by E G Manetti
A half period later, William arrives along with the midday meal. Lucius had not planned it thus, but the circumstances will prove useful, the shared meal taking the sting out of William’s duty. As they fill their plates, Lilian emerges from her chamber. If William noticed it was not the servitor’s chamber, he yields no reaction.
Lilian hesitates, then steps to his left. It will not serve. He motions to a chair. “Conservator, join us.”
William says naught. He is here to offer Matahorn contrition to Lucius’ conservator. But that can wait; Lucius wishes Lilian to eat and there is commerce that may as well be conducted now while they have the period. Filling a plate, Lilian waits to be addressed while William and he return to a discussion of the relative merits of Euphrates’ and Celadon’s proposals for mineral exploitation in the Thirteenth System. There is risk to both accepting and delaying the contracts. The data from the Serengeti IX probe is limited, indicating two planets capable of sustaining life and the presence of a range of metals and minerals. The Nightingale may discover extensive wealth or limited deposits.
Knowing his will, Lucius is curious about Lilian’s thoughts. “Lilian, what think you?”
Surprised, she takes a quick drink of green tea to wash down her bite of food. “Would milord consider limited contracts designed to exploit the best both interests have to offer?”
“Limited how?” William asks, his eyes filled with speculation.
“Limit the mineral rights to where Euphrates and Celadon have proven ability and existing commercial applications, and only for a set period, not a commitment in perpetuity.”
William smiles. “They will attempt to outperform each other to gain advantage in lease renewal.”
Lucius taps his fingers against his teacup, his eyes flickering between his composed apprentice and William. Her response was all he hoped. William’s quick acceptance indicates the Margovians had reached the same conclusions. “They will excel in the hopes of gaining rights in areas where they have no proven excellence. Those, plus those of any new minerals, will remain under Bright Star control.”
He was already determined to limit access to the minerals to those commerce interests with proven ability. The lease option is novel. It is on the tip of his tongue to discover from Lilian how she came to the notion of time limits, but he does not voice it. Time limits are in the forefront of her mind.
Lucius has offered the honey to ease the bitter. He has negotiated with the heir and not His Preeminence. It is time for William to swallow the bitter.
William well knows his duty. He places a small topaz and gold lozenge on the table in front of Lilian’s plate, Benmyn’s signet. “Conservator, with the compliments of Broken Blade. Benmyn’s insult was of his design. It was not of Broken Blade or Matahorn.”
Lilian’s fork clatters to her plate. Her gaze flashes from the signet to William to Lucius. Her gray eyes are wide with confusion. The heir to the preeminence of Matahorn has offered her, Gariten’s disgraced daughter and an apprentice, the contrition of his cartouche and cartel. Beneath the table, her fingers flicker over the conservator’s seal. Resolve replaces confusion. She collects the small object and tucks it away. “The honor of Broken Blade and Matahorn is known and revered throughout the Twelve Systems.”
Matahorn contrition has been accepted. The insult is wiped away.
Jaw firming, William asks, “What is your intent for Benmyn’s signet?”
It is a Bright Fire signet, not Broken Blade. Nonetheless, it is of Matahorn. Its treatment is a matter of honor. Were it given to a warrior, even one without rank, it could be displayed, cartouche inverted, on a belt to mark a triumph over a defeated enemy. Should Lilian, a disgraced commoner under death indictment, so act, it would be a deadly insult.
Lucius is as curious as to the answer as William. He knows she is too intelligent to do aught to anger or insult Matahorn, yet she cannot simply discard it or sell it for its gems and precious metals.
“It shall be given into the keeping of Sinead’s Seer.”
William nods, his jaw loosening.
Lucius is beyond pleased. Helena and Katleen were as threatened by the disgraced goad as Lilian and it is appropriate that Lilian render honor to her matriarch. Helena is a prelate and retains warrior status; it will not be an offense should the seer choose to display it. Lilian has accepted her due and left Broken Blade and Matahorn pride intact. The remarkable level of pragmatism that impressed him in her first weeks at the cartel has only developed in subtlety and scope since.
