by Andy Hoare
'But you will join me? Will you aid me against that bastard Droon? Your ships, you have the means'
Not if the High Lords ordered me to, in person, thought Lucian, backing away from the other man.
'Not that it matters' Luneberg pressed on. 'I have the means now, thanks to you! I've got other friends you know, friends who'll help me, even if you won't. Such pretty toys… you could be my contact, my voice. You could speak for me Lucian! You could bring to me all they offer!
As Luneberg disintegrated into a fit of manic giggling and muttering, Lucian made his excuses and left. The Imperial Commander appeared not to notice Lucian's departure, for he was addressing a rant to the floating lumen bobbing above his head.
Lucian listened for a moment, his gorge rising at Luneberg's half-garbled words, before leaving the dark garden. Luneberg's mad laughter echoed behind. He would rejoin Korvane and head back to their suite.
Lucian had some serious thinking to do.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Consciousness came to Brielle only slowly, and she was far from sure it was welcome. She opened her eyes nonetheless, blinking several times until her vision came into focus. She lay upon some unfeasibly comfortable fabric, and above her, floated a number of the small, globelike lumens that she vaguely recalled seeing the previous evening. They were evidently set to give off only a low illumination, the light they emitted soft and warm. She studied them for a moment, watching as they bobbed silently in the air.
She was content to lie still, for the moment, waiting for the moment of clarity that she knew was coming, when she would recall exactly where she was and have to do something about it.
She moved her head a fraction to the left, seeking to gain a better view of her surroundings. The lumen closest to her brightened and homed in towards her, causing her a moment of mild shock, before the notion that the device was no threat appeared in her mind. Where that thought had emanated she was unsure, although she felt confident that it was connected to the, as yet, unremembered events of the previous evening.
She sat up, gently, for her head was still far from clear. She recognised the chamber in which she had spent the night, the memory of the bizarre alien… entertainer (?) coming back to her. She paused to recall the incredible display she had witnessed, shaking her head in bewilderment.
She turned to scan her surroundings more fully, blinking at the shaft of harsh sunlight flooding in through the grilles of an arched window behind her. All around the low chamber were scattered plump cushions and crumpled furs. The recumbent forms of dozing nobles were arrayed amongst them, although she could not see Naal anywhere. Somehow, that fact neither surprised nor disturbed her. Empty bottles, glasses and vials were abandoned close by each body, and she looked closer at those nearest, seeing how the elaborately applied makeup and powder, on both men and women, now appeared so soiled, and even ugly. One man, who had the previous evening, appeared to Brielle a handsome and charming individual, looked by the wan morning light an ineffectual, painted fop, his make-up smeared half across his face and half across the rump of the woman upon whose body he slept.
The woman, Brielle noticed, was draped in fine chains, hundreds of small jewels dangling from them. Each jewel was lit from within by a slowly pulsing light, lending the woman's skin a multihued aspect that appeared quite sickly and unnatural in the light of day. Brielle had a sudden flash of recall, a vision of those same chains spinning, the light merging into blurred streaks as their owner danced.
She was unsure whether the vision was a memory or a dream. She leant over, reaching out an arm, cautiously, towards the woman, and taking one of the tiny jewels between her forefinger and thumb. She pulled gently until the chain gave way, slipping from the woman's thigh. As Brielle lifted the jewel to examine it, it took on a deep, green hue, reminding her of something she had seen before.
Something she had seen in the hold of her vessel returning from Q-77. The alien device she had examined had glowed with the exact same green, inner light. This woman was wearing items of jewellery obviously of alien manufacture, yet somehow this realisation neither surprised nor outraged Brielle. This entire world, she realised, was enamoured of the exotic, enamoured, quite literally, of the alien.
