Five Empires: An Epic Space Opera

by Steven J Shelley

  “Did he bed you?” Michael asked.

  “We started by talking,” Emilia said hesitantly. “Fashon wanted to know about my life. About Solitude.”

  “And you told him?”

  Emilia looked haunted, as if her inner self had been invaded by a parasite.

  “I didn’t so much as tell him,” she said absently. “He had a way of drawing the words from my mouth.”

  The whole concept seemed hideous to Michael.

  “He seems infatuated with you,” he said quietly.

  Emilia simply nodded, a tear sliding down her cheek.

  “The night was a blur,” she said. “He gave me frisson, I think.”

  “He did,” Michael confirmed, taking her hand. “Whatever you did last night, it wasn’t your fault.”

  That was too much for Emilia, who stood and threw herself into Michael’s arms. Her hair usually smelled earthy and wholesome, but right then it reeked of alien miasma.

  “I’m sorry, Mikey,” she said through a torrent of sobs. “I’ve let us both down.”

  “Bullshit,” Michael said, more forcefully than he’d intended. “These guys are fucking animals and I’m gonna kill them.”

  “You can’t,” Emilia said miserably. “Their mission is too important.”

  “Mission?” Michael repeated. “What mission?”

  “Hmmm…” came a familiar baritone. It was Jake, standing in the villa doorway, scratching his groin as if he had fleas. For all Michael knew, he probably did. The taller Le Sondre was fully kitted out in his emerald trench coat even though the sun was already quite warm.

  “Let’s go for a walk, kid,” the Nostroma drawled. “Nice mornin’ for it.”

  Michael blinked. Just a moment ago he’d been hell bent on murdering this man, now he was absolutely inclined to follow him wherever he went.

  “Back into the bedroom with you, sweetheart,” Jake muttered to Emilia as he headed down the steps. “I wouldn’t like to be you if Fashon wakes to an empty bed.”

  Emilia looked at Michael - he could see what she was thinking. There really wasn’t any choice. These Nostroma had a knack for peeling away their defenses with a simple phrase. It was alarming, deeply frustrating, and, worst of all, inevitable.

  “I’ll be back soon,” promised Michael as he followed Jake down the stairs. “I promise.”

  And somehow he knew he would. Even though Jake had imposed his will on him, Michael was certain there was nothing malicious in his intent. If anything, this was all about Jake.

  The laconic Nostroma scruffled the slobbering hairless wolf as he walked through the garden.

  “Good morning, Chavas,” he murmured. “Sorry you lost your kennel.”

  Michael followed the lanky Nostroma down a thin jungle path. The dappled undergrowth was alive with the chatter of wildlife.

  “Shoulda brought my field guide with me,” Jake said, turning his yellow-green eyes on Michael. “You got a field guide?”

  The forager shook his head.

  “Forgettin’ the damned birds’ names,” Jake grumbled. “Don’t know my finch from my tit.”

  Michael didn’t know how to respond, finding the conversation a little surreal.

  The jungle thinned out and the pair emerged in the western section of the village they’d passed through the previous day. Again, the human inhabitants seemed content to focus on anything other than the tall Nostroma walking amongst them.

  “Where we going?” Michael asked.

  “Tech man,” came the reply. “We probably don’t have much time, either.”

  Michael didn’t like what the strange Nostroma was hinting at, but he dutifully accompanied the alien through morning cook fires and scurrying children.

  Jake stopped short at a primitive shelter, more a lean-to than anything else. A number of tech items were stacked on the hard-packed dirt. Armed with circuitry tweezers, an unkempt human woman was kneeling alongside a cylindrical device.

  Jake muttered something to the woman in a language Michael couldn’t understand. All he caught was a potential name - Dona.

  The techie responded harshly with what probably amounted to a ‘fuck off’. Jake followed up with something else and this time ‘Dona’ looked at him sharply. She unleashed a string of unintelligible words but Michael got the impression she was questioning his sanity.

  Jake barked an abrupt command and Dona began rummaging through her gear immediately. The Nostroma glanced at Michael nervously. It was the first time he’d seen the Nostroma show any emotion. For some peculiar reason he felt as though he might be able to interact with this Nostroma in a way he couldn’t with his brother. There was definitely something more accessible about Jake, something Michael could potentially exploit.

