Galaxy of Titans: An Epic Space Opera Series (The Augmented Book 3)

by Ben Hale

  “What about her body?” He realized he was sounding worried, so he added, “They might be able to reverse-engineer the experiment from her tissues.”

  “Not going to happen,” Skorn said. “I put a very specific code into the new leashes. If an augment dies, it will send a surge of power into their body that will unspool their genetic matrix.”

  “In every cell?”

  “From bones to blood.”

  Ero didn’t like that idea, but could not deny its forethought. Even for his brother, it was tactically brilliant, and ensured that when they did begin selling the augments, another House would not be able to replicate the results.

  “What if Siena is captured alive?” Ero asked.

  “A possibility, I admit,” Skorn said. “But like I said, it’s a calculated risk. She’s a fighter, and fighters aren’t the type to surrender. Just in case that happened, I didn’t want a dakorian that could trace them back to House Bright’Lor.”

  Sometimes Ero hated his brother’s brilliance. Siena and the other augments were on a stolen ship with absolutely no links back to Lumineia or House Bright’Lor. Siena was the only one with a way to Gate back home, and she was the most likely to die trying to save the others. The possibility for risk was low, and the potential for benefit was enormous.

  “Does Wylyn know about this?” Ero asked.

  “Of course not,” Skorn said. “She’s currently our strongest ally, and she’s only seen this room through a holo.”

  “Then why was she here?”

  “To talk about Dragorn.”

  “Father?” Ero asked. “What does he have to do with anything?”

  “The date of his tribunal has changed.”

  “He managed to put it off again?”

  Ero was surprised. Dragorn had already managed to delay his tribunal—where he would almost certainly be condemned to execution—for ten years. It was supposed to give Skorn and Ero sufficient time to establish a harvest world and build enough glint to buy the five Voices required to guarantee his innocence.

  “Actually, his tribunal has been moved up,” Skorn said.

  “Malikin moved it up?” Ero frowned. “How?”

  If their father was executed, the status of House Bright’Lor would be terminated, and they would lose the inherent protections of a sovereign entity. The Empire could come for them directly. Malikin wouldn’t have to operate in secret; he could send actual fleet ships to hunt Lumineia.

  “Malikin didn’t do this.” Skorn drained his glass. “Father did.”

  Ero stared at his brother, his drink forgotten. “Father requested to have his trial and possible execution sooner?”

  “That’s what it seems,” Skorn said. “It’s now just a month away.”

  “A month?” Ero came to his feet. “That’s not enough time to form our own House. And if he’s executed, we’re as good as dead.”

  “Now you can see why I wanted to speak with Wylyn,” Skorn said. “She has far more connections and spies than we do. She’s the one that figured out Dragorn requested it himself.”

  “This is madness.” Ero was pacing. “Dragorn is as calculating as you are, but this is tactical suicide. There’s no possible way for us to get the glint together in time. He must know that.”

  “He does,” Skorn said.

  “Then why do it?”

  Skorn looked away, his expression doubtful, then turned back. “I don’t know.”

  Ero had rarely heard his brother express uncertainty. He always considered every angle and prepared for every contingency, but this was a massive oversight, and the doubt in Skorn’s expression made it clear he knew it.

  Ero came to a stop. “Have you talked to him?”

  Skorn shook his head. “Not yet. I was waiting to figure out my next move. He made the request a few hours ago, but Malikin already granted it.”

  “Of course he did.” Ero began pacing again. “This is probably the best news he’s heard all year.”

  Skorn turned thoughtful. “That’s true. And his reaction would have been easy to predict.”

  “It still leads to father getting executed.”

  “He must have a plan,” Skorn said. “And I think it’s time we find out what he’s up to.”

  Skorn stood and activated his holoview. With a flick of his finger, he sent a beamcast to Condemnation. It took several seconds for the signal to navigate Skorn’s heavy encryption, travel through the micro-Gate, and endure the gauntlet of coding at Condemnation. Then Dragorn appeared in front of the large windows.

