The Complete Warlord Trilogy: An Aeon 14 Collection

by M. D. Cooper

  It made Bollam’s world useful, but also autonomous enough that they could do as they wished—or didn’t wish.

  Despite its veneer of civilization, Katrina’s research had made her quite certain that the modus operandi within Bollam’s heliosphere was ‘to the victor go the spoils’.

  “I understand,” Uriah replied. “We do have service ships that can perform the work off station. However, doing so is more expensive, and will require a substantial deposit.”

  “How much is substantial?” Katrina asked, sounding disinterested.

  “Thirty thousand credits. Due before our ship leaves dock. The rest of the payment is due once our Crew Chief assesses the work and provides you with the quote.”

  Katrina nearly choked. Thirty thousand credits just to fly out and assess the work? That would consume the vast majority of her available credit. She weighed the possibility of touring the other shops, but the reviews and comments on their listings had all led her to believe that KiStar was the least expensive of the lot.

  Shopping around would also cause storage fees for the pinnace to consume much of her remaining funds.

  “That is agreeable. Although, from what I can see of your repair fleet and the cost of fuel on this station, I believe that a deposit of twenty-five thousand is far more fitting.”

  Uriah’s eyes darted to the side, and Katrina waited while the woman consulted with whomever oversaw such agreements.

  “Very well. Will you be flying back out alone, or would you like to dock your pinnace within our repair ship for the flight?”

  Uriah was marginally competent, then—or she had an NSAI researching Verisa while they spoke. Either way, Katrina was certain that the woman’s offer was not a request. The pinnace would be leveraged as additional security on the service call, should Katrina not agree to KiStar’s rate once they arrived at the Voyager.

  “I will dock it within your vessel. I would like to discuss the work with your crew chief while we travel to my ship.

  “Which is named?” Uriah asked.

  “The Voyager,” Katrina replied.

  “And how will you pay for the bulk of the repairs? I see that your accounts here are new.”

  Katrina did not want to tip her hand by exposing that she had advanced tech here on the station. Once out in the black, after she had worked out a way to influence the crew of the repair ship, then she would reveal her actual method of payment.

  “I have Nietzschean Block-Chain Credits,” she replied. “More than enough to cover the repairs.”

  “Nietzschean?” Uriah asked, and Katrina nodded. “Well, we accept that as tender here. Our ship’s account will, of course, have to verify those once we reach your vessel. If she is not satisfied, we will drop you off, and your deposit will be forfeit. Is that agreeable?”

  “Of course,” Katrina replied. “I don’t anticipate any issues.”

  “Excellent.”

  The next hour was spent reviewing contracts sent by the firm’s NSAI lawyers.

  Katrina was surprised that there were no sentient AIs involved in the process. Just Uriah and the NSAIs. Either the woman ranked higher within the company than Katrina suspected, or they trusted the efficacy of their NSAI more than she would have.

  In the end the deal was signed, and Katrina’s accounts were substantially reduced. She would depart in twelve hours aboard the KSS Havermere.

  With the agreement finalized, Katrina bid Uriah farewell and walked back out of the KiStar showroom, considering how to spend the next half a day.

  It would take an hour to fly the pinnace out to the Havermere, and she scheduled a departure time with the Tsarina dockmaster, who charged her a four-hundred credit fee for early un-racking.

  Katrina bit her lip and paid it, noting that she now had less than ten thousand credits in her account.

  She wanted nothing more than to find somewhere to sleep and drift off for several hours, but a woman of her supposed station would have to book an expensive room, as well as find a suitable meal. She didn’t want to stretch her budget overmuch, so Katrina opted for food. Perhaps afterward, she would go window-shopping to while away the time.

  She searched the restaurant listings and found one that served non-vat-grown food; something she had become accustomed to during her years on Victoria.

  The restaurant was named ‘Tour-Sol’ and featured a menu supposedly pulled from various times and places in the history of Sol. There were some staples on the menu that she knew to have been common, and many others that she had never heard of.