  “What’s going on, Jake?” Michael asked. “I’d like to get back to my sister.”

  The conversational tone was a decided risk, but one that Michael felt he should take. Dona commanded the Nostroma to kneel before her and he complied.

  “Thought I’d break the old harness,” Jake said to Michael, his eyes fixed on the pliers in Dona’s hand.

  “Harness?” Michael repeated, sensing something highly irregular was taking place.

  “Interface that crimps my behavior,” Jake said. “Makes me smile and say ‘yes’ a lot.”

  Michael’s brain ticked over furiously. He remembered that Jake had referred to himself as a ‘Minor’ yesterday. Realization washed over him.

  “You’re the Minor,” he said quickly. “Fashon is the Major.”

  Jake stared at Michael but there was no malice in his eyes. “Ours is not to reason why,” the Nostroma said. “Or somethin’ like that.”

  “Are all Nostroma deployed in pairs?” Michael asked. Dona’s pliers were now digging around Jake’s nostrils. The Nostroma nodded once, submitting to the painful treatment with brave equanimity.

  “Fashon calls the shots,” Michael guessed, piecing the picture together. “You provide muscle and support.”

  Another nod. Before Michael could ask another question, Jake waved Dona away and dragged Michael in close.

  “Make sure she’s paid if I die,” he growled, letting Michael go. Dona leaned in and snipped at the join between Jake’s nostrils. There was a metallic click and a high, needling whine. For a moment Jake’s lower jaw was transparent. Michael was shocked to see the level of augmentation in there. The Nostroma was wired to the hilt with all kinds of unidentified tech.

  A rank waft of plasma and shorted circuitry filled the air. Blood trickling from his eyes, Jake fell backwards to lie awkwardly on the dirt.

  “Jake!” Michael said, kneeling alongside him. It felt strange to be so concerned for his Nostroma captor but then again he knew he wasn’t going to be able to deal with Fashon on his own.

  Michael looked to Dona for assistance but the techie had already returned to her previous task.

  “What the hell is going on here?” he demanded, but his Foundation wasn’t gonna cut it here. All he could do was maintain a vigil beside Jake’s seemingly lifeless body. No breath came from his mouth and there was no obvious sign of a pulse. Michael dragged the body into the shade, not caring if he was infringing on the techie’s space.

  Michael had all but given up on the lanky Nostroma when Jake spat a gob of blood several yards into the air and sat bolt upright.

  “Fuck,” he said. “Breakin’ the harness is not advisable.”

  “You were pretty much dead,” Michael observed, amazed at the Nostroma’s recovery.

  “Probably felt better than this,” Jake admitted, kneading the bridge of his nose. “We gotta get back to the villa, kid.”

  The pair made their way back through the trees. Jake was a little unsteady on his feet but he otherwise seemed functional enough. Michael grew increasingly anxious until he found himself barging up the stairs. He sensed something was about to happen and he couldn’t bear the idea of being away from Emilia any longer.

  He found his sister in the bedroom. She was
sitting on the edge of the bed facing the wall. Her hands were clasped neatly in her lap.

  “Em?”

  She looked at him with wide eyes. There was fathomless, profound fear there.

  “Where’s Fashon?”

  Michael didn’t need to ask. Surrounded by an aura of dread, the Nostroma sauntered down the hall. Michael couldn’t help but shrink back against the wall as the cybomancer strode past, sat next to Emilia and started playing with his wrist pad.

  Michael made to enter the room.

  “Stop,” Jake commanded. The tall Nostroma pointed at a blinking implant on Emilia’s neck.

  “Blow charge,” he grunted, guiding Michael into another bedroom. Had to be Jake’s, judging from the overflowing arello butts and the stink of frisson.

  “Did you just say what I think you said?” Michael said, panic threatening to overwhelm him. “Can we disarm it?”

  “I’m gonna try and kill him,” Jake said simply, as if he was about to feed Chavas.

