The Arks of Andromeda (The Imperium Chronicles Book 1)

by W. H. Mitchell

  She stood in the doorway of her apartment, her auburn hair shimmering in the electric light. Tarkio handed her a gift, a trinket wrapped in a box. She took it and smiled, asking him to come in.

  He followed her to the kitchen where a late dinner was prepared. Nothing fancy, but Jolana lit some candles to improve the mood. In the flickering shadows, her eyes reflected the flames like fire trapped in a bottle.

  Tarkio felt comfortable with her, as if he could unburden himself from the stresses of public office. She didn't judge him or ask him to justify the darker aspects of his political life. She seemed to understand that sacrifices were required to achieve the greater good.

  After the meal, they moved to the living room and sat beside each other on the leather couch. Jolana opened another bottle of wine, pouring them both a glass.

  "I spoke with Prince Richard again," Tarkio said.

  Her eyes brightened. "Really?"

  "But the more I hear him talk, the more I doubt he'll support more powers for the senate," Tarkio went on.

  "I'm sorry," she said.

  "People like him are born into power. They don't understand the struggle of people born without it."

  "What are you going to do?"

  "Oh, keep pushing, I imagine," Tarkio replied. "There's a critical mass that must gather before things can change. With a little help, I think that can happen."

  "With a little help?"

  "There's always interested parties willing to donate to a worthy cause. It's in their self-interest..."

  "What kind of parties?"

  "Businesses, mega-corporations," Tarkio said, "you know, groups outside the nobility. They want access to me and the power my office provides. They help me and I help them."

  "So, they pay to see you?"

  "Something like that."

  "Like you pay me?" she asked.

  Tarkio choked on his wine. "Well, not exactly."

  Later, in Jolana's bedroom, the two lay beneath the satin sheets that Tarkio had bought her. As a candle burned down to a nub on the dresser, the archsenator rolled over, facing the wall.

  "Sorry," he said.

  "It happens," she said.

  "Not to me."

  She laughed. "Maybe we shouldn't have had that second bottle."

  "I don't find it funny."

  "Don't be mad," she said, snickering.

  "I'm not!" he said, pulling away the sheets.

  Tarkio, his naked body as white as the sheets, got out of bed and went into the bathroom. He shut the door with a slam behind him.

  At night, the Grand Marching Grounds were quiet without the throngs of tourists milling across the pavement. Lonely spotlights illuminated the Victory Arch, the intricate friezes along the top contrasted in heavy shadow. The legs of the arch straddled the reflecting pool, now a black mirror of the sky. Detective Crawley leaned against one of the statues that lined the pool.

  He looked at his watch. The archsenator was late, but the detective wasn't surprised. People like that were never on time, especially if it meant keeping someone hanging. Not that Crawley had anywhere else to go. His little apartment in Ashetown was a pigsty, along with everything else in Ashetown. He didn't mind waiting in a park.

  A man approached.

  Crawley stepped away from the statue and flicked away a spent cigarette.

  "It's about time," he said.

  The man, dressed in a dark coat, glared at the detective.

  "You're lucky I'm here at all," Archsenator Tarkio growled.

  "I wouldn't call it luck," Crawley replied. "I'd call it you didn't have a choice."

  "Well, I'm here now, so let's get to business."

  Crawley couldn't help but laugh. He was expecting a big payday out of this.

  "It's not funny," Tarkio said.

  "Not from where I'm standing," Crawley said.

  "What do you think you have on me?"

  The detective removed a datapad from his jacket and handed it to the archsenator. Crawley knew what Tarkio was seeing as he scrolled through the screens. There was ample evidence placing Tarkio at the scene of Jolana Valeria's murder, including tissue and bodily fluids. Even the weird little hotel manager recognized the archsenator's face when Crawley showed him a picture.

  Watching Tarkio's hand shake holding the datapad, Crawley noticed tears welling up around the man's eyes. Must've been a crime of passion, Crawley thought. He knew all about those. Love and crazy were usually the same thing.

  "It's an open and shut case," the detective said. "You can either pay me or I go to the press and see that you get what you deserve."

