Blood Siren (Chronicles of the Orion Spur Book 1)

by Michael Formichelli

  “Until the last guest has left and we’ve done a security sweep. My men are stationed around your arcology, as out of sight as possible but where they can still do their jobs. The being running your Cyberweb security is Agent Khepria. She’s in the third tier gardens. She’ll alert you if we detect a cyber attack. If you need anything, contact me directly. Your home network has my address.”

  “Daedalus sent two Abyssians?” Cylus’ eyes widened. He couldn’t imagine Daedalus sending more than one of his special agents just to secure the party. Praetors were rarely seen in the galaxy at large, and even when they were it was always alone.

  Praetor Graves looked confused for a moment, then shook his head. “No, Agent Khepria is from the Confederate Space Authority, Cyber-Security and Forensics Division. She’s a Relaen, actually.”

  “Oh, alright. Thank you, Praetor Graves. Um, be sure to see me after you’re done.” He tried to smile through his nerves.

  Praetor Graves saluted, then turned and vanished into the crowd.

  Cylus wiped his palms down the red stripe of the robe he wore. He steeled his nerve and plunged into the crowd a moment later, hoping no one with the standing to stop him would notice him heading straight to his private apartments. He didn’t need his uncle or anyone else finding him again tonight. He’d done his duty, gone to the service, and talked to an Abyssian. He was done for the evening, no matter what etiquette demanded.

  Standing alone on the tallest balcony in the tallest tower of the arcology, Cylus could almost feel serenity. He adjusted the arcology’s aegis field to allow a percentage of the night air through. It was close to freezing at two-thousand meters above the surface. The chill was a good break from the heat that characterized the day and now pervaded his Grand Hall. It was just past midnight and the guests were still downstairs divesting themselves of their false sympathy by relieving him of his liquor stores.

  Before the capital was moved to Astarte on Venus, Remus was the center of the Tri-Terra Republic, the human-dominated sovereign member of the Confederation. The city was nestled among the slopes of mountain ranges, out of reach of the violent waves of the Venetian Sea that it overlooked. The city that gave the turbulent waters their name was said to still be there, on the sea floor, drowned in the human-made apocalypse centuries ago. He could hear the noise, a mix of voices, glass, and the arcology’s machinery reflected off of the mountains’ stony skin below him. It would be like this for hours more, but at least here he had some measure of the peace and solitude that was a comfort to him these last seven years.

  “I think I have you cornered,” Sable said from inside the solar.

  “I doubt it.” He rejoined his friend within the small circular chamber.

  Sable bent over an antique chessboard made of stone with real ceramic pieces instead of the plastics they used for everything in the modern age. It was a gift from Sable’s father to his stepmother over two decades ago when he was ten and Sable was barely a year old. She seldom used it, but taught Cylus to play before he left for college. He still loved the cool touch and heavy feel of the pieces in his hand.

  “You aren’t going to win that way,” Cylus said sitting down opposite his friend. He glanced at the card table they’d dragged over to hold the wine. The glasses were still half full.

  “Oh?”

  “You’re exposing your rook, brother.”

  “Yes, I am, aren’t I?” Sable made the question a statement. “Your move.”

  Cylus moved a pawn, then reached over and lifted his drink to his lips.

  “Thank you for getting me out of the gathering,” Sable said.

  “I detest these things. Soulless farces are the burden of our class. It was a pleasure to save you from it.”

  Sable leaned back, letting his dark eyes drift from the board to the starry sky beyond the French doors leading to the balcony. He tapped his hand against the edge of the board.

  “What’s been happening in the Barony since I’ve been gone?” Cylus asked.

  “Baron Revenant’s motion you mean?” Sable met his friend’s eyes.

  He nodded.

  “He’s trying to increase funding for the Star Corps. Whether this is to increase his own wealth when they order more starships or for some other end, we don’t know. It’s a significant increase.”

  “How significant?”

  “It’ll drain what’s left of the treasury. The central government will have to increase the deficit to the point where the economy will be on the verge of collapse.”

