The Queen of Sidonia

by Richard Fox

  “Um, by the way, while you were on your little vacation with Remi, Francis and Vincent decided to have the wedding sooner rather than later. On account of people constantly trying to kill you, something like that.” Theresa stopped preening and watched as Cosima suffered on the edge of hyperventilating.

  “Don’t…want…to get…married,” she said between gasps.

  “Cossie, my poor little mouse.” Theresa picked up the flask of tequila and sat beside her. “It won’t be so bad. Francis is an OK guy, I promise. Here, take a sip, alcohol makes everything better. And worse. But right now I think it’ll be better.”

  Cosima put the flask to her lips and upended the bottle. Her eyes went as wide as saucers, and she spat the tequila out and coughed furiously.

  “Cosima, that’s alcohol abuse,” Theresa said as she plucked the flask from Cosima’s hand.

  “That was horrible!”

  “The more you drink the better it tastes.” Theresa tried to pass the flask back to Cosima, who shoved it away. “Maybe you shouldn’t turn to booze when you have a problem, that’ll open a whole can of worms.” She looked at the worm at the bottom of the flask and took a swig.

  “I want to go home,” Cosima said.

  “Just get through the next two days, Cossie,” Theresa said. “It’ll get better.”

  Cosima fell on her side and pulled a pillow over her head.

  CHAPTER 12

  The dress-fitting was held in an emptied-out dining room on the eastern side of the palace. Floor-to-ceiling mirrors let the morning sun bathe the room in golden rays. Doing the fitting so early in the morning was essential, according to the seamstresses, as they wanted to see the dress on Cosima in the exact same light as when she’d wear the dress on the wedding day.

  The seamstresses, two rotund women who spoke to each other in Italian, tapped at Cosima with measurement wands, the dress shifting and tightening in response.

  Cosima looked down at the wedding dress, the pure white of driven snow, a collar covering her body-shield choker and extending into a geometric pattern from the base of her neck over the top of her chest and down to the small of her back. A different scant pattern covered her arms, and the train and bustle were silk, embossed with pearls and diamonds that sparkled in the morning light.

  Lana and Theresa stood against the wall, stuck there after several admonishments from the seamstresses for getting in the way of their light. Lana dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. Theresa kept her nose buried in her slate and made threatening phone calls to a list of artists, suppliers, and contractors involved in the wedding.

  “Your chest, a little smaller than we’d thought,” a seamstress said. She tapped her wand against the side of Cosima’s bust, and the dress lifted and squeezed in response.

  “Too tight, too tight,” Cosima said.

  “But you look like you finally have a pair, Cossie dear,” Theresa said.

  “Can’t…breathe,” Cosima said between breaths.

  The seamstress muttered and tapped again. The pressure lessened instantly.

  “The dress does fit very well. Will this take much longer?” Cosima asked.

  The seamstresses shook their heads and chided her in Italian.

  “We make dress from your body scan, but that still no good for the real thing. Must be perfetto,” one said.

  “You will be the most bella bride in all of Sidonia,” said the other.

  Cosima sighed and did her best mannequin impression while the two women continued their work.

  “Prince Francis, he a lucky man, no?”

  “I suppose,” Cosima said. Francis had sent her a few e-mails once she’d returned to the palace, inquiring about her good health and asking her up to his quarters for drinks. She hadn’t responded.

  “Lana,” Cosima said, “how involved was Prince Francis in searching for me after the attack at the Guard office?”

  Lana glanced at Major Volenz, Cosima’s Guard escort for the morning.

  “The prince was sent to a secure location within the palace following the incident,” Major Volenz said. “He received regular updates, but wasn’t an active part of the search.”

  “And why was that?”

  “He delegated that to Prince Vincent.”

  Anger rose in Cosima’s heart. “And why,” she said through gritted teeth, “would he delegate that?”

  “With all due respect to Prince Francis,” the major said, “he has the tactical and strategic acumen of a potato. He would have done more harm than good if he’d involved himself in the search.”

