss had requested after the recent Lytori attack. These events gave the afternoon staff meeting additional importance.

  Pettigrew turned to Commander Mullenhoff. “After Warlock arrives, how long will it take before I can speak with Sarissa?”

  Mullenhoff did some quick mental calculations. “I’d say their engineers should have the FTL relays up and running within two standard hours, maybe less.”

  XO Paruzzi half raised a hand for recognition before speaking. “Commander Mullenhoff, what happens if one of the relays in the network is damaged by a meteor or some other accident?”

  “Multiple stations were deployed in each of the designated systems along the route. Redundancy is our protection against the very thing you suggest. We should be all right.”

  Nyondo was less sure. “Unless the Lytori find one of those systems and destroy our stations,” she said turning to Pettigrew. “Sir, do you think they could be the Adversary that the New Earthers have warned us about?”

  “I don’t know, Captain, but if what Harradoss tells us is true, they certainly fit the description, don’t they?”

  The thought of the Lytori war machine rampaging across the galaxy, just as the Adversary had done in the Otherverse, caused a pall of apprehension to fall over the group. “Sir,” spoke up Nyondo, breaking the brief silence, “after Warlock and Maroth arrive, will we be relocating as Shartok Harradoss suggests?”

  “Negative,” answered Pettigrew. The Massang leader had pleaded with Pettigrew earlier that morning to move the Sarissan task force to what he called the Wosyet system, a star ten light-years away. Harradoss was apparently concerned for the safety of his human guests. The Wosyet system was a forward staging area for the Massang military in their war against the androids, making the space there more secure against Lytori attack.

  “Wosyet is two standard weeks travel and in the wrong direction,” said Pettigrew. “My orders were to travel to Summit. When we leave this system, the only place we’re heading for is home.” He could sense relief in the faces of his officers. “Captain Nyondo, what is our supply status?”

  “We are doing well, sir. The Massang on Stobi helped us take on extra water to supplement our purifiers, and thanks to Commander Mullenhoff’s engineers, our atmospheric scrubbers have been refurbished. Everything’s on target, right down to the beer rations.”

  Pettigrew laughed. “Glad to hear that. After all, we need to keep our priorities straight.”

  “Hey, some of us have to be awake for the trip home,” Mullenhoff chimed in. “Knowing certain people in this room, I’m surprised there is any beer left for the second stage crew.”

  “She must be talking about you, Ms. Kuypers,” joked Paruzzi. Paruzzi was one of the few people aboard that gave as good as he got from the sassy Tactical Officer.

  “Forget about me,” said Kuypers. “If we don’t keep the beer away from the Massang, you won’t have any left.”

  Some people at the table reacted as if a secret had been given away. Pettigrew knew there was something he wasn’t getting, and from Nyondo’s reaction, he wasn’t alone.

  “What are you taking about, Lieutenant?” asked Nyondo.

  “Ahh, it’s all over the ship. I thought everyone knew.”

  Paruzzi jumped in to rescue her. “It’s my fault for not reporting it, Captain. I take full responsibility.”

  “Not reporting what, Rico. What’s this all about?”

  “About a week ago, some of the off-duty Marines went down to Stobi, to Camp Paradise,” said Paruzzi, referring to the moon’s makeshift recreational area. “They took some of their beer rations with them.”

  Nyondo stiffened. “Who was in charge?”

  “Staff Sergeant Hiteshaw was the ranking NCO on the scene, ma’am.”

  “Oh, Gods,” she muttered. “Go ahead, Commander—continue.”

  “Well, they were apparently drinking and minding their own business when Shartok Minz and two of the other Massang showed up. One thing led to another and before you know it, the Massang joined in the party.”

  “The Marines gave the Massang some beers,” said Pettigrew in a deliberate voice, not so much as a question but a declaration of astonishment.

  “Not just some,” added Kuypers. “Quite a few, apparently. Seems the Massang can hold their own, even with a bunch of Marines.”

  “XO, does Captain Darst know about this?” asked Nyondo.

  “Not officially, ma’am.”

  “Make it official,” she growled. “I want those chuckleheads disciplined. Standing orders—no sharing food and drink with the aliens. Gods, they might have killed Minz and the others.”

  Doc Robinson cleared his throat for attention. Even though he was not an officer, the corpsman had been a regular at staff meetings during their time in Summit.

  “Captain, in my dealing with the Massang physician, Minz, I have learned that alcohol is as much a part of their culture as ours. Some types of spirits that we consume might make a Massang ill, but I doubt that any would kill them,” said Robinson, adding under his breath, “Although in the case of Minz…”

  Pettigrew found the comment odd. Doc Robinson was a model gentleman, and for him to make a snide comment during a staff meeting was out of character. “Trouble with your colleague, Doc?”

  “I’m sorry, sir, it’s just that Minz is so…”

  “Irritating?” prompted Mullenhoff.

  “Yes—thank you, Commander!” the usually reserved Robinson exclaimed before clamming up.

  “Go ahead, Doc,” urged Pettigrew. “Get it out of your system.”

