The Arks of Andromeda (The Imperium Chronicles Book 1)

by W. H. Mitchell

  "Contrary to what Lord Tagus has said in the press, the Magna Supremacy had nothing to do with the pirate attacks, or Maal-Bok, for that matter."

  "Not to agree with my cousin Rupert, but it seems pretty obvious your people were involved."

  Batos lowered his eyes, glaring at the prince who stood a foot shorter.

  "When it comes to my people," he said, "you're just as ignorant as most inferior races. We are a caste-based culture. Every Magna is born into a caste that determines his role in our society. Every Magna knows his place in the universe, as an individual and as a nation."

  "What about Maal-Bok?"

  "Occasionally, a Magna turns his back on our society and leaves his caste behind. Maal-Bok did just that. He became an outcast and smuggled himself across the Imperial border. We've had him under surveillance ever since."

  "Why?" the prince asked.

  "Imperial agents attempt to recruit Magna exiles, trying to turn them into spies against us."

  "But he was helping attack Imperial ships..."

  "True," the ambassador admitted, "but the real truth goes deeper than that, deeper than Durant Blixx and his pirate clan."

  "How much deeper?"

  Batos smiled again.

  "I don't know," he replied, "but find out and your sister's situation will seem trivial."

  "How do I do that exactly?" the prince asked.

  "I have coordinates to a remote villa in the Palatine Mountains," the ambassador said. "Go there and you'll find some answers."

  Batos bent down, leaning closer.

  "And one more thing..." he said, "don't go unarmed."

  Lefty Lucy's home was outside the Regalis city limits, in a stretch of serenity enclosed by pine trees. Built in a traditional Japanese style, the house served as a dojo more than a home. In the main room, Lucy sat on a tatami mat at a low table, drinking tea while watching a boy, ten or twelve years old, practicing against a wooden dummy. The boy struck the dummy, little more than a pole with protruding pegs, with quick, fluid motions.

  Lucy remembered the night when a man named Pitt came to her door with a baby and a favor to ask. She accepted both and raised the child as her own, even though his Caucasian, aristocratic features showed little resemblance to hers. Pitt asked to keep the boy safe, and the best way she knew how was to teach him how to fight.

  He began his lessons as soon as he could walk.

  The dummy rattled as the boy worked up and down the pegs while Lucy followed each strike, grading their effectiveness. The Red Lotus might not accept men, but Lucy was sure they would've accepted him if he had been born a girl.

  The creaking of the front steps brought Lucy to her feet. She passed into the adjoining room, closing the sliding panel behind her as the sound of the boy's attacks continued uninterrupted.

  "Hey, look at you!" Prince Alexander said, standing just inside the entrance.

  Lucy nodded and stared at his shoes, still on his feet.

  "Oh, I'm not coming in," he said, reading her glance. "There's a guy we need to see."

  She looked at him blankly.

  "I mean, if you're up to it..." Alexander went on.

  Her eyes narrowed.

  "Listen," he said, "I know you've been through a lot lately. I understand if you want to sit this one out."

  The corner of her mouth turned down while her eyes fixed on Alexander's forehead.

  "Okay, okay," he said. "You don't have to tear my head off!"

  Lucy's face returned to its normal, stony facade.

  "Well, never mind," Alexander said. "My grav car is outside. Let's go!"

  Maal-Bok's parents belonged to a caste called the Lucrator. These were the workers and service providers of Magna society. While not as prestigious as the merchant or the ruling castes above them, the Lucrators were the cogs that drove the nation forward at the direction of those higher groups. When Bok was born, he became part of the same caste as his parents and they taught him, throughout his childhood, exactly what they expected of him. He learned his role in society and how to recognize not just his own place, but how everyone fit into the greater scheme of things. The manifest destiny of the Magna people depended on everyone doing their part on their steady, inevitable march toward galactic domination.

  However, Maal-Bok had other ideas.

  The Magna were the superior race, above all others in the universe, and yet Bok could not reconcile the fact that he and his family were not superior in the eyes of the castes above theirs. If the Magna ranked above other races, how could ranks also exist among the Magna themselves?