  “Who benefits, other than Baron Revenant?” Cylus moved a pawn.

  “We do. Most members of the Barony with businesses in the war, but of course Revenant and my father profit most directly.” Sable moved his bishop and removed Cylus’ knight from the board.

  “Good move,” Cylus said. He moved his queen. “Check.”

  “This move is a gift,” Sable said, and positioned a pawn to block.

  Cylus frowned at the board. “Why would your father oppose something he profits by?”

  “I think the profit to my father is unintended, something Zalor couldn’t help because they are both in the war-machine business. He probably thinks it’s funny my father has to oppose something he’d stand so much to gain from. My mother is going off like a solar flare about it. My father and Aunt Hephestia are opposing the motion but I doubt they’ll get much support. The war is a strong rallying point for both the people and the Barony. Baron Revenant has wrapped his motion up in patriotic fanfare. It’s being presented as the bill that will win the war. The only reason anyone is opposing it is because of my father’s careful political maneuvering.”

  “What gift?” He was unable to see what Sable was talking about on the board.

  Sable gave him a blank stare.

  He moved his queen. “Check again.”

  “You’re letting yourself get distracted brother,” Sable said.

  “In the game, or in business?” Cylus met his eyes.

  “Regardless, I am glad that you have come out of your shell. The beginning of the war was hard on all of us, but it landed hardest on you. We can use your support in the Barony now that you’re back.”

  “I’m not intending to head to the Confederate capital after all of this. I was of the mind to return to Anilon.”

  “We could really use your assistance. You can return home after the vote,” Sable said.

  “When is it?” He studied the board a second time.

  “The hundredth of next year. It’s scheduled to allow us enough time to get to Kosfanter. It takes nearly a third of an Earth year to get back. If we leave in a few days, we could make it,” Sable said.

  Cylus frowned.

  There was a knock at the door. Both men looked over and saw two shadowy forms through the stained glass doors. One was much taller than the other.

  “Expecting someone?” Sable asked.

  “No.”

  The smaller form raised its arm to the glass and knocked again.

  A chill ran down his back. “You don’t suppose that’s Baron—”

  The knock again.

  “He’s not going away,” Sable said.

  “Enter,” he said.

  The glass doors slid smoothly into their niches in the floor and ceiling, leaving the creature, Qismat, standing like a black-and-white-striped girl-monkey in front of its master. Zalor had changed his clothes since the memorial. He now wore a white suit cinched at the waist by a long sash with a rainbow sheen-like a pearl. Pinned to each of his lapels, a silver comet—the symbol of the Cosmos Corporation—sparkled in the soft light of the solar. They shone almost as brightly as the bleach-toothed smile on his raptor-like face.

  “Sorry to interrupt, Baron Keltan, Heir Mitsugawa, but I intend to depart soon and did not want to leave without saying goodbye. I thank you for a lovely party.”

  Cylus shivered. “Goodbye.”

  Baron Revenant’s smile deepened. “I talk too much like I’m addressing the Barony, don’t I? May I join yo
u two?”

  Cylus glanced at the Baron’s creature. It winked a purple eye at him and licked its lips with a black tongue.

  “Ugh,” Cylus said.

  “Wait outside, Qismat.” Baron Revenant moved into the room, dragging a chair behind him from the writing desk by the door.

  His creature made a hissing sound and walked stiffly into the short corridor outside.

  “She can be quite unnerving, can’t she?” Baron Revenant spoke like a proud father. It brought a stinging metallic taste to the back of Cylus’ throat.

  The glass doors shut out the distasteful vision of the creature in the hall.

  Baron Revenant planted the chair exactly perpendicular to Cylus and Sable’s own. “May I?”

  Cylus nodded.

  The baron sat down with a flourish of his sash. “I really don’t know where to begin. I’m sure the last seven years have been very difficult for you. I lost my parents when I was young. My father collapsed before my eyes so suddenly—I remember watching him fall like a tree. I was too in shock to hear him hit the ground. It is an awful thing to lose a parent, let alone two, but we have to move forward, not in spite of it, but because of it.”

