Twin Stars 1: Ascension

by Robyn Paterson

  Ping An laughed. “Might just be, buddy. Might just be.”

  * * *

  The doors of the elevator swished open, and Ping An stepped from them into Remy’s Outdoor Cafe. Calling it outdoor was a bit of a misnomer, as while it was indeed located outside on the roof of the second tallest building in Castle City, the invisible bubble that surrounded it kept much of the effects of being outdoors at a safe distance. What it did allow, however, was a spectacular view of the city towers and the sea beyond.

  “Miss Zhang?” Asked an old man in a formal black and white business suit. He had an angled, lean face and a pointed nose, but his expression was kind, and his eyes bright.

  When she nodded, he bowed and bid to her to follow him. As she did, she looked around at the busy cafe. It was designed in a faux tropical jungle style, with small flowering trees and lots of green plants placed to offer discreet privacy to its clientele. Servers dressed in brightly colored tropical shirts flitted like bees from table to table of the large space, delivering tea and sweet cakes on wooden trays. The clients here were all well dressed business types, but not the common kind who did the work- these were the bosses who dressed a bit more casually but balanced if off with little touches of jewelry and other affectations to show their true status.

  Then abruptly, as Ping An followed the old man, the tables around them became empty and the sounds of the cafe faded away. The section they had entered, near the edge of the roof, was devoid of patrons who might disturb the person there. And, as the servant led Ping An around another patch of plants into a brightly lit section, she saw the reason why.

  Sitting at a lone spindly black metal table set against the edge of the roof was Lady Clarisse Whitcombe, head of the Polyvaris Corporation. Not a large woman, she looked quite old and frail at first glance, but even just seeing her sitting there alone Ping An suddenly had a feeling of energy and strength from her. It was like the tables nearby were empty not merely because she wished it, which Ping An imagined was the case, but because they were pushed away by her aura of strength.

  As they approached, Ping An looked at her more carefully. She had short grey hair that was styled and cut at the chin, and a somewhat flat face, with deep set eyes the color of the sea. She wore a perfectly cut business jacket of salmon pink, with a cobalt blue shirt beneath that matched her eyes, and accompanied by a long skirt that was just a shade of pink off from the jacket. At her neck was a broach with a large piece of polished amber set into it.

  She showed no sign being aware of them, her steady, unfocused gaze telling Ping An she was actually in a linked conversation with some distant person. Before her at the table, Ping An could now see the magnate had laid out a small leather-bound paper book, a pen for writing, and an empty champagne flute.

  The servant indicated with a gesture for them to wait, and Ping An did, trying not to fidget and to stay calm. She self-consciously tugged at the business dress she’d borrowed from Solantro’s wife Grace and practiced what she’d come to say in her head.

  Then, after a time, the old woman, who Ping An had almost come to think of as a statue, suddenly blinked and looked at them- annoyed.

  “Foster, I believe I will need a new manager for the bioplastics division. This one will not do, not do at all.”

  “Yes, madam.” Said the old man, formally. “Will you also be needing lunch?”

  “I will.” She agreed. “Also bring me another glass of Terisian Champagne.”

  Foster nodded. “Very good, madam. However, before I do, this young lady is your lunch appointment.”

  “I know who she is, Foster.” The woman snapped, only barely glancing at Ping An. “I’m old, not senile.” Then she gestured for him to go. “Now, leave us.”

  “Of course, Madam.” Foster bowed and left.

  The old woman fixed her eyes on Ping An, looking her up and down and pursing her thin pale lips in a expression of what the young pirate took to be distaste- although whether it was at her, or her borrowed dress she couldn’t say.

  Finally, without offering Ping An a seat, she opened her book, picked up her pen, and began writing. As she did, she said with casual disinterest- “You have the two minutes until my wine comes, young lady- so make good use of them.”

  Well that’s my cue. Ping An thought, took a deep breath, and then began.