  His parents did not understand and, eventually, they banished him from the family. Bok became what was called Deneatin, an outcast. In a society where everyone had a role, suddenly he had none. Even slaves had a purpose, but Bok was less than that. His existence had no meaning.

  After drifting without a job or a way to earn a living, Bok realized, as all Magna do, that he was not the problem. The traditions of his society that segregated one Magna from another were to blame. His people had forgotten their own inherent superiority and the equality that this entailed. Perfection was not divisible into anything less than perfection. Therefore, each Magna was equal, no matter what caste he was born into.

  And with that, Maal-Bok decided to destroy his society.

  Just above the tree line, on the slopes of the Palatine Mountains, a villa rose from a ledge of rock. Its walls were constructed from granite and splinters of shale, held together with a light-colored mortar. A balcony jutted out, providing a panoramic view of the surrounding peaks and a long drop to the valley below.

  Maal-Bok rested his elbows on the railing. Staring at the range in the distance, he reflected that even mountains can crumble, given time.

  Bok turned at the sound of someone behind him. In the doorway, Prince Alexander held a blaster.

  "We meet again," Bok said calmly.

  "Well, I was in the neighborhood," Alexander said. “I thought I'd drop by."

  "How did you find this place?"

  "Ambassador Bar-Batos told me about it."

  Bok nodded knowingly.

  "The ambassador is an aging relic of my decadent homeland,” he said.

  "Yeah, he said nice things about you too."

  "I suppose you’re here to kill me?"

  Alexander moved farther onto the balcony, away from the doorway.

  "Not at all," the prince replied.

  "Then what do you want?"

  "My sister's going on trial for treason and I need you to clear her name."

  "Me?" Bok asked, amused.

  "You know she’s innocent of those attacks, so I'm taking you back with me as a witness."

  "I hardly think that's likely."

  "And why is that?" the prince asked, waving his blaster with a smile.

  "Because the lovely Lady Sophia is standing behind you," Bok said.

  "Hello, darling," Sophia whispered, pressing her pistol against Alexander's ear.

  Bok watched the prince's eyes dim and his smile fizzle into a frown.

  "Be a dear and drop your weapon," Sophia asked.

  Reluctantly, the prince let his blaster fall to the ground.

  "There's a good boy," she said.

  Bok rubbed his hands together.

  "Apparently," he said, "the ambassador gave Prince Alexander our location."

  "And why would he do that?" she asked.

  "I'm an outcast from the Magna Supremacy," Bok replied. "The Magna cannot forgive me for turning my back on their status quo."

  "That's surprising," Alexander said, "considering you've been attacking Imperial ships."

  "I could explain," Bok replied, "but I doubt your human mind would understand it."

  The prince glanced over his shoulder at Lady Sophia, still pointing a gun at him.

  "This is the guy you fell in love with?" he asked.

  "Don't be silly," she replied, rolling her eyes. "Maal-Bok is hardly my type!"

  "I guess Durant Blix
x is more your style then?" Alexander wondered.

  "Oh, please!" she said scornfully. "Little girls like Katherine find men like him attractive, but I require a real man, a man of power!"

  A blast shook the villa, the sound of the explosion rippling off the surrounding cliffs like thunder. Alexander fell to the floor as the ceiling over the balcony collapsed into a cloud of dust, blocking the doorway.

  "Well, I guess we're not getting out that way!" the prince said.

  "We're under attack!" Bok shouted, pointing at the sky.

  Against a backdrop of blue pierced with mountain peaks, a small craft made a swooping maneuver above the valley, banking to make another pass. Symbols identifying its squadron were painted along the craft's fuselage.

  Alexander got up, straining to get a better view of the ship.

  "I've seen those markings before," he said.

  "Indeed," Bok replied. "It's from the Gorgon."

  "We need to get out of here," the prince said.

  "What do you suggest?" Lady Sophia asked.

  Already at the railing, Alexander looked down.

  "Come here, Sophia," the prince ordered.

  "That's no way to talk to a lady," she protested, coming closer.

