“What’s what?”
“Whatever you just said.”
“The Imperium, obviously,” Woodwick replied while tugging at his mustache. “A proper damp squib.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Groen said. “I’m sure people know what they’re doing.”
A flare of light illuminated the buildings in the distance. Something had exploded.
“I don’t know, Radford. I simply don’t...”
In the underground city of the Necronea, Grand Necromancer Ghazul took a passage leading to where Philip Veber’s private quarters were located. Days ago, the boy had asked for books and then disappeared once he received them. No one had seen him since until today, when he sent a message asking the Grand Necromancer to visit him.
His long vestments dragging on the loose soil, Ghazul came to Philip’s door. Tapping the skull on the end of his staff against the wood, he heard the boy’s voice from the other side.
“Yes?”
Ghazul pushed the heavy door open. Wearing a simple gray robe, Philip stood on the other side of the room next to a table on which three books rested among candles. The pungent aroma of incense clouded the air.
“It’s good to see you,” Philip said.
The necromancer closed the door behind him. The small room contained a bed in one corner and a wardrobe in the other. A rug covered the bare dirt in the center. Ghazul also noticed the outline of a doorway sketched onto a wall.
“I see you’ve been busy,” he said.
Philip smiled, his teeth like yellowed ivory. “Indeed, I have!”
“Have you been experimenting with portals?”
“A little.”
“You should remember my warning,” Ghazul replied. “Portals can be dangerous without the wisdom to use them.”
“Of course,” Philip said. “I’ve been careful.”
The young Veber drew nearer until stopping at the edge of the rug with the table at his back.
“I’ve been studying the grimoires night and day,” he went on. “Not that one can tell the hours of the day down here.”
“What have you learned?”
“You never told me about the Old Ones...”
Ghazul’s face, lacking a nose or lips, managed to tighten into a knot. “For good reason.”
“Why keep them secret?” Philip asked. “They’re the ones who receive our sacrifices, aren’t they?”
“No.”
“Who then?”
“The Guardian of the Gate.”
“Isn’t he an Old One too?”
Ghazul shook his head. “He’s a servant, like so many others.”
“But he guards the gate keeping the Old Ones on the other side...”
The old necromancer raised his hand. “Stop. These are not questions you should be asking.”
“On the contrary,” Philip said. “These are the only questions I care about.”
“I insist,” Ghazul replied sternly, “and you must return the grimoires.”
“But I’ve made so much progress! Please, come see what I’ve discovered...”
Philip beckoned and, reluctantly, the necromancer crossed the room toward the other side. As he stepped onto the rug, Ghazul felt it give way. Dropping his staff, he and the rug were falling through thin air for several seconds until, just as quickly, he tumbled across a hard, metallic surface with only the woven mat to soften the impact.
With a spark of anger, he thrust the rug off him and got to his feet. The specks in his otherwise empty eye sockets darted back and forth. Everything was metal, from the ceiling to the floor. On one wall was a hatch and on another, drawn in chalk, the outline of an archway.
“Clever boy,” Ghazul said.
Philip had scrawled a portal incantation on the floor of his room and covered it with the rug. When Ghazul walked over it, the gate swallowed him up, sending the old necromancer to wherever this place was. Of course, it was all pointless. Ghazul knew he could simply reactivate the portal from this side and come back. Perhaps it was just an elaborate prank, he wondered. Human children were known for such things...
Something else drew his attention. He slowly became aware of a sound. Listening more attentively, he concluded it was repeating like an alert a computer might make. He palmed the controls and the hatch slid open, revealing a corridor.
I’m on a starship, he thought.
Following the sound, the necromancer passed through an empty galley and down another hall. The ship seemed abandoned, but there was no damage evident. Still, the beeping grew louder.
He opened another hatch and found himself on the bridge containing four command chairs and a set of controls. Blast shields were down, covering the view ports to the outside.
On the console from which the noise was originating, a red light blinked. Ghazul paused by the controls, leaning forward to read the monitor.
“PROXIMITY ALERT,” it said.
He reached for a switch, releasing the blast shields. As the barriers fell aside, the bridge became a blaze of light. Covering his face, the necromancer could only make out the churning, fiery surface of a star.
Ghazul’s gaping mouth opened as if to scream but burst into flames as the starship careened into the sun.
With his hands tightly clenched behind his back, Prince Richard stared through the sheer curtains of his office at the wafts of smoke still rising from downtown Regalis.
The prince’s execubot Cornelius, his chrome casing and smooth metal faceplate devoid of expression, still managed to present a cheerful air.
“What a beautiful day!” the robot said. “Not a cloud in the sky...”
“Shut up,” the prince replied.
“I have some good news, Your Highness!”
“Keep it to yourself.”
Cornelius tapped his claw-like hand against his chin. “It’s fascinating how humans remain committed to an emotion even if it’s gloom.”
“Wallowing in self-pity is all we have sometimes,” the prince said.
“Are you quite sure you don’t want to hear the good news?’
Prince Richard turned away from the window and glared at the robot. “Alright, go ahead.”