  “I want you to give me a ship. If you don’t, I have information that will burn your company down around you.”

  What could have been called a smile came to the older woman’s lips, but she didn’t stop writing. “Succinct, direct and to the point. I like that.” She said with approval. “The answer is no, now is there anything else?”

  Ping An had expected many things, but casual indifference was not one of them. However, she’d worked too hard and come too far to give up now.

  “You saw the files I sent,” she pressed. “I have enough to see half of your executives up on charges. I also have proof you’ve been using your company’s money as your own personal bank account.”

  After settling in at Solantro’s apartment, Ping An had sent a request to meet with Lady Whitcombe and attached copies of the documents she’d acquired to the message. Less than half an hour later, a reply with a time and location had come back for this meeting. It had given her hope they might be scared.

  So much for that.

  “Well,” the old lady agreed. “That was a good bit of detective work- I will admit. Did you do it all yourself?”

  “Oh, I had help.” Ping An answered. “Help that will take action if you try anything.”

  That earned a full smile, “Vaela Smith, you mean? Your friend who helped you get into Commander Taylor’s private files?” Then the older woman looked up at the surprised pirate. “Oh come on, dear. You think in two hundred years nobody has tried this before? Please, assure me you can be more original than this! Although,” she paused thoughtfully. “I will admit the ship request is a new one. Why do you want it? Some piece of hardware to impress your pirate friends perhaps?”

  “No,” Ping An shook her head. “I need it because I want to face down the Imperial Fleet.”

  “Really?” A hint of amusement appeared in the old sea-colored eyes. “That is interesting. Are you a rebel then?”

  “No. An opportunist.” Ping An said plainly. “I see an opportunity coming, and I want to be able to seize it. “Chaos favors the brave” after all.”

  “It does indeed. It does indeed,” the older woman said watching the pirate more carefully now. “You’ve gone through my memoir.”

  “I accessed everything I could find. I wanted to know who I’d be dealing with.”

  “And, what did you learn about me?”

  As Lady Whitcombe spoke, Foster appeared carrying a tray of food.

  “Your wine is coming.” Ping An pointed out.

  “So it is.” Said the Lady, her eyes not leaving the pirate. “Answer my question before you leave.”

  Ping An held her gaze. “I learned you and your sisters built Polyvaris from the ground up during a market crash. You saw when opportunity was coming, you prepared and you grabbed it. It’s the story of your life, and how a girl from a small rimward planet became one of the most powerful women in the Empire today.”

  That raised an eyebrow. “You want to me, then?”

  “No, I want to be better.”

  The old woman chuckled, then quoted- “To accept an idol means to accept inferiority.”

  “Something else I learned from you.”

  “I had no idea I had such a diligent student.” The Lady said thoughtfully, then turned back to writing in her book, the interview clearly over. “Good day, Miss Zhang.”

  “Good Day, my Lady.” Ping An turned and left the way she’d come.

  Foster set the table for his mistress, then bowed and said “Shall I have her dealt with accordingly, madam?”

  Pausing, the grand dame pursed her lips, considering. “Let me think about it, Foster.” She said. “Let me think about it.”
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  * * *

  Solantro and Grace Juarez lived in a small apartment on Castle City’s West Side, in a building that had once been the in-capital residence of a Noble family before one of the last market crashes. Since then, the building had been converted into an awkward set of apartments for some of the wealthier members of the working class to live in. Castle City was notoriously expensive, and even this modest home would have been out of their reach if Grace’s family had not helped them jump ahead on the waiting list through connections.

  Solantro himself was a security guard at one of the tourist-oriented museums that dotted the Imperial Capitol, a job he’d acquired shortly after he’d come to New Wellington. Grace was an executive assistant at Kellin Bank, working under one of their top managers, and was the one whose job supported the family.

  As it turned out, she was also an excellent cook.

  “Grace, don’t forget it’s our turn to send lunch for Luis’s teacher tomorrow.” Solantro reminded his wife as the family ate dinner that night.

