CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Five Years Back
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Now
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Enjoy this book? You can change the world!
About the Author
Glossary
Acknowledgements
EXCERPT: TYCHE'S CHOSEN
The End of War
TYCHE'S FIRST
Richard Parry
TYCHE'S FIRST copyright © 2018 Richard Parry.
Cover design copyright © 2018 Mondegreen.
All rights reserved.
ISBN-13: 978-0-9951090-0-1
First edition.
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While we’re here, what you’re holding is a work of fiction created by a professional liar. It is not done in an edgy documentary style with recovered footage. Pretty much everything in here was made up by the author so you could enjoy a story about the world being saved through action scenes and witty dialog. No people were used as templates, serial numbers filed off for anonymity: let’s be honest, October Kohl couldn’t be based on anyone real. Any resemblance to humans you know (alive) or have known (dead) is coincidental.
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For Dawn, and your endless gifts of ideas.
FIVE YEARS BACK
NATE HAD FOUR hours before his arm, leg, and Emperor were lost to him. “Dom? You can’t do this.”
“I dunno, Nate,” said Dominic Fergelic, Emperor of all humanity. “I’m pretty sure the job title means I can do what I want.” He wasn’t an asshole about it, a slight smile playing at his lips. He’d never been an asshole about it as far back as Nate remembered.
They were in the Morning Room, ceiling high above their heads, sunlight playing hide and seek with the antiques arrayed on plinths around them. Everything here was rustic, not a console or holo in sight. The Emperor had people for that kind of thing. The Emperor took his breakfast in here as a general rule. Breakfast had been interrupted today. Dom wasn’t looking at the stain on the lush pile carpet, or the charred outline that — if you squinted — might have looked like a person’s shadow against the wall.
The Emperor stood before the vaulted windows overlooking the palace gardens. Out those windows, herons walked in picturesque lakes, long beaks investigating cooler waters at their feet. Manicured hedges dotted the view. Several of the palace staff were outside, walking, talking, or generally avoiding work they should be doing, the white of their clothing bright in the sun.
Nate didn’t call any of that picturesque. It looked like a damn fine place to hide a couple of snipers. The windows were armored, sure, but since the promotion to head the palace guard, his black collar felt just a little tighter, a noose made of stress and politics. Nate tossed a hopeful look at Yvette Gutierrez, Dom’s assistant. She stood by the tall windows, arms crossed. Yvette raised an eyebrow, saying nothing. Well, it’s not like she’s on your side. Aside from the three of them, there were two of Dom’s elite — the Emperor’s Black — guarding the door. One was a tall, lean man, the other a shorter, lean woman. Both capable, trustworthy. No one commented on the lingering smell of barbecue on the air. You can be a bit more free with your language. Nate sighed, resting a hand on the butt of his blaster. “Of course, your worship.” Dom hated being called your worship.
The Emperor’s lips twitched. “Let’s not get personal, hey? Nate—”
“I mean, hell, Dom, it’s not like there was an assassin right there,” and he stabbed a finger at the stained carpet, “ten minutes ago.” Nate sometimes wished Dom was at least two percent of an asshole. It’d make arguing with him more satisfying. Despite the low asshole quotient, Dom wasn’t giving a millimeter. Still, a man had to try. They were talking about the life of the Emperor of all humanity, after all.
“That’s why I need my Intelligencers on this one, Nate,” said Dom. “They can read minds. Change minds.”
“Kind of what I’m worried about,” said Nate. “You ever figure they’re changing your mind?”
“Me?” said Dom. He ran a hand down the dress jacket he wore. Black, some fake medals peppered on his chest. He must have a meeting with some ass-world envoy later. “Why would they do that?”
“Usual reasons,” said Nate. “Power. Influence.”
“They already have all they could want,” said Dom.
Nate teetered his hand side to side in the air. “Eh.”
“You don’t agree?” Yvette had finally joined the conversation. Nate wasn’t sure which way this was going to go, but to hell in a hand basket was likely. She’d been against him becoming Captain Chevell. Like the argument Nate was losing against the Emperor right now, she’d lost that one. Dom tended to get his way. Maybe it was the whole Emperor shtick?
“No,” said Nate. He flashed her a smile, showing lots of teeth. “Thanks for your support, though.”
“Captain Chevell, my interests align to the Emperor’s, not yours.” Yvette drew in a breath like she was winding up for something important. “Because—”
“Great,” said Nate, turning to Dom. “The thing is, they don’t have everything. They’re servants, Dom. Mind-reading, mind-controlling servants.”
Yvette rallied. “They sit at the highest table.”
“Still one seat higher,” said Nate.
“Why is it that you don’t covet the Emperor’s chair?” said Yvette. “You head his Black. What makes Nathan Chevell so different from the Intelligencers? We are all servants.”
Silence sat in the room like an extra person. Dom, waiting. Yvette, the smell of triumph about her. Nate, hand still on his blaster. He sighed. “I get it,” he said. “You’ve still got that new starship smell.” Nate held up a hand, forestalling her objections. “Yvette? I don’t want Dom’s job. It’s a shitty job. It’s a hard job. I don’t even want my job, because this guy,” and he jerked a thumb at Dom, “won’t let me do it properly.”