  Katrina ordered steak tartare, grilling the serving woman on the details of its preparation, and ordered a bottle of wine. Once it arrived and was sampled and poured, she sipped it slowly while observing the other patrons from within her deep hood.

  There was little new to learn from such observations. As she had initially expected, Bollam’s World was what Luminescent Space in Sirius would have been like if the Noctus had lived amongst the Lumins, rather than been isolated on their mining and manufacturing platforms in orbit of Sirius A.

  She supposed it was better in some respects. Here, the underclass could blend in—except for their collars—unlike the Noctus, who had been entirely segregated.

  However, the Noctus had developed their own unique cultures and strong social bonds. In Bollam’s World, the underclass was always in the presence of the upper class—constantly reminded of their lower social standing or their slavery.

  Though the Noctus had been slaves, none had ever worn a collar. Both societies were repugnant, but Katrina couldn’t make a judgement as to which was worse.

  Her meal, which was prepared to perfection, arrived, and she ate it daintily. Afterward, she poured another glass of wine and drank it slowly while researching other star systems along the Intrepid’s most likely trajectory.

  New Eden was rimward of Kapteyn’s Star, and Bollam’s World lay beyond it. Although Kapteyn’s Streamer continued for some distance beyond Bollam’s World, it grew progressively more diffuse, until it dissipated near the Pleiades.

  Katrina summoned a holo projection that only she could see, and placed a three dimensional grid around the stars near the Streamer. There were over three hundred. Even with FTL, it would take her years to search all those systems.

  Another possibility, she realized, is that the Intrepid exited the Streamer deep in interstellar space, and realized that there were no uncolonized stars anywhere nearby.

  Would they have proceeded without visiting any colonized systems? The edge of human expansion was over three thousand light years away. It would take the Intrepid ten thousand years to reach that fringe. It would be too slow; by the time they reached the edge of known space, humanity would have spread further.

  No, the Intrepid would have to settle somewhere nearby. Or secure FTL capabilities of its own.

  Katrina finished her wine and paid for the food, tipping the serving woman well. It was the least she could do for these people.

  As she ‘walked’ back into the corridor outside the restaurant, she realized how sore her ankles had become from staying en point for so long. The boots offered no flexibility, and she was determined to find somewhere out of the way to remove the footwear and stretch her ankles.

  “Crap,” Katrina whispered.

  Somehow, it had not occurred to her that she would be spending three days aboard the KSS Havermere on the way back to the Voyager. A woman in her position would not wear the same outfit each day—even one as fantastic as this. Maintaining the fiction of her high-class status was imperative for her plan to succeed.

  Katrina suffered her sore ankles for awhile longer and returned to the upscale shopping district to spend more of her diminishing credit on expanding her wardrobe.

  The selection on her decreased budget was slimmer, and she was forced to buy several of the more common, garish skinsheaths—although she did splurge on a pair of gleaming red boots that would allow her feet to touch the ground, yet still complement Verisa’s favorite
outfit.

  Once her shopping trip was complete, Katrina returned to the docks, a case with her purchases floating through the air behind her.

  She found an upscale bar that catered to travelers—something she ascertained by the type of clothing, and lack of visible mods—and settled onto one of the plush barstools, pushing the one to her right out of place to make room for her floating case.

  Once her drink was ordered, Katrina pulled the a-grav boots off and placed them in the case. A brief internal debate followed as to whether or not she should put on the new red boots. In the end, the desire for comfort won, and Katrina hooked her unshod feet on the barstool and sipped the martini that was set before her.

  She gave the bartender—another human—a curt nod of thanks for the drink. The number of humans performing everyday tasks on the station was quite surprising. Katrina supposed that was what happened when you kidnapped the passengers of every ship that dumped out of the Streamer: lots of excess labor.