  “What of the king? How did he take the news?” Cosima asked.

  “King Rasczak remains indisposed. The doctors can wake him for the wedding and the abdication ceremony, but his health is too fragile to risk otherwise.”

  Cosima held her arms parallel to her shoulders on the seamstress’s prompting and listened as the two women got into a heated argument over whether or not to lengthen her sleeves by a half inch.

  “Major, how long has the king been so ill that he can’t make decisions as head of state?” Cosima asked.

  “Almost two years,” she said.

  Cosima did math in her head, and a key aspect to her selection as the next queen didn’t add up.

  Cosima’s shoulders started to quiver from being held out for so long, and a seamstress pushed them down with her fingertips. The argument between them ended with the sleeves a tiny bit longer.

  Major Volenz’s gauntlet beeped, and the woman shook her head.

  “Something’s come up that requires my attention, my lady,” the major said. “Excuse me.” She bowed slightly and stepped out of the room.

  Remi came in to take her place. He froze midstep, his eyes wide and jaw loose as he stared at Cosima.

  Cosima’s heart skipped a beat when she caught a glimpse of Remi in a mirror.

  Theresa blushed and tried to hide her face behind her slate.

  “It’s good now, yes?” a seamstress said. The two backed away and admired their handiwork.

  “Lana? Theresa?” Cosima asked.

  “Amazing,” Lana said.

  “Yeah, good,” Theresa said.

  Cosima turned around on the step stool and looked at Remi.

  “Paul?” she asked in a quiet voice.

  Remi seemed to fight for the right words. “You’re beautiful, my lady.”

  Cosima saw herself in a full-length mirror, saw herself in a wedding dress she’d wear for a man she didn’t love. A man who hardly seemed to care for her.

  She choked back a sob and waved a hand at Remi. “Out. I have to change.”

  ****

  Prince Vincent spun a holo of the planned star gate around on his desk and pulled up the specs on the monumental project. The three Chaebol executives, all in identical deep blue suits and matching haircuts, sat on the other side of his desk.

  “And this will accommodate the Leviathan-class bulk carriers? The circumference on the quantum regulator ring doesn’t have much room for error,” Vincent said.

  “Our engineering is precise, Prince Vincent,” Kim said. At least, Vincent thought it was Kim. The three answered questions interchangeably no matter what name or which person he addressed.

  “You’re projecting one point two billion colonists within the first year,” Vincent said. “Have you ever handled a settlement like this before?”

  “What is your concern?” Park, probably Park, asked.

  Vincent saw the three stiffen slightly, impressive for the trio that would normally give ramrods inspiration. He’d framed his question poorly; they must have taken it as a question of Chaebol’s competence.

  “Sidonia was settled by a few hundred thousand people, and the logistics of such an endeavor were very complicated for our forbearers. That Chaebol Corp. can handle the settlement of orders of magnitude greater is very impressive.”

  The three nodded in unison, which sent a chill down Vincent’s spine.

  “It has been more than five hundred stand
ard years since Sidonia was colonized, and we’ve made many advancements since then. We already have applications from over five hundred billion people across human space to settle the worlds of Gaia. The price people will pay for a new start is most lucrative for our efforts,” Lee, the one on Vincent’s right, said.

  “Very well. I will remind you of our agreement. The construction of orbital defenses and the transfer of the battle cruisers to our navy and the training of crews for those ships should be done before the star gate is built,” Vincent said.

  “Prince Vincent, you have Chaebol’s security guarantee. Why not use Chaebol crews for your new navy so we can begin construction sooner?” one of the three, Vincent didn’t bother to keep them straight anymore, asked.

  “Contractual obligations are never as strong as the desire to defend one’s home,” Vincent said.

  “The defenses are already under construction and the cruisers are on their way. But nothing will be delivered until the treaty is signed.”