  He smiled as he regarded Ero and Skorn, his customary sneer too smug for Ero’s liking. “My two sons speak to me at last.”

  “We didn’t want to risk making a connection that Malikin could intercept,” Skorn said. “The silence was for your protection as much as ours.”

  Ero expected his father to issue a scathing retort. Instead, Dragorn rotated and surveyed the storm-lashed streets of the City of Dawn. He reached up and brushed his hand across the glass, the window reflecting his glowing palm.

  “This planet is as beautiful as Kelindor,” he said. “I look forward to seeing it with my own eyes.”

  Ero and Skorn exchanged a look, and Ero said, “What about the tribunal? There’s no way we can afford to bribe the judges in just a month.”

  Dragorn turned, his sneer becoming a triumphant smile. “I have ensured an alternative means of survival.”

  “Your tactics are always flawless,” Skorn said. “And we are delighted that you have a plan.”

  “Are you?” Dragorn challenged.

  “Of course,” Ero said. “We wouldn’t have a House without you.”

  Dragorn eyed the room, his gaze passing over Ero and Skorn, the sparse but clean furnishings, and the bottle of Kelindorian fire drey resting between the two glasses. He looked like a drake choosing which of his chained prey would be devoured first.

  “After all our House has survived,” Dragorn finally said, “our greatest threat is ourselves.”

  “We stand with you,” Skorn said. “Always.”

  Dragorn laughed, a seedy sound that conveyed menace rather than amusement. “You do for now, because my life offers protection against Malikin. And my absence offers you freedom to build my House according to your own desires.”

  “We’re following your plan,” Ero protested. “Steal a harvest world and get enough slaves to buy your innocence.”

  “It was my plan until you created the augments,” Dragorn said. “I admit I thought your foolishness would doom us all, but it seems your luck has infused new life into my House. In just a few short years, we will have more wealth than even House Jek’Orus.”

  “Only if you aren’t executed,” Skorn said.

  “Leave that to me.”

  “You’re not going to share your plan?” Ero asked. “But we can help.”

  “I think not,” Dragorn said. “My new ally has made an offer, and I have accepted. And when I’m released, this House—and all of its assets—will again belong to me.”

  Inwardly, Ero shuddered. He and Skorn had assumed that Dragorn would be killed, and his execution was essential to their plans. To have him return would be catastrophic, but Skorn and Ero would not be able to deny him his legal right.

  “Ero is right,” Skorn said. “Tell us your ally and we can help.”

  “After all you have done for me”—Dragorn’s voice turned mocking—"I’ll make certain to return the favor. See you in a month.”

  The holo disintegrated, leaving Ero feeling more disturbed than he had before the conversation. Dragorn wasn’t just confident in his ally, he was confident he would return to House Bright’Lor to reclaim what he’d lost. And Ero knew exactly what would happen if he did. Dragorn would either have him killed, or exiled.

  “He spoke of an ally,” Skorn said. “If I can determine who it is, maybe we can figure out his plan.”

  “I’ll reach out to old contacts and see what I can find,” Ero said.

  Skorn turned
away and then paused. “Brother, whatever you’re dealing with, you need to set it aside. This takes precedence over everything else.”

  Ero thought of Enara and the Light, but knew Skorn was right. “Agreed.”

  Skorn motioned to the bottle. “Enjoy it while you can. If Dragorn comes back, you know what he’ll do to you.”

  “I know.”

  “I’m not letting that happen,” Skorn said.

  “If he returns, you won’t be able to stop him.”

  “Then let’s make sure he doesn’t return.”

  Ero nodded, and in that moment an unspoken accord hardened between them. Dragorn was a greater threat than even Malikin, and they could not risk his return, not for anything. But there was one thing that Ero needed an answer to.

  “Did you destroy Kelindor?”

  The question popped out of Ero’s mouth before he could stop it, and Skorn froze. The seconds passed in silence. Ero wanted to say more, but couldn’t seem to form the words. Their House was threatened, he’d put Siena at tremendous risk, and Dragorn might return. He couldn’t endure it without his brother.

