Zotikas: Episode 1: Clash of Heirs

by Storey, Rob

  His fingers almost closed on a fold in the fabric, but he began to slip down toward the smaller branches. He didn’t need to be reminded there was no visible ground below him. He let the ship go.

  It slid off the upper boughs of the toppled tree and slowly fell. Relieved of Kieler’s weight but still having lost too much gas, it moved as if in slow motion, sinking as if in water and spiraling awkwardly as the envelope collapsed. Kieler clung with both hands to thin branches, but his eyes followed his short-lived, beautiful machine as it tumbled. It wasn’t that far down when, during one of its limping swings, he saw the engine, still full throttle, dripping molten metal.

  An instant later the remaining hydrogen ignited.

  His fear of falling evaporated in the heat of the rising fireball directly beneath him.

  Chapter Eleven

  Despite the immediacy of the danger, Kieler felt frozen in the heat. Then the instant passed and he was scrambling down the trunk like a slink on a pipe. He hurled himself over the balcony rail as the winter-bare limbs of the tree caught fire behind him. Slamming onto his back on the balcony floor, he watched, fascinated, as the ball of fire flew past and continued upward until it blossomed on the underside of the palace. It burned itself out in grasping tendrils of flame. For a moment, all was dark.

  His airship was gone.

  He slowly turned his face toward the balcony doors.

  There stood the quick-thinking young lady, staring down at him. She looked calm, even amused, her eyes sparkling green and gold in the reflection of a firework exploding behind him. He vaguely registered the colors of her clothing, blue and silver. She said nothing, and after a moment, spun and left the balcony, leaving him lying flat on his back.

  He would have to find his own way from here.

  Kieler felt blood dripping down his face, but the burning cut was nothing to being roasted. It was a precious reminder that somehow… he was still alive.

  The tree that saved him was solidly anchored by its planter against the rail. The limbs that hung over were still burning like tiny candles. Whoever found this tree would have an interesting time explaining the phenomenon. He stood, but the adrenaline must have ebbed and his knees buckled, forcing him to catch himself against the balcony rail.

  The empty space before him suddenly pressed into his awareness and he felt a wave of cold fear.

  My ship… gone.

  My life… Standing before the dark abyss below him and the smoking tree beside, the relative value of his life over his ship infused him with a profound sense of gratitude. He wiped the blood off his face with his hand, and wiped his hand on the railing. The flow was beginning to ebb.

  Kieler turned toward the spire and entered through the balcony doors. Ahead of him was a bank of elevators that would take him up to the great hall. But first, he found a washroom and cleaned up.

  The Executive Chair and the real Ortessi heir had actually met once before, one week after Orlazrus Ortessi’s birth. Kieler was pretty sure that Ek Threzhel would not recognize him.

  On the short ride up the elevator, Kieler marveled that he actually seemed to have made it. So much had gone wrong: his seemingly precognitive tail, then being spotted on Garrist Ring, having holes shot through his airship followed by the flight through the fireworks, and finally nearly being roasted like a slink on a spit.

  And yet, here he stood.

  He wouldn’t have made it without the help of that young lady. Cute too. He had been tutored and quizzed extensively by Movus on all the important houses, their leaders and their progeny, their colors and corporations. Blue and silver was house Vel, Velator being the Prime with only one heir, his daughter, Lhea Velirith. Something had happened to all the other members of his family, though Movus had never told the story if he knew it.

  So the young lady in blue and silver was probably Lhea Velirith. That she had helped him, thinking quickly by knocking that planter over, was another fortunate circumstance that bordered on supernatural. Why was she down there, with no protection, when everyone else was up at the party? And her unruffled amusement was not typical for such a young woman. That she left the scene when he seemed likely to survive was understandable considering his dramatic and clandestine arrival. His character and intentions would have been highly suspect and potentially violent. She might still turn me in. But he didn’t think so. Nevertheless, she was wise to leave.

  But Kieler suspected she didn’t leave because she felt threatened by him. It was almost as if she didn’t want to have to explain herself.