14. Fire Sword
Another wave of civil unrest beset the Nine Systems from 332 until 348, compelling the great cartouches and Governing Council to focus on restoring order. In the following century, the cartels emerged, creating stability and wealth for the Nine Systems. At the dawn of the fifth century, Rimon’s line returned to stellar exploration, finding and settling the Tenth System and establishing colonies on Gemini and the Hebrides Moons surrounding Gloria. With the opening of the Tenth System and the elimination of civil unrest, the Ten Systems embarked on three centuries of economic expansion and technologistics advancement unrivaled in a millennium. ~ excerpt from The Foundations of Order, a scholarly treatise.
Sevenday 131, Day 5
The Fire Sword is the newest addition to the Gold Horizon fleet. A small, well-regarded cartouche, Gold Horizon is as fiercely independent as it is innovative. This vessel, along with three other legendary tenth-century derelicts, have been meticulously restored to exploit the newly popular routes to the Fourth System. The first of the restored Star Monarchs, the Fire Sword’s spectacular décor and proportions demonstrate a commitment to historic detail and significant financial investment. Investment that will be recouped within a year as it spends the next green season transiting spectators to the Fourth System for the Nightingale’s launch into the beaconless expanse. It will, along with its three sister transports and several hundred others including the Shimmering Horizon, maintain designated and controlled patterns within the Fourth System as their passengers wait to view the historic event.
The opulent salon in Lucius’ suite, with its deep jewel tones, elaborately configured furniture and light sculptures, and its reproductions of masterpieces, is something out of a fable. Lucius’ educated eyes know it to be but clever imitation. It changes not the sumptuous effect. For all its historic restoration, the Fire Sword’s propulsion systems, environmental controls, and amenities are as modern as those of the Shimmering Horizon. Dismissing the steward, Lucius turns to his apprentice. “What think you?”
With an expression of bright inquisition, Lilian responds, “I wonder how this style is designated, milord. Resurgent Neo–Ten Systems, perhaps?”
Lucius is beguiled. He had no notion that his severe apprentice owned an appreciation of the decorative arts. It enters his thoughts that her fascination with the small masterpieces in his office might owe as much to admiration as avoidance of discomfort. Intrigued, he asks, “You do not favor the decorative arts of the Ten Systems period?”
“The art and architecture of the Ten Systems period was remarkable, the elaborate ornamentation the manifestation of the exuberant flowering of arts in the security of order.” Lilian gazes around the chamber. “I find the Neo–Ten Systems décor of the last century overly romanticized, and a bit ridiculous. Although these are excellent reproductions of last-century décor. The Fire Sword has not scrimped on authenticity.”
Socraide’s sword, the woman is entertaining when she is not withholding. Of course his severe apprentice would admire the sixth and seventh century originals and disdain the grandeur of the Neo–Ten Systems enthusiasm of the last century. Her careful acknowledgement of the quality of the reproductions has him biting his lips against laughter. He is closing with her when he catches a glimpse of the amusement passing behind her eyes. Tilting her head for a kiss, Lucius demands, “Voice it, woman. What amuses you?”
Eyes bright, Lilian’s lips curve into a true smile. “Katleen would dance with
her shade to view this chamber. The overblown Resurgent Neo–Ten Systems décor is made to order for one with a taste in lurid entertainment.”
The rare smile sends desire surging. His intent changing, he takes her hand. “There is more. I would your opinion on the bed chamber.”
»◊«
Sipping tea, Lilian keeps her gaze fixed on Chrys’ wonder-filled face. His eyes travel around the vaulting chamber that offers a one-hundred-thirty-degree view of the sparkling void. Blythe and Clarice are as awestruck as Chrys, all three gazing with unabashed fascination at the vaulted observation chamber. At second bell past midday, there are few others present to take note of their lack of apprentice restraint. Within four bells, it will fill as the transport guests exit commerce and training in search of wine and companionship. Those same elite guests will leave the training chambers lightly populated and available for use by servitors, crew, and apprentices.