  As the bartender moved aside, Katrina caught sight of herself in the mirror. Her hood had slipped back partway, and her hair sparkled and flared, making it appear as though her face was wreathed in fire. Each time she took a sip of her drink, the ‘cutout’ on her chest showed molten gouts of fire flowing past. She looked like a vision from someone’s nightmares—or perhaps dreams.

  She twisted her lips into a wicked smile, finding it hard not to fall into the Verisa persona when seeing herself like this. Then a thought of Laura came into her mind; the young lady who had only ever known Katrina as a sedate elder stateswoman.

  Katrina didn’t know whether to give a haughty laugh or drown herself in her drink.

  Being Verisa was exhausting. Perhaps she could just be Katrina for these last few hours before boarding the Havermere.

  * * * * *

  Juasa had followed KiStar’s newest client from the Tour-Sol restaurant to Lourmis Boulevard, where she had taken only an hour to buy what looked like a half-dozen outfits—probably a record for a woman of her stature.

  From there, the woman had wandered down the sweep outside the dock entrances until she came to Gregor’s—one of the nicer bars on this side of Tsarina station.

  Tommy had said her name was Verisa. It was an interesting name, and not one that Juasa had heard before; somehow it suited the tall, sure woman.

  It was hard for Juasa not to stare. Verisa had a perfect figure—albeit one that was almost impossible to properly make out under the amazing skinsheath she wore. If Juasa didn’t know better, she’d think that Verisa’s body was actually made of fire wrapped in writhing black strips of gleaming cloth.

  Though the outfit made Verisa look more than a little intimidating, Juasa found it to be a refreshing change from most of the garish outfits that the station’s elite preferred.

  Juasa had been following Verisa for some time, but she had still not seen the woman’s face. She wondered what it would be like. Would her features be soft, aquiline? Would she have full lips, or would they be drawn and thin, disapproving of everything the haughty woman saw?

  Juasa was certain that she’d seen a curl of red hair from beneath the hood. It would match the skinsheath beautifully. She wondered if the woman’s skin was light or dark. Dark would be so deliciously in line with the suit’s malicious look, like she was a demon of smoke and fire. Light, however, would make her appear ethereal, like a wraith.

  The woman she watched settled on her barstool, and moved one of the other stools out of the way to make room for her hovering case of clothing.

  Just like an elite; no concern for others, just their own comfort.

  Juasa leaned against an empty table next to the door and watched as Verisa ordered a drink, and then proceeded to pull off her a-grav boots. Juasa didn’t blame her; spending hours with one’s feet held en pointe was probably rather uncomfortable—though the position had made Verisa’s thighs and ass look amazing as she had glided through the station.

  Don’t be stupid, Juasa, she cautioned herself. When you approach her, your eyes never leave her face. Keep your tongue in your mouth.

  Then the woman did something that made Juasa wonder about all her previous assessments.

  After removing the a-grav boots, she didn’t put on any other footwear. Instead, Verisa gave a little smirk and wiggled her toes before hooking her feet on the barstool and picking up her martini for another sip.

  Somehow, with that simple action, Verisa had changed. She appeared softer, more forgiving and approachable.

  Maybe she’s not queen bitch.

  Then Verisa pulled down her large hood, and long red hair that curled slightly at the ends fell down around her shoulders.

  Juasa’s breath caught in her throat; the woman was a goddess, so beautiful it made her heart ache. Verisa’s skin was pale, and her green eyes surveyed the bar with a sharp intensity.

  She noted that Verisa did not seem to have the agelessly youthful look caused by multiple rejuv visits, but instead appeared to be slightly older than normal—she even had small wrinkles around her eyes.

  It was uncommon to see an elite look so…human—especially given the image her clothing projected.

  Juasa knew that Tommy must have been wrong. There was no way this woman could be a heartless bitch. Juasa prayed that if she asked nicely, and maybe offered something in return, perhaps she could convince Verisa to help her out of the bind she was in.

  Even if she declined, the opportunity to spend some time in such a woman’s company would be well worth it.

  She took a deep breath and promised herself that she would behave as naturally as possible; they always said to ‘be yourself’, right?