  “I’m sorry,” Ero said when Skorn did not speak. “I can’t do all this without you, but Belgin sent me a vid of you releasing the Dark on Kelindor. I tried to ignore it, but I can’t. We’ve always counted on each other, but I need to know if you destroyed our House.”

  Skorn finally rotated to meet his gaze. “You want to know if I would betray you again?”

  “Again?” Ero demanded. “So you don’t deny it?”

  Skorn reached to a panel on the wall and withdrew a lance pistol. He held the weapon at his side, his eyes never leaving Ero’s. “I had to.”

  “Are you going to kill me?” Ero demanded.

  “I don’t want to. But if you want to betray me in turn . . .” He thumbed the activator on the pistol.

  Ero glared at his brother. “You think I’d attack you?” he growled. “I want to know why you would destroy Kelindor. You had to have known what the Dark would have done to our House.”

  Skorn held his gaze. “I did.”

  “You knew it would destroy our House and you did it anyway?”

  Skorn didn’t flinch at Ero’s anger. “Dragorn was reckless. He’d made deals with multiple House leaders but could not deliver. Assassinations were planned. And it was only a matter of time until Bright’Lor was destroyed.”

  “Then why destroy it first?” Ero shouted.

  “Because if I didn’t, we would be dead,” Skorn hurled back. “It was either sacrifice a planet for a chance to rebuild, or die with our father. I chose to survive.”

  “You killed billions.”

  “Most of them were just human.”

  Ero’s anger bled away, replaced by shock and, surprisingly, pity. His brother really did think of humans as animals. He probably even considered Ero to be just a tool for his ambitions. Ero slowly shook his head.

  “I can’t look at them like that,” he said. “Not anymore.”

  Skorn’s grip tightened on the lance pistol. “Are you breaking our alliance?”

  “Of course not,” Ero said. “But after we deal with Dragorn, we need to talk about what type of House we are building.”

  Skorn held his gaze, and then deactivated the lance pistol. “I look forward to it.”

  As Skorn turned and left, Ero picked up the bottle and took a swig. He stared out the window and watched the trees bend in the wind. The dread and fear settled into his gut, and he wished Siena were present. As young as she was, she would have known what to say.

  For over an hour he watched the storm. He savored every drop of the bottle. A major shift had occurred inside House Bright’Lor, and as long as he stayed in place, he could pretend it would not be his undoing. But when the indigo liquid was finally drained, he knew it was time to fight. Leaving it on the table, he returned to his house through the glass bridge and ascended to the second floor, where Erlanex had recently installed a holochamber. He stepped inside and brought up a list of all his past allies. It was time to go to work.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Reklin stared at Visika, her request so shocking that it took several seconds to process. Ultimately, he just shook his head. “You want me to do what?”

  After returning to the Alpha Queen from Mylttium, Reklin expected to be put back into the cell with Mora. Instead Visika met him in the hall outside the cell. Of all the things she’d asked of him, her new question was the most shocking.

  “I didn’t realize your hearing had started to deteriorate with your age,” Visika said. “I told you I need you to get me into Vornblade.”

  “Why?” Reklin demanded.

  “You’ll find out when we get there. Can you get me in, or do we talk about the many ways I can kill Mora?”

  “I couldn’t even if I wanted to. After you sent my resignation to the Empire, my clearance codes would have been revoked.”

  “I may have overstated my actions,” she admitted with a faint smile.

  “Wait,” he said. “I’m still listed as a member of the military?”

  “You are, although your undercover mission means your status is known to only a select few. Now, can you get me inside?”

  “Maybe,” he said. “But you know Vornblade is the headquarters of the military, so there’s thousands of dakorian officers in the complex. Is what you want really worth such a risk?”

  “It is.”