  Grace, who was putting out some pasta on the young Luis’s plate, tipped the pot to show how much was left. “Don’t worry, I made some extra tortellini tonight just for her.”

  “Luis’s teacher keeps commenting on Grace’s pasta,” Solantro commented to Ping An proudly. “He’s always asking Luis when she’ll send more.”

  Ping An smiled at that and nodded, but then she frowned as a thought occurred to her. “You’re sending lunch for his teacher- why?”

  “Oh…Ahh…well…” Solantro suddenly stammered, unsure what to say. A rare thing for him.

  “It’s a bribe,” Grace said as she sat down at her place and began spooning salad onto her plate. “The teachers make the parents give them favors or money or they won’t pass the students.”

  “Grace!” Solantro hissed.

  But his wife ignored him. “Why not?” She answered. “It’s true, isn’t it?” Then she looked at Ping An. “The teachers hold the fates of the students in their hands, so they squeeze as much money from the families as they can.”

  “What?!?” Ping An looked between them, shocked. “How can they get away with something like that?”

  Solantro gave a shrug of resignation. “It’s the way it is here. Everyone just worries about themselves- how to make themselves rich.”

  “Before it was bad,” Grace added. “But recently, it’s become especially hard. Since the death of the Emperor, everything is crazy. Nobody believes in anything right now- not even money. Everyone’s spending their money as soon as they get it and hoarding things for tomorrow. The boxes in our spare room? That’s food and water. Everyone has emergency stores like that now.”

  “I saw them,” Ping An said sadly. “That’s smart though, isn’t it? You never know about tomorrow. But, you’ll get through somehow. Everyone’s in the same boat, right?”

  “Not everyone- the Nobles are fine!” Solantro spat, clearly feeling an old anger. “If anything happens they’ll just leave and go someplace else. They don’t care what happens to the rest of us.”

  But, if he’d been expecting sympathy or the usual round of gripes about the Nobility he didn’t get it. Instead, Ping An looked him in the eye and said coldly- “It’s your own fault.”

  “What?” Solantro’s face showing hurt and surprise. “How can you say that?”

  “They rule because you let them.” Ping An explained to her friend. “You didn’t want the job, they did, and now look where it’s gotten you.”

  “But…What could we do?” Solantro protested. “They’re so powerful, what are we to do? Rebel against them?”

  “No,” the pirate answered. “You could have just asked. That’s all you needed to do- ask for power. They’re what, two percent of the population? How could they say no if the rest of you demanded change? But, you didn’t, did you? You just let them keep on doing what they wanted until they’d taken things too far. You rolled over and let them have their way. Now where are you?”

  Solantro’s face had turned beet red. “What would you know about fighting, Ping? You ran away!” He said. “We needed you, and you ran off to wherever instead of staying at Tester and fighting. Where were your words then? Where were your ideals when we were dying?”

  “What was I supposed to do?” Ping At shot back. “I was a wanted criminal by the Tester government. Was I supposed to stay and rot in jail for serving my people? What good would that have done them?”

  “You would have been freed; the amnesty was put out as soon as the Imperials left.”

  “How was I supposed to know that would happen?” Ping An answered, trying her best to keep this from getting any worse. “Did you know? Is that why you stayed?”

  But then, her old friend looked her right in the eye.

  “I stayed because my family meant something to me.”

  “Solantro!” Grace yelled at him, but it was already too late.

  “Well, my family was dead. So, I guess it wasn’t a problem I had, was it?” Ping An told him flatly, staring at him until he turned away. Then she stood up and tossed her napkin on the table. “Thanks for the meal, I’ll get my things and find a hotel.”

  “Ping An! Wait!” Grace rushed after her.

  But the pirate turned and gestured for her to stay where she was. “It’s okay, Grace. I’ll be in touch when things cool down.”

  * * *

  Ping An was so lost in thought she was halfway down the front marble steps of Solantro’s building before she became aware of the security men around her.