  Robinson did a slight eye roll and looked around at the others before launching into a mini-rant. “I’ve had to work with Minz several times in the course of exchanging medical data. He is incredibly annoying and pompous. He tries to pass it off as confidence, but if he were a human, I’d say it was more like extreme insecurity. He’s always trying hard to impress, but he tries way too hard. He just gets on my nerves, that’s all.”

  “I’ve noticed it too,” added Mullenhoff, who had spent extensive time with each of the three alien representatives. “And that accent Minz has! It really grates on my ears.”

  Nyondo turned to Dr. Richmond, the chief xenolinguistics researcher. “Doctor, what about the accents? It seems that all three of the Shartoks have a slightly different Idolinguan accent.” As an artificially constructed language, Idolingua originally had no accents, but over time, people on different planets and regions had drifted into subtle variations of speech.

  “This has been the subject of much deb
ate with my colleagues. I agree that Minz has a very deep accent—very Irongate,” observed Richmond, referring to a section of Boutwell, the largest city on Sarissa. “Personally, I’ve spent a lot more time with Shartok Phersu, but I’ve noticed he uses a different kind of inflection—more Odessan I’d say.”

  “As far as Harradoss is concerned,” said Pettigrew, “I’ve always heard something in his voice, but I can’t place it. It doesn’t sound strictly Sarissan to me.”

  Richmond tilted his head in thought. “If they gained their ability to speak Idolinguan from analyzing computer data, they shouldn’t have accents at all. Computer files don’t have an accent.”

  The Tempest AI spoke up. “Excuse me for interrupting, Captain Nyondo. As part of my upgrade at the Hodiak Yard, I was instructed to monitor conferences and extrapolate any relevant patterns from random information. May I make an observation?”

  “Yes, of course, Ship. What do you have for us?”

  “The places which have been mentioned during the past two minutes of discussion correspond to records on the three missing survivors of the Beta Corvi colony. One lived for many years in the Irongate District of Boutwell, another grew up on the planet Odessa, and a third was from another starhold.”

  “Which starhold?” asked Nyondo.

  “Pontus.”

  “Pontian,” Pettigrew said snapping his fingers in recognition. “That’s what that accent is—it’s Pontian.”

  “Well, that can’t be a coincidence,” said Paruzzi looking around the table at the others. “Our three aliens just happen to speak with accents from the homes of our three missing colonists. I mean, what are the odds?”

  “Zero,” declared Pettigrew. For some reason, his new allies were lying to him. He had asked repeatedly if they had any information on the missing trio from the Beta Corvi expedition, and each time he had been told no. Of course, it was possible that Harradoss really didn’t know anything and that his superiors were lying to him. Either way, Pettigrew didn’t like it.

  “All right people,” said Pettigrew in a voice intended to wrap up the meeting. “Let’s be ready to welcome Warlock and Maroth when they arrive. Ms. Mullenhoff, have your engineers standing by to assist in any way with the comm relays. Captain Nyondo, have Maroth head straight for the gas giant upon arrival. I want both miners and both warships fueled to the max ASAP. Our business in Summit is almost at an end. As soon as the new arrivals have a chance to rest up a bit, we’re heading back home.”

  Smiles spread across the room—at least they did until Pettigrew added, “Contingent on any instructions from Central Command, that is.”

  “Maybe we should forget to check in,” joked Mullenhoff.

  “Dismissed,” said Pettigrew with a wave of the hand. “Oh, Doc Robinson—could you stay for a moment. I have a job for you, if you’re up for it.”

  18: Scuffle

  Olderwall

  Suburb of Boutwell

  Planet Sarissa

  The escort aerofighters peeled away as the Imperial shuttle descended to the landing pad on the edge of the school grounds. As the craft touched down, Kaskian Guards already on-site were in position, as were scores of State Security constables from the Boutwell division.

  Grenzbach Primary was a state-operated school nestled in the working-class community of Olderwall, some twenty kilometers south of Boutwell. The school was one of the most famous on the planet—not because it was the best or the biggest, but because it was the oldest. This year marked the tri-centennial of the Diaspora of Humankind, and today the Empress was visiting Grenzbach Primary to lead festivities honoring the school’s place in Sarissan history.

  The Grenzbach event was scheduled long before the killing of Leonardo Sanchez, before the scandal involving Prince Karl’s finances, and before the attempt by many people to link the two. After days of silence on the matter, Koenig Manor finally released what they believed to be the facts on the Prince’s failure to divest his corporate holdings, along with a statement of apology from Karl himself and his promise to cooperate fully with any SSB investigation. For many though, it was not enough.

  The Divestment Affair, as it was now being called, had consumed public discourse for almost a week now. Some felt that the Prince Consort had simply made a bad decision out of love for his son. Others saw a dark conspiracy involving Karl Gideon and the Empress herself in a plan to profiteer from the Jangsuvian War and assassinate a political rival who was about to expose them. The speech at Grenzbach would be the first public appearance by Renata since the scandal broke.