  “Yes, naturally. You received the amended invitations I trust? The abdication will proceed immediately after the wedding,” Vincent said.

  Someone knocked against the door to his office, loudly and in full defiance of the do-not-disturb instructions he gave to his secretary.

  The gisaeng droids standing against the wall turned their heads to the noise. Clicks sounded from beneath the sleeves of their hanbok robes as weapons readied themselves.

  “Is there a problem?” the one on the left asked.

  Vincent glanced at a screen on his desk and saw who was knocking on the door. This day wasn’t going to get any easier for him. “Gentlemen, if there’s nothing else to discuss, perhaps you’ll join me for lunch in the spire?” He stood up.

  The three executives also stood and shook his hand before leaving.

  Vincent keyed the door to open, and it slid aside, cutting off Cosima’s next round of knocks.

  “Cosima, please come in. You remember the Chaebol executives, Misters Kim, Park, and Lee. They were just about to leave. Why don’t you take a seat so we can discuss matters?” He gestured to an empty seat with his mechanical hand, hoping she’d take the hint and not say anything that might damage the relationship with the executives.

  Cosima nodded politely to the three men as they left, and shied away from their escorts. The door closed behind them, and Cosima stood in the middle of the office, her arms crossed.

  “They are a bit unnerving, aren’t they?” Vincent said.

  “You son of a bitch,” she said.

  He sighed inwardly. This would be a long day.

  “Would you care to sit down?” He gestured to an empty chair again.

  “Cancel the wedding,” she said.

  Vincent sat down and rubbed his true hand against his face.

  “Now why would I do that, and what makes you think I even have the authority to do so?”

  Cosima advanced, brandishing a finger at him. “The king has been in his stasis tube for months. Their demand that someone from my House marry your useless brother came when the king wasn’t even conscious. You were the one who chose me, weren’t you?”

  Vincent rapped the fingers of his true hand against the top of his desk. “That’s correct.”

  “Then cancel the wedding, marry my sister off to Francis,” she said.

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Why? I certainly don’t love your brother.”

  “Irrelevant.”

  “I,” she raised her nose slightly, “I haven’t been chaste since the engagement.”

  “Irrelevant, and untrue.”

  “How do you know that?”

  Vincent shook his head slightly. “What do I do for a living? And I debriefed Remi personally when you both returned. There is no man on Sidonia more loyal than him. I didn’t even have to ask if there was a physical relationship between you two.”

  Cosima’s head and shoulders drooped. She finally sat down and buried her face in her hands.

  “It’s not fair to you,” Vincent said. “But your sister is an impossible choice.”

  “So what if she did drugs? She went to treatment, she’s clean now, right? Pick her instead.”

  “There is more to your sister than narcotic use.” Vincent tapped at a slate, and Theresa’s security profile came up. “When she was in custody, the psychoanalysts uncovered some…conditioning. Someone planted an impulse for her to harm Francis.”

  “What? How is that possible?”

  “It isn’t a very effective technique, which is why we rarely screen for it. The impulse is general. Theresa manifested the impulse when she tried to bring what she thought was heroin to Francis. We aren’t sure if she’d have tried to force the drug on him or simply encouraged him to use it. Knowing my brother’s appetites, I’m sure he would have given it a try.

  “But it wasn’t heroin. It was a rather interesting poison the likes of which I’d never seen before.”

  “Who did that to her?”

  “We never did track down her handler. I thought it would be one of those involved in the heroin traffic, but none of them admitted to it after I’d broken them in interrogation. We removed the impulse as best we could, but your sister can never be trusted around Francis. I’m sorry.”

  Cosima looked at the holo of the star gate hovering over his desk and slapped the slate against the wall.

  “What is so damn important about this treaty, this business deal, that my entire life has to be ruined for it? Aren’t we rich enough without-without toll fees?”

  Vincent took a manila envelope from his desk and hesitated before handing it over to Cosima.