  There were six of them, six large men all dressed in dark suits and wearing the currently popular mirrored bubbles over their eyes. Two had positioned themselves down the sidewalk to her left, and a similar pair half a building over to her right. In front of her, two more stood in front of a large black grav-sedan that was parked in front of the building. Far too rich a vehicle for this neighborhood.

  Cursing herself for letting this happen, Ping An froze and quickly went through her options. The narrow urban street was nearly empty this late in the evening, with the exception of a couple of people walking on the other side. The buildings all around here were likewise too high for her to jump or climb without getting shot or cut down. She could always dash back into Solantro’s building and out another way, but that was likely already taken into consideration.

  In the end, Ping An decided her best bet was to simply see what they wanted, and began to casually walk down the rest of the steps to where the men waited. There was always a chance, after all, that they weren’t here for her but related to someone else. This was the Imperial Capital after all.

  As she reached the bottom step there was a click from the sedan, and the front passenger door popped out slightly and then slid back to reveal an old, hawk faced man sitting behind the driver’s seat.

  “Excuse me, Miss Zhang?” He called out to her.

  Ping An walked over to the car and leaned down to look inside, the two security men flanking her to either side.

  “Hello there, Foster.” She said as casually as she could. “Brought friends I see.”

  “Yes,” said the gentleman politely. “I have been sent to get you.”

  Ping An glanced at the two escorts. “Don’t you mean to bring me in?”

  “No,” he shook his head firmly. “Lady Whitcombe’s instructions were quite clear. You are to return with us, but you are not our prisoner, only our guest.”

  “And,” said Ping An, testing the waters. “If I don’t want to come?”

  “Then we will let you pass.” He answered, putting the emphasis on “will”.

  Ping An considered a moment, it wasn’t like she had anything better to do, and if they wanted her gone there were easier ways.

  She tapped the top of the car twice and then swung down and into the luxuriously soft passenger seat.

  “Alright Foster,” Ping An told the old man. “Let’s see what your lady wants.”

  * * *

  Ping An had made a mistake, a
horrible horrible mistake.

  Or at least that’s how she felt as the doors opened and she stepped out into the ballroom. Brightly lit, and bigger than some ships she had served on, the ballroom of the cloud liner was alive with music, laughter, drinking and dance. Most of the attendees seemed to be young, in appearance if not actual age, and all of them bore the long face, high forehead and too-good-to-be-true features that Ping An associated with the Nobility.

  Foster stepped past her and indicated for her to follow, and the pair began threading their way through the tables. Foster had taken her to Lady Whitcombe’s personal cloud yacht, and aboard it they had set sail to meet a cloud liner cruising to the North of the city where a large grand ball was taking place. They had even prepared a dress for Ping An to wear, although their idea of an ideal dress and Ping An’s differed somewhat.

  “I look like something you eat at one of those afternoon tea places.” Ping An said unhappily as they walked.

  “Given the looks you’re getting from some of the gentlemen,” Foster commented dryly. “I believe they might agree with at least part of that statement.”

  “And, why is my top cut so low?” She said, looking down at what seemed to be almost all of her chest on display. The dress in question was soft pink, with a low cut bodice and a frilly knee length skirt. It was the kind of dress that five year old girls dreamed of wearing one day, and their older selves looked back on with embarrassment.

  “It’s…the fashion…this year.” Foster answered, and gestured out at the assembled ladies, many of whom wore similarly revealing outfits.

  “Ah,” said Ping An, feeling only a little less embarrassed. “I thought I’d forgotten to put something on.”

  Foster led her unerringly across the room and around a corner, where they found the Lady alone in a secluded booth. The old woman was dressed in an impressive off-white gown the color of snow with a baby blue shawl draped over her shoulders. She was gesturing into the air before her, obviously still working on something at this late hour. Ping An was impressed, this woman left little to others that she could do herself.