Dom walked away from the windows to stand by the carpet stain. He looked at the burnt patch of wall. “Nate? We’re at war. There is a Resistance trying to topple the throne. They send assassins into my palace. Yes, you shot this one. But you didn’t know he was here, Nate. If you could read minds, you’d have known. If you could change minds, you could have turned him. Uncovered the plot. As it is, all we’ve got is the smell of burning hair and a bill for new carpet. It smells like someone barbecued a dog.”
“Plasma will do that to a guy.” Nate sighed. “I’ve got your back, Dom. I can do this.”
“You can’t, though, Captain,” said Yvette. She held a hand out, palm up, toward the stained carpet. “Yes, you shot an assassin. But the real prize is making sure there are no assassins in the room to start with.”
“Don’t worry. You’re not obsolete.” Dom walked to Nate, clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Someone who’s got my back will never go out of style.”
Obsolete. That was an uncomfortable word. Nate looked Dom in the eye. One last try, Chevell. “Annemarie wouldn’t let you do this.”
“Annemarie’s not here,” said Dom, something dark passing over his expression for a moment. “She’s out there,” and here, Dom waved a hand at the ceili
ng, behind which sat the sky, and above that, the hard black. “She’s fighting a war in space, Nate. The Resistance is getting stronger. They’ve got destroyers now.”
“That’s a bunch of attitude I hadn’t expected,” said Nate. “Still. Ten years, Dom. She’s been out in the hard black ten years. Of the brother-sister power combo, she’s the smart one.” Nate tugged one of his ears. “Actually, I think she got the looks too. Maybe you should ask her home.”
Dom laughed. “Maybe I should. I wish…” his voice trailed off.
“Dom?” said Nate. “What is it?”
“Nothing, Nate,” said Dom. He nodded, as if that settled it, and turned away. Dom looked out the window again. “Enjoy the party. This time you’re not on duty. Drink wine. Dance. Live a little. Be a nice change, right?”
“Okay,” said Nate. He clapped a fist to his chest in salute, nodded to Yvette, and left. The two Emperor’s Black in the room detached themselves from beside the door, drifting in his wake.
• • •
“Motherfucker,” said Nate, with some feeling. He was walking fast through the palace corridors lined with cool marble, servants and lackeys scurrying out from underfoot. Preparing for a party of this size took some work, but when the Captain of the Emperor’s Black looked to be in a hurry, you did not waylay him.
“That didn’t go how I expected,” said Julie Roper, hurrying to keep up. Her black uniform covered a hard, tight frame with no wasted mass. She couldn’t help it if her legs were a little shorter than Nate’s. “The Emperor doesn’t see the threat.”
“Emperor thinks he’s got himself a new team,” said Ethan Boye. Boye’s lope kept pace with Nate’s steps no problem. Hell, Boye made it look easy, but he’d grown up on 0.9G, which helped his height some. “I think he’s—”
Nate turned, hand up. “Might want to think about the things you’re about to say.” Nate tipped his head toward a passing servant, harried expression heavier than the tray of drinks she carried. “Ears everywhere.”
“You’ve got a plan, then,” said Boye.
“Cap always has a plan,” said Julie. Her eyes narrowed at another passing courtier. “You got some kind of fucking problem, buddy?” The courtier shook his head, hurrying on. “I tell you, this palace is full of assholes.”
“That because you’re here?” said Boye.
“Yes, I’ve got a plan,” said Nate, slipping himself back into the conversation, hopefully like he’d never left.
“You’re going anyway,” said Boye.
“We, Boye. We are going anyway. Hell, we’ve got an invite to the party regardless. We’re going to make sure those mind-sucking assholes don’t get one over on the boss.” He looked from Boye to Julie. “I can’t ask you to do this. Emperor was very specific. Stand down. Don’t do shit. Enjoy the party. Could be seen as treason, taken in the light of a particular star.”
“Seems to me,” said Julie, choosing her words like they were chocolates on a tray, “that ‘enjoying the party’ isn’t at odds with ‘executing traitors to the throne.’”
Nate flashed her a grin. “Thanks, Jules.” He looked at Boye. “Ethan?”
“You don’t even need to ask,” he said. “I figure we need one more, though.”
“Not Filipe,” said Julie. “Jesus Christ. You still got that pool going on kills?”
“Rebels don’t kill themselves,” said Boye. “It’s not fair if Filipe doesn’t get a shot. I’m going to win anyway, but I’d feel worse about it if we weren’t playing a straight game.”
“Get him on the comm,” said Nate.
“Where are you going?” said Julie.
“We might need a vehicle to get Dom out,” said Nate. “I figure I’ll do some shopping while you two go pick out some nice party finery.”
• • •
The hangar was huge, everything from small air cars to enormous troop carriers under the high, curving roof. Men and women moved across the space with efficient purpose. Most craft were ready to go, but a few were being refitted, drive cowls strewn about like old confetti. Just because there was a party didn’t mean the war stopped. Ships didn’t maintain themselves. There were another fifteen bays like it on the palace outskirts, but this particular one had the thing Nate wanted.
