Her Brother's Keeper - eARC (41 page)

There was much to do, but Catherine paused. She gazed across the surface of Zanzibar, a brown, windblown, barren wasteland, and waited. She wanted to greet Marcus and his team personally when they came back aboard.

Chapter 29

The Privateer Ship
Andromeda

City of Freeport, Equatorial Region

The last two days had been a flurry of activity for Cecil. The
Andromeda
had flown back to Freeport, and was in the process of being refueled, refitted, and resupplied for the journey ahead, as rapidly as port facilities would allow. He had a bad feeling that Lang would try to come for him, and wanted to get off of Zanzibar as quickly as possible. His sister said they needed to do the refits and take on the supplies, though, or they wouldn’t make the trip. Cecil had to wait, and he hated waiting. Worrying over Bianca had taken his mind off of things, though. He’d stayed by her side as she was wheeled into the med bay for treatment, and the ship’s flight surgeon had had to practically throw him out of the room to stop him from hovering.

Bianca was resting quietly now, on a gurney in the medical bay. An IV fed fluids into her arm, and a tube supplied oxygen to her nose. The gunshot wound had been severe, given her slight frame, but it had missed her spine. Cecil thanked the God that he was no longer sure he didn’t believe in that she had survived the ordeal. She’d saved his life. This woman, a slave, a concubine assigned to him by a vicious warlord, had taken a bullet for Cecil Blackwood. Cecil Blackwood the drunk. Cecil Blackwood the womanizer. Cecil Blackwood the playboy.

He sat in an uncomfortable folding chair next to her gurney, holding her hand, and was lost in thought. His little adventure on Zanzibar had cost much, not only in terms of money, but in lives. One of the mercenaries that had helped rescue him, Randall Markgraf, had been killed. Several others were wounded, though their wounds were not severe. Dozens of Aristotle Lang’s men had been killed, but Lang was still out there. Now, thanks to the unwilling efforts of Cecil and his employees, the old warlord had access to priceless alien artifacts with which to fund his army. Zanzibar would suffer even more, and it was all Cecil’s fault. He hung his head in shame. How can a man come back when he’d made such terrible mistakes?

Cecil looked up at Bianca, who was still unconscious. Her breast rose and fell beneath the Mylar blanket as she breathed. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes,” he told her, even though she couldn’t hear. “Mistakes I can’t forget, can’t live down. But I can do some good, too. When we get home, I’ll make sure you’re taken care of, love. You’ll have everything you could possibly desire. You’ll see the best doctors, eat the best food, live the best life. You’ll never want or fear again. I swear to you. I’ll…I’ll even quit drinking,” he promised, wondering if he’d be able to live up to it. “I’ll be a better man. For you.”

Of all the women Cecil had wooed and bedded over the years, this Zanzibaran refugee was the only one that had ever loved him. All the others had wanted something from him—money, power, or access to both. But all she’d wanted was to be safe, and to be with him.

She squeezed his hand weakly. “You really gon’ take care a’ me, Mista Ceecil?”

Cecil leaned forward, clasping her hand in both of his. “Bianca! Yes, love. You don’t have to worry about anything now. I’m going to take care of you. I promise you.”

Bianca managed a slight smile. “I love you, Mista Ceecil.” She then closed her eyes and drifted back to sleep.

“I…I love you too,” he said quietly.

Cecil was startled when someone knocked on the hatch. Behind him was Felicity Lowlander, dressed in a green flight suit with her hair in a bun. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Mr. Blackwood, but the captain has requested that you join her in Astrogation. She wishes to debrief you before we lift off. Mr. Mesa and Ms. Kay are already there.”

Cecil nodded. “Of…of course.” He stood up, still holding Bianca’s hand. “Will she be alright?”

“She has a long road ahead of her, but time in freefall will take the strain off of her heart and help her recover. I’ll take good care of her.”

“Thank you, love,” he said. Could someone show me the way?”

A short while later, Cecil found himself in Astrogation. Catherine and the leader of the mercenary team were waiting for him. Zak and Anna were using a large holotank to present their findings and brief the ship’s crew on the alien artifacts.

“Thank you for coming, Cecil,” Catherine said as he entered the room. “Please have a seat. Your employees were just filling us in on what they’d found, and their interaction with the Orlov refugees in Sanctuary.”

“I’m afraid I was unaware of that last bit,” Cecil said, sitting down.

