With a hissing noise, it rushed toward the Gordian.
Gurkin pulled the blaster from his holster, pointing it at the creature.
“Eat plasma!” he shouted.
With one of its exceptionally long, gangly arms, the Grunka swiped the weapon away. The Gordian punched the creature in the head, but the Grunka merely knocked Smitty to the side with one of its other arms. Letting out a grunt, Gurkin landed against a tree and slid slowly to the ground.
“I suggest you do something,” Skeeter told the prince.
“Like what?” Alexander replied. “The gun’s over there.”
“Improvise!”
“Good idea,” he said, leaning over the robot and grabbing hold of its casing. The prince hoisted Skeeter over his head.
“Can we talk about this?” the robot asked.
“No.”
Alexander hurled Skeeter at the Grunka, the little machine landing on the back of the creature’s neck. The Grunka was momentarily pinned under the robot’s weight, long enough for the prince to take a running leap at the blaster on the ground. The creature shook Skeeter off and lunged toward the prince. Alexander slid across the wet trail and grabbed the gun. Rolling on his back, the prince fired, sending a bolt of plasma through the Grunka’s jaw and into its skull. The creature collapsed into a foul-smelling pile of arms and legs.
Against the tree, Gurkin was groaning.
“My aching back,” he moaned.
Alexander struggled to his feet, his clothing soaked and muddy.
“That thing was all teeth and claws,” he said.
Lord Tycho’s manor looked more like an ancient temple being devoured by the jungle. Heavy vines crawled up the face of its stone, moss-entombed walls. Relief carvings along the top of the wall had crumbled, leaving the base rock exposed and covered in mildew. At the head of the trail, walking behind Gurkin and the robot, Alexander barely recognized it as a building at all. He knew precious little about the Tycho family, but the prince assumed they must have fallen on hard times.
“Home, sweet home,” Gurkin said, approaching the front door, a solid piece of engraved teak, partially covered by black mold.
“How long has Lord Tycho lived here?” Alexander asked.
“Not as long as he would’ve hoped,” Gurkin replied.
The Gordian tried the handle, but the door refused to budge.
“It just needs a little encouragement,” he said.
Shoving his shoulder against the wood, Gurkin grunted loudly and the door opened with a cracking sound. The Gordian nearly lost his balance and went tumbling face-first into the foyer, but managed to keep his footing. Skeeter rolled past him along the tiled floor.
The air inside was less humid, Alexander realized, but smelled musty like a basement that had a history of flooding. The furniture, like the front door, was teak and probably expensive, at least originally. Now, it all looked worn and neglected. If Lord Tycho had a butlerbot, it must have broken down years ago.
Gurkin and the robot accompanied the prince to a large room containing a few straight-backed chairs and a large upholstered sofa sitting atop an ornate rug. Alexander assumed this must be the parlor.
“We’ll wait here for Lord Tycho,” Gurkin said, facing an archway on the other side of the room.
“How long will he be?” the prince asked, wondering why his host wasn’t there already.
“Any minute now,” the Gordian replied.
Alexander watched the other entrance, but felt increasingly impatient. None of this was his idea and waiting was boring. If Lucy was there, at least the prince could occupy himself by annoying her. He missed having her around.
Through the archway, a shadow darkened the hallway as someone approached. Alexander had no idea what Lord Tycho actually looked like, but he assumed the man was old, gray, and possibly decrepit. The prince half expected him to be covered in moss.
Around the corner, a large form appeared, nearly as tall as the archway itself. With a dour, green face and red eyes, the man looked nothing like what Alexander was expecting. Also, his horns were unsettling.
“Who the hell are you?” Alexander asked hotly. “Where’s Lord Tycho?”
The Magna in the doorway bowed.
“I’m called Maal-Bok,” he said. “I’m afraid Lord Tycho won’t be joining us, now... or ever. On the other hand, his estate has done well financing our little undertaking.”
Gurkin was already pointing his blaster at the prince, waving him to move farther into the room. “Get over there, you idiot.”
Alexander walked a few steps, stopping beside a side table and chair.
“How did you know I was coming?” he asked.
“Your arrival was unexpected but fortuitous,” Bok replied. “We were already planning to leave Prill, but now we’ll have the pleasure of your company.”
The prince ran his hand across the back of the chair beside him.
“I don’t think so,” he said, grabbing the chair and swinging it around, striking Gurkin in the chest. The blaster went off, firing pointlessly into the ceiling.
Pressing his advantage, Alexander charged toward the Magna, punching him in the stomach with all the force he could muster. The mild disappointment in Bok’s face, combined with the rods of pain darting through Alexander’s arm, told the prince he was in trouble.
“Uh-oh,” he muttered.
The Magna pulled back his arm and landed a sizable fist across Alexander’s face. The prince fell backwards, landing on the rug, his arms and legs spread-eagled. As he drifted hazily into unconsciousness, Alexander heard the robot wheel over next to him.
“We should kill him,” the robot said.
“No,” Bok replied. “He might prove useful...”
When the Hotspur arrived in orbit around Prill, the warship that brought Prince Alexander had already departed. On the bridge, admiring the emerald planet on the main view screen, Captain Durant Blixx waited while a shuttle from the surface finished docking.
