Graveyard of Empires

by Lincoln Cole

  “No one likes to kill.”

  “Bullshit,” Eddie said. “A lot of people like to kill. A lot more would if they ever got the chance.”

  “I disagree.”

  Eddie shrugged. “Even if you do, will you risk me being right? If you’re wrong, we get fat and lazy. If I’m wrong, a lot of people will die.”

  “We’re disciplined to not start killing people,” Abdullah replied, “just because we can.”

  “True. But keep in mind that the human race is notorious for self-deception and denial. We would never go to war just because we can. Yet, if we want to start a war, we will look for any reason possible to justify it. If we prepare for war, we’ll find one.”

  “What if one finds us?” Abdullah asked. They turned another bend in the hallway and ducked into a stairwell. There was an elevator going down, but it was closed for repairs. It had been out of commission for the last three years. “What do we do then if we aren’t prepared?”

  “War with whom?”

  “The Union,” Abdullah said.

  Eddie laughed. “Not going to happen.”

  “Why not?” Abdullah asked.

  “They aren’t a threat.”

  “They could become one.”

  “Not a chance,” Eddie replied. “Darius doesn’t want open war. He wants what every good dictator wants: money and respect. Let him be King of the misfit planets for all I care. He isn’t a threat to us.”

  “That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be prepared in case he attacks,” Abdullah argued. “He might.”

  Eddie shrugged. “Then we’ll deal with that when it happens.”

  They headed up a flight of stairs off the main roadway. Six flights of stairs left Abdullah winded and starving. Once they reached the floor of deck two they stepped into one of the agricultural centers.

  Machines whirred all around them, lifting and raising acre-sized platforms of dirt with various fruits and vegetables growing in them. The air smelled faintly of manure and pesticides and was quite warm. There was a constantly rotating system, fully automated. It stacked the pallets either in shadow or under powerful lamps that simulated sunlight from twelve different ideal suns, depending on the plant type. The cavernous chamber was half a kilometer wide and twice as long, spanning the length of the ship.

  Other than the plants and machines, though, the room was empty. The domed ceiling and curved walls stretched up and around them like a cocoon, reminding Abdullah of the domes down on Axis. The ceiling even had the faint appearance of a sky above them. Though, unlike the domes on Axis, Abdullah could tell that this was all fake.

  “This place gives me the creeps,” Eddie said, echoing Abdullah’s thoughts. He rubbed more sweat from his forehead and started walking faster. Eddie lengthened his stride a bit to keep up.

  “Especially when it’s empty like this,” Abdullah agree.

  “Definitely.”

  “It sounds irrational, but…”

  “You don’t have to tell me,” Eddie said. “Any robotic machine that can lift several tons of dirt this easily can’t be trusted.”

  Abdullah chuckled. They were about halfway across the floor when Eddie suddenly stopped. Abdullah went a few more steps and then glanced back curiously.

  “Sweet onions,” Eddie explained, wide-eyed. Abdullah cocked his head to the side confused. “We never get those.”

  “Yeah, so?”

  Eddie pointed off to the left. One of the enormous pallets sitting out in the open was full of short green stems sticking out of the soft dirt. “There are thousands of them.”

  “Thousands of crew, too,” Abdullah said.

  Eddie made a beeline toward the pallet. “They won’t miss a couple.”

  “What if there’s an alarm?”

  “Then I guess,” Eddie said, kneeling down and grinning wolfishly, “that you’d better get ready to run.”

  He grabbed a few of the stems and gave them a quick yank, ripping three sweet onions out of the dirt.

  Abdullah couldn’t help himself: he cringed. He expected a high pitched alarm to blare overhead, bringing guards running to defend the crops.

  But nothing happened. It was quiet. Eddie dusted the onions off on his gray shirt and stepped back. He cocked his head to the side and looked around curiously. “Do you hear that?”

  Abdullah cocked his head. “I don’t hear anything.”

  Eddie peeled the wrapper on one of the onions and took a big bite out of the center. It crunched. “Exactly. No alarms.”