Something inside Nate chafed, and it wasn’t just his pride. The Intelligencers were calling the shots, not the Emperor’s Black. Sure, that might sound like pride, but it was also practicality talking. Intelligencers had come out of nowhere. Untested. Unproven. A bunch of kids wearing capes and taking on airs. The Black? They’d been looking after Emperors since well before little Nathan Chevell had been a mote in anyone’s eye.
Speaking of those same Intelligencers, Nate was ignoring his comm, which was telling him to do all manner of things with his team. Dom had told him to enjoy the party, after all, and answering to an Intelligencer wasn’t an enjoyable time for anyone.
Nate had found the unique thing this hangar held: the quartermaster. The man eyeballed Nate. “You want to take one of my APCs?”
“Sure do,” agreed Nate, leaning against the quartermaster’s counter. He ignored the quartermaster’s frown. “Thing is, I feel like going fishing.”
“In an APC?”
“In an APC,” said Nate.
“Any particular fish?” said the quartermaster. He had a rich, thick mustache, and he stroked it with meaty fingers. “Seems excessive. Even for you, Chevell.”
“I dunno. Sharks, maybe. Mind reading sharks.”
“Dangerous game,” suggested the quartermaster.
“It’s why I need an APC,” said Nate.
A moment of quiet sat between them. “You’re here because of that little ruckus on Europa,” said the quartermaster.
“I am,” said Nate. “It’s important to have friends.”
“My fool son,” said the quartermaster. “It was—”
Nate held up a hand. “That problem’s ancient history. We’ve got a new one. The new problem is that I might need to bust the Emperor out of his own palace. I need an APC. And there’s only one quartermaster in this whole palace who shares my views.”
“Take number one-twelve,” said the quartermaster. “Fueled and ready to fly.”
CHAPTER ONE
BACK IN HIS room, noise of the palace hidden behind the wood veneer of the door, Nate considered the package on his desk. Thin, like it might hold a selection of fine candies. But long, like it would be the largest selection tray the universe had ever seen. There was a card tucked under a ribbon. The wrapping paper was black. The ribbon was red. It looked like a box of death, but that might have been Nate’s paranoia playing up. Taking the captaincy had turned the dial on that particular reactor right past eleven. But was it really paranoia?
The door had been locked. Sealed tight. Tamper electronics were still in functioning order. As near as Nate could tell, the only way this box could be here was if a ghost had delivered it. And even then, a ghost would have to get a physical object through a sealed door. The alternative was that the palace’s security systems were compromised, and that was a mighty uncomfortable thought for the head of palace security to have on the eve of a party with about a million guests.
Nate passed a hand over the panel controlling the room’s shutters, letting some of Sol’s golden sunlight in. Today was turning into a weird day. Dom handing security over to a bunch of mind readers didn’t sit well with Nate. He didn’t trust Intelligencers. He didn’t much like ‘em either, but that wasn’t the problem. Plenty of people in the universe Nate didn’t like. No, the problem was the Intelligencers he’d met were the definition of arrogance. They walked like they owned the Earth itself. A person who felt they were owed? They often reached out and took. It was worrisome.
And with a bunch of worrisome people walking around the palace, a mysterious package arriving on Nate’s desk was a concern. What’s fucking with you, Chevell, is that even with mind readers here, an assassin still managed to get whisker-close to the boss. Nate had t
o admit: mind readers on your team might have belayed that situation. Dom was Nate’s Emperor, but he’d been his friend long before that. Nate’s rulebook was short, but in there was a special note: do not let people kill your friends.
Fuck it. Nate pulled the card out from under the ribbon, flipping it open. Dom’s neat handwriting was on display:
Nate —
I had this made for you. Don’t lose it, or all our dreams will be ash.
Try to enjoy the party.
— Dom.
Well, that was weird. Dom didn’t usually sneak into Nate’s room, bypassing all the security in the universe, to leave him a huge box of chocolates. Dom also wasn’t big on maudlin displays like the card, as a general rule. It suggested that either this wasn’t Dom, or that Dom didn’t want to be found and had a bunch of shit on his mind he wasn’t telling Nate about.
Of course, it could be a bomb, but that didn’t hold a lot of water. Nate wasn’t in charge of security anymore, and if he was, having the bomb go off when Nate entered the room would be more effective. Nate sighed, slipped the ribbon off the box, and flipped the lid open.
Inside was a sword, nestled beside a scabbard. Not like Nate’s ceremonial saber: this one’s blade was pure black. It had a straight edge, the hilt inlaid in gold, a motif like circuitry. He leaned closer. The damn edge of the thing was black. Black metal, right to the core, and Nate had seen nothing like it in his life. He lifted it clear of the case, marveling at the lightness of the weapon. Nate gave it a flourish. Perfectly balanced. A gift fit for a prince. Well, okay then. I guess Dom doesn’t want hard feelings. Nate pulled the scabbard out; it was similar to the types the Black wore, designed to be slung across the back.
Okay, Chevell. You’ve got yourself a new sword and a party to go to. Best get that dress uniform on.
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