  Her foot didn’t want to move at first, but once she took the first step, it got easier. Before she knew it, Juasa was walking across the floor to sit at the woman’s side.

  * * * * *

  The bar was warm, and Katrina let down her hood, shaking out her long red hair and letting it cascade over her shoulders. She took another sip of the martini, and was staring down at the streaks of fire tracing across her hands when a woman sat on the stool to her left.

  Katrina didn’t have to give more than glance out of the corner of her eye to see that it was a KiStar employee, glowing softly in her white uniform with its purple and blue logo—just one though; no mobile display here.

  She was young, appearing to be thirty or so—real years. There were no signs of the too-perfect skin that rejuv often caused. Her skin was a pleasant light brown, her face framed by long dark hair.

  “Fashion can be a bitch,” the woman said with a nervous smile and a nod to Katrina’s feet before she held up a hand to signal the bartender.

  The woman must have been referring to Katrina’s unshod feet—she had to have been watching her for a few minutes, to see her remove the a-grav boots.

  Katrina arched an eyebrow. “At times, but it’s always worth it. A wise man once said, ‘clothing makes the man’—or woman, in my case.”

  The woman laughed. “I wouldn’t know. Well, I should say that I barely remember. KiStar likes us to always be in their colors. Gets a bit boring, but it cuts down on shopping trips.”

  “Can I help you with something?” Katrina asked, keeping her tone neutral. It was no coincidence that a KiStar employee had shown up here and initiated a conversation.

  The woman gave a nervous laugh. “Um, oh, sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Juasa. I’m Crew Chief aboard the Havermere. I’ll be the one working on your ship.”

  “Verisa,” Katrina said and offered her hand, which Juasa cautiously reached for and shook only once before pulling her hand back. It was as though she were afraid the angry glow tracing itself across Katrina’s skin would burn her.

  “I would have expected you to be making preparations aboard the Havermere.” Katrina asked, wondering when the woman would ask what she had come to ask—whatever that was.

  Juasa twisted her lips and gave a rueful laugh. “Yeah, I really should be. I came onstation ye
sterday ‘cause I had a few days off, but looks like that’s been cut short.”

  “Sorry to inconvenience you,” Katrina said, though her tone conveyed no apology.

  Juasa ignored Katrina’s undertones and waved her hand with a dismissive expression. “Not your fault. Uriah’s peeved at me. I gave a client a discount a few months back, and now she does her best to pull me off break whenever possible. Your job probably made her day.”

  “So why is it that we’re sharing a drink here?” Katrina asked, allowing a slight smile. Juasa’s honesty and buoyant attitude were a nice change from most of the people Katrina had met on Tsarina.

  The bartender set a drink in front of Juasa, and she took a sip. Either she’d passed her preference to the man over the Link, or she was a regular. Or both.

  “Tommy—the guy you didn’t want to talk to at our sales office, told me about you. Then I talked to a friend I have in station security to see if he could spot you. He pointed me to Tour-Sol, and I followed you from there.”

  Katrina nodded slowly. Keeping a low profile hadn’t been in her plan, though she didn’t expect it to garner her this sort of visit, either.

  “Why are you dissembling, Juasa?” Katrina asked. “I asked why you’re here, not how you found me.”

  Juasa made a clicking sound with her cheek and turned slightly, her posture more open and vulnerable. “It’s a bit embarrassing, really. Captain Ferris is pissed at me—more than usual. He was about to disembark and have a good couple of days with some of his lady friends onstation, when the call came in that we were going back out. He knows Uriah has her shiny blue hair in a twist about me, and that’s why our whole ship’s leave got cut short—again.”

  “Still waiting for why you’re here,” Katrina said, holding back a smile. There was something about Juasa that she found herself liking. Here Katrina sat, playing the Verisa cold fish attitude—though a bit softer than she probably should be, perhaps due to the martini—and Juasa hadn’t adjusted her behavior one iota.