Prince of Luster (3 page)

First, the man doing the talking was certainly lying about dissidents attacking the merchant buildings he’d just seen. The storefronts he’d walked past had been badly burned, and by advanced weaponry not associated with any rebels who’d likely be scrounging what arms they could. Even the stone of the sturdiest structures had been severely scorched. He’d seen such damage before, by Warlords on numerous planets where their murderous cults had tried to rule or take over by force. Driving specially equipped shuttles through the streets and firing advanced munitions on storefronts had been a way to issue warning. Such tactics were meant to instill fear into the hearts of anyone who opposed that faction. Warlords and their minions had been at the core of recent war that’d killed billions. Small groups of them still tried to set up strongholds on planets just like Delta Seven.

Second, that enforcer had likely been to the Allusion planetary system. But so had Marcos. The description he’d given of the Allusion planets and their businesses was quite accurate.

It seemed that some of the rumors surrounding this planet were true. As to pirates or Warlords being the culprits, that remained to be seen. But if either of those groups had fire
plasma—and had ever openly demonstrated its destructiveness—no one on this or any other sparsely populated mining colony would dare take a stand. Doing so would be suicide. Survivors of such attacks were worse than dead. They were always horribly mutilated and suffered until their open wounds closed. And that happened very slowly.

Fire plasma was normally dispersed broadly and tended to kill or maim innocent civilians not considered at war with anyone. It was a means to terrorize, nothing more. That was why all law-abiding, sentient planets and colonies banned the substance.

Marcos considered everything he’d seen and heard so far. There wasn’t enough evidence to use against any one or any group. He had to dig to get to the heart of the issue.

In order to look as though he was the merchant he claimed to be, he said nothing more except to order a meal to go with his drink. He moved to another part of the bar so he could surreptitiously keep his eyes on the door.

The sun would set in less than an hour; he didn’t want to cast any doubts as to his identity by violating the curfew. He was sure he’d be watched as he left the tavern. Maybe later in the night, when he wasn’t being spied on, he’d drop the façade of the lowly gem merchant and become what he was—a master of stealth and cunning.

But something told him to go carefully and trust no one. He’d only been off the shuttle a very short time before the local constables had approached him. Apparently, anyone coming into or leaving the colony was being accounted for. That lent even more credence to the stories and rumors that’d reached the house of Starlaw. Marcos understood the secrecy his father employed in not contacting other allied planets to aid in this mission.

As ruler of the planet heading up the entire League, Dar Starlaw felt utterly responsible for any arising law enforcement problems. To keep hordes of criminal gangs and scores of petty tyrants who’d like to get their hands on a weapon of mass destruction equally clueless, his sire had opted to keep the mission quiet, to take care of matters himself and without involving any allied planets or their glory-grabbing, fame-hungry dignitaries. The last thing Dar wanted or needed was to have fire plasma, and the chemical recipe to make it, spread throughout an entire sector of space. Unsure of how allied diplomats might want to leak or even openly boast about their world’s part in such a dangerous mission, Marcos understood why his father had opted to leave them clueless. If those same self-serving fools did as they had on so many occasions and opened their mouths about the mission too soon or alluded to it inappropriately, their tactical ignorance could result in a lot of innocent deaths. Criminals would use any information as an excuse to raid. This was the way Marcos’s father had always operated, even if being so closed-mouthed wasn’t always in accordance to treaties.

Marcos applauded his father’s efforts and loved him even more for his boldness and carelessness of heroic titles that went with mission success. His sire didn’t and never had needed to make a showing of himself to rule effectively. Instead, the king of Luster enforced with as little presence as possible. In that regard, Marcos was determined to keep his real purpose as secret as he could, honoring his father’s attempts to deal with any likely problem before it blew up and became an intergalactic issue.