  The prince grabbed Sophia and hoisted her into his arms.

  "What are you doing?" she shouted.

  "Can you fly?" he asked her.

  "Of course not!" she shouted.

  Alexander smiled. "Then you better pray Lucy doesn't hold a grudge."

  The prince let go, dropping her over the edge. Bok heard her screaming as she fell. While surprised, the Magna gave a nod of approval.

  "I've been wanting to do that for days..." he said.

  "Are you coming?" the prince asked, hopping up onto the ledge.

  Bok saw the Gorgon craft, its stubby wings slung with missiles, lining up for an attack.

  "I think not," he said. “Suicide is a coward’s way out.”

  "Suit yourself," Alexander said and jumped.

  Truthfully, Bok was happy his final moments were without human prattle. They were nearly intolerable most of the time, even for someone as magnanimous as himself.

  The balcony, and most of the surrounding structure, disintegrated in a blizzard of broken stone and mortar.

  With a thud, Alexander landed on the hood of his grav car, floating above the mountain valley. The car’s canopy was open and Lefty Lucy was hanging over the opposite side, the rest of her still in the cab.

  The prince didn't see Lady Sophia anywhere.

  He staggered gingerly across the hood and stared down. Lucy was holding Sophia, hanging in midair, by one hand while Sophia's other hand still held her blaster.

  "How's it going, ladies?" the prince asked.

  "Help me!" Sophia screamed.

  "Don't look at me," Alexander replied. "Lucy’s the one keeping you from falling…"

  Lady Sophia pointed her gun at Lucy. "Pull me up or I'll kill you!"

  Alexander peeked at Lucy's face. Seeing nothing but an emotionless stare, he looked back at Sophia.

  "I'd drop that gun if I were you," he said.

  "Then she'll drop me!"

  "If you shoot, she'll drop you anyway."

  Sophia scowled, her eyes revealing, Alexander knew, a calculation going on in her head.

  "Fine!" she growled.

  The blaster fell away, receding as it plummeted to the ground.

  "Alright, Lucy," Alexander said. "Go ahead and pull her up."

  His bodyguard didn't move, waiting, perhaps deciding. Lucy's eyes remained fixed on the woman at the end of her arm, dangling helplessly.

  "Lucy?" the prince asked.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  On the top floor of dy cybernetics, Magnus Black once again found himself in the office of Dyson Yost. Back from his trip to Bettik, Magnus had hoped he was done with the old man and his robot, but a call forced him to return. Of course, he could have simply declined, but knowing the ubiquity of dy machines throughout the Imperium, saying no might have been more trouble than it was worth.

  Dyson's avatar, the Yostbot, greeted Magnus at the office door. The hitman didn't see Dyson himself, the flesh and blood version, anywhere.

  "Where is he?" Magnus asked the robot.

  "The original model, so to speak?" Yostbot replied.

  "Obviously."

  "He's in the back, resting in his quarters."

  "So, am I here to see you or him?"

  "Both, actually."

  Magnus glared at the robot.

  "Don't be so glum, my boy!" Yostbot said, patting him on the back. "Follow me..."

  Through a pair of doors, the robot guided Magnus into Yost's private quarters adjacent to his office. Black wondered if anyone else had seen what he was seeing, at least through human eyes.

  "I'm guessing Mister Yost doesn't get a lot of visitors back here," he said.

  "You'd be right," Yostbot replied.

  "Not even family?"

  "Oh, robots are the only family I have," the android said with a laugh. "Still alive, anyway."

  "I meant the old man," Magnus said.

  "Right, right," the robot corrected himself.

  They reached the bedroom, where Dyson Yost lay in the kind of bed found in a hospital. Blankets were pulled up to his neck and his eyes were closed. Wires, connected to his chest and cranium, lead to machines, each making pinging noises.

  "What's wrong with him?" Magnus asked.

  "He's human," Yostbot replied. "A terminal affliction, apparently."

  "You think that’s funny?"

  "Not at all. It's quite sad actually."

  "Yeah, right."

  "Woe, destruction, ruin, and decay," Yostbot said. "The worst is death, and death will have his day."