  "You think that's what I deserve?" Tarkio said, his voice nearly cracking.

  "You know what? I've seen worse, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't get thrown out an airlock."

  Tarkio cleared his throat and stood straighter as he handed the tablet back to Crawley.

  "We don't always get what we deserve," Tarkio said, "but I'm going to make sure you do."

  "Before you get any ideas," Crawley said, "I've got that info backed up in case anything happens to me."

  "Password protected, I suppose?"

  "Goddamn right."

  "That shouldn't be a problem."

  "What's that supposed to mean?" Crawley asked, growing irritated.

  "Warlock Industries has a special research division," Tarkio explained. "They've perfected ways to enhance psionic abilities, even when you're not a Dahl."

  "Huh?"

  "Mind reading, for example."

  Crawley became aware of someone else nearby. He wasn't sure why he hadn't noticed him before. The man wore a gray bodysuit, common among Warlock employees. His skin was exceptionally pale, almost translucent, except for black circles under his eyes. What really stuck out, Crawley dimly began to realize, was the stranger's bulbous head including several enlarged lobes protruding from his skull. The detective wasn't even sure if he was human.

  Crawley dropped the datapad and started reaching for the pistol in his jacket, but felt the muscles in his arm seize up as if an electrical current was surging through it. His whole body stiffened.

  The stranger moved closer until he was just a few inches away from the detective. Crawley could see the veins in the man's head throbbing.

  "It didn't have to be like this," Tarkio said. "If you had just done your job, none of this would've happened."

  A low gurgle came from Crawley's throat.

  "I'm sorry," Tarkio went on. "You've become a loose end..."

  The stranger looked at the archsenator and nodded. Crawley knew this meant they had the password, and whatever other information they were looking for. He wanted to cry out, but the muscles of his tongue were frozen.

  Tarkio looked at the stranger. "Finish this."

  A jolt went through Crawley's body like a lightning bolt. His back arched and his arms swung outward, his fingers curling into claws. Within Crawley's brain, blood vessels swelled and burst, hemorrhaging throughout his skull. Like a wet rag doll, the detective went limp and fell to the pavement in a heap.

  The body lay there undisturbed for several hours until a servicebot arrived in the morning and tried, unsuccessfully, to vacuum it into a bin.

  Archsenator Tarkio returned late to his mansion in the West End. His butlerbot, who never needed rest, greeted him in the entrance hall and asked if he needed anything. Tarkio wearily waved the robot away, saying he would see it in the morning. The butlerbot bowed and went off toward the servants' wing while Tarkio himself trudged into the living room where a cart held a collection of liquors. He could have asked the robot to bring up a fresh bottle of wine from the cellar, but that would have only reminded Tarkio of his last night with Jolana. Instead, he poured a snifter of brandy and hoped it would let him sleep a little easier.

  Tarkio swished around the nightcap in this glass. Lost in thought, he didn't see the woman standing by the window in the poorly lit room. When he did, he nearly dropped his drink.

  "Who are you?" he said. "
How'd you get in here?"

  The woman came away from the window, stopping beside an armchair where she rested her hand on the back. She had wrinkles around her eyes and strands of gray in her otherwise brown hair. She wore a dark suit with red lace around the neck and cuffs.

  "My name's Calesta Koshkin," she said.

  Tarkio set the glass down.

  "What do you want?" he asked.

  "I met a young woman once," Koshkin began. "She was alone in the world, so we took her in and gave her a place to live..."

  "What does that have to do with—"

  "We also gave her something more important," Koshkin continued. "We gave her a purpose and a place in something bigger than herself."

  "Jolana," Tarkio whispered.

  "Yes, she was a bright girl. She did all that we ever asked of her."

  "You're from Red Lotus."

  "Yes," she said. "And Jolana Valeria was one of my girls."

  Tarkio began sweating. He could feel it beading along the back of his neck.

  "I really thought she cared for me," he said. "I didn't realize, until it was too late, that she worked for you."

  "That's the whole idea," Koshkin said. "That's how we earn the real money."