“I’m sorry, Cecil,” Zak said. “I didn’t tell you for your own safety. If we got caught, we were dead. No sense getting you killed too.”

“I appreciate that, mate,” Cecil said. “I suspected something was going on, you know, but I didn’t want to ask. Say…Mr. Winchester, right?”

Marcus Winchester nodded. “The same.”

“Thank you, sir. I owe you and your team my life. I’m sorry for your loss.”

Marcus nodded quietly. “Just doing what we were hired to do.”

“Be that as it may,” Cecil said, “if Mr. Markgraf had any family, I’ll make sure they’re taken care of. I promise you that.”

“I appreciate the gesture, but he didn’t have any family. His will stipulates that everything be left to a couple of different charities on New Austin.”

Catherine sat down and crossed her legs. “Cecil, there are some things I need to ask you. Forgive me if I sound prying or suspicious, but I came a long way and endured a great deal of risk to find you.”

“What did Father tell you?” Cecil asked.

“He didn’t tell me about any alien artifacts. He said that you were off on Zanzibar on some kind of treasure hunt. I was told you’d chartered a ship and gallivanted off to the frontier, on what he described as a fool’s errand. He said he heard nothing from you for months, until he received the ransom demand from Aristotle Lang.”

“Fool’s errand, eh?” Cecil shook his head in frustration. “It bloody well was. But Father is a fool, too, then. He knew what I was up to. He partially funded the expedition.”

Catherine’s eyebrows shot up. “He did, did he?”

“Indeed. He thought it was foolish, all right, but we were desperate.”

“Cecil, just how desperate is the situation at home getting?”

“Father has been all but marginalized on the Council. Aberdeen Province has lost its prestige and much of its power.”

“So you came up with this scheme to go hunting for alien artifacts?”

“Yes. And if not for Aristotle bloody Lang, it’d have worked beautifully, too. I had it all arranged. Once I secured the dig site, I was to send word home. Father would send
Blackwood and Associates transport ships out to pick up the cargo, and we’d haul them back to Avalon.”

“What?” Zak exclaimed. “
That
was your plan? You were going to loot Zanzibar?”

“Yes, damn it!” Cecil snarled. “And why not? Look at this place, man! Those artifacts were lost to history before we came along. What did you think we were going to do with them?”

“The Concordiat wouldn’t have approved of Avalon trading in stolen alien artifacts,” Catherine said coolly.

“The bloody Concordiat doesn’t have a say in it,” Cecil said. “Avalon is not a signatory to that treaty, and there are plenty of independent systems willing to trade in xenoarchaeological artifacts. There are Concordiat worlds willing to deal in them, too. How do you think the ones that have been found end up in museums and laboratories?”

“Okay, okay,” Catherine said, “calm down. I’m not accusing, I just want to know what’s going on. Cecil, if Aberdeen is in such hard times, surely even a large infusion of money wouldn’t turn things around?”

“No, not by itself,” Cecil admitted. “Father and I had bigger plans. Avalon is withering away, slowly, by being so isolationist. Our trade with the Concordiat and others is limited. Our economy is stagnant. We’re hindered at every turn by protectionist trade laws. It’s time to start looking at unorthodox strategies. We were also discussing trying to make inroads into the Orlov Combine, maybe even normalizing relations with them. And Zanzibar…Cat, this planet is a hellhole, but it’s a practically
uninhabited
hellhole that’s rich in resources. Right now, its resources aren’t being tapped. If this all worked out the way we hoped, Zanzibar could have become a protectorate of Avalon, trading with the Orlov Combine and the Llewellyn Freehold alike. This place was once the crossroads of the frontier. It could have been again. Now? Well…I just want to get off this bloody rock.”

Catherine pinched the bridge of her nose between a finger and thumb, the way she always did when she was frustrated. “Well, this is a fine thing. Why didn’t Father just tell me all this?”

“He was probably afraid you wouldn’t help if he did. It was easier to blame it all on me, I suppose. It always was easier to blame it on me.”

Catherine’s expression softened. Cecil had always been something of an embarrassment to the family, and everyone knew it. It was unfair, of course, one of the downsides to Avalon’s stodgy culture. He’d always been different, never quite the heir their father had wanted him to be. He’d had something to prove his entire life, and when he’d tried to prove it, it had all blown up in his face. “This does beg the question of what is to be done with the artifacts in my cargo hold.”

“They’re not ours to take,” Zak protested.

