by Candace Sams
“Diplomacy or the lack thereof! It boggles the mind,” Marcos said as he ran one hand through his hair and considered all he’d heard. He gazed into his mother’s eyes, Hannibal’s, and finally Darius’s. “I’ll be all right as long as I can maintain my alias. I’ll be just another gem merchant, trying to make a decent living by buying whatever the mines of Delta Seven yield. If there’s anyone there who wants to keep my mouth shut, they’ll present themselves in short order. I’m almost certain other merchants have been threatened with having their ships and crews seized or destroyed if they didn’t cooperate. This is assuming there’s no logical explanation for all this foolishness. However, if this is all some terrible misunderstanding, someone will owe me a month’s liberty in the Starlaw mountain stronghold, with all the women and wine I desire.”
Darius snorted. “I should have known you’d come up with some kind of extra payment for your efforts.”
“Sorry, brother. But I count myself a hedonist to the extreme. When I get back, I want the castle in the north ready for my use.”
“Just make sure you come back,” Darius sternly responded.
Chapter 2
Two weeks later, Marcos boarded an outbound transport. He’d decided that outfitting an old freighter and trying to pass it off as being from another world would be unnecessary. In fact, a succession of transfers from one shuttle to many others would make his trip virtually impossible to trace. This would leave little possibility of his parents being held responsible for any breach of diplomacy, assuming he was caught. He took on the alias Marcos Orlandis, using his real first name in the rare instance anyone would ever recognize him and call out his name. In that highly unlikely event, the hope was that he could shut them up before they said anything more. His cover story was set.
By the time three months passed, he’d sport a beard, his hair would be much longer, and the clothing he wore wouldn’t pinpoint his origin as being from one place or another. He’d look very much like any moderately successful gem merchant, looking for the ultimate deal in medium-grade, rare stones that would set him up for life. Not even his own family would recognize him as their brother or son. If he bore the green eyes of his sire, thousands in many sectors of space claimed that feature. Only acting like someone of regal heritage would undo his cover. Drawing attention to himself wasn’t an option. He meant to let the role consume him. He would be a nondescript merchant.
• • •
As he finally neared Delta Seven—after the predicted three months of utterly boring travel through innocuous sectors of space—his appearance in the mirror reflected that he’d achieved the desired result. He in no way resembled a prince of Luster.
When the last of many long shuttle transfers landed on the outskirts of the central town known as Prosperity, he’d versed himself in every aspect of Delta Seven’s habits and customs. He turned as the last permitted transport off the planet for weeks left him behind, and made his way to the nearest tavern.
Walking through the small town revealed first clues that something was indeed wrong. For a mining colony, Delta Seven should have had its share of wealthy merchants and business owners. Their lives and property wouldn’t match the elegance of those residing on Luster, but the storefronts indicated anything but business as usual. Instead, they’d been scorched and were in terrible disrepair. Serious confrontations had recently occurred. Probably since the last enforcer patrols had visited. And now that someone had seen fit to end larger and objective law enforcer landings for months, whoever had committed the damage couldn’t be held responsible.
He walked into the only tavern, sat on a stool at the bar, and put his pack close to his feet. There was nothing in his belongings but clothing, travel papers necessary for interplanetary business, and those tools someone in the gem merchant profession would use. There were a few personal items, but nothing to indicate who he was or where he was from. His money was sewn into the lining of the long, brown cloak he wore. Pushing the hood off his head, Marcos placed his order with the barkeep.
“Orion whiskey. No ice.”
The barman nodded.
Marcos noted how the man’s eyes darted around the room, as if he was looking for someone or worried for some reason. After filling his order, the barkeep leaned across the counter and spoke in a soft voice.
“If I were you, friend, I’d take yourself to some other part of the planet and wait for the next shuttle out. Strangers aren’t welcome here these days.”
Marcos casually sipped some of his drink before responding. “Why is that?”
“Local problems. We have unruly criminals lurking. They’d steal for nothing but the pleasure of it.”
The barman quickly moved away as a number of people entered the small establishment. Marcos had his back to them so as not to look as if he was protecting himself. But he’d seen a look in his host’s eyes that boded no good.
Pretending he hadn’t a care in the world, he sat still, with his gaze on his glass of whiskey. Someone soon tapped him on the shoulder. He slowly turned and saw two local constables, laser weapons strapped to their right sides. Both men were wearing helmets. The gear was typical police issue. The lasers were new and very like what the best-equipped enforcers on Luster wore. “Can I help you, gentlemen?” he casually asked.
The bigger of the two enforcer officers spoke. “We understand, from the shuttle pilot, that you disembarked at the outer-city landing pad. Do you have travel documents and identification?”
“Of course. I can’t very well do business without them.” Marcos reached for the pack at his feet, but the smaller of the two constables grabbed it up and proceeded to search the interior.
When the man found the folder containing the faked ID, he handed it to his comrade.
Marcos watched as the first constable looked over the documents and compared the video-imprinted photo to his likeness. “As you can see, everything’s in order,” Marcos insisted.
