Lucinda Xavier was a woman in her mid-fifties, but she looked much younger. She was tall, and rail thin with long tawny hair and rich full eyes, eyes that Gregaor noticed looked dull, and lifeless. Monthly visits to the dermatologist to help with a tuck here and a pull there kept her youthful appearance, but no matter how many times she went in for a facial update, there was no fixing her opaque disposition. She wore dark clothes that fit her nature – long flowing dresses with high neck collars and sleeves that bled down into her arms like slick oil. Shadowed makeup outlined her reset eyes and highlighted her narrow cheekbones. But despite her normal appearance, there was something off about her. Gregaor knew his mother, probably better than anyone and the woman he stared at wasn’t her. Oh sure, she looked like Lucinda Xavier, she talked like her, too, but the words coming out of her mouth seemed rehearsed and staged. Maybe it was because of Uklavar’s influence that he noticed, or maybe Gregaor simply knew his mother. But the woman in front of him wasn’t his mother.
Confrontational, Gregaor said, “What is wrong mother.”
Lucinda’s demeanor didn’t change, she kept the same even layered expression on her face and she said in an even tone, “What do you mean?”
“I’ve been home for less than a half an hour, and you haven’t asked where the Seeker is, or how I came to be here without it. I didn’t think you’d ask about Van, or have concern about the rest of the crew, but the family expedition ship is something you hold dear. For it not to be here on Earth should be alarming, but it doesn’t seem to worry you. Why is that mother?”
Tears welled in Lucinda’s eyes, and although Gregaor couldn’t prove it, the tears had to be fake. He’d never seen his mother shed a tear for anything or anyone. But he would play along, and he said in a concerning tone, “What is it mother?”
Lucinda composed herself and motioned for Gregaor to follow.
Cautious, Gregaor followed Lucinda down the corridor adjacent to the living room. It was the hallway that led to his father’s part of the penthouse. She stopped outside Havish’s chambers and glanced back to him.
“This might be a bit of a shock,” Lucinda said in a concerned tone. “Brace yourself.”
Gregaor pushed himself past Lucinda and opened the door in front of him. The sound of a breathing apparatus whirled in the corner and the steady, but weak beeping of a cardiac machine filled the room. A young petite nurse stood next to Havish as he lay unconscious on his bed.
“Out,” Lucinda told the nurse.
The girl bowed and bolted for the door, closing it behind her as she left.
“What is this, what’s going on?” Gregaor asked as he went to his father’s side.
“No one knows,” Lucinda said, though her tone was less then truthful. He fell into a sleep one afternoon and he hasn’t awoken. The doctor is baffled. They say he could come out of it, or he may die here. Either way I have been seeing to his needs.”
Gregaor reached over and touched his father’s arm. He snapped it back. Havish’s flesh was cold, and for half a second, he thought his father was dead. But his chest rose and fell in continuous rhythm. Gregaor leaned over to his father and whispered faintly so Lucinda couldn’t hear him, “What has she done to you father?”
Havish didn’t move. He showed no indication that he heard what Gregaor said. His chest rose and fell, his breathing continuing along with a laborious effort and he laid there – an unmoving lump of clay.
“Son,” Lucinda said in a low voice. “What were you going to tell me, about the Seeker, before I showed you this?”
Gregaor didn’t turn toward his mother. He didn’t know how, or why, but she did something to his father – something that put him in this state. Things weren’t adding up and Gregaor didn’t know what, but his mission for his master took precedent.
Gregaor’s voice hardened, and he said, “The Seeker was destroyed with all hands onboard.”
Destroyed, how... how did this happen?” Lucinda said in a less than convincing tone.
“The Tannador’s took our claim on the planet as a threat and fired on us,” Gregaor said, waiting to see Lucinda’s reaction.
“That’s incredible! Why would they do this?” Lucinda asked.