By chance or portent, Marcos suddenly remembered his family’s final warnings as he’d left home. Even when operating as a spy during the wars, he’d been assured there was someone close to back him up. If he slipped up now and his worst fears were accurate, this lowly planet might become his tomb. As long as he played his part and kept his head down, he’d get the information he came for and could steal whatever transport needed to get off the surface. At least some transportation that’d get him into deep space and the backup waiting there.

Marcos swallowed the last of his drink, picked up his belongings, and headed toward the inn. He prayed to the Creator that his extensive research about the planet and its businesses was correct. If he slipped up and revealed himself, he might be lucky if anyone even found his bones. Pirates were known to do hideous things to captured enforcers. Worse things to any allied planet’s royalty. It was the allies, after all, who’d finally vanquished the Warlords in the last battles. Thus ending years and years of conflict.

As he suspected, his short walk to the inn was shadowed. The men following him weren’t particularly good at what they were doing, or they just didn’t care that he knew. If that were the case, he’d have to carefully weigh every single move he made and every contact’s credibility.

He wasn’t a coward, but the odds were against him. For a moment, he wished for a companion, if only to help watch for trouble. But that meant an extra person’s life would be at risk. There was no reason to put some other soul in danger when he didn’t intend to be on the surface longer than necessary.

After registering at the inn and seeing that the innkeeper behaved in much the same nervous manner as the tavern employee, Marcos quickly retreated to the second-floor room he’d been assigned. It was dark and small. The conveniences and furnishings were made of old-fashioned wood and fabrics, and they looked as though they’d seen better days. The walls were stained, and the mirror over the leaning dresser was cracked. The primitive nature of his surroundings made him wish for the clean, technologically advanced houses of his home world. Everything on Luster was made of pure-white marble that shimmered in the sunlight. And that same marble glowed under the moon’s radiance. Forests and hills were green, lush, and bountiful. This place in which he found himself was full of grays, browns, and the dingiest colors. It was like walking into the reverse of all he knew. It was like being at war again. But even after years of battle as an enforcer officer, the small cabin of any Lusterian vessel was still cleaner and friendlier than this ugly little hamlet. That drove home the need for swift but careful action. The sooner he got his information, the quicker he could see Luster again.

After what seemed like an appropriate amount of time to unpack, Marcos switched off the old-fashioned wall lights and waited. He watched the empty street outside the dirty window without standing too close. After several hours passed, the light from Delta Seven’s crescent moon revealed that no one lurked about. But then a sudden movement caught his eye.

A small figure crept out of the shadows. It moved stealthily through the darkness like a feral feline. He watched and waited to see what new intrigue was afoot. As the moonlight outlined those who’d followed him to the inn, it now delineated the movements of this new player in the stealth game.

• • •

Nova Drayton moved as swiftly as she dared, but stopped in the shadows to make sure her way was clear. Guards were usually posted at regular intervals along the streets and thoroughfares. But the decimated shops on this lane were no longer considered worth the time. Their owners had learned their lesson or were dead. Still, she was exceedingly careful. The fact that this section of town wasn’t so guarded made it easy for a thief like her to steal small morsels of food from each abandoned establishment.

She’d long since dispelled conscience where stealing was concerned. And she’d given up trying to guess who might help her and who wouldn’t. The constables were paid by Forrell. He owned them, and the pirates owned the governor. As a result of their constant torture of the town folk—liberally applied to obtain news of dissidents—neighbor turned on neighbor. The past two years had amounted to a study in survival. And no one could be trusted. But after a year of learning by doing, she’d become a very good thief. She knew where all the best food and goods were stored, long forgotten or given up by their owners. She took too little to be of notice to the looting pirates. But it was enough to grow her pantry. As the weather turned colder, and it would very soon, she’d need warmer clothing as well. What clothes she had from the previous year were threadbare. And she’d find a few things for little Una, too. A few blankets and some canned meats would do nicely.