  He tossed one to Abdullah, who caught it deftly, frowning. “This is stealing.”

  “It’s only stealing if we get caught.”

  “No. it’s still stealing even if—”

  “Oh would you lighten up, Abdullah,” Eddie said, a faint red tinge coloring his cheeks with anger. “Sometimes you should just shut your mouth and eat the damn onion.”

  Abdullah hefted the onion in his hand and finished wiping off the exterior. Eddie took off again, munching on his onion and heading down the aisle. Abdullah had to admit, it looked good. They were ripe, fresh and juicy, and he loved onions. And, they were one of those treats that enlisted soldiers only occasionally received. The best vegetables were reserved for the tables of higher ranking men and women.

  And Eddie was right: they would never notice a few missing.

  With a sigh laden with regret, Abdullah carefully reburied his onion in the pliable dirt and hurried to catch up with his friend.

  2

  Abdullah scooped some more of the spaghetti into his mouth, wishing for some cumin. Or paprika. Or hell, just about anything that would give the lifeless paste some flavor.

  “That’s the worst part of being on this ship,” Abdullah said, holding up his fork with some noodles twirled on it. Eddie was leaning over his own plate, shoveling food—that would immediately burn back out with his high metabolism, the bastard—into his mouth. He paused and glanced up, waiting for Abdullah to finish. “If food isn’t bland and unexciting, they won’t serve it to us.”

  “You kidding? This stuff is great. It’s just like my old nanny used to make.”

  “I thought you said your nanny couldn’t cook.”

  “Exactly,” Eddie said. “Tastes like home.”

  Abdullah chuckled and pushed his plate away. That was the other thing about the military. They gave him about two thousand calories more than he needed with every meal.

  “My mom cooked once,” Eddie said thoughtfully. “It was one of the six occasions in my life I even saw her. You know: when she wasn’t away on a business trip.”

  “Oh? What did she cook?”

  “Some fish with lemon seasoning. It was actually really good. I let my sisters have the leftovers to be nice. One of my biggest regrets.”

  “You’re such a saint.”

  “Hey, this was back when I thought my mom loved us. I never knew it would be the only meal we got from her,” Eddie said. He slid his plate away and let out a long burp. “What about you? Your mom, did she ever cook?”

  “All the time. But you would have hated it.”

  “Why is that?”

  “It was only on the rarest of occasions that she mixed food in with her peppers,” he said. Eddie laughed.

  “Yeah, you’re probably right. I don’t handle spicy food very well.”

  “After a while,” Abdullah said, “you can’t taste the spice anymore. Or the flavor. Then the only way to enjoy food is to spice it even more. It’s like a drug.”

  “One day you wake up with curry on your face and two days missing from your life and you think, ‘was it all worth it?’” Eddie said with a laugh. He leaned back and yawned. “Holy crap that spaghetti was heavy. I think I need a nap to digest.”

  “Lazy.”

  “I’m going to go sleep the rest of the day away.”

  “All right,” Abdullah said, standing up and carrying his tray toward the trash can. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

  Eddie nodded. Abdullah headed back o
ut into the hall, then after a few quick turns ended up back in the Central Walkway. It was still early in the afternoon, which meant he had the whole day ahead of him, but nothing to do.

  He considered heading for the Belly of the Beast. He had some money he could spend. He knew he shouldn’t—he was a habitual saver, putting all of his money into accounts for when he retired. It might have been a bad choice to join the military, but he was going to be damned if he got nothing out of it. Yet, even then, spending a few credits here and there couldn’t hurt.

  In the end, though, he decided it wasn’t worth it. He wasn’t big on socializing in bars, preferring to spend his leisure time on side-projects or studying. He had some books he liked to read: non-fiction historical textbooks, mostly. Fictional stories were about as useful as video games.

  He was about halfway down the CW to his quarters when he heard a buzzing sound. He scanned in both directions. The hall was empty of passengers, and it took him a moment to spot the noise. A little gray robot hovering about four feet off the ground was making its slow way down the hall. Abdullah moved to the side to let it pass.