“It would seem so. These papers say you’re here to buy gems from local miners. Anything in particular?”
Strange question from a constable. “No, no particular type of stone. Anything will do as long as the quality is decent. And what I can afford.”
“And how long do you intend to stay?”
Marcos cautiously regarded the two men before replying. “No longer than it takes to obtain enough to sell. I’m a freelance trader. Just trying to make a living without having to give up my share of any gem sales to a large broker.”
The constable handed the paperwork back. “I’d make your trip a short one.”
“I noticed the store fronts. There seems to have been a number of fires lately. Is there some trouble I should be wary of?”
“Dissidents. They don’t like Governor Forrell’s policies, and they’ve taken to attacking some of the business owners who do. Some of them are just thieves, really. If I were you, I’d get your business done and leave as soon as possible.”
Marcos nodded. “I’ll certainly take that into consideration. And I thank you most kindly for the warning. All I want it some sellable gems, and I’ll be gone.”
“The next shuttle isn’t due for a few weeks. Where will you be staying?”
It was on the tip of Marcos’s tongue to tell them it was none of their damned business, but he was sure there was a specific reason the question was being asked. “At the Celestia Inn. I’m told a man can get a cheap room there and meals for a little extra.”
“There’s a curfew … I’m sorry, what’s your name again?”
Marcos knew he was being tested. “Marcos Orlandis … from the Allusion star sector.”
“Haven’t ever been there.”
“Not much to see,” Marcos commented. “Just a lot of planet clusters with a couple of business outposts. I could probably do better elsewhere, but managing the transport fees to one of the bigger planetary trade systems is out of the question right now.”
The constable looked him over, and then gazed into Marcos’s eyes for a
moment. “You don’t look much like any of the other gem merchants who’ve come through this sector lately. Anybody doing business here is usually on his last credit. Your clothing looks fairly new.”
Marcos shrugged. “One has to look as successful as he can if he wants to be taken seriously by gem salesmen. They’ll take advantage of a buyer if they think he’s desperate. Or looks as though he is.”
The constable laughed. “That’s probably true in any profession.” He nodded curtly. “Just be sure to get to your room before the sun sets and stay there. The curfew is lifted at dawn.”
“Guess I’ll be doing all my business during the daylight hours.” He thanked the two men, then watched them walk away. From his conversation with the one law enforcer, he knew two things.
First, the man doing the talking was certainly lying about dissidents attacking the merchant buildings he’d just seen. The storefronts he’d walked past had been badly burned, and by advanced weaponry not associated with any rebels who’d likely be scrounging what arms they could. Even the stone of the sturdiest structures had been severely scorched. He’d seen such damage before, by Warlords on numerous planets where their murderous cults had tried to rule or take over by force. Driving specially equipped shuttles through the streets and firing advanced munitions on storefronts had been a way to issue warning. Such tactics were meant to instill fear into the hearts of anyone who opposed that faction. Warlords and their minions had been at the core of recent war that’d killed billions. Small groups of them still tried to set up strongholds on planets just like Delta Seven.
Second, that enforcer had likely been to the Allusion planetary system. But so had Marcos. The description he’d given of the Allusion planets and their businesses was quite accurate.
It seemed that some of the rumors surrounding this planet were true. As to pirates or Warlords being the culprits, that remained to be seen. But if either of those groups had fire plasma—and had ever openly demonstrated its destructiveness—no one on this or any other sparsely populated mining colony would dare take a stand. Doing so would be suicide. Survivors of such attacks were worse than dead. They were always horribly mutilated and suffered until their open wounds closed. And that happened very slowly.
Fire plasma was normally dispersed broadly and tended to kill or maim innocent civilians not considered at war with anyone. It was a means to terrorize, nothing more. That was why all law-abiding, sentient planets and colonies banned the substance.
Marcos considered everything he’d seen and heard so far. There wasn’t enough evidence to use against any one or any group. He had to dig to get to the heart of the issue.
In order to look as though he was the merchant he claimed to be, he said nothing more except to order a meal to go with his drink. He moved to another part of the bar so he could surreptitiously keep his eyes on the door.
The sun would set in less than an hour; he didn’t want to cast any doubts as to his identity by violating the curfew. He was sure he’d be watched as he left the tavern. Maybe later in the night, when he wasn’t being spied on, he’d drop the façade of the lowly gem merchant and become what he was—a master of stealth and cunning.
But something told him to go carefully and trust no one. He’d only been off the shuttle a very short time before the local constables had approached him. Apparently, anyone coming into or leaving the colony was being accounted for. That lent even more credence to the stories and rumors that’d reached the house of Starlaw. Marcos understood the secrecy his father employed in not contacting other allied planets to aid in this mission.