  “Five minutes, ma’am. I want one more check of the perimeter before we leave the shuttle,” said Colonel Flood. She divided her attention between her colleagues and the datapad in her lap, on which she monitored the security situation. “And just for the record, I still don’t like this.”

  “It would have looked bad if we had cancelled. I can’t hole up in Koenig Manor forever. This will be a nice, safe venue in front of a private audience. It will be fine.”

  Her Chief of Staff Bennett Boyer grunted in disagreement. “This nice, safe event was organized by the Culture Vultures, you know.”

  “Everything is,” said Renata with a wry smile. “Bennett, stop worrying. There is simply no other way to handle this. Karl’s mea culpa was a good start. We can use whatever goodwill I have left with Channa Maxon and the other ministers on the Directorate to get as light a penalty for him as possible. A hefty fine and this will all be over.” Even as she said the words, Renata knew it was wishful thinking.

  “Maxon won’t settle for anything less than your abdication, you know that don’t you?” bristled Boyer. “It’s what this whole thing is about. She wants you out because you won’t be her puppet.”

  “Her Pantomime Empress,” mumbled Renata as she stared off into space and remembered Leonardo Sanchez.

  “What?” asked Boyer. “Rennie, what did you say?”

  Renata came back to the here and now. “Bennett, for six months before his death, Leo Sanchez and I were in secret talks. We communicated over an old computer net that Merritt activated for us back at Koenig Manor. No one but Leo, Merritt and myself knew about it.”

  Boyer sat silent for a moment. “Your butler knew, but not your Chief of Staff,” he said unhappily, then pointed Colonel Flood’s way. “And not your Head of Security.”

  “Oh, I knew,” said Flood. Bennett looked even more disappointed now. Renata should have been surprised, but she wasn’t. “What kind of security chief would I be if I hadn’t known? Ma’am, have you shared this with either Superintendent Preiss or Director Tolbert?”

  “No. I’m bringing it up to you two now because I keep thinking about this SSB report regarding information they found on Leo Sanchez’s computer, and it just doesn’t ring true to me. At no time in any of our conversations did Leo indicate that he had knowledge of what Karl had done. I’m sure he would have told me if he had known.”

  “Why do you say that?” asked Flood.

  “Because he was my friend,” she answered sadly.

  Boyer put a hand to his chin, thinking. “Any recordings of these conversations?”

  “None.”

  Flood stood and tucked her datapad beneath her arm. “The area is secure, ma’am. We are ready to enter the school.”

  * * * *

  Inside Grenzbach Primary, Empress Renata was greeted by the headmaster, who gave her a brief tour of the facility. It was not the original school but rather the fifth incarnation, with all but one of those buildings sitting on the present site. By the headmaster’s reckoning, over ninety thousand children had passed through the doors of the Grenzbach during the centuries. Renata was introduced to some of the girls and boys, the hand-picked ones who would be polite and say nice things. One little girl wondered where Prince Karl was—she wanted to meet him because he was so handsome. Clearly she had not kept up with the NewsNets. Then again, she was only in second grade…

  The centerpiece of the afternoon was an address by t
he Empress in the school auditorium. Around three-hundred parents were invited, and the event would be recorded for later netcasts after a once-over by Culture Ministry censors. The editing was supposed to make her look as good as possible, but it was really a safeguard against the Empress saying something off-script and out of line with Directorate policy.

  As Renata’s personal make-up artist gave her a final touch-up in the auditorium dressing room before the speech, Colonel Flood entered.

  “Have you had a chance to see this?” asked Flood, placing a datapad on Renata’s lap.

  Glancing down, Renata saw the forensic report from Quijano. “Yes, I saw it this morning. What do you think, Colonel? Could this Carr fellow of ours have killed Leo?”

  “Have you seen Frank Carr’s record? Threnn, Gerrha, Earth —he’s one of our best operatives. I spoke to Director Tolbert, and he thinks Preiss’s people are way off the mark here. So do I.”

  “Then how did Carr’s DNA get all over Leo’s ranch?” Renata asked, closing her eyes as the make-up woman applied some final touches.

  “Carr’s DNA?” Flood chuckled. “Hell, we’re lucky whoever did this didn’t plant Prince Karl’s DNA on the scene—or yours. Oh, by the way, there’s a fresh development from Quijano. The lead SSB Inspector on the case there—he’s gone missing. He was last seen two days ago in the company of Leo Sanchez’s niece, who also happens to be Frank Carr’s wife.”

  Renata looked at Flood and groaned. “You have got to be kidding me.”

  “Nope—you can’t make stuff like this up,” said Flood. “And I have one more piece of bad news for you. SHE is here.”

  “She? She who?”

  “The Chief Culture Vulture herself—Ume Yamazaki.”

  “Here? You mean in this building? What is that woman doing here?” asked the Empress sourly. Renata recognized Yamazaki for what she was—a calculating opportunist. Despite her title as Deputy Minister, she had effectively taken control of the Ministry of Culture and most certainly had her sights set higher, a seat on the Directorate perhaps.