“I’ve received a direct message from dy cybernetics,” Cornelius explained. “It appears Dyson Yost himself wants to speak with you!”
“Should I feel honored? I’m the Emperor’s son after all...”
“Of course, Your Highness! I meant no disrespect, but it’s very unusual to speak with someone as reclusive as Mr. Yost. I don’t believe your father has met him, even by remote.”
“What does the old hermit want?” the prince asked.
“I’m unsure, but his robot said it was an offer to help with the rioting.”
The prince looked thoughtful. “Well, it couldn’t hurt I suppose.”
Prince Richard took a seat behind his desk, a cherry wood behemoth from which a monitor rose like a black monolith. The screen sprang to life and the weathered face and white hair of a man appeared.
“Prince Richard,” he said, his voice raspy but enthusiastic, “how are you, my boy?”
The prince grimaced at the tone but remained civil, not wanting to alienate one of the most powerful men in the Imperium.
“Good,” he said shortly.
“Quite a pickle of late,” the old man continued. “Lots of disgruntled citizens filling the streets...”
“I’m aware of that,” the prince replied. “I was told you had something to offer?’
“Indeed I do! Indeed I do!”
Yost coughed into the sleeve of his suit, an out-of-fashion but still respectable jacket and tie.
“It seems to me,” he went on, “that part of the problem is manpower. You just don’t have enough security forces to deal with this mess.”
“True,” the prince said. “We’ve started using our regular military units but they aren’t trained for this kind of thing. Their methods are a bit too... brutal.”
“So I’ve seen on the news! Can’t
have the Imperial Army opening fire on citizens. It has, as the young people say, bad optics.”
“Indeed.”
“So, I’ve got a proposition,” Yost said.
“I’m waiting...”
“Well, dy cybernetics happens to have a surplus of killbots at the moment. Normally we go through them like hotcakes, but there’s been a downturn on planets like Marakata so we’ve got quite a few extra.”
“Are you suggesting we use killbots against Imperial citizens?” the prince asked.
“No, no!” Yost replied. “Well, yes actually, but we’d rebrand them of course. Call them something like peacebots or whatever. It’s really all a matter of programming.”
“Go on.”
“Loaded with the right software,” Yost said, “they can use non-lethal methods against these troublemakers. I mean, we can still rough them up a bit, but fatalities will be at a minimum.”
Prince Richard considered this, chewing on his inner lip. “How much would this cost the Imperium?”
“Oh, we don’t need to worry about that right now,” Yost said. “This could be a whole new revenue stream for us, so I’m considering this more of a field test, so to speak.”
“I see,” the prince replied. “How soon before you could put them on the streets?”
Yost laughed, his voice hoarse. “Within a week at the latest. Of course, if it works out here on Aldorus, we could ship my peacebots all over the Imperium. We’ll nip this insurrection in the bud!”
“It’s a deal. I look forward to seeing your robots as soon as possible.”
“Me too,” the old man said. “Me too!”
Across the river, in the penthouse on top of the dy cybernetics HQ building, Dyson Yost watched the video monitor go blank. He grinned, his yellow teeth visible, and drummed his wrinkled fingers along the desk in front of him. “Well, I think that went just peachy!”
Yostbot, one of several identical copies in existence, stood off to the side so Prince Richard hadn’t been able to see him.
“You might say that,” the robot replied. “Computer, turn off the simulation.”
“Bye now!” the old man said, waving just before fading into nothing. The holo-emitter that hung from the ceiling went dark.
“Peachy indeed,” Yostbot said.
Aboard the Baron Lancaster, the display case in Captain Redgrave’s office contained mementos from his thirty years with the Imperial Navy. A collection of medals, garnished with miniature laurels and starbursts, hung on a felt board on the top shelf. On the shelf below, a fragment of metal from the hull of a pirate ship sat beside the half-melted tubing of a vacuum suit. On the bottom shelf, a ceremonial cutlass took up the length of the case, the highly polished blade engraved with the words HIMS Maxwell (DD-153), the first ship Redgrave ever captained.
Hearing the warble of the door, he turned from his translucent image reflected in the glass case. “Come in.”
Commander Maycare, a man overdue for his own command, strolled in with a look on his face like he needed a favor. Redgrave wondered if he had gotten into trouble. The Maycare family always seemed to be in trouble.
“Sir,” the commander said.
“Take a seat,” the captain replied, sliding in behind his desk. “What is it?”
Sinking into the chair in front of Redgrave, the commander smiled. “I got a message from my uncle, Lord Maycare.”
“Oh?”
“He had a book stolen from his library.”
Redgrave shrugged. “Okay...”
“It’s a special kind of book,” the commander went on. “He was hoping you might be able to help replace it.”
The captain frowned. “Doubtful. I was never much of a reader...”
“Apparently, it originally came from the Talion Republic. Since you’re always telling stories about your time there—”
“Well, that time was mostly spent killing Tals, not reading their books.”
“Still,” Maycare said, waving his hand, “you might know somebody who knows somebody...”
Redgrave’s brows, furrowed with age and experience, lowered skeptically. “Like who?”
