Prosperine: The Adventures of the Space Heroine Hickory Lace: Books 1, 2 & 3 (The Prosperine Trilogy)

by PJ McDermott

  She felt her lungs constrict so that she could hardly breathe, hardly force the words out. She swallowed hard. “That is so unfair.” She shook her head slowly and brushed a tear from her cheek. She gritted her teeth, angry again. “And you know it’s not true. Why don’t you just admit you don’t care?”

  “I do care, Hickory.”

  Hickory looked at her father, but all she saw was the Admiral, dispassionate and remote. “How could I think anything different?” She spat out the words. “If you cared even a little, you would have made an effort. You …you abandoned me when I needed you most.” She sniffed and swallowed. She was stupid, much too emotional, but it was hard to accept that he didn’t love her. In her heart, she’d harbored a glimmer of hope that she’d got it wrong, that there was a reason. She searched his face looking for clues, but could neither see nor sense anything.

  “Hickory, you have a job to do. I suggest you get on with it.”

  His image snapped out of view, and she was alone.

  Dark Suns

  “You think the Prefect and the Agency have a hidden agenda?” said Jess.

  “The IA wouldn’t let anything stand in the way of a good trade. And the Vatican must be becoming desperate—it’s been half a century since the Corps was set up and they don’t have much to show for it. I think Prefect Cortherien would dine with the Devil to bring Philip’s prophesy to life.”

  Jess shivered. “You don’t think Cortherien or your father could be involved in Gareth’s death, do you?”

  Hickory saw the pain in her eyes. “That wouldn’t make sense, Jess. Why wait until we reached Prosperine? No, Gareth’s death was opportunistic. If he hadn’t been so desperate to hear the Teacher, I think he would be alive today.”

  Jess poured two coffees and offered one to Hickory. “Was Nolanski able to give you any further leads on the Pharlaxians?”

  “No, but James Brandt gave me this after our meeting.” She unrolled a scroll and spread it on the table. “Government forces found it at a deserted military camp in the desert last month. Their Intel pointed to it being an insurgent training site. Whoever they were, they got out in a hurry and left a lot of their kit behind—including this map.”

  Jess leaned over the parchment. The schematic of the city precinct showed several locations marked with an infinity symbol. “I assume when the security forces visited these places, they were empty too?” she said.

  “Right. But as Nolanski told us earlier, this symbol is their calling card.” She jabbed at the map. “Followers have it tattooed somewhere on their body. It’s always supposed to be hidden, but Kyntai said he saw it on one of the people who kidnapped Gareth. Brandt thought the mark could be part of the protocol when two cells meet up. I asked Nolanski, but he says he doesn’t know anything more.”

  Hickory paused, sensing Jess’s doubt. “What’s the matter?”

  Jess shrugged, and her mouth curled down. “I don’t know what or who to trust anymore, Hick. There’s something not right about Nolanski. He really didn’t like Gareth, did he? I want to believe him, but ...” She drew in a deep breath and slowly released it.

  “I feel that too. He's not bad at hiding it from me, but he’s definitely holding something back.”

  “Why, though? Surely we’re on the same side?”

  Hickory nodded agreement. “I think so, but it makes sense to be cautious, especially since we don’t know what political games are being played. Our best strategy is to locate somebody wearing this symbol, although that may be difficult.”

  “Nolanski mentioned the Pax—that’s what he calls the Pharlaxians—he says they were interested in Kar-sѐr-Sephiryth, and not in a friendly way, either,” said Jess. “His sermonizing against mystical symbols and ancient dogmas seems to have rubbed them up the wrong way. They don’t take kindly to revisionist views on their religion.”

  Hickory thought for a moment. She decided to stay close to the Teacher to see whether she could discover a way into the Pharlaxian cult. It was something she could better achieve on her own. “Jess, I want you to stay here, at the consulate. I need someone I can trust to relay messages to the IA and to suss out any information or equipment I might need—without any questions. Will you do that?”