As ruler of the planet heading up the entire League, Dar Starlaw felt utterly responsible for any arising law enforcement problems. To keep hordes of criminal gangs and scores of petty tyrants who’d like to get their hands on a weapon of mass destruction equally clueless, his sire had opted to keep the mission quiet, to take care of matters himself and without involving any allied planets or their glory-grabbing, fame-hungry dignitaries. The last thing Dar wanted or needed was to have fire plasma, and the chemical recipe to make it, spread throughout an entire sector of space. Unsure of how allied diplomats might want to leak or even openly boast about their world’s part in such a dangerous mission, Marcos understood why his father had opted to leave them clueless. If those same self-serving fools did as they had on so many occasions and opened their mouths about the mission too soon or alluded to it inappropriately, their tactical ignorance could result in a lot of innocent deaths. Criminals would use any information as an excuse to raid. This was the way Marcos’s father had always operated, even if being so closed-mouthed wasn’t always in accordance to treaties.
Marcos applauded his father’s efforts and loved him even more for his boldness and carelessness of heroic titles that went with mission success. His sire didn’t and never had needed to make a showing of himself to rule effectively. Instead, the king of Luster enforced with as little presence as possible. In that regard, Marcos was determined to keep his real purpose as secret as he could, honoring his father’s attempts to deal with any likely problem before it blew up and became an intergalactic issue.
By chance or portent, Marcos suddenly remembered his family’s final warnings as he’d left home. Even when operating as a spy during the wars, he’d been assured there was someone close to back him up. If he slipped up now and his worst fears were accurate, this lowly planet might become his tomb. As long as he played his part and kept his head down, he’d get the information he came for and could steal whatever transport needed to get off the surface. At least some transportation that’d get him into deep space and the backup waiting there.
Marcos swallowed the last of his drink, picked up his belongings, and headed toward the inn. He prayed to the Creator that his extensive research about the planet and its businesses was correct. If he slipped up and revealed himself, he might be lucky if anyone even found his bones. Pirates were known to do hideous things to captured enforcers. Worse things to any allied planet’s royalty. It was the allies, after all, who’d finally vanquished the Warlords in the last battles. Thus ending years and years of conflict.
As he suspected, his short walk to the inn was shadowed. The men following him weren’t particularly good at what they were doing, or they just didn’t care that he knew. If that were the case, he’d have to carefully weigh every single move he made and every contact’s credibility.
He wasn’t a coward, but the odds were against him. For a moment, he wished for a companion, if only to help watch for trouble. But that meant an extra person’s life would be at risk. There was no reason to put some other soul in danger when he didn’t intend to be on the surface longer than necessary.
After registering at the inn and seeing that the innkeeper behaved in much the same nervous manner as the tavern employee, Marcos quickly retreated to the second-floor room he’d been assigned. It was dark and small. The conveniences and furnishings were made of old-fashioned wood and fabrics, and they looked as though they’d seen better days. The walls were stained, and the mirror over the leaning dresser was cracked. The primitive nature of his surroundings made him wish for the clean, technologically advanced houses of his home world. Everything on Luster was made of pure-white marble that shimmered in the sunlight. And that same marble glowed under the moon’s radiance. Forests and hills were green, lush, and bountiful. This place in which he found himself was full of grays, browns, and the dingiest colors. It was like walking into the reverse of all he knew. It was like being at war again. But even after years of battle as an enforcer officer, the small cabin of any Lusterian vessel was still cleaner and friendlier than this ugly little hamlet. That drove home the need for swift but careful action. The sooner he got his information, the quicker he could see Luster again.
After what seemed like an appropriate amount of time to unpack, Marcos switched off the old-fashioned wall lights and waited. He watched the empty street outside the dirty window without standing too close. After several hours passed, t
he light from Delta Seven’s crescent moon revealed that no one lurked about. But then a sudden movement caught his eye.
A small figure crept out of the shadows. It moved stealthily through the darkness like a feral feline. He watched and waited to see what new intrigue was afoot. As the moonlight outlined those who’d followed him to the inn, it now delineated the movements of this new player in the stealth game.
• • •
Nova Drayton moved as swiftly as she dared, but stopped in the shadows to make sure her way was clear. Guards were usually posted at regular intervals along the streets and thoroughfares. But the decimated shops on this lane were no longer considered worth the time. Their owners had learned their lesson or were dead. Still, she was exceedingly careful. The fact that this section of town wasn’t so guarded made it easy for a thief like her to steal small morsels of food from each abandoned establishment.
She’d long since dispelled conscience where stealing was concerned. And she’d given up trying to guess who might help her and who wouldn’t. The constables were paid by Forrell. He owned them, and the pirates owned the governor. As a result of their constant torture of the town folk—liberally applied to obtain news of dissidents—neighbor turned on neighbor. The past two years had amounted to a study in survival. And no one could be trusted. But after a year of learning by doing, she’d become a very good thief. She knew where all the best food and goods were stored, long forgotten or given up by their owners. She took too little to be of notice to the looting pirates. But it was enough to grow her pantry. As the weather turned colder, and it would very soon, she’d need warmer clothing as well. What clothes she had from the previous year were threadbare. And she’d find a few things for little Una, too. A few blankets and some canned meats would do nicely.