  Cylus’ jaw clenched. “Didn’t you exile your own mother? What’s your point?”

  “I know that in your mind, I deserve your hostility. I can accept that. I’m sorry you feel that way, Baron Keltan. I hope to change your mind.” Baron Revenant’s voice never faltered, and not even his eyes acknowledged Cylus’ accusation.

  Sable folded his arms across his chest and snorted. Cylus wished he could be as cool. Having this creature, this murderer, in his solar made him want to bash the bastard’s head in with the chess table or leap off the balcony to get away—or both. He wasn’t sure. The emotions surged within him like a magma spout. If Baron Revenant stayed even a moment more, he was going to erupt.

  “I hope you can see who your friends are sometime soon. My door is always open to you Baron Keltan, for whatever reason you see fit to knock on it.”

  “Is that all?” Cylus snapped. He wiped his sweating hands on his robe beneath the table, hoping the gesture wasn’t too obvious. Someone had to do something about this arrogant bastard.

  Baron Revenant rose and inclined his head. “Enjoy your evening, gentlemen.”

  “I’ll see you at the Barony,” Cylus said. It was out of his mouth before he could stop it.

  Baron Revenant didn’t miss a step. He paused only to allow the glass doors to slide out of his way, then turned to Cylus, putting his hand on top of his creature’s head. “Checkmate in two. I’ll see you there, Cylus.”

  The glass doors slid shut.

  “So you’ve decided to come?” Sable said when the sound of Baron Revenant’s retreat was a memory.

  “I think he goaded me into it,” Cylus responded.

  “I’m glad, and my sister will be too. Speaking of which, she would love to see you tonight at our arcology.”

  He nodded. “Her company will be appreciated. Whose move is it?”

  Sable studied the board. “By the Will, the bastard is right.”

  “Mate in two? I don’t see it.” He trembled.

  “It’s there. I have to get back downstairs before my mother misses me.” Sable rose to his feet and bowed quickly to Cylus.

  “Safe travels, brother.” He drained his glass.

  “There you are.” Praetor Graves entered the Solar.

  Cylus raised his hand from the floor but continued to stare at the shifting patterns on the apex of the ceiling where the sharply curving arches met. They did a pretty dance in his blurred vision. He would have to remember it and have one of the arcology’s artificials put in some kind of hologram to continue the show after he sobered.

  “You’ve had a bit to drink, haven’t you, Baron Keltan?” Nero said. His voice was sharp enough to grind through the fuzziness in Cylus’ hearing.

  “Yes indeed, Praetor Graves.”

  “Your guests have gone. Baron, your house is secure.”

  “If only it were true,” he said.

  “Sir?”

  “Never mind.” He used his arms to lever himself up to a seated position. It took two attempts to get his head not to flop backward.

  After Sable left he decided that it was a shame to waste good wine, especially when his nerves were shot from his meeting with Baron Zalor-Murderer, so he finished the bottle. Unfortunately, he was a weak drunk and he still needed to get to Sophiathena or he was in trouble. She could be quite a handful to deal with when crossed.

  “Praetor Graves?”

  “I am at your disposal, Baron.” Nero looked serious.

  “Take me to the Cronus arcology,” Cylus said.

  Praetor Graves pulled him to his feet with about as much effort as Cylus used to lift a chess piece. “Of course, Baron. Lean on me, it’s a ways to the landing pad.”

  Chapter Three

  Cronus Arcology, Sol-III

  40:8:37 CST (J2400:2917)

  The pointed architecture of the Keltan clan differed greatly from the bubble-like buildings of the Cronus’. Nero had the feeling that it meant something about the personality of their Houses but was at a loss to figure out what that could be. Each baron had their own arcology, and each arcology had its own style distinct from the others. No two were alike, which was an impressive feat considering how large each one was. They were floating cities with their own industries, populations, and economies humming away kilometers above the Earth.