  It didn’t, though. It stopped and hovered in front of him, rotating. He heard a clicking sound, reminding him vaguely of the sound chickadees make in large groups. Abdullah frowned and tapped his ear, turning on the translation device in his ear. It didn’t work very well, being one of the cheapest models.

  “…your data pad,” the device translated.

  “I’m sorry,” he said to the robot. “Can you repeat your message?”

  “Yes, of course,” the robot said, this time using a voice modulator. The robot’s voice sounded like a young woman, clean and crisp pronunciation with no noticeable accents. “I am here to deliver your invitation to the Pass of Command ceremony, which will happen two days hence. It is contained here upon your data pad.”

  Abdullah frowned. “You must have the wrong person. I am Abdullah Al Hakir.”

  “I’m quite aware, sir,” the robot said.

  “Then maybe there has been some mistake. I shouldn’t be getting an invitation.”

  “Nevertheless,” the robot said. An envelope-shaped object slid out of a thing opening along the side of the robot. “Please, take the device.”

  Abdullah grabbed the thin device and pulled gently. It slid out of the robot. It was a data pad, one of the most expensive models. It would be several months of paychecks at Abdullah’s rate.

  “This is some kind of…” he said, but when he glanced back up, the robot was gone.

  He sighed and swiped a finger across the glossy screen. It shot to life, illuminating the invitation. The robot was correct: it was to the Pass of Command ceremony, and it was for him.

  Maybe it was a prank. He thought for a few seconds, but couldn’t imagine anyone playing a prank like this. It would be dangerous if they got caught and at the very least expensive. The high ranking officers would certainly not consider it funny.

  But if it wasn’t a prank, and it wasn’t a mistake, then what was going on? He was about as low ranking as the officer pool went. He shouldn’t be getting an invitation like this.

  He could worry about it later. He slid the invitation in his pocket and continued trekking down the hall.

  Chapter 7

  Sector 1 – Axis

  Captain Kristi Grove

  1

  Kristi Grove adjusted the rigid fabric against her hip with a growl. Won’t this elevator move any faster? She picked at one of the blue straps digging into her skin, deciding that as soon as this wretched party was over she would burn it.

  Jamar, her assistant, had insisted she wear it, explaining that it could be seen as an insult to show up to the Nolantis household in military garb.

  Quite frankly, she considered it more of an insult to her that she had to show up in a stupid dress. Misogynistic. Why must women be expected to wear dresses? Because they are the fairer sex, was Jamar’s response each time she asked.

  Which pissed her off even more. ‘The fairer sex’ was a chauvinistic descriptor used to further subjugate women into complementary roles. Emphasize base instinct qualities of attraction and then associate them with worth.

  Unfortunately, women could be just as much the problem as men. It was Georgette Nolantis, the wife of famous diplomat Timothy Nolantis, that Kristi was here to impress. Women were backbiting and manipulative where other women were concerned. Especially women like Kristi, who didn’t fit their worldview.

  The darkest corners of hell were reserved for women who scorned the achievements of other women.

  But that was neither here nor there. She was here to make a token appearance at Georgette Nolantis’ house party and nothing more. The Nolantis family had been good to her, especially with the most recent promotion. She had to maintain alliances.

  At least, that was what Jamar said, and she usually deferred to him in matters of strategy. Personally, she would have had no problem burning bridges.

  The invitation was for Commander—Captain, she self-edited—Kristi Grove, plus guest; she doubted that the Nolantis family meant she could bring her servant along, but the plus one was hers to decide. She didn’t care. Jamar Paskin might be shorter than most men. And fatter. And balder. But he was an invaluable asset. If she were a modest woman, she would admit that she wouldn’t have attained all she had without him.

  Jamar stood next to her in the elevator wearing a charcoal tuxedo and white gloves. His receding hair was combed back, and he wore gold-rimmed glasses. His left hand rested on his ample stomach and the right was folded behind his back. His smile was an easy one, well-practiced and inviting.