  “This isn’t just about toll fees, Cosima. This is about the survival of our people and our way of life. The Gaia system is worth more in colonization and potential alien tech than our planet and all the Stahlium several times over. Sidonia is a very small fish swimming among sharks in these matters. Please, open the envelope.”

  Cosima ran a fingernail along the security tape on the envelope and pulled out a photograph. Several star cruisers and smaller vessels, all armed with mass driver cannons and rail guns, floated over an ocean world.

  “What is this?”

  “The last communication I received from my team of spies on Odessa, an Aquitaine world a few months from Sidonia. That fleet holds enough mercenaries and war bots, and has enough firepower to turn this city to dust. I couldn’t stop it if I put a pulser rifle in the hands of every man, woman, and child on the planet, and the fleet is heading this way,” Vincent said.

  Cosima held the picture in trembling hands. “What’re we going to do?”

  “You’re going to get married, and we will have a mutual defense treaty with Chaebol. Without that treaty, Aquitaine will conquer our home and build their own star gate to Gaia.”

  “The Alliance of Worlds would never stand for it. We’re a sovereign system, recognized as such before the parliament. Aquitaine can’t just invade us and get away with it,” she said.

  Vincent took the picture away from her.

  “Aquitaine controls much of the debt, and thereby the economy, of many worlds in the Alliance. Aquitaine would delay and stymie any investigation into an attack on Sidonia, and the worst thing the Alliance would do would be to slap them on the wrists with a fine for a sovereignty violation. Not really an expense, as Aquitaine prints the currency the Alliance uses for their business transactions.

  “What Aquitaine can’t afford is a trade war with Chaebol. They drive a hard bargain on New Chosun, but they’ll honor their agreements. Once the treaty is signed, attacking Sidonia will be a losing financial position, Chaebol would swoop in and seize dozens of their worlds. The juice, so to speak, wouldn’t be worth the squeeze.”

  “You think that photo is reliable? Maybe Chaebol planted it so we’d rush into a treaty with them,” she said.

  Vincent tucked the photo back into the envelope. “My team on Odessa was compromised. Every agent is either dead or in the process of being torture
d to death. I can’t acknowledge their loss publicly, not yet. Such is the nature of spy work.”

  “So if I sacrifice my future, I’ll save the planet,” Cosima said.

  Vincent dropped his metal arm against the desktop, the clang startling Cosima. “We all must sacrifice for the greater good. Some more than others.”

  Cosima, defeat written across her face, nodded and stood up to leave.

  “Paul asked me for a transfer. Off world, someplace where he could pursue a professional fencing career,” Vincent said. “I convinced him to stay on until the treaty is signed. After that I fear we may lose him.”

  Cosima, her back to Vincent, wiped away a tear.

  “Why are you telling me this? To rub it in?” she asked.

  “No, I think you could convince him to stay. It’s hard to see a friend suffer.”

  “But not me?” She turned and slammed her hands on his desk. “Look at me, Vincent, do I seem happy to you?”

  “No. This isn’t fair to you. I will put the safety and security of this planet above your feelings and desires, and I do not regret it. These are the hard decisions adults and leaders have to make, Cosima. When you’re queen, you’ll be responsible for much more than just yourself.”

  “You are a monster, you know that?”

  “Sidonia is better served by a cold heart than a bleeding one. Now, will there be anything else?” Vincent squeezed the slate in his mechanical hand so hard that it shattered into pieces. The servos whined as his hand malfunctioned, curling in against the arm.

  “Do you need—”

  “Get out!”

  Cosima backed away and left.

  ****

  The view from the battlements was breathtaking, Cosima had to admit. The crenellated walls offered no real defense and were lined with benches so those strolling along the walls could appreciate the vista from leisure.

  Cosima sat on a padded bench, looking over the city and counting the air cars that passed in the distance.

  Remi stood behind her, as silent and motionless as a statue.

  Cosima looked at Remi and patted the spot next to her.