  The elevator doors slid open with a clanking of the twin, highly-polished, bronze doors. Kieler stepped out in the persona of the Ortessi Heir, his fine-woven uniform resplendent in green and gold (if a tad crumpled from his exertions). Over his heart he now wore the emerald luzhril and amber sigil of House Ortessi.

  He stopped just outside the elevator and stood patiently, using the time before he was noticed to scan the room. The central dance floor, tiled in the traditional honeycomb pattern, stood empty. Everyone milled about on the terrace that surrounded the great hall, looking outward to watch the fireworks. The reception line had dispersed by this time, but because the fireworks held everyone’s attention, his entrance did not cause the stir he had expected. Though he knew the elevator doors were heavily guarded at the Garrist level, these had but one guard on either side who spared him only a curious glance.

  Kieler spotted the Executive Chair’s booth and strode toward it. The Executive Chair was still in it, as if the fireworks he had provided did not warrant his interest. Four guards bracketed the booth and eyed Kieler warily as he approached. He stopped two paces before the seated Executive Chair, bowed stiffly from the waist, rose, and announced himself. “Orlazrus Ortessi, at your service.”

  The Executive Chair, who had roused himself to sit closer to the edge of his seat as he noticed Kieler approaching, smiled a bit cynically.

  Fechua MgFellis, recovering from her hesitation to introduce Orlazrus, remembered her duty. “Ek Threzhel, Prime of House Ek, and Executive Chair of the Avetoric Omeron.”

  Threzhel commented, “Now the real fireworks begin, eh?”

  Kieler allowed himself a slight smile despite the roiling in his stomach. This man is responsible for my parents’ deaths. Kieler tightened control of his thoughts and noticed the Executive Chair looking off behind him.

  Turning, he saw Feleanna Cortatti briskly entering the hall. Resplendent in a gown of red and black, she had tamed her dark red hair into a snappy elegance. Flustered and blatantly fuming, she spotted her quarry safely sheltered in the guarded presence of the Executive Chair.

  A giant explosion, both of noise and colored light, surrounded the great hall as the finale erupted around them, thick with the gold and purple that lauded house Ek. Appreciative oohs and aahs followed. As the spheres faded, the crowd turned, murmuring excitedly as they reentered the great hall. Suddenly and together, everyone seemed to notice the man in green and gold standing before the Executive Chair—and Feleanna seething twenty paces away. The excitement of the firework display dwindled into an expectant silence as the crowd froze, staring at the scions of two families who had so much history of conflict, now reunited on such a dramatic stage.

  The timing couldn’t have been better. Kieler squelched the satisfied smile that wanted to burst out of him and glared murderously at Feleanna. She returned the stare openly, her flinty eyes glancing at the sigil on his chest. He could see the muscles of her jaw tighten as she clenched her teeth, biting down on her fury. She took a deep breath, then shifted brazenly to a more cavalier stance.

  When Feleanna turned, head stiffly high in unadmitted defeat, it was a sign for everyone else to breathe again. Immediately two houses came scurrying forward; Margríte Merckle, literally pushing her two boys, one on either side of her; and Gippo and Gamielle Mizgot—although even a “scurry” was not very fast for these two lumbering frames.

  It was comical. He knew both houses wanted to take credit for “di
scovering” the legitimate heir of House Ortessi. His presence destabilized Feleanna’s hold on an enormous amount of real estate, antiques, artifacts, and intellectual property previously belonging to House Ortessi. Any reduction of her wealth would diminish her capacity for aggression. Therefore the appearance of the Ortessi Heir would be beneficial to the Executive Chair, who knew Feleanna was after his position. Because the Merckles and Mizgots were dependent on the favor of house Ek, their relationship with the Executive Chair was crucial to their status.

  Movus had perfectly played these two houses against each other. Running an agency of spies from beneath the Plate, Movus had earned a reputation as a provider of reliable information across house boundaries. Kieler and Movus had fed one of Mizgot’s spies tainted information that Orlazrus Ortessi, the lost heir, was being courted rather cheaply by House Merckle, to be used as political leverage with the Executive Chair. The Mizgots, adept at buying favorable regulatory and financial influence, immediately outbid the Merckles for Orlazrus Ortessi to act as their comrade in gaining the Executive Chair’s ear.