“Mr. Mesa,” Catherine said firmly, “I appreciate your passion for the matter, and I assure you, I’m no grave robber. But the fact of the matter is they’re in my possession and I need to figure out what to do with them. If I don’t sell them they’re extra mass I don’t need, and you and I both know what will happen to them if I leave them here.”

“I’ll buy them from you!” Cecil said. “Or rather, Blackwood and Associates will.”

Catherine raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure Father would approve?”

“Father can piss off,” Cecil said. “I’m still the CEO of the company, assuming he hasn’t written me off for dead, and I still get to make the decisions. I’ll buy them from you.” Before Zak could say anything, Cecil turned to his partner. “No worries, Zak. I’ll arrange to sell them to legitimate scientific establishments, where they’ll be properly researched and documented and whatnot. If you still wish to be in my employ, you can supervise the whole thing, vet the potential buyers.”

Anna Kay, who had been quiet, tapped the side of her head with her finger. “I may be able to help you with that, Cecil,” she said.

“Oh?”

“The University Byzantium has a very well-funded xenoarchaeology department. Ancient Antecessor artifacts have been found on my homeworld as well, and researching them is one of the colonial government’s top priorities. We may be able to work out a trade agreement.”

“Anna, love, I appreciate that, but how do you propose to do all this?”

The archaeologist smiled. “As Zak would say, I’m kind of a big deal on my homeworld. The New Constantinople government has a policy of buying any and all artifacts from Antecedent Species, no questions asked, even if the prices are inflated. It’s one way of cracking down on the black market: they simply buy it out.”

Cecil looked confused. “Yes, but how do you propose to arrange this?”

“I’ll explain later,” Zak said.

“Yes, well, let’s focus on the matter at hand,” Catherine said. “Cecil, you’ve got yourself a deal. I’ll have you work out the details with the ship’s purser at your leisure. There is also one other thing you may be interested in. Again, it’s worth nothing to me if I can’t sell it to someone who can exploit it, and…to be honest, I’d like to show Father that I’m still willing to put my homeworld first, even if I don’t live there anymore.”

“Right. What is it?”

Catherine tapped her handheld a couple of times. A detailed, 3D image of a massive ship appeared in the holotank. “She’s called the
Agamemnon,
and she dates back to the Second Federation. She’s mostly intact, though we were unable to ascertain what happened to her crew. We found her adrift by chance. It’s possible someone else will find her before you can get there, and it’s doubtful anyone will respect the salvage claim beacon we left. But she’s out there, waiting for someone to uncover her secrets. I’ll sell the info to the company for a fraction of what I could get for it on the open market.”

Cecil, Zak, and Anna all stared at the holotank, fascinated. Zak shook his head. “What a find!”

“You’ve got yourself a deal,” Cecil said, not taking his eyes off of the hologram.

Catherine touched her ear for a moment, as if listening to her headset. “I see. Stand by.” She tapped the controls, and the hologram of the
Agamemnon
was replaced with the face of Aristotle Lang.

“…citizens of Freeport, for too long you have lived in squalor, forgotten about by your self-appointed masters who sit comfortably behind walls and fences. Now is your moment! Rise up! Throw off the yoke of oppression and join me! I have in my possession a wealth of ancient alien artifacts, and I will use them to rebuild Zanzibar! Our home will know the glory it once did, but only if you fight by my side! Join me! Rise up! Kill the Enforcers, take their weapons! All of you who are forced to scratch a living from this desolate world, while Frank DeWitt and his board sit fat and happy, not wanting for anything, rise up! Ninety-nine percent of this world’s inhabitants live in squalor, while the elite one percent has everything! I say no more! I say it’s time for the revolution! Join me, and take back what is rightfully yours!”

Cecil felt sick. “My God.”

Lang wasn’t done yet. An image of Catherine, Cecil, and the
Andromeda
herself appeared on the screen. The warlord’s expression darkened. “These two people are brother and sister by the name of Blackwood. The woman is the captain of this ship, which is now berthed in Freeport. Bring me their heads, and I will make you wealthy beyond your wildest dreams. Deliver me the ship intact, and I’ll reward you just as generously. To the spaceport controllers, I say, I will pay you ten times your yearly salary if you don’t release that ship from the landing tower. You will be rewarded. Aristotle Lang always keeps his word. These people are off-worlders who’ve come to loot this world to steal our precious resources and sell them elsewhere.”