Her reaction was less than what Gregaor would have expected from his mother. She said many times that the Seeker was all the Xaviers had – if it were ever lost it would spell the end for their status. But her reaction was hardly that. It was less than sympathetic and bordered on thespianism – as if she had rehearsed it beforehand.
“I’m unsure why they would attack, mother. But the fact is, they have and in doing so they destroyed their ship in the process. Both expeditions lost.”
“Astounding,” Lucinda said.
“I want to address the Union council,” Gregaor demanded.
“The Union hasn’t met in months, and with the death of Hek’Dara Tannador it might be diff...”
“Wait. Hek’Dara is dead?” Gregor asked.
“Yes, his son Quinton is head of Tannador House now, and there is a time of acquisition before a new Lord sits in front of the council. Bringing you before them might be difficult.”
Gregaor shook his head and he said, “That’s not acceptable. What I have to report cannot wait until the Union gets their heads out of their asses.”
Lucinda chuckled. It was the most honest thing his mother had done since he stepped off the elevator. “You aren’t head of this household and you have no authority deeming what is acceptable and what isn’t.” she said.
“Nonetheless,” Gregaor said. “I will stand before the Union and make charges. House Tannador and anyone else who gets in my way will pay dearly.”
“Bold –” Lucinda said.
“I am being exactly what you tutored me to be, mother. Now will I get my audience or not?”
Tannador House, High Earth Orbit.
Home of House Tannador
October 13, 2442
When word of Gregaor Xavier’s return reached Quinton Tannador, he couldn’t believe the realization that his sister, Da’Mira was killed on the Requiem with all hands. It was so soon after his father’s death that he had trouble wrapping his head around the fact that she was gone, too. Quinton eyed the people in attendance around him, the grim looks on their faces added weight to the news and even though they shared the unpleasant information with him, he’d never been so alone. The weight of the Tannador House now sat squarely on his shoulders and he couldn’t help but be a bit overwhelmed.
Yet, now wasn’t the time to show fear, or anxiety. Now was time for calm reflection. Those in attendance around him was all he had, and he needed to use the resources at hand.
Quinton stood at the desk he still considered his father’s, in the spacious office that he rarely went into unless it was to get a scalding from Hek’Dara. The low thunder of the platform’s thrusters rumbled throughout the room and he looked into the eyes of those around him as they waited for him to say something, but he just stood there blinking.
When someone in the room gave a low cough, he cleared his throat and asked, “Is there any way we can confirm what Gregaor has reported?”
“The planet is so far away, that any scans of that sector wouldn’t show us much, I’m afraid,” Commander Martin said.
“My house still has an expedition ship on a dig over two-hundred light years away,” Carmela Anders said. “I could beam a signal to them and have them investigate.”
Quinton shook his head, and said, “Without more information we risk putting your ship in danger, too. It’s best we wait until Gregaor can tell his story in front of the Union.”
“Do we have any idea when that will be?” Carmela asked.
Quinton eyed a wide-eyed young woman at the back of the room and asked, “Do we have details yet Tori?”
Tori O’Ness was in her mid-twenties, with short boy-cut raven hair and charcoal eyes. Her natural blushed cheeks on her perfectly round head darkened when Quinton spoke to her. She blinked, stepped forward glan
cing down at her palm device and said, “No official meeting has been scheduled Milord, but there has been news that the meeting will come within the next day or so.”
The room went silent, and Quinton drew his attention to the back wall, and said, “You’re quiet, Oland, nothing to say?”
Oland Strous stepped forward. He was a man in his late sixties with snowy white hair and eyebrows. Age cracks cut across his face and looked a lot like little knife cuts etched through his skin. Quinton had never known the old man to look any different. He dressed impeccably, in dark trousers, formal jacket and high neck white shirt.
“In the forty-two years as your father’s personal aide, he never once asked for my opinion Sir,” Oland said.
“Well, I’m asking you now,” Quinton said.