  Considering Kieler, who gave most of the bribe to Movus, was neither the legitimate nor even the illegitimate son of House Ortessi, the sum was exceedingly generous. But it was the access to the Executive Chair and this evening’s gala that he was really after. Access to the inner circle. And the endorsement of two very powerful families.

  The Mizgots built the vehicles that rode the rails of the tram and powercoach lines. They had been the largest economic power in all Zotikas at one time—until the economy had declined.

  The Merckles were currently rising on a wave of political socialization. They ran health care facilities of all types. Ten years ago the Executive Chair and the Omeron had granted government funds for the Merckles to run free clinics. Other medical businesses couldn’t compete with free, nor could they navigate the maze of paperwork required of non-government sanctioned facilities. As competitors failed, the Merckles gained patients whose bill were paid by the Omeron.

  One family of doctors, the Sendaris, was now living under the Plate. Kieler had met them, and since good medical services were scarce in the underworld, Indis Sendari was making a better living on the black market than he had fighting government subsidies and regulations above the Plate.

  Margríte Merckle bustled into range. “Your Chairness, this is the man! My sons and I have been trying to arrange an introduction—“

  “We are introduced, Margríte, just now,” interrupted the Executive Chair. She looked put off, glancing at her sons.

  The Mizgot’s, finally arriving across the floor, took a slightly different tack. Puffing, Verr Gippo Mizgot rhapsodized to the Executive Chair, “This man is the legitimate owner of our great Theater! Verr Executive Chair, I believe a revival in culture would further solidify your claim to leading the greatest cultural and economic boom since Velik himself!”

  The fawning was sickening to Kieler, but that’s why he was here; to crunch these insects like so many skynuts. Looking over the two new arrivals, he was surprised that despite Gamielle Mizgot’s top-heavy build, her dress was tenuously suspended by thin straps. Perhaps she considered them a touch of elegance.

  Rather than let the sycophantic behavior continue interminably, Kieler interjected with intentional softness, so that they had to lean forward to hear. “Hello, friends. Thank you for your kind words. But my claim to my family’s past holdings has some obstacles to overcome.” He flashed a glance toward Feleanna. “Perhaps the Executive Chair would aid me in the reestablishment of some of my family’s property and business. But now is not the time to discuss these things.”

  The Executive Chair nodded. With half-lidded eyes he looked at the two obsequious families before him as if they were not to be trusted with information as delicate as what was for dinner. He spoke to Kieler. “Good to see you passed the test of getting here. You’re not much use if you can’t live to see the new year,” the Executive Chair said, illuminating the harsh reality. “But you’ve not re-met any of your family’s old friends, have you? Friends, I’m afraid, that didn’t help your family much twenty years ago. Perhaps they’ve changed some. Shall we see?”

  Kieler didn’t respond immediately. He eyed the Executive Chair with practiced coolness. Below the surface, Kieler realized that while the Ortessi’s “friends” had let his family die at the hands of the Cortattis, the Executive Chair himself had let Kieler’s mother die in the death trap where Ek processed magal. Tightly controlling his voice, Kieler said, “I think I can tolerate that, sir.”

  Kieler, of course, wanted nothing more than to be introduced as the Ortessi Heir to every head family. His main purpose in being here was to endorse his legitimacy and improve his sponsorship. These two families just wanted to use him to increase their standing with the Executive Chair. The Mizgots had huge wealth, but were falling in favor so fast that they were more influenza than influential. Other houses were trying to disassociate themselves from them, particularly the Bintles.

  The Merckles, on the other hand, were rising stars. Considering they were physicians and obviously politically cunning, Kieler found them alarmingly naïve. Movus and he had leveraged their influence easily because of this quality. The current generations of Merckles had never struggled to build a quality business. They had no street wisdom.

  Both these families followed sullenly as the Executive Chair moved with his characteristic lack of urgency toward a nearby table.

  “These are Borgus and Balfani Telander. They produce the generators and control the power plants of our city,” Threzhel offered. Kieler felt his chest tighten at the introduction. Every house in attendance had an indictment against them, but Telander—his crime was personal. His secret penchant for kidnapped women, particularly Bags’ wife, struck to the heart of why Kieler was here.

  The Telanders stood for the Executive Chair, and Borgus extended his arm to grasp Kieler’s. The man looked very much like the EC himself. Rounded, shrinking in stature with a puffy face, wearing the same bored expression. Kieler knew that there was little love between these two men. As soon as House Ek had taken office they had boosted the price of magal. And just this year someone had revealed that the recent magal shortage claimed by House Ek was actually a fraud enacted to raise the price yet again.

  Movus had told Kieler that Balfani, Borgus’ wife, resented the Executive Chair bitterly because his price hikes cut into the profits generated by their power plants. Evidently, they also cut into her rather extravagant life style.

  Kieler noticed that despite the “hard times”, neither of them had starved. He also noticed that Balfani, her face lined with angry wrinkles, was glaring fiercely at the EC.

  “I knew your father, Salman,” Borgus nodded, referring to the former Ortessi patriarch. “Shame he died so young.”

  “I’m told his name was Salasan,” Kieler replied, recognizing the feeble test to his claim. “But I did not know him. He was killed when I was only two.”

  Borgus nodded, looking at him with the same half-closed eyes that the Executive Chair used. “So you don’t believe the prattle about an accident, eh?”

  “No. Only a year ago I pursued what investigation I could, being twenty years passed, and it did not even look like they tried to fake it. It seems it simply couldn’t be proven that it was the Cortattis.”

  “You speak plainly enough,” replied Borgus. “You’ll never make a good politician.”

  Kieler took a chance. “Neither will you, sir,” he countered with a smile.

  The Executive Chair laughed, thankfully, and as he started to lead Kieler away, Balfani Telander made a rather bizarre comment. She blurted, “Don’t think you can get in my good graces with empty flattery in a silly New Year’s Note, Ek Threzhel!”

  The Executive Chair gave her a curious look, but did not retort. As they walked away, Kieler asked him what she meant.

  The Executive Chair shrugged. “Speak plainly or speak and make no sense. I find it better not to speak m
uch at all these days.” Then he lowered his voice so that only Kieler could hear. “But don’t you get too cheeky, Ortessi. We politicians still need fighters for the arena.”

  Kieler turned his head to the Executive Chair, but the man wasn’t looking back at him. The threat was direct, but the warning at least made it very clear what Kieler’s limits were in this new relationship. It all served as a reminder that the Executive Chair was no one’s friend. The Chair had no knowledge that he had, indirectly, killed Kieler’s mother. Nor would he care if he did. The man’s only concern was that Feleanna was getting too powerful. Kieler should be able to use that fear to get into his good graces and exploit him.

  The frightening aspect of Kieler’s game was that the Executive Chair had played it successfully for fifty-some years. Kieler was a brash, no-name challenger.

  Allies. That’s what Kieler needed.

  “Should we go see Feleanna then?” offered the Executive Chair rather cruelly.

  “No, sir. I want to be clear which side I am not on,” Kieler answered.

  “Good.” The Executive Chair seemed to treat the subsequent introductions as a play put on for his own personal amusement. But Kieler was not amused and neither was his alter ego Orlazrus. Nevertheless, the fact that the Executive Chair was actually taking him around personally fitted Kieler’s purpose nicely. He was introduced to several more houses.

  His final introduction to the Bintles was eventful. The eldest were in poor health and not in attendance. Their son, Carrenten Bintle, a young man only a handful of years older than Kieler, was now in charge of the Omeron’s financial system. His wife, Serru, was stunning in an elegant but revealing gown.

  “Pleasure, Ortessi,” Carrenten Bintle said grasping his arm firmly. “You’ll shake things up around here!”