Maycare leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Honestly, I have no idea.”
“What’s so special about this book?” the captain asked.
“It’s really old, according to my uncle. He also said his assistant had to translate some weird language to understand it.”
“Couldn’t he have his robot do that?”
“It got squished.”
“His robot?”
“That’s what he said.”
“His robot?”
“No, my uncle.”
“Well, whoever got squished,” the captain replied, “there’s lots of Talion books floating around. I don’t see why he needs me.”
“My uncle said it’s actually from a different race,” Maycare said. “The K’thonians, I think.”
The captain’s eyes widened in recognition. “Why didn’t you say so?”
“Does that make a difference?”
“Night and day, son. Those kinds of books are incredibly rare. Unless you’re lucky enough to have one already, the Talion Republic is the only place to get one.”
“So, you can’t help him then?” Maycare asked.
“I didn’t say that, Commander!” Redgrave replied, picking a datapad off his desk. After swiping a few screens, he stared down his nose, reading to himself. “I may know somebody...”
“Who?”
“He’s a trader who goes back and forth across the DMZ.”
“That Ramus guy?”
“No, of course not. He’s human — a good guy for a scumbag — anyway, he’s got contacts with the Tals. If anybody has a line on a K’thonian grimoire, it would be him.”
Maycare grinned appreciatively. “Thank you, sir.”
“Don’t thank me yet, Commander. Your uncle will likely need to pay a lot.”
“I’m sure he can afford it.”
“Not in money, son.”
“What then?”
The captain’s eyes bore down on the younger officer.
“Blood.”
Lady Veber’s room at the Regency Heights Sanatorium was private and sufficiently decorated that she could sit on the furniture without feeling dirty. Simple but dignified, the chaise lounge beneath her was covered in turquoise satin and reminded her of home. She allowed herself to doze until hearing someone unlock the door and come in.
She recognized the cropped hair and purposeful expression of the man’s face. It also helped that he wore all black.
“Magnus,” she said, greeting him with a smile.
Magnus Black nodded and closed the door tightly behind him.
“What did you do with the guard — I mean, orderly — down the hall?” she asked.
“He’s taking a little nap,” he replied.
“You didn’t kill him, did you?”
“No,” Magnus said, scowling. “I don’t always kill people.”
“That’s a good quality to have...”
“I brought news.”
Veber’s brows rose in anticipation. “Yes?”
“Lord Maycare sent his nephew a message,” Magnus said.
“Which one?”
“Commander Maycare on the Baron Lancaster.”
“Robby? Oh, I remember when he was just a child. Such a handsome boy!”
Magnus stared at her blankly.
“Go on...” she said.
“Lord Maycare asked his nephew for help with searching for another grimoire.”
“And could he?”
“I intercepted the reply this afternoon,” Magnus went on. “Apparently, the best place to get another book is in the Talion Republic. The captain of the Lancaster has a contact who can get Maycare over the border.”
“Well, I hope he can do more than that,” Veber remarked.
“The message said the contact knew Tals who could help, provided Maycare pays the right price.”
“What kind of price?”
“That part was a little unclear,” Magnus said. “It didn’t make a lot of sense to me.”
“Never mind then. I’m sure Devlin will pay it, whatever it is...”
“What do you want me to do now?”
“Follow them, of course!” Veber said. “Hopefully they’ll lead you to my son.”
“Do you still want me to go through with this?” Magnus asked.
She grew somber, her eyes leveled at the floor.
“Yes,” she said, barely above a whisper.
“It’s not going to be easy, even if I find him,” he said.
“I know,” she replied, “but I have some ideas about that too...”
In his workshop, the tiny room tucked away amid the nefarious chambers of Warlock Industries, Lars Hatcher drew a line on the wall with a piece of chalk.
“You realize,” Dr. Sprouse said, standing behind him, “it was a hell of a lot of work finding you chalk nowadays. It’s not like people use chalkboards anymore.”
Focusing on the white, flaky line he was etching, Lars didn’t look back. “I appreciate your efforts.”
“You’re drawing a door, I take it?”
“Yes.”
“You couldn’t use a marker or something like a normal person?” Dr. Sprouse asked.
“The book says to use this,” Lars replied simply.
The doctor crossed her arms and cocked her head to one side. “Does the book have to float like that?”
The grimoire, hovering next to Lars’ shoulder, remained suspended by the power of his telekinesis. The book was cracked open to the page containing the incantation Lars was performing.
“You’re the one who gave me these abilities,” Lars said. “You should be pleased they’re working.”
“It’s a little creepy if I’m being honest.”
“I can read your mind,” Lars said. “You have no choice but to be honest.”
“That’s also creepy,” she remarked.
Lars inscribed an arcing half-circle along the top of the doorway and came down the other side. With the frame complete, he started with the archaic lettering, sharp, angled strokes along the outer edges. Once finished, he took a step away from the wall, bringing him shoulder to shoulder with the doctor.
“Do you still think this is a bad idea?” she asked.
“Absolutely.”
Imperium Chronicles Box Set Page 53