The small puppy was her only family now. She was thankful she’d found the wandering animal before the cruel pirates did. It didn’t take much imagination to understand what they’d do to a helpless creature, just for sport. She’d already seen what they’d done to every human or other sentient being in the marketplace and surrounding homesteads. All the horror was inflicted to make sure the citizens knew the pirates were in control. Her burned, scarred flesh was another of many reminders. As the weeks grew closer to wintertime, if she had enough food and clothing stored, she wouldn’t have to come into town at all. She could stay in her little cave with Una, live out the coldest months in warmth, and pray that help would come.

But what form would such help take? What did the Constellation League care about some small planet’s plight?

Before some of her friends were killed in the market that fateful day the pirates made an example of them, she’d heard a message had been smuggled out. But no one had come. The Constellation League enforcers to whom the message was supposedly sent cared as little for their poor planet’s problems as did the ruler of Luster. As head of the entire League enforcer cadre, it was Dar Starlaw’s responsibility to see that all remained safe. And the man hadn’t done his job. And for that, she hated him. But she still hoped someone would help—anyone who might even take her small collection of coins for a ticket on a shuttle, to any place in the known universe. As far as she was concerned, any hole would be better than Delta Seven and the small town of Prosperity. Everything here she’d once loved was dead. All but her little Una.

• • •

Marcos watched as the diminutive figure crept about. Whoever the person was, he was covered from head to toe in a dark cloak and hood. It was the typical mantle of outer-world colonists, but a fashion that even those ornately dressed on Luster sometimes wore. The mode of dress was not unlike the brown cloak Marcos had brought with him. But the garment type was the only similarity shared by him and this nightly creeper. Even from his vantage point on the second floor, he could tell his frame dwarfed the party he watched. Whoever it was, he was good. Very good. The operative moved swiftly and gracefully. Marcos well believed the party might be a master thief. Perhaps it was someone working for the pirates, perhaps not. But if the thief’s alliances were with criminals, why creep about in such a decimated area and after an established curfew?

He watched as the small figure stopped in front of one of the merchant shops, looked up and down the darkened streets, and lifted a stone slab on the walkway by the front entrance. His attention was captured by the effortless way the culprit slid beneath the stone and pulled it back into position from underneath.

There were probably tunnels dug beneath the buildings as there were on many mining planets. Old-fashioned steam tunnels often concealed pipes that fed directly into the buildings and provided heat and/or water conduits. Someone with a working knowledge of such channels could easily access them, and find their way into any building. Marcos remembered finding refugees hiding in such places during the war years. They had often sheltered there as a last sanctuary from the fighting, and in violation of local law. Gaining access to them was forbidden in most places because of their use in looting.

Intrigued by the act being played out before him, he watched for the return of the little thief. About a half hour later, the thin stone was pushed aside, and a bag was tossed onto the walkway. The thief easily emerged, pushed the stone back in place, and quickly stopped to throw a handful of street dust back over the area. Presumably, this was done so no one could tell the walkway had been disturbed. He slowly smiled and nodded.

Very good indeed.

Movement from down the street caught his attention. Constables were on patrol. Even from a distance, he recognized their uniform badges and side arms in the moonlight.

He glanced at the small figure struggling to tie up a sack. Apparently, the little thief hadn’t expected them. It could be they were only present because of
him
.

Marcos watched the cloaked figure move away, but it wouldn’t be soon enough for the constables not to notice.

Why did he care? A thief was a thief, and he’d incarcerated enough in his time to understand any
other
constable’s enforcement of very similar laws. Still, something with the situation wasn’t right. If a person wanted to steal, why do it from a burned-out mercantile likely not to hold anything of real value? Nothing but food, water, or perhaps some medicine.

Glancing between the two approaching constables and the small form, logic warred with compassion. The latter won.

He moved closer to his open window, put his hands on the edge, and slammed it hard. The sound echoed to the street below and the thief looked up. Marcos saw the cloaked figure’s attention move not only up to where he stood, but quickly down the street where the constables now moved faster. The sound had alerted them as well. His act was all he could think of doing on the spur of the moment, without risking his mission.