The woman groaned softly in her sleep, rolling languidly onto her side. The man sleeping next to her grumbled in response, forced to reposition his head lest it roll from its resting place. Brielle froze, for some unknown reason not wishing to awaken any of the sleeping nobles. By the number of empty glass vials beside them, she doubted they would wake for some time. The couple's dozing having resumed, Brielle let out a breath, and looked around for the clothes that she had, evidently, discarded at some unremembered point during the previous evening.
Stepping over the dozing forms of the guards, Brielle left the establishment. She could only imagine it was some private bordello, reserved for the use of the idle and decadent rich. She stood in the wan morning light, blinking against the glare, unsure of her location in relation to Luneberg's palace. Fractured details of the previous evening came to her, unbidden. She recalled having met Luneberg's functionary, Naal, at a trading house in the merchants' quarter. Thinking of Naal, she recalled snatches of conversation, made blurred and incoherent by the evening's excesses. No matter, it would come to her in time, when her head had eventually cleared.
Standing in the centre of the narrow, empty street, Brielle turned slowly around, her head pitched upwards towards the morning sky. She realised she had no clue in which direction the palace lay, and so continued slowly revolving until instinct, or folly, told her which direction to walk in. East, she decided, and set off.
The street down which she walked was by all appearances rarely travelled, at this time of the day at least, for although it contained the detritus of any city the size of Chasmata Capitalis, it was deserted of Luneberg's subjects. Reaching a junction, Brielle looked around, growing increasingly aware of the fact that few, if in fact any, people were out and about. The thought struck her that perhaps all of the citizens of this world were as pampered and idle as the nobles with whom she had passed the night. Could it really be that an entire society could function thus? What of the workers and the indentured serfs? What of the ever-present and largely invisible underclasses upon which most worlds relied? Did they lie abed too, dozing in a drug-induced haze upon the soft bellies of their lovers?
She considered this notion, blinking against the sunlight as a floating lumen hovered slowly by, its light no longer required as the day began. She studied it quizzically, wondering who performed the myriad duties she, in her own life, had always taken for granted as being carried out by others. She considered the hundreds of crew serving upon the Fairlight, the thousands serving under her father in the flotilla as a whole. Many were the scions of families indentured to the Arcadius generations previously, others were press-ganged at those ports where the dynasty was granted the right to recruit. Still more were even less willing, convicted of petty crimes, death sentences commuted to service aboard Navy or merchant vessels. Others were servitors, lobotomised creatures, part man, mostly machine, and despite being consecrated by the officers of the Creed, and highly valued, unthinking things of cold flesh. What if, she wondered, as she avoided a pile of stinking rubbish on the ground, what if all those hundreds and thousands of men, women and machines were offered the choice of whether or not they would serve? Would they continue to serve, for the good of all, or would their own selfish desires win out, as they appeared to here upon Mundus Chasmata?
The thought occurred to her that the people of this world, or the ruling classes at least, were weak and foolish, yet there was undeniably an underlying hint of coherent dogma in their apparently mindless hedonism. Snatches of conversation from the previous night came to her once more, a vision of Naal's face as he expounded upon the nature of life upon Mundus Chasmata. She shook her head, mildly frustrated with herself for having such trouble recalling the details of what was dearly an evening of some importanc
e.
Wandering down an avenue lined with closed up drinking dens and establishments of no doubt ill repute, Brielle at last caught sight of Luneberg's palace, tall, gilded spires silhouetted against the sunrise. She realised with a stab of apprehension that she must soon face up to her actions, and make her play once and for all, but what was it she needed to achieve? She forced herself to focus on the situation at hand, to address the task that she must now undertake.
If she really was to take a hand in the future of the dynasty, she must do so now, she pondered. The deal with Luneberg was against the interests of the Arcadius, of that much she was sure, and she was growing increasingly confident in her belief that it was she, and not Korvane, who should be preparing to take over the dynasty, and who should have their father's ear until doing so. Hadn't Naal told her as much? He had, she realised, another small part of the previous evening coming back to her in a flash. She had spoken at some length with Luneberg's functionary, and he had shared, even fostered, her opinion that Korvane was weak.
