Sacred Planet: Book One of the Dominion Series (19 page)

Kastor smirked and aimed his cuff at the table. Squeezing a button, the cuff projected a digital map of the capital, elongated by the angle. A knot of blue and green dots congregated in the lower region of the palace, near the royal marina. The marina sat in a watery alcove that had been carved into the cliff.

“They’re fleeing on boats,” Kastor said casually. “And they’ve still got a few dozen drones for air protection.”

Abelard eyed the cuff. “How did you come across that?”

“It belonged to a guard,” Kastor replied. “A nasty fellow named Sylvan. Heard of him?”

“Head of the royal guard?”Abelard asked. “‘Course I’ve heard of him. I don’t suppose he relinquished it peacefully.”

Kastor smirked. “No.”

“You think you can catch Radovan?” Abelard asked.

“I’ll catch him for you. And I’ll kill him before he can summon reinforcements. But I need something in return.”

Abelard sat back and sniffed. Eyes stony. Revolver pointed up. “I’m listening.”

“Upraad needs a lumis,” Kastor said. “And whoever that lumis is, he needs to swear allegiance to Zantorian.”

Abelard huffed. “The free men of Upraad don’t
need
a lumis. We don’t need a noble class leeching off our labor.” The rat-faced commoner puckered as if he’d eaten a lemon. He spoke loud enough that his men could hear. “We need production and distribution. All else is waste.”

Kastor laughed. “So this ‘wasteful’ class, what will you do with them? There are thousands of nobles on Upraad, tens of thousands more throughout the Lagoon systems.”

Abelard spun his revolver with the nonchalance of a highborn accountant calculating commoner infant mortality. “We won’t have an aristocracy anymore. They’ll be free to leave, but if they stay, they’ll have no claim to the sweat of my brow.”

Kastor realized something he hadn’t thought of before: Commoners unfortunately came with the same array of emotions as nobles, only more erratic and less tempered by rationality.

“So they die. And many of your comrades will die in the process. Just because you’ve taken Radovan’s palace doesn’t mean this is over. The nobles will take as many of you with them as possible if their lumis still lives.” Kastor glanced around at the commoner children on hands and knees, slurping from the turquoise water. He smiled grimly. “Of course, none of that matters anyway. Win your revolution or lose it. Doesn’t matter. Zantorian won’t allow your socialist utopia a place in Sagittarius.”

Abelard frowned, but his lips concealed a lighthearted joy. “Upraad isn’t part of Sagittarius.”

“The Grand Lumis says it is,” Kastor said. “And the Grand Lumis’s word is truth.”

A long pause stretched between them. The cogs of Abelard’s mind churned. Finally, his thin, chapped lips split into a subdued grin. “I suppose there’s only one solution then.” He leaned forward and whispered. “Make me the ruler of Upraad.”

Kastor’s suspicion was instantly confirmed. At once, his view of Abelard shifted. Where before he saw an ideological revolutionary, now he saw a rabble-rousing opportunist. Kastor liked this kind of commoner. He shared at least some of the same reality with him.

“Abelard the Commoner Lumis,” Kastor said in amusement.

“No, no.” Abelard waved away the title as ridiculous. “No more of this ‘lumis’ business. Zantorian can call me that if he must, but on Upraad, I will simply be a benevolent ruler.”

Kastor heaved a laugh. “Is there a difference?”

“Yes,” Abelard returned quickly. “It’s the difference between both of us getting what we want, and both of us losing everything.”

Kastor dipped his head in deference. “Your shrewdness is a pleasant surprise.”

“One can’t play the role of selfless savior forever,” Abelard said, still talking in a low voice. “Even the Christ recognized that. After his service on Earth, he was exalted to kingship, was he not?”

Kastor grinned, unfamiliar with the old Earthen myths but humored all the same. “So we have a deal then?”

Abelard inhaled a long breath. “You capture Radovan, and I’ll work on establishing my government. When it’s all over . . .” His lips formed a thin line, but glee shone through. “I’ll be whatever Zantorian wants me to be.”

Kastor reached out and took the commoner’s hand, the first time he had ever experienced such a thing. At first, it felt as if reaching down, lowering himself—a desperate measure for a desperate situation. But strangely, it didn’t perturb him to clasp the grubby, clammy palm. This commoner was unlike any he had ever seen or heard of. In Abelard, Kastor saw a glimpse of himself. The man could’ve almost been a nobleman in disguise. Almost.

Kastor pulled Abelard closer. “If you betray me, I’ll kill you with this very hand.”

Abelard let go and sat back. The threat didn’t daunt him. “I’d might as well betray myself. We’re on the same side now, my friend.”

Orion Arm, approaching the planet Agora . . .

Agora inflated like a glowing balloon out the windshield.

Sweet, sweet Agora. The gem of Orion. Radiant and beautiful, Agora was the shining city on the hill of the cosmos. Deep blue covered the planet, mottled with white swirls and green splotches. Strings of islands peppered the equatorial belt, where kelp farms spanned hundreds of square kilometers—the tastiest, saltiest kelp in the universe—and white sand beaches, soft as cotton balls, stretched as far as the eye could see.

The city of Apex glinted gray across an archipelago of islands and reached out into the ocean. Strange steered the
Fossa
in that direction, while Davin and Sierra watched from the cockpit.

Manhattan and Hong Kong and Dubai had nothing on this city. Buildings projected into the sky like steel and plexiglass giants. Sleek Rolls Royce shuttles zipped through the air while the newest Lamborghini autos vied for attention on the streets, every vehicle in constant communication with every other, organized like a hive of mechanical bees. Spurting fountains, manicured parks, and cobblestone drives showed off the enormous wealth generated by human ingenuity and the good, old-fashioned profit motive. As they descended, they soared over a verdant, pay-per-visit park filled with screaming kids and busty soccer moms. Felt like home.

Ahead, a few dozen billboard screens flashed their spastic advertisements for Coke Classic or Jazzie Mike’s Kelpburgers—a staple of the Agoran diet, along with yucca fries and ketchup. Agora had countless varieties of kelp, and with the right processing the stuff could taste like damn near anything. Salty, savory, warm, just a tad bit chewy. Suddenly, Davin craved Jazzie Mike’s.

“Are you sure this is a good place to lie low?” Sierra asked from the seat behind him.

“Positive,” Davin said, exchanging a