  Her cheeks hurt just watching him smile.

  “I’m surprised,” she mumbled just loud enough for him to hear. “You are normally dressed so extravagantly. To see you in something so…plain…it makes you seem almost human.”

  “Sometimes the simplest attire speaks the loudest,” he said, raising an eyebrow at her. “My attire stands as a backdrop to make you all the lovelier,” he spoke loftily, like a noble. “Though I can only do so much. Be sure to smile. And arch your back. You have ample assets. Put them to good use.”

  She scowled at him. “’Assets’? I’m not here to find a husband, Jamar. I didn’t even intend to come until you talked me into it.”

  “It would have been an offense not to,” Jamar reminded her. She snorted in response. They were passing the eighty-seventh floor. The top thirty levels were all penthouses, and the Nolantis family owned the entire ninety-fourth. “Rest your left hand on your hip as casually as possible.”

  “Sometimes I wonder,” Kristi said, “why you don’t treat me with more respect. You are my servant. And yet you dare give me advice?”

  “I am here to make sure you purport yourself with dignity. You hired me for a reason.”

  “No, my family hired you,” Kristi replied.

  “And with good reason,” Jamar repeated. “They are worried that you’ll snap without guidance. You’re like a walking time bomb.”

  “Careful,” Kristi replied. “Bombs are dangerous for people who stand too close to them.”

  “When you walk,” Jamar said, ignoring her, “be sure to sway your hips.”

  Kristi sighed. “Why would I sway my hips?”

  “Men like to watch swaying hips. It’s all about where you want attention to be. Some women want to draw it to their faces. Some their bosoms. And some try to draw eyes…lower. For you, I recommend lower.”

  “You are saying I shouldn’t want people to look at my face?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “On the contrary, your face is quite pleasing. Except your nose. It is too big. My point is, you exercise regularly, so your ass is marvelous.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Any more suggestions?”

  “If you truly want my assistance,” Jamar said, eyes twinkling, “then I would dilate your pupils, remove your brassier and rub ice on your nipples. Then I would teach you how to pout properly.”

  Kristi st
ared at him in shock for a second and then narrowed her eyes. “I don’t pout.”

  Jamar held up his hands in conciliation. “Hence, we’ll have to be satisfied with a few minor corrections. Arch your back, sway your hips, and please, please, please don’t speak unless you absolutely have to.”

  Kristi bit back her retort and turned back to face the door of the elevator.

  “Jamar?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he asked.

  “Remind me to kill you when this is over.”

  The elevator buzzed and slid open. Kristi walked smoothly into the crimson hallway, hearing a drawn out sigh from behind her.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Jamar said.

  2

  “You’re stiff as a board,” Jamar mumbled, sipping a martini. “Try to relax.”

  “I’ll relax once we leave.”

  “Ten more minutes.”

  “Five,” Kristi said.

  “Ten,” Jamar reiterated, “or after the first party leaves. We cannot be seen exiting first. That would not do at all.”

  Kristi sighed. They were standing against the back wall. The main room where the party was being held was enormous, which was quite impressive. On Axis, space was at a premium, and this location must cost a few million credits each month.

  A chandelier hung in the center with candles.

  Kristi hated it here amidst the fancily dressed people. Milling. Milling. Even the word was annoying. Shake a few hands. Allow men with no skills and creepy smiles to kiss her knuckles. It was disgusting.

  “That group,” Abdullah said with a discreet nod, “is making its way toward us.”

  “What?” Kristi replied. She glanced over the group. “They aren’t even moving.”

  “They’ll be coming here next to speak with you,” Jamar said.

  She squinted at them. “How can you tell?”

  “Don’t squint,” Jamar said, still staring straight ahead. He sipped his drink. “Their body language screams it.”

  “Do I know any of them?”

  “You’ve met one previously. Kathryn Quinlan in the red dress. You met her three years ago at her father’s factory. Ask her if she approves of the gift you sent her father last month and inquire after his recent hospitalization.”