  Visika pointed to the guard, who opened the cell’s door. Reklin had no choice but to enter. Mora immediately pounced, climbing up his body to sit on his shoulder. Reklin hardly heard her excited bombardment of questions.

  Vornblade, the military district on Valana, was miles and miles of barracks towers, training facilities, mission operational archives, and the great skull that housed the Bone Council. Accessible only by authorized dakorian soldiers and high-ranking krey, it would be impregnable to anyone without constantly changing codes. Even with Reklin’s rank as a Shard team captain, entering the district with the head of the Burning Ghosts was enormously risky, especially since Malikin was probably prepared for such a tactic. What could Visika possibly have to gain from—

  “REKLIN!” Mora screamed in his ear, making him flinch.

  “You don’t have to shout,” he said, reaching up and grabbing her horn to pull her back.

  “Reklin no listen.” Mora pouted as Reklin lifted her down.

  “I’m just confused,” Reklin said.

  “Why confused?”

  Reklin smiled at her earnest expression. “Visika wants me to take her to Vornblade, but I can’t imagine what she has to gain from such a risk.”

  “Maybe Visika stupid,” Mora said with a shrug.

  Reklin grinned and sat across from the girl. “She’s the smartest dakorian I’ve ever met.”

  Mora scowled at her, an expression that was more amusing than irritating. The girl’s hair was in disarray, with tangles hanging around her horns. Apparently the guard had given in to her incessant talking and provided a vid projector. Reklin was glad she at least had something to do, and steered her in the direction of watching a vid. The girl was only too happy to launch into a surprisingly detailed description of her favorite vid series, which featured a dakorian that solved crimes with his krey partner.

  Reklin listened enough to respond, but his mind was on Vornblade, and Visika’s real intent. The military maintained a separate archive from the fleet, and the coding was strong enough that it had withstood many attempts at a breach. If information was ever taken, it could risk the lives of most of the military officers, and threaten thousands of ongoing missions. Planting a hack using Reklin’s officer code was a possibility, and would give the Burning Ghosts valuable information for years, especially if the hack was sophisticated.

  The day and evening passed, and Reklin spent the time either training Mora, who loved to fight as much as Inary did when she was little, or watching vids. The girl fell asleep in his arms. Holding the small body, he wondered if he w
ould ever get to be a father.

  Visika came to get him three days later, but when the cell door opened, she looked nothing like the queen of the Ghosts. Three of her five horns had been cut, leaving two that looked far less prominent. She was dressed in the black uniform of a Shard team member, right down to the insignia and the three burns in her right horn, which indicated her rank.

  “You cut your horns?” Reklin asked.

  Mora was asleep, and she hardly stirred when he gently lay her on the floor. Visika motioned to a guard at her side, and the dakorian tossed Reklin a matching uniform. Obviously not wanting to wake the girl, she pointed Reklin out. He found it amusing that for all her power, she didn’t want to deal with Mora’s wrath a second time.

  Once Reklin was in the hall and the door shut, Visika pointed to her horns. “Mine will grow back in a few months. A small price to pay for what we are here to steal.”

  “And are you going to tell me what that is?”

  “No.”

  She turned away and departed, leaving him to get dressed. The guard, a dakorian Reklin had come to know as Walt, waited until he was ready before handing him a traditional hammer lance. Then he opened a small crate to reveal a pair of fake horns.

  “I’m not wearing those,” Reklin said flatly.

  “Your officer codes are still active,” Walt said, “but your hornless status is well known. We can’t risk you being recognized.”

  Revolted at the prospect, Reklin picked up the horns. They were obviously real, and had a slight curve. They were straighter than his had been, with faint gray lines through the brown. Tiny gravity emitters at the base allowed him to attach them to the stumps on his skull. There was also a holo emitter that appeared to smooth the cracks and make them look natural.

  To be hornless was one thing, but to don fake horns was shameful. Only the most desperate and broken dakorian would stoop to placing fake horns on his head, yet one glance at the cell door reminded him of why he would do it. Reluctantly, he put the horns onto his head.