Until then, they are at liberty to explore the vessel, their passage tokens giving them access to all but the restricted crew sections and respite and entertainment chambers reserved for warriors. Although their funds are limited, Clarice and Blythe are eager to explore the shops and boutiques, leaving Lilian and Chrys to make their way to the hydroponic gardens. Raised on the agrarian Genji, Chrys retains a deep need to experience fertile and growing landscapes. The gardens are not Genji with its endless grain oceans meeting a pale green sky, but they do overflow with flourishing life. With Mr. Stefan trailing them, they wander down the pathways, examining the maturing plants.
Chrys’ deep affection for his family is one she well understands, as it mirrors her love for her own. That his affection is tempered with frustration is also familiar, although his cause differs from hers. Their free hold allows them the luxury of raising food for their own consumption, but they remain on the brink of poverty due to the agrarian cartels’ exploitative control of the processing and distribution channels, and to their stubborn adherence to agri-tech that is centuries out of date. She has learned from Chrys that the greatest threat to his family is neither ignorance nor greed, but nature. If either of Genji’s two growing seasons proves overly wet or dry, his family will subsist on protein rations. The second of seven, Chrys’ financial support is dedicated to the educational fees for his younger siblings.
They do not speak as they wander among the plants, content in each other’s company and soothed by the serenity of the gardens. A column of carrots is ready for harvest. Chrys stops to consider it. “The season before I went to bond, the root crops failed. We had sufficient grain stores from prior seasons. The leafing crop was stunted but useable. Carrots could not be found.”
Such a lack is difficult to comprehend. “Carrots? They are inexpensive and readily come by. Katleen uses them in everything from salads to stew. She claims they have powers for promoting health.”
“They do,” Chrys replies. “Most root vegetables do. The lack began to cause difficulty. Rhyliss and the younger ones weakened and took ill.”
Chrys’ expression softens at the mention of his sister. He would offer a vein to the young woman should she require it. Soon to reach her twentieth year, Rhyliss has enjoyed an extended shrine education due to Chrys’ support. She has won a place in the premier medical enclave on Genji. In a decade she will qualify as a general medic, gaining both the status and income to never again be in danger of becoming ill from lack of vegetables. Lilian cannot help but wonder, “What happened. How did they recover? Did you find carrots?”
Chrys wanders from the carrots to examine some purple thyme. “My mother’s cousin, although I have always named her Aunt.”
She follows but does not press.
“There is but a year between my mother and aunt. They are as close as sisters but very different in nature.” Chrys smiles. “Both are brilliant in their own fashion. My mother loves the land, her children, and the joy of bringing forth life from the grain oceans. She distrusts commerce and technology and all that is modern.
“My aunt is a trader. We would not see her for months and then she would arrive at odd bells with medical supplies, extra rations, and rare parts for the ancient farm technology. The dietary supplements to replace the lost root vegetables were the least of it.”
Gray commerce. Chrys’ aunt is a smuggler or has contacts among them.
Chrys’ smile fades and he meets her eyes. Unspoken between them is the acknowledgement of his aunt’s questionable commerce practices. “The supplements were not the first such aid. Rhyliss was a fragile infant and would have died in her fifth year without Aunt’s gift of potions.”
She nods. Legal commerce and order are not always as one. “Protecting one’s kin is a cornerstone of order.”
Chrys’ eyes crinkle with a half smile. “She voiced almost those exact words to my father when she convinced him to send me for apprenticeship. She also voiced that any fifteen-year-old who could repair a twenty-year-old reaper with parts from a plow was wasted on a farm.”
Adelaide and the Five Warriors bless his aunt. It would have taken more than a few well-chosen words to convince Chrys’ family to forego such skills. The ability to return ancient technology to service would have been traded for medic support and supplies beyond their means. The gray commerce aunt must have used her resources to clear a path for this extraordinary man.
Chrys does not speak further as his attention is caught by the berry grove. With a smile he teases, “Strawberries for breakfast, Lilian.”