  "I loved her."

  "But now she’s dead."

  Tarkio pointed at Koshkin. "She’s dead because of you, not me!"

  "How do you figure that?" Koshkin snarled back.

  "She was using me," he said, "but you were using her to get to me. You're the one who put her in danger and I blame you for getting her killed!"

  Tarkio could see the nails of Koshkin's fingers digging into the back of the armchair.

  "When a girl joins the Red Lotus," Koshkin said, "she becomes part of a family, a sisterhood."

  Tarkio became aware of more people in the room. As Koshkin spoke, the shapes became clearer as they entered the light. Each was a woman. Some held swords; others knives. A few had long, claw-like blades attached to their hands.

  "Most of all," Koshkin went on, "each woman knows that if anything happens to her, the other sisters will take revenge."

  "You're making a mistake," Tarkio said.

  Like lions, the women pounced on the archsenator before he could say another word. With their blades, they tore him apart, his blood showering the room with red.

  In the morning, when the butlerbot found the remains of his master, little was left that could still be recognized. From the eviscerated body, bloody footprints trailed off in seemingly every direction.

  Jolana Valeria's bathroom was tiled in white, with blue towels hanging from a warming rack on the wall. The floor was white marble, but a turquoise rug kept Archsenator Tarkio from slipping in his bare feet. He filled the basin sink with water and splashed his face until the sweat was washed away. He took one of the towels, dried his hair and body, and wrapped it around his waist. He didn't mean to yell at Jolana, but he needed a few minutes to gather himself before facing her again.

  When Tarkio opened the bathroom door, Oscar Skarlander was there to greet him.

  "Wha-What?" the archsenator stammered.

  Skarlander had his back to the bed, but Tarkio could see it over his shoulder. Jolana was laying partially covered by the sheets.

  "What's going on?" Tarkio asked.

  Skarlander, wearing black gloves, shrugged as if caught stealing candy.

  "Liabilities must be eliminated," he said without emotion.

  "What do you mean?" Tarkio said, pushing past the Warlock operative.

  Tarkio saw Jolana's eyes staring at him, lifeless and cold.

  "What did you do?"

  "She was working for Red Lotus," Skarlander said. "She's given them everything you've told her so they could sell it to the highest bidder."

  "You killed her!"

  "Well, you're just as guilty," Skarlander said. "You should really be more careful with whom you associate, Archsenator."

  Wearing just a towel, halfway between a dead woman and the man who killed her, Tarkio turned and faced Skarlander, even if just to avoid Jolana's unblinking eyes.

  "What about me?" he asked. "Am I a liability too?"

  Skarlander smiled.

  "Perhaps someday," he said, "but not today."

  Chapter Fourteen

  Maal-Bok stepped from the airlock onto the Hotspur, bending so his horns would pass beneath the hatch. Over seven feet tall, the Magna loomed over Quartermaster Calico waiting for him in the corridor.

  "Welcome aboard," Calico said.

  Bok's face was narrow with high cheekbones. Like all Magna, his eyes were red with pupils like slits.

  "I expected Captain Blixx to greet me himself," he snarled.

  Calico rubbed the sparse hairs on his otherwise bald head.

  "The Captain's waiting for you in his quarters," Calico replied. "I'll be taking you to him directly."

  The Quartermaster led Bok through the ship, encountering a few dirty looks by some of the crew. Bok ignored them like an emperor parading past commoners. He was above them, like all his race, educated from childhood to recognize their innate superiority over other races. To them this was not arrogance, it was simply a matter of fact.

  At the captain's cabin, Calico knocked and the door slid open. The Quartermaster ushered the Magna inside, but remained in the passageway.

  Behind a wide rosewood desk, Captain Blixx reclined in a brown leather chair with a bottle of whiskey. A robot without legs and with only one arm sat in a stuffed red chair.

  "Care for a drink?" Blixx asked.

  "No, thank you," Bok replied, staring at the robot.

  "Don't mind Stumpy," the captain said. "He won't bite."

  "You named me Stumpy?" the robot asked. "When did that happen?"