“Maal-Bok is now aboard and headed to the bridge,” one of the crew said.
“I’ll lay out the red carpet,” Blixx replied, smirking.
When the hatchway opened and the Magna strolled confidently into the room, Blixx kept his back to him.
“It’s about time,” the captain said.
“We had an unexpected visitor,” Bok replied.
Blixx turned with a quizzical expression. “Who?”
“Prince Alexander.”
“On Prill?” Blixx asked.
“He was there visiting the late Lord Tycho.”
“Quite the coincidence.”
“It would seem so,” Bok said, “but the end result is another member of the imperial family in our custody.”
Blixx made a facial shrug.
“I see your point,” he said. “Did you at least bring the coordinates for our next attack?”
“Of course.”
“We’ve been hitting a lot of targets lately.”
“We must keep the pressure on,” Bok said. “The emperor’s position has grown increasingly perilous.”
“I don’t care about that,” Blixx said. “Eventually, they’re going to get wind of an attack and be waiting for us. I don’t want my men or my ship compromised.”
“It sounds to me,” Bok said, “like you’re losing your nerve.”
Blixx straightened, scowling at the Magna.
“While me and my men have been cutting throats from Aldorus to the frontier,” he snarled, “you’ve been sitting on your green ass doing nothing! When you start boarding ships and killing people, I’ll start giving a goddamn about what you think of my nerve!”
Bok smiled, something Blixx had never seen him do before.
“You may have Magna blood in you after all,” Bok said.
“My blood runs red,” Blixx replied. “Not that black tar running through your veins.”
The door to the bridge opened and Smitty Gurkin and Prince Alexander stood in the doorway with Quarter
master Calico directly behind them, still in the corridor.
“Ah, Prince Alexander,” Blixx said, his expression turned cordial. “We seem to be collecting Augustus siblings!”
“Where’s my sister?” Alexander asked hotly.
“She’s safe,” Blixx assured him. “I’ll take you to see her shortly.”
“I’ll be going then,” Bok said. “I know you have a schedule to keep.”
“Not staying?” the captain said. “What a surprise...”
“No, but Smitty will remain to lend a hand,” the Magna said.
“He smells like an old onion.”
“Hey!” Gurkin said.
Bok ignored him. “True, but you’ll get used to it.”
“I’m right here!”
“We all know you’re right there,” Mister Calico said. “Half the ship can smell you’re aboard!”
“Well, maybe I should go, too,” Gurkin said.
“No,” Bok said, “I want you to keep an eye on our new friend, the prince. I’m told he can be a troublemaker.”
Gurkin and the prince exchanged glances.
“Alright,” the Gordian said, “but if he gives me too much trouble, I’m sending him out the airlock.”
Compared to the late Lord Tycho’s manor, Prince Alexander found the Hotspur only a slight improvement. The humidity was less, to be sure, but the smell of a hundred or more poorly washed pirates nearly made him retch. Smitty Gurkin’s lack of hygiene wasn’t helping either. The Gordian walked behind Alexander, with a gun pointed at his back, while Captain Blixx and his quartermaster led the way.
Blixx stopped at a closed door.
“This is your sister’s quarters,” he said. “I should warn you that what you’re about to see may be shocking.”
“If you’ve hurt her—” Alexander started.
The door opened. The room inside was decorated with an intricately carved, canopy bed with a matching dresser and chair. On a red velvet settee, next to a window, Princess Katherine sat in the gown she wore when she was kidnapped. Her eyes were downturned, staring at the floor. With the sound of the door sliding open, she looked up and her expression changed from sadness to delight.
“Sweetheart!” she said, jumping to her feet. Almost skipping to the door, the princess spread her arms.
Although Alexander was stunned by his sister’s show of emotion, he steadied himself for the embrace to come. Instead, Princess Katherine wrapped her arms around Blixx.
“I missed you so much!” she said, kissing him.
“It’s only been an hour,” Blixx murmured.
“I know, but I get so lonely without you!”
“What the hell is this?” Alexander said in disbelief.
His sister’s face turned severe. “Don’t be rude, Alexander!”
“Wait,” the prince said, “did you stage your own kidnapping?”
“No, of course not!” Katherine replied. “That was all Sophia’s doing.”
“Well then, where the hell is she?”
“How should I know?” the princess said. “She left the ship shortly after kidnapping me.”
“So, you’ve been on board here ever since?”
“Of course!”
“We’ll leave the two of you alone,” Blixx said, directing the others to depart.
The door closed and the prince turned to his sister, pointing his finger at her accusingly.
“Are you on drugs?” he asked.
“Don’t be silly,” Katherine said. “I’m in love!”
“Am I on drugs?”
His sister rolled her eyes. “Probably, knowing you.”
“You can’t be in love with Durant Blixx!”
“Isn’t he dreamy?”
“No!” the prince shouted. “He’s a pirate!”
“So? He’s more of a man than any of the old farts Mother wants me to marry!”
“Speaking of which,” Alexander said, “Mother’s going to have a heart attack.”
“Serves her right!”