  Your thoughts are almost poetic. I’m surprised, and that’s saying something considering how long I’ve been here, Prospero projected into Nero’s mind.

  Nero sighed. Prospero had become more and more of an obnoxious burden in the years since Savorcha. Nero’s authority was above even that of the CSA, yet this parasitic network of artificial neurons implanted in his brain belittled him at every opportunity without cause. It was shocking how the Order cursed its operatives to have these obnoxious artificial intelligences—

  Hold it right there, Nero. I know you don’t think much of me but I happen to know for a fact that other agents are quite capable of getting along with their Symbiotic Cerebral Computers. We serve a necessary function, Nero, and we are not in your collective heads just to pester and annoy you.

  “And yet that is what you excel at the most,” Nero said. He idly studied the lay of intersecting domes below the landing pad.

  You didn’t say that on Cyronis Prime when I hacked the security code on the door for you, nor did you think me such an annoyance back on Savorcha when—

  “Savorcha? Why bring that up? It was more than—how many years ago now?”

  Absolute chronology, or subjective?

  “You’re being annoying again,” Nero brushed frost from the lapels of his coat and turned from the edge of the pad to walk towards his black air-car. It was a sleek two-seater model with a long, flat nose and four jet thrusters positioned at key locations about its body. It’s external lights spilled a dim pool around its bent-wing design. The pulsing beacons outlining the landing platform were the only sources of illumination in the pre-dawn darkness.

  Absolute chronology, it’s been ten years, two-hundred thirty-seven days, six-hours, twenty-two minutes, fourteen seconds from—mark. By your subjective way of calculating time, it’s been eight years, two-hundred thirty-five days, and change, as you say.

  “Eight years?”

  You always forget to account for time dilation accrued during star travel. In the last ten years, you have seen seven transfers of duty station, each requiring—

  “Forget it. Why are you bringing up Savorcha?”

  You are thinking about Savorcha, ergo, I am devoting 6% of my thought capacity to the Savorchan Conflict and your role in it.

  “No, I wasn’t. I was thinking about the architecture of this arcology.” Nero placed his hands on his stomach beneath his coat, welcoming the warmer air trapped there.

  We both know that your organic brain has had thoughts of Sa
vorcha rising in your subconscious since you left in 35. More specifically, you have had approximately six-hundred fifty-three nightmares about the deaths of those in your charge during the conflict. Those surrounding the extraction of the doctor and his family occupy seventy percent of those night-terrors.

  “I don’t want to know how you know that, and I don’t want you to bring it up again.” Nero’s breath formed a mist around his mouth in the chill air. Though the Cronus’ arcology had an aegis field like that on Baron Keltan’s, they had no gardens to protect outside of the buildings and did not tune it to keep out the thin cold air of high altitudes. It was bad enough here, over the Alps, that it burned his skin.

  He looked upward towards a domed tower that rose above the rest. A single light shone from beneath its dome, just as it had from the ancient temple on Savorcha; a planet very close to Nero’s definition of hell. Yet, life had grown and evolved into forms that Nero had been sent to protect. It was a charge he had not been entirely successful in executing, despite what Star Corps and even Daedalus said. He’d lost people, and that was failure.

  Oh not this again, when are you going to get over this?

  Nero shook his head. He probably never would. The only thing he could do was believe that what he did mattered, that what he was created to protect had a vein of good in it, something to justify all he did and all he failed to do. From the research he’d done before the Keltan assignment, it seemed he may have finally found that moral vein.

  The Cronuses and their allies, like the Keltans and the Mitsugawas, were rumored to be different from the others of their class. Despite being Barons themselves, they were members of the Democratic Labor Party and champions for its cause. They had a lot of popular support because they advocated for worker’s rights in developed worlds and for colonist safety on the frontier. Nero wondered how much of their image was just good press and how much was actually deserved. If they were the real thing, then they were one of the few sources of benevolence in a vast field of self-serving elitists.