  "I didn't mention it?" Blixx asked, then addressed Bok. "I erase his memory periodically."

  "It's terribly disconcerting," Stumpy admitted.

  "Take a seat, Mister Bok" Blixx said.

  "I prefer to stand," Bok replied.

  "It's quite an honor of you to drop by in person," Blixx said, which Bok immediately recognized as human sarcasm.

  "Your next target is vital," Bok said. "I knew bringing the coordinates in person would emphasize that fact."

  From his pocket, the Magna took out a data chip, the device tiny between Bok's giant fingers. He placed the chip on the captain's desk.

  "Did you get this intel from your usual source?" Blixx asked.

  "One of them."

  "Is it reliable?"

  "Humans are never fully reliable," Bok said, and then, after a pause, "No offense."

  Blixx laughed into his now empty glass. "None taken!"

  "Regardless of the source," the Magna went on, "We must act quickly."

  "Well, I'll be the one acting on it," Blixx said. "You depend on me an awful lot more than I depend on you."

  Bok gave a wry smile. "As I've said before, our arrangement benefits us both. Even a human mind can grasp that, surely."

  The captain slammed the glass down.

  "I'm no fool, human or not!" he said. "Without me, you'd have nobody to do your dirty work!"

  "Perhaps," Bok said, "but without me, you'd have the Imperial Navy breathing down your neck."

  "He makes a good point," Stumpy remarked.

  "Shut up, robot!" Blixx replied.

  "Then it's settled," Bok continued. "You'll attack the target and retrieve the package on board. If all goes well, you'll have a nice ransom to fill your coffers. That should cheer you up."

  "Aye, it would."

  After a long, awkward silence, Stumpy said, "It's so nice to meet new people."

  When Princess Katherine turned sixteen, Empress Isabella chose Lady Sophia as her daughter's handmaiden. This raised a few eyebrows in the court since Sophia was from an unremarkable family among the nobility. Lady Sophia herself was never entirely sure why Isabella chose her, but as personal servants went, Sophia proved herself more than adequate.

  Shortly after her appointm
ent, while walking with Katherine, Lady Sophia saw Prince Alexander for the first time. The prince was fencing with an instructor on the grounds of the Imperial Palace.

  "My brother is such an idiot," Katherine commented at the time. "Why fight with a sword when someone can just shoot you?"

  "I believe it's tradition," Sophia replied. "He seems good at it at least."

  "Humph!" the princess aid. "That's about the only thing he's good at."

  They continued their stroll, but Lady Sophia found herself looking back over her shoulder at the prince.

  The second time she saw Alexander, he was dancing with a young woman at the Imperial Ball. Everyone knew the girl, a debutante from a prestigious family, but Sophia thought she was too immature for someone like the prince. A girl like that wouldn't know the first thing about pleasing a man. Sophia considered introducing herself to Alexander, but knew that was simply not done, not by a lady anyway. Since the prince rarely seemed interested in spending time with his younger sister, Sophia felt frustrated by the lack of opportunities. Still, the scandal of meeting him unannounced would be too much to bear. People already talked about her enough without adding fuel to the fire.

  The third time was on Revenna, in the carefully tended hedge maze of Empress Isabella's estate. Lady Sophia lost track of Katherine among the walls of green and, while she was looking for her, found Alexander instead. He was sitting on a stone bench in one of the open areas of the maze. He offered the seat beside him and Sophia didn't hesitate. When Katherine eventually found her, Sophia and the prince were kissing.

  After that, much to Katherine's dismay, Sophia spent as much time with the prince as with the princess.

  "It's gross," Katherine said one afternoon.

  "Why?" Sophia asked.

  "He's a disgusting good-for-nothing. You could do better."

  "Better than the emperor's son?"

  "Well, you know what I mean."

  But they remained together, often meeting clandestinely since Sophia heard rumors that Prince Richard also did not approve. Not that any of that bothered Alexander. On the contrary, Sophia got the feeling he stayed with her partly because it made his brother angry. Alexander denied it, especially in bed, but she began to wonder aloud how much he really loved her.