  “But… your brother…”

  “Spare me your Aegisi sentiments, kid. I’m gonna kill him but I need to choose the right moment.”

  Michael could only nod in approval. The situation had escalated so far out of control that he decided to hitch his wagon to Jake, for better or worse. At least the tall alien seemed calm, which was a huge upgrade on what he was going through.

  “Oh, brother?” came Fashon’s whiny voice from the opposite bedroom. “You smell different all of a sudden.”

  “Fuck,” Jake said under his breath. He drew his left pistol so quickly Michael didn’t really see it happen. Holding the weapon behind him, Fashon trudged back to the other doorway.

  “What you talkin’ about, Fashon?” he drawled. Michael watched the tense exchange from the doorway, positioning himself so he could keep an eye on Emilia. The poor girl seemed beside herself with fear.

  “Gimme a look at your face,” Fashon said calmly.

  “The sun makes you crazy,” Jake retorted. “You don’t-”

  “Give me a look at your fucking face!” Fashon screamed, his face turning purple and the veins at his temples threatening to rupture.

  Jake bent low so his unhinged brother could get a good look at his face. The gun remained still behind his back. Now that Fashon’s suspicion had been aroused, Michael could see that killing him wasn’t going to be easy. For the first time he could see the small hair trigger Fashon clutched in his right hand. All it would take to detonate the blow charge was the slightest push.

  Fashon inspected Jake’s face with obvious distaste. The seconds dripped by interminably. Sweat slithered down Michael’s forehead and stung his eye.

  Fashon laughed abruptly, slapping Jake affectionately on the cheek.

  “I’m only joking, asshole,” he said. “Forgive me. You’re the best Minor I’ve ever had.”

  “What about the girl, Fashon?” Jake muttered. “Too early for brains across the wall, eh?”

  Fashon assumed the look of a naughty schoolboy. “Just playing around, little brother,” he giggled. “I’ll make sure you’re not in the room when I pull the trigger.”

  12

  Emilia released a suffocated sob and turned away from Fashon. Michael wanted to lift her away but knew that meant certain death for all of them. His mind reached desperately for a solution but found none. It was up to Jake Le Sondre to talk his brother down.

  “One night isn’t enough,” Jake said firmly. “You’re gettin’ sloppy. Makin’ us both look bad.”

  Fashon paused, again leveling an accusatory gaze at his brother.

  “The hell you say?” he said in disbelief. “Who the fuck cares about this one? Everyone has what they want. End of story.”

  Jake’s shoulders seemed to slump a little, as if he had exhausted all his “diplomatic” options.

  “Let me tell you a story, Fashon,” he said in a slow, clear voice. “Me and this Aegisi kid just went to see Dona. I ain’t a Minor any more.”

  Fashon edged away from Emilia, from Jake, from all of them, uncertainty softening his haughty features.

  “Then what are you?” he asked. It was a clever way of ascertaining where Jake’s loyalties lay.

  “I’m me,” Jake said deliberately. “A man walkin’ the line.”

  Fashon giggled again, searching his brother’s face for humor.

  “You leaving, Jake?” he said in a quivering voice. “This is how you leave me?”

  Jake remained silent, leveling his pistol at his brother’s head. Fashon expelled one last burst of nervous laughter and stood.

  “I understand,” he said, making a show of placing the hair trigger on the bed. “See what I mean?”

  “Good, good,” Jake said, standing back so Fashon could leave the room. “Now you’re makin’ sense again.”

  “We did alright, you and me,” Fashon said as he backed towards the front door. “Nine good years spreading the word of Ajon Prime.”

  “We did,” Jake agreed. “And now it’s over.”

  “So is the mission,” Fashon said. “We got what we came for. Salutations.”

  With a mock salute, Fashon was out the door and heading down the stairs. Michael rushed forward and took Emilia in his arms. She gripped him as tightly as she ever had, crying into his chest. Michael watched as Jake picked up the hair trigger and headed outside.

  “Thing’s only got a range of ten yards,” he said. “Gonna let the ocean take it.”