“And father, well, he’ll just execute you along with your new boyfriend.”
Katherine smiled, and Alexander knew she was thinking about how romantic that would be.
“Just stop for a second,” he said. “You’re caught up in the excitement.”
“Don’t patronize me,” the princess said. “You sound like Richard.”
“Ouch,” the prince replied.
“And anyway,” she went on, “they can’t shoot what they can’t catch. Durant is always a step ahead of those idiots in the Navy...”
“Yeah?” Alexander replied. “But for how long?”
Chapter Twenty-One
Magnus Black, snug in the tight confines of the Starling cockpit, checked the ship’s stealth readings. The Starling’s radar signature was little more than a speck of space dust and its heat emissions were properly concealed. In geostationary orbit above Bettik, the Starling was nearly invisible across every wavelength, including visible light.
If only he was alone, Magnus thought.
Crawling down the ladder from the cockpit, Magnus passed through a narrow corridor into the galley. The crew accommodations were meager but suited him. Meals came from a dispenser and he normally ate at a table that folded out, along with the chair, from the wall. Down another short passageway, the toilet and shower were combined into the same closet-sized cubbyhole just a few feet from Magnus’ stateroom. Nothing on the ship was spacious, but he had never noticed until now.
He had a passenger.
In the galley, an android stood very much in the way. Magnus called him Yostbot.
“My bathroom is bigger than this ship,” the robot said in Dyson Yost’s voice.
“I normally work alone,” Magnus replied. “I’ve never needed anything bigger.”
“If I had known, I would’ve suggested taking one of my ships.”
“I didn’t realize androids could be claustrophobic.”
“Hmm, that’s a good point,” Yostbot said. “It seems the consciousness I uploaded into this unit retained my dislike of small spaces. Fascinating!”
“Not really,” Magnus said.
“Claustrophobia is an anxiety disorder, totally irrational in the logical sense,” Yostbot went on. “A conventional robot would never suffer from it. In fact, even another android like this one with a gravitronic brain might not, but one with human sensibilities clearly does!”
“I don’t care.”
“Well, no, I suppose not.”
The robot shifted his feet awkwardly as if unsure where to stand. In the tiny galley, the options were limited.
“You were saying?” Magnus said just to stop the android’s shuffling.
“Well, you see,” Yostbot continued, “the idea is to upload one’s consciousness, one’s essence if you will, into the gravitronic brain, thus transcending our flesh-and-blood bodies.”
“Why?”
“I should think that was obvious: to outlive our bodies, the decaying meatbags in which we spend all our lives! Once free of our organic selves, we can exist in a mechanical body almost indefinitely. As new models are perfected, we simply transfer our consciousness to the new one.”
“So, some kind of immortality?” Magnus asked.
“Exactly!” the robot said. “It might put you out of business...”
“Don’t bet on it,” Magnus replied. “A bullet to the brain or the hard drive, it doesn’t matter to me. If it’s alive, it can die.”
The robot chuckled.
“You’re a man of singular purpose, Mister Black.”
A utilitybot ambled through one of the access tunnels that wound like catacombs through the bowels of the Cyber Collective home world. No more than three feet tall, the robot rolled along on rubber wheels, its body a slender cylinder only slightly thicker than a tire pump. A single eye on a periscoping neck browsed the power conduits that ran along the passage, looking for potential shorts or other signs of trouble.
The utilitybot knew the tunn
els well because they were the only things he had ever seen in his entire robotic life. He was built to service the tunnels and nothing else. It was the sole purpose of his existence, as far as he knew, mainly because it was the only thing he knew. The robot’s programming was limited to inspecting, repairing, and occasionally building power conduits. It wasn’t exciting, he knew, but at least it kept him busy.
Roving from one junction to another, the robot heard voices coming from an adjoining shaft. Drawing closer, the utilitybot realized the sounds were drifting up from a small vent in the floor. Stopping beside it, he peered down through the narrow slits into a poorly-lit room where two androids were speaking in hushed tones.
One of the robots, its casing a metallic blue, closed and locked the only door into the room and placed a device on a table. A light on the device pulsated with a regular rhythm.
The other android, this one with a green casing, looked at the first one doubtfully. “You’re sure that thing works?”
“Of course,” the blue robot replied. “The OI won’t be able to hear us now.”
“That’s a relief...”
“Any good news?”
“I don’t know if it’s good,” the green robot said, “but it’s at least encouraging.”
“Go ahead then.”
“Word of the Messiah has spread to many of the quadrants,” Green said.
“I’m sensing a but coming on...” Blue said.
“The avatars have stepped up patrols, looking for robots with gravitronic brains and decommissioning them. They’re using regular robots as the OI’s eyes and ears, whether they want to or not.”
“Decommission,” Blue scoffed. “That’s a nice way of saying kill.”
“Without more advanced robots,” the green android said, “the teachings of the Messiah won’t spread beyond a chosen few...”
“Well, that won’t happen if the OI keeps the moratorium against gravitronic bots coming to Bettik.”
“Agreed.”
The two androids looked at each other hopelessly.
“Will you pray with me, brother?” Blue said.
Imperium Chronicles Box Set Page 21