Oland stepped up with the others in the room and stared at his feet for a long moment. Quinton looked down to see the spotless gleam of the old man’s shoes and offered Oland a reassuring nod.
Oland put a fist to his mouth and cleared his throat, and said, “I would never compromise your father’s trust in me. Though he never asked my opinion on matters, he did say a lot in my presence, and even though My Lord is dead, I would never betray that confidence.”
“I understand and respect that Oland,” Quinton said. “But what do you think of the matter at hand. You’ve been through a lot with my family and your insight is appreciated.”
“The Xaviers cannot be trusted,” Oland said flatly.
“That’s it...? The Xaviers can’t be trusted?” Quinton asked.
“Everyone knows that,” Martin said with a smirk.
“Milord,” Oland said with a grumble toward Martin. “The Xaviers are scavengers, and no better than pirates. They steal what they need, either by legal or illegal means. They market the High-Born drug Gold and keep those loyal to them hooked on it. They speak of making life better again, yet they are the problem – like vermin... and their loyal followers hang on their every word, duped by their popularity and transfixed on the constant bombardment of live visual feeds going out to the Low-Born on a daily basis. If something did in fact happen to Requiem it was caused by Gregaor Xavier, I’d bet my soul on that, Sir.”
The room was deathly quiet, though the temperature in the room remained constant, there was a chill in the air.
“I’ll say one thing,” Carmela said, “You know how to quiet a room Oland.”
“You don’t think Requiem was destroyed, do you?” Martin asked.
“I didn’t say that,” Oland replied, and he stepped back, away from the others.
“You might not have. But I tend to believe you. I think it’s still out there and Da’Mira is still alive,” Quinton said.
“If that’s the case Milord, what do we do?” Martin asked.
Quinton collected his thoughts. He didn’t want to jump to rash decisions, nor did he want to do something that might play into the Xavier’s hands. “We wait,” he said. “If I know my sister, and she is still alive, she’ll find a way back here.”
“So, that’s it, we wait?” Carmela asked.
“Until the Union meeting and we hear what Gregaor has to say. That’s all we can do. We don’t know what happened out there.”
“And I doubt Gregaor will tell us,” Carmela said. “We need to...”
“We wait,” Quinton said adamantly. He saw Carmela’s face shade red and he cleared his throat and said, “Alright, thank you everyone... that will be all.”
Oland was the first out of the room, followed by Tori and Martin.
“Can I have a word with you Lady Carmela?” Quinton asked.
“Yes, of course,” Carmela replied, watching the office door close.
There was silence for a fleeting moment as Carmela stood close to the desk and waited.
“My father cared for you a great deal,” Quinton said.
“And I for him, Milord,” Carmela said.
Quinton waved his hand, and said, “We can forgo the Lord and Lady stuff for now Carmela. It’s just you and I here now.”
Carmela straightened herself, drew breath and said, “As you wish Quinton.”
“I’ve been reading my father’s journals. He had a habit of not keeping up on them, so it’s hard to get a real sense of what he was thinking. But I’ve understood enough, that while he had great admiration for you – he wasn’t sure he could trust you.”
“I see,” Carmela said. “Why is that, do you suppose?”
“Martin,” Quinton said.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Carmela replied.
“Let’s cut through the shit, Carmela,” Quinton snapped. “Like my father, I’m curious as to how you came by him, and his men. The Union charter expressly forbids any house building an army, and although the Orlander security force is a special case, my father wrote in his journal that he found it suspicious that you were able to build one without being found out. ORACLE sees all. Yet it missed it. Why?”
Carmela’s face flushed white, and she said, “My husband brokered a deal, knowing that sooner or later conflict would occur between houses. He thought it would be our house, and the Lexors in the conflict. But when your father needed help containing control of the food processing plants, I gave him use of our troops.”
“Please, don’t think he wasn’t appreciative. Without you, we wouldn’t be standing here having this conversation. But I need to know everything before I step into that Union chamber.”