Clasping her hands behind her back to avoid the temptation to pluck the ripening fruit, she nods while Chrys laughs. Sobering, he finishes his tale. “It helped that she had contacts with an academy mistress who would take my bond at generous terms. I have wondered since if aunt supplemented those terms.”
“Will you return to them?” In four months Chrys is a free man. He will own highly sought skills. Does he wish to return to his family, the agri-cohorts will offer him all his family could wish. She can imagine he might wish to return, although the notion causes pain. At the edge of the beaconless expanse, the Ninth System is four sevendays from Crevasse City.
Chrys’ eyes darken with sadness and determination. “No. Not to live. I will return to visit, but I can no longer make a life in the grain oceans. My future is with Serengeti and Bright Star.”
Her heart lifts at his words.
Clasping his hands behind his back, he turns down the next row. “I have been in thrall for all my remembered life. First to my family’s needs and expectations, and then to the bond. I will own a year or two that are my own. A free man.”
This day. Lilian struggles against the temptation offered by Chrys’ last statement. She cannot. She dares not. There is only this day.
»◊«
Placing her training garb in the launderer’s cabinet, Lilian gives a relieved sigh. The sumptuous décor of the transport does not extend to the servitors’ chambers. The fixtures map to those of the Shimmering Horizon with the same clean enamel and tile and unpretentious cotton bedding. While she recognizes the brilliance of the Ten Systems–period artistry, she is more comfortable in the classic style of the early centuries of Order.
Showered and wrapped in sea green, she settles onto her bunk to review her alerts while she awaits milord’s return. A half period later she scowls at the slate. Desperation. Why must it be Desperation?
“What concerns you, Lilian?” milord asks from the open door between his freshening closet and her chamber.
Five Warriors take it! How did she miss his return? Dropping her slate onto the bunk, she comes to a stand. Milord is shower damp, a towel low around his hips, drawing her gaze to his taut abdomen. Do not. Forcing her eyes to his face, she stumbles for a response. “Milord, I beg pardon, I—”
“Peace, woman,” Lucius interrupts. “Willed I your attention, I would have had it.”
Pushing aside her slate, he sprawls on the bed, grasping one of her hands and pulling her with him. A smile teases his lips and mischief glints in his eyes. “Y
ou have yet to answer.”
Will he kiss her? No. She must answer. Although she likes it not. Had milord not asked, she would have gathered more intelligence and executed more analysis before presenting the potential threat to milord. Honor acts as duty commands. “I am not certain, milord. The recent media streams from Desperation contain some oddities. I have been investigating the other media streams for corroboration. I have it not.”
Milord’s eyes narrow and mischief is replaced by blade-sharp intellect. “What wrongness do you suspect?”
Honor knows not fear. Fraud. Counterfeiters. Sabotage. The remote location has always been difficult to govern. Now this. When Nickolas had the conservatorship, he spent a sevenday each season on site. Has that lack permitted anarchy to flourish? This day. “Guild, milord. It may be the guild.”
The hand that pulled Lilian to the cot has wandered to her waist. At the mention of the guild, it tightens. “Guild? Are you certain?”
She finds the guild conspiracy theory no more likely than the notion that the cartels are one elaborate entity. Blooded Dagger and Serengeti have been singularly successful in countering guild attempts to corrupt the Crevasse miners and Vistrite refiners. At the same time, a successful miner is a competent engineer with little reverence for stricture or protocol. To collect the Vistrite, Blooded Dagger must tolerate, and even enable, the unconventional and antisocial. Its forbearance attracts the seeds of anarchy. It is a delicate and never-ceasing balance. Overreaction could cause more harm than ignoring the minor anomalies. “Certain, milord? No. The indications are disquieting but not proof. Were it not for the sabotage of last season, it would not be of concern. As it is, I must discern the source of the few anomalies I have noted.”
Milord’s eyes hood. His fingers tap against her waist. “Mistress Tabitha? She is well able to detect Despoilers.”