  Jess sighed with relief, and Hickory relaxed. Since they had found Gareth’s body at Silver Lake, Jess had been emotionally burnt out— incapable of more than making a cup of coffee. She was putting a brave face on it, and Hickory knew she would recover in time, but right now she didn’t need the added stress of having to chase down Gareth’s killers.

  “Just tell me what you need me to do,” Jess said.

  “The first thing is to transform me from a Castalie into an Ezekani citizen. I need a new look.”

  With Kyntai’s and Mirda’s help, the maquillage specialist sent by her father had achieved a miraculous transformation in Hickory. Her entire body was now Avanauri white. Her face and neck had been recolored to resemble that of a well-born native woman, and her brow ridges and cheekbones were more prominent than before. She liked how the speckled purple coloring encompassed her eyes and then followed the curvature of her cheekbones, fading to a point at her earlobes.

  Hickory put on a richly patterned cloak complete with padded shoulders and ultra-high collar. Looking at her reflection in the mirror, she didn’t recognize the haughty, high-born Avanauri female staring back. Both Kyntai and Mirda expressed satisfaction and set to educating Hickory on some of the more esoteric customs omitted from her vid-briefings.

  By late afternoon, Hickory was as ready as she was ever likely to be and set out alone for the city. She took an apartment at a hostelry just outside the central district. Mirda had told her the Cross Swords hostel held a reputation as a favorite haunt for rogues and undesirables. She rented a private room with a balcony on the first floor as befitted her adopted status, and studied the file she had brought with her.

  Brandt had been thorough. Little was known of the Teacher before he had barged into a Senate meeting two years ago demanding the government stop the practice of renting out orphans as lowly paid labor to unscrupulous employers. A copy of a memorandum from the Office of the Chief Peacekeeper indicated Kar-sѐr-Sephiryth was considered a medium risk to the security of the state. His description had been issued to all guards with orders to report any suspicious activity. Half-a-dozen formal reports had been made and placed on file. Hickory scanned these but found nothing helpful. There was also a note in Brandt’s handwriting: Sorry there’s not more to give you. The Teacher seems to appear without warning and disappear just as fast. My sources say he spends a lot of time traveling around the country—some suggested even as far as Castaliena, although I’d take this last with a grain of salt.

  There was a knock on her door. Hickory opened it to find a young nauri standing outside with her head bowed, waiting to be acknowledged. Hickory nodded and smiled encouragingly at her.

  The nauri’s face shone. Orange flashes tinged with blue indicated she was not yet at childbearing age. “They are serving hot food downstairs, Johan-sѐra-Anna, should you wish to dine,” she said.

  “Are there many in the hall?” said Hickory, coming out and closing the door behind her.

  “Many naur, some Castalie, other strangers, but there is room for you.”

  Hickory paused at the entry to the serving room, her senses assailed by the smoky atmosphere, the clamor of customers and the aroma of herbs and spices drifting from the kitchens. Hickory chose a vacant booth where she could sit against the wall and observe. The place was almost full. Most were naurs crammed around wooden tables, eating from communal plates and drinking ale and wine. She spotted two Castalie pretenders sitting quietly near the exit.

  An elderly nauri sat beside an unlit open fireplace in the center of the room, playing a stringed instrument and singing a strangely haunting melody. Mirda had said such artistes were honored guests in local hostelries, reprising war songs dating from the times of the Erlachi and reputed to have been composed by
Connor-sѐra-Haagar to spur her troops into the final battle.

  Hickory signaled the nearest server. He brought her a steaming pot of freshwater eel and vegetable stew and poured some wine from an earthenware bottle that he left on the table. Hickory sipped cautiously. The drink was pleasant but strongly alcoholic, she suspected. She dipped some hard bread into the stew and put it in her mouth. Not bad, she thought, breaking up some of the chunks with her spoon. At least I can be sure it’s not yarrak.

  As she became more accustomed to the setting, Hickory relaxed and poured a second cup of wine. The tavern’s guests were enjoying their meal and conversing in a friendly fashion. She was feeling pleasantly mellow when a heated argument broke out at a table on the far side of the room. The naur incurring the wrath of his fellow diners was short in stature but sharp of tongue. He wore a dusty brown jacket with matching leggings and had the look of a recently arrived traveler from the country. His adversaries—four of them—each wore richly decorated coats beneath their outer cloaks, proclaiming them to be wealthy merchants.