If she wished to usurp her stepbrother's position, she would need to take a hand in the immediate, short-term fortunes of the Arcadius. She would need to undermine him to such an extent that he would never be able to recover his influence. Perhaps she should go further, she thought. In fact, hadn't Naal said that she should?
She halted, suddenly shocked by her own train of thought. Had she really discussed such things with a stranger? She realised she had, and much more besides. She recalled Naal promising to lend her aid. All she need do, she remembered him saying, was to give him the word, when she judged that the time was right.
Her mind set upon a confrontation with Korvane, Bridle turned her thoughts to her father's ongoing talks with the Imperial Commander, Luneberg. Part of her was still furious that Luneberg had attempted to turn the Arcadius into lowly gunrunners. Yet, she was no longer so disposed towards undermining the deal entirely. Her perspective had shifted, and she now considered herself in a far more favourable position. She had made powerful friends, Naal being a far more influential man than she had supposed, at first. With his aid, she might redefine the terms of the deal entirely, if she could convince her father that Naal and his associates offered a greater opportunity than did the Imperial Commander.
Associates? She started walking once more, but slower, her footsteps less sure. Her frustration grew more intense as she tried to remember the details of her conversation with Naal. He had made it clear, she was sure, that he had some power over Luneberg, and could influence him to change the terms of the deal, so long as it had not yet been finalised. She realised that this implied she must act soon, sooner than she might like, sooner perhaps than she was ready for.
She quickened her pace as she reached a resolution. It was clear to her that she must stymie the talks, ensuring that her father and Luneberg did not reach a final conclusion that would lead to the Arcadius submitting entirely to his service, and destroying themselves in the process. Korvane, she knew, would attempt to block her in this, and so she must time her intervention carefully, since it would inevitably lead to a confrontation with him. She knew that she must manage all this without falling so completely out of favour with her father that he would never again place his trust in her, or consider her a worthy inheritor of his mande.
She briefly wished for the oblivion of the previous night, or even the relative simplicity of ship-to-ship combat.
Brielle swept into the apartment, to find Korvane waiting for her, a typically supercilious expression on his face. 'Where is he? she demanded, slamming the door behind her and striding into the chamber. She was not in the mood for formalities.
'I'd ask where you have been, but I can see it's not a subject for polite conversation' Korvane rejoined.
Little fool, thought Brielle, her hackles rising. 'This isn't the Court of Nankirk, Korvane, and you have no right to judge me. 'Where is Father?
Korvane visibly bristled at Brielle's mention of his mother's court. 'It certainly is not. he said, making a show of surveying his surroundings, 'and neither is it the annual tribal gathering' He made a further show of looking her up and down, exaggerated disgust on his smirking face. 'Although you certainly appear to have attended it'
Hatred flared in Brielle. She had always known that Korvane considered himself vastly superior to her in more ways than the order of inheritance. He had cast a slur upon the culture from which her mother came, that of the feral world of Chogoris. The world formed a large part of her own identity, despite not having been afforded much time amongst her mother's people.
Brielle stepped towards her brother, barely resisting the urge to forcibly remove the smug expression he wore across his stupid face. 'I'll ask you once more and then I won't be quite so polite' she snarled. 'Where is Father?
Korvane stood his ground, but indicated, with a nod, the door to the private conference room. 'He's in closed session with Luneberg. You'll have to wait until they have concluded business'
Damn them, she thought, they're in there now, closing the deal. She would have to take drastic action and worry about the fallout later.
'Get out of my way' Brielle said as she pushed past her brother. She caught him off balance and he stumbled to one side before catching himself and spinning round. He grabbed her at the elbow.
'I'm not going to let you mess this up, Brielle, so don't even think it. Don't get involved in matters that are beyond you'
Brielle snapped. Without thinking, she lashed out, feeling her fist strike her stepbrother's face and something brittle break beneath the impact. Korvane cried out and stumbled backwards, affording her a clear path to the door. She forged on, flinging the door wide without pause for thought.