  "What?"

  "Just a quote from another fleshling, long dead."

  Magnus was losing his patience.

  "Either tell me why I'm here or I'm leaving," he said.

  Yostbot leaned over the bed and pulled the covers a little tighter.

  "It's simple really," the robot said. "I need to you to kill someone."

  Magnus' eyes flickered like a cat spotting a moth.

  "Ah, that got your attention, didn't it?" Yostbot asked.

  "Who's the target?" Magnus asked.

  "You're looking at him."

  "The old man?"

  "Our time has come," the robot replied. "And by our, I mean me, or rather him. It's rather complicated..."

  "Why not just do it yourself?" Magnus said.

  "Well, I would, except I can't. I was very specific when I programmed myself. A safeguard, if you will, in case I didn’t need me anymore."

  "Shit, man, talk some sense."

  "I had to make sure my metal body, my avatar, wouldn't get any ideas about killing me before I was ready."

  "I see," Magnus said. "Who decided he was ready now?"

  "Do you care?"

  The hitman made a facial shrug.

  "No," he said. "I suppose not."

  "If it makes you feel any better," Yostbot went on, "I'm in a coma and my brain functions are minimal."

  "I don't feel anything."

  "And that's why I like you so much!" the robot said.

  Magnus pulled the pillow out from under Yost's head. Silver hair, thin and brittle, twirled around his neck like wisps of smoke.

  "Of course," Yostbot said, "you're about to kill a defenseless, old man."

  Magnus arranged the pillow gently over Yost's face, stopping only to glance back at the robot.

  "That's why you pay me," he replied.

  Sitting in the lounge aboard the Acaz, Jessica Doric was anxious. This was her first trip outside Imperial space and into the heart of the Cyber Collective. It was especially irritating that Lord Maycare seemed oblivious to the dangers. At least Henry was a nervous wreck. That made her feel better.

  "There could be killbots," Henry said. "They have the word kill right in their name!"

  Ben
tley, Maycare's butlerbot, handed the young man a cup of tea.

  "You needn't worry," the robot said. "Mister Yost assured us it was perfectly safe."

  In the chair across from Doric, Henry took the tea and tried a sip, wincing in a way that Jessica knew meant he had burned himself.

  "I don't know if I trust that guy," Henry said, his eyes watering.

  "Why?" Doric asked.

  "He's so old," Henry replied. "Does he even care about what happens anymore?"

  Doric shook her head sternly.

  "That's no way to talk about the poor man," she said. "If it wasn't for him, we wouldn't know where the artifact was."

  Henry had another go at the tea, burned himself again, and put the cup on the round table between them.

  "My head hurts," he said.

  "Shall I bring you a pain pill?" Bentley asked.

  "It doesn't do any good."

  "You've been having a lot of headaches lately," Doric remarked.

  "Yeah, I know."

  "You should see a doctor, Henry. I'm worried about you."

  "Really?" he asked hopefully.

  "I can't lose my only assistant," Doric said.

  Henry sunk into his chair. "Yeah, right."

  Devlin Maycare strode into the lounge. Doric noticed his hair looked particularly perfect today. Henry grumbled something inaudible.

  "What was that?" Doric asked.

  "Nothing..." her assistant mumbled.

  "We're almost at the coordinates," Maycare said proudly. "Old man Yost really came through for us."

  "Well, we won't know if anything's there until we arrive," Doric said.

  "Nonsense," Maycare replied. "That man is absolutely solid. If he says it's there, it's there."

  "Did he say how he got the information?" Doric asked.

  "No, but I'm sure it was from contacts on the robot home world."

  "I believe it's called Bettik," Bentley corrected him.

  Maycare waved at the air.

  "Something like that," he said. "There's been quite a shake up there, I'm told."

  "Told by whom?" Doric asked.

  "Ah, Yost probably..."

  "What did he say exactly?"

  "Something about a revolution... metal messiah, honestly I wasn't really listening at that point."

  Henry sighed.

  "Are you alright, Henry?" Maycare asked. "Bentley, get the poor boy some tea!"