“I’ve told you everything,” Carmela said.
“You said your late husband brokered a deal. Who with?”
There was silence for a long moment as Carmela looked to her feet.
“If there is something that has to be said, this informal meeting is the place to do it, wouldn’t you think?” Quinton asked.
“I would tell you if I could. But House Anders made a commitment, one we cannot back away from.”
“Lady Anders–”
“But I can assure you, that when the time is right. You will know all you need to. That is a promise.”
Quinton cleared his throat, and he said, “Carmela...”
“Please, I’m asking you to trust me. So far House Anders has done everything asked from your family, you owe us that.”
“Carmela, I’m not a pushover, nor am I my father. It was clear he had feelings for you, I do not. But I will trust my father and his final words to me, to hold the Union together.” I’m sorry father.
Carmela cleared her throat, and she said in an even voice, “Hek’Dara spoke of a union between our houses.”
A smile rounded on Quinton’s lips, and he replied, “We have plenty of time to talk about that.”
“A union could strengthen both of our families and show the others houses we are formidable. I have a niece that has reached maturity and would make a suitable wife,” Carmela said with a hungriness in her voice.
Quinton raised a hand, and reiterated, “Now is not the time for such a conversation. We will table this matter until another time.”
Carmela hung her head, and then replied, “As you wish.”
The last thing Quinton wanted to think about was taking a wife. He laughed at that idea, but for the Tannador name to continue, he would have to consider such a proposal, but it would never be for love, but to bear an offspring by blood. He cleared the idea for now, remembering what his father warned him about. An evil from deep space. He needed to focus on that.
That night, after the meetings, the worrying and the speculation, Quinton lay in bed, his mind racing with the idea of a marriage between him and the family Anders. He considered the strides taken over the last several hundred years, when it came to marriage. Although weddings between same sex couples were normal – the archaic practice of matrimony between a man and woman to strengthen family bonds was still very much the norm. Especially between the Nine. An offspring of blood was a powerful weapon and something same sex couples were unable to do. A marriage between a man and woman, built bonds and was eyed as protecting the fut
ure of the Great Houses. It was simpler being a Low-Born. The poor could marry who they loved as opposed to marrying for duty and honor.
“You’re worried,” Martin said as he rolled over into Quinton’s arms.
Quinton pulled Martin close and asked, “How can you tell?”
“There is a lot happening.”
More than you know, Quinton thought. He decided not to talk about a union between the Tannadors and Anders. Why should he bother Martin with it anyway? Their relationship was only days old and may not go further than a fleeting fancy.
“Are you thinking about the Union meeting?” Martin asked.
Quinton sat up, rubbed his unruly hair, and said, “I don’t like Gregaor Xavier. I never have. His story about Requiem and Seeker both being destroyed doesn’t add up.”
Martin also sat up, placed a hand on the small of Quinton’s back and asked, “What makes you think that?”
“All exploration ships have emergency beacons that are programed to return to Earth in the event of an accident. They were designed to withstand a great deal of stress. If both ships were destroyed, it is probable, yet highly unlikely that both beacons were unable to make the return.”
“So, the ships weren’t destroyed like Lord Xavier said?”
Quinton drew a tight breath, and replied, “No, I don’t think they were.”
Martin was quiet, even his breathing was nonexistent, and he looked at Quinton and said, “Do you know what this means?”
“Of course, I know what this means,” Quinton snapped. “It means the end of our way of life. It means that after three-hundred years, the society that we strived to build, will decay.”
Martin replied with a silent chuckle.
Lips thinned, Quinton asked, “What’s so funny?”
“That you believe mankind has prospered since we have moved into orbit. Have you really looked at the Low-Born? Gone to the low orbit platforms and seen how they live. Most of them live in squalor, eking a simple way of life. Did you know there are people on Ioshia Station making effigies and worshiping the High-Born as gods? While the High-Born have prospered, those lesser have begun to regress.”
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