Beyond, a wooden, oval table dominated the wide conference room, the back wall made entirely of glass, with a mighty eagle, symbol of the Imperium, mounted upon its outer face. Luneberg sat at the far side of the table, courtesans arranged demurely around him. Seated at either side were a dozen or so hooded scribes, feathered quills scratching across dry parchment in unison.
Her father sat, alone, on the other side of the table, his back towards her.
Luneberg had been speaking, but stopped as she entered, his mouth flapping in outrage. The quills halted too, and the scribes looked up, their faces barely visible beneath the deep hoods they wore. The courtesans whispered furtively, covering mouths with bejewelled hands.
'Father' she said, suddenly unsure what to do.
Her father's head turned, and he looked straight at her, confusion in his eyes. 'Brielle, what are you doing here?
'I need to speak to you, Father, we need to-
The door behind Brielle flew open even further, slamming against the wall with a crash. Korvane burst through it, blood pouring from his ruined nose. 'Father, don't listen to her, she's gone mad! She's trying to rain everything!
Bridle's father opened his mouth to speak, but Luneberg pre-empted him, bellowing in rage, 'What, by all that is holy, is the meaning of this? He turned on Lucian, pointing a finger at him, 'This upstart girl has interrupted us twice, Gerrit, twice she has perpetrated such breaches of protocol as would ordinarily earn a flogging. Well, I tell you this, you may have sought to wriggle out of our deal' Bridle's mouth fell open at this, 'but I am inclined to throw you all in my dungeons!
'Wriggle out of the deal'?
Brielle looked to her father, who was addressing Luneberg.
'My lord' said Lucian, 'please forgive my daughter. I will speak with her presently, but please, may we conclude matters?
'"Conclude matters"? If by that you mean will I allow you to run out on me without a shred of compensation, then absolutely not. You will find the terms of our original contract quite specific in this regard'
'"Specific"? Lucian surged to his feet. 'We had no such deal Luneberg. We can leave whenever we please!
'How little you know of life, you who consider yourself so well-travelled. I require neither contract nor treaty Lucian, for I am master of
this world and may do as I choose. I deem you beholden to me and you may not back out of our arrangement. Not without substantial penalty.
'You're mad' said Brielle, interrupting Luneberg's tirade. Every head in the chamber turned towards her, a stunned silence descending.
Luneberg stood, straightening out his uniform as he did so. 'Lucian, you will punish your daughter, or I will. If you refuse to, I will have every one of you arrested. Do you understand?
Lucian stood facing the other man across the wide table. He leant forward. 'I will not punish my daughter, Luneberg, for she speaks the truth'
The collective intake of breath from around the chamber would have sounded comical were it not for the tension of the situation. Brielle watched as her father's knuckles turned white, a sure sign, she knew, of his anger.
'Then you are condemned by your own words. Naal, have them arrested'
Brielle had not seen Naal standing behind his master, but was grateful for his presence, as he stepped forwards. Their eyes met, and she recalled the promise he had made the previous night. She had only to indicate she needed, and wanted his help, and it would be hers. She nodded, the slightest movement, so that only he would see. He did likewise.
Though he appeared not to be armed with any form of projectile weapon, as would have been the case whenever paying court to such as Luneberg, Lucian now proved he was most certainly not unarmed. In that brief moment, Lucian raised his arm, the concealed digital weapon he always carried upon his right hand ring finger pointed straight across the table, at the Imperial Commander. 'You will allow us to withdraw to our vessel and to leave in peace'
'You will never leave here, Gerrit' Luneberg replied. Brielle could only assume that the man had never before had the business end of a digital weapon pointed at him. She chuckled inwardly as she saw that the weapon her father pointed was one that would not kill, but would instead have a far more interesting effect upon the target's nervous system. Luneberg, Brielle realised, had entirely failed to grasp the gravity of the situation.