  Michael sat on the bed while Emilia rested her head in his lap. For several minutes they listened to the distant crash of surf. The forager’s brain still unable to process what had just transpired. The blow charge attached to Emilia’s neck was still blinking, but Michael assumed that Jake, or Dona for that matter, would be able to remove it without too much trouble.

  Emilia stirred in his lap.

  “I need the bathroom,” she groaned, sliding off the bed.

  “Did he hurt you?” Michael asked, realizing how stupid it sounded. Emilia gave him a heartbreaking look that suggested it went way beyond “hurting” her.

  The high-pitched whine of the Nostroma scout rose in the distance. Michael felt his body relax. Finally. It seemed Fashon Le Sondre was leaving the island.

  Limping to the en suite bathroom, Emilia turned to her brother and said: “Remember this, Michael. Hold it next to your heart even if it stains it black.”

  Michael flinched at the words. It didn’t seem like Emilia at all. It didn’t even sound like her. Her pupils were darker than usual, but she’d disappeared into the bathroom before he could get a better look.

  Was it the drugs she’d been forced to take? The trauma of the previous night? Whatever the case, Michael hoped it was temporary. There’d been no mistaking the Nostroma taint on his sister.

  As Emilia did what she had to do, Michael heard Jake’s footsteps on the front stairs. He was moving quickly. Far too quickly for such a laconic, unhurried character.

  “Boy, get out of there!” Jake screamed.

  The sound of the scout vessel reached a crescendo. It sounded like it was right on top of them. The other sound was a muffled blast from the bathroom. A serpentine crack made its way down the wall.

  As time slowed to a crawl, Michael rose from the bed and crossed to the bathroom. Shoving the door open, he saw a mirror slick with blood, brain and bone fragments. Emilia Danner lay slumped over the filtration tub, the ragged stump at her neck spurting blood onto the porcelain.

  Michael thought he might collapse but powerful arms dragged him back through the doorway and across the bedroom. The forager closed his eyes and idly wondered if all this was just one of those vivid, prolonged dreams he sometimes had.

  Feeling a soft surface underneath him only enhanced that impression. He opened his eyes and saw the intricate fronds of a jacaranda tree swaying in the morning breeze. He eventually allowed his gaze to take in more detail. Jake was leaning against the trunk and watching him closely.

  “Fucker had multiple triggers,” h
e said. “He needed to get close and he did.”

  Michael closed his eyes again, satisfied that he wasn’t dreaming. His body tightened with grief and shock, his throat constricting so much he doubted he was receiving oxygen.

  “You want drugs?” came Jake’s manifestly unwelcome voice. “Got ‘em if you need ‘em.”

  Michael simply lay there under the tree, unable to string two coherent thoughts together. He heard Jake head back into the house, muttering to himself. Eventually sheer exhaustion must’ve consumed the forager, because when he next opened his eyes dusk was fast approaching.

  He raised himself to a sitting position and stared at the villa for a long time. Unless Jake had removed the body, his sister was lying in there. He threw pebbles across the grass until Jake emerged from the building.

  The lanky Nostroma kicked the dirt a little as he stood over him.

  “I dug a hole over the other side,” he grunted. “We shouldn’t linger here.”

  Michael felt a twinge of annoyance that the Nostroma thought there was a “we” anywhere in the equation, but found himself rising to his feet anyway.

  “Go and see to it,” he said tiredly. “One look was enough for me.”

  “Well, alright,” Jake said before heading back inside. Michael waited under the tree as the night sounds of the jungle settled in. The Nostroma appeared by his side with little fanfare.

  “Deed’s done, boy,” he said gruffly. “Now we gotta look after the primitives.”

  “Primitives?”

  “Shelter, food, rest, sleep, sex, drugs. Them primitives.”

  Michael shrugged. “Whatever.”

  He simply didn’t have the energy to argue with the strange rogue. He allowed Le Sondre to lead him through the foliage. The night was clear and cool. A thudding bass rumble echoed across the ocean, suggesting a large ship was traversing high orbit.

  “Fucking Cava05,” Jake spat.

  “The Aegisi Blue will be here soon,” Michael said darkly.

  Jake glanced at him. “You think they’ll roll in and sunbathe on the beach? Just like that?”