  The biggest of the four drew a hunting knife from his belt, struck the table a thunderous blow and roared at the little fellow, “You do not belong here, Biletung! If you do not leave now, we will make sure your stay in Ezekan will be for all time.”

  A scornful grin spread over the traveler’s face. “It’ll take more than you to make sure of that.”

  The merchant jumped to his feet and aimed a fist at the smaller one’s head.

  The traveler swayed out of harm’s way, then overturned the table, scattering plates, food, and wine over his opponents.

  Nearby, patrons hurriedly abandoned their meals and clustered near the walls to watch the progress of the fight, cheering each move by the underdog.

  The merchants all drew knives. Cursing, they charged. The first ran into a straight-arm block. His knees buckled and he fell, hitting his head on the floor. His adversary took a step to the side and sent a second antagonist on his way with a chop to the back of his neck.

  Hickory raised her eyebrows. This unlikely warrior moved with the speed and agility born of years of practice.

  The remaining two opponents hesitated and decided on a more cautious approach. They moved apart and circled, hoping to attack from either side. One flew at him from behind and held him in a bear hug, pinning his arms to his sides. The other grinned and holstered his knife. He pummeled the naur’s unprotected stomach with both fists.

  Hickory rose to her feet, instinctively wanting to come to the aid of the little bloke. A tall, dark figure barred her way and shook his head. “Let Saurab have his fun. There’s no point in you getting hurt,” he said, sitting at her table.

  Hickory resumed her seat slowly, thankful for the stranger’s intercession. It would have been incredibly stupid to draw attention to herself by intervening in the fight. There was no need anyway.

  Saurab had already broken loose. Ducking under his opponent’s grasp, he twisted the naur’s arm behind him, placed his boot on his back and heaved him into the face of his companion. Both antagonists fell heavily against the table and sank to the ground. Saurab flourished a wicked-looking curved knife and advanced. The four naurs struggled to their feet and scrambled out the door.

  The landlord went over to Saurab and whispered something to him. The small naur laughed, and tossed a bag of coins to the elderly troubadour whose song he had interrupted. He replaced the weapon inside his jacket and walked over to where Hickory and her new acquaintance were seated. He pulled up a chair.

  “Who the hell are you two?” said Hickory. They were the oddest-looking naurs she had come across since arriving in Avanaux.

  “I’m Saurab. This one’s Jakah,” said the victorious fighter, jerking his thumb at his partner, “and I need a drink. Hope you don’t mind?” He poured a cup from Hickory’s flask and quaffed it, sighing with pleasure. “That’s better. Nothing like a good fight to give you a raging thirst.”

  Hickory peered closely at Saurab. He seemed like any other naur in the room, albeit a small one—except for the almost invisible circular shadow on his cheek. Her head jerked back, and she felt her skin tingle. Dark Suns! She fumbled for her knife.

  Saurab grinned and winked at her. “You won’t need that. You know who we are and we know you.”

  She kept her hand on the handle of her knife. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. What’s your business around here?”

  The one called Jakah showed a set of pearly white teeth and turned to his friend. “I told you she was a smart one.” He faced Hickory. “We came here to talk with you. We believe you can help us with a small problem we have.”

  Saurab poured himself another cup and said, “We’ve been following you since you left the IA residence, Commander Lace. Although we almost didn’t recognize you under your new getup.”

  Hickory relaxed her hold on the knife and postponed the obvious question to give herself time to think. Instead, she said, “Who were those four, then?”

  “My guess would be a Pharlaxian posse, sent to rough us up. They were too well dressed to be common thieves,” said Jakah.

  Hickory looked around the room, but nobody seemed to be paying them any heed. Brawls were likely a common enough occurrence in the hostel. She was worried, though. If the Pax had seen through the disguise of the Dark Suns, how safe was she? It was against the agreement between the Agency and the government for her to masquerade as an Avanauri citizen. “How did they recognize you—you look like local naurs to me,” she said.

  Saurab scowled. “I hope so. These disguises cost us a year’s profit. Somehow, they got the impression I was a heretic from the east trying to muscle into their operation. It might have been my accent, but my guess is they were tipped off by the competition—probably that mongrel, Nolanski.”

  Hickory was flummoxed. “Nolanski? Jeb Nolanski?”

  “The very same. That bastard’s been trying to get rid of us for months.”

  “Bullshit! The IA don’t go in for assassinations.”

  Saurab leaned over the table. His lips were white. “You know nothing, Earthling! We’ve been cramping his action. Nolanski’s been hoarding crynidium and selling it to the non-aligned planets—yes, the NAP—for months.”

  Hickory almost laughed. “I don’t believe you. Nolanski’s worked for the company for twenty years—more. He’s Agency through and through.” But despite her words, Hickory felt uneasy. She sensed the smuggler was telling her the truth.

  Jakah seemed less excitable than his partner. “All true, but he retires in a few weeks with a pension and no place to go.”

  “Why wouldn’t he retire on Earth?

  “Nolanski developed some unhealthy habits not long after he arrived here. He started frequenting the whore district in Harbor Town experimenting with cross-species sex. He met a nauri there—Kalichia—quite a beauty by Prosperine standards, I hear, but depraved. I believe they fell in love, as you humans call it. The rumor is they have spawned a child.”

  “That—that’s not possible!” said Hickory.

  Jakah lifted an eyebrow. “Impossible or not, it happened. They say the child is poorly and doesn’t have long to live, but Nolanski believes he can save it.”

  Hickory quickly put the pieces together. This was why Mirda-sѐr-Sidhartha had been so nervous when questioned about Nolanski being at Harbor Town the other day. “So he needs money to get his lover and their child away from Prosperine to somewhere they can find the right medical care for him?”

  Saurab’s savage laugh cut through her. “We wouldn’t be concerned about his extracurricular activities if he weren’t such a two-faced bastard. Ripping off the locals, and at the same time doing his best to put us away. He’s a bloody hypocrite.”

  His face was dark. Hickory thought he would be a dangerous person to have as an enemy.

  Jakah saw her concern and said, “Don’t worry about Saurab. It’s a personal thing. He and Nolanski were partners until Nolanski got greedy and decided he didn’
t want to share anymore. The Earthman double-crossed him. Led him into a trap with the Pharlaxians and left him for dead. Those four,” he said, nodding at the doorway, “came here to try and finish the job. They’ll be back with help soon enough.” He began to rise from his chair. “Best if they don’t see you talking with us.”

  Hickory’s mind was in a whirl. Nolanski and the Pax, together? The two Suns might be the best liars on Prosperine, but she would have detected some dissemblance. She held Saurab by the arm. “Wait—what can you tell me about Gareth Blanquette? Who killed him and why?”

  Saurab shook his head and removed her hand gently. “Don’t know, and it’s not our problem, Earthling. We’re going to have to leave now.”

  Jakah withdrew a folded sheet from inside his jacket and pushed it over the table to Hickory. “If you want to find out more about the Pax and perhaps your friend’s death, this might prove useful. We will meet again, Earth-girl. Watch out for Nolanski.”

  The smugglers left the room without looking back. Hickory glanced around to make sure she wasn’t being watched, then unfolded the document under the table. On it was written one sentence: Abacus Building, behind the Administration Center – 9.00 tonight.

  Pharlaxians

  Hickory stood on the balcony to her room, thinking about the conversation with the two Dark Suns. Nolanski’s attempts to incriminate them in Gareth’s death seemed transparent in retrospect. She felt some sympathy for the position the man was in, but she had to make sure he wasn’t involved in Gareth’s murder.

  She contacted Jess via her SIM and told her about the meeting with Saurab and Jakah and their claims concerning Nolanski. “I don’t know for sure that it’s true—only that they believe it is, but it adds to our suspicions that he’s up to something. Jakah wasn’t putting on an act either. He hates Nolanski.

  “Jess, nose around, see what you can flush out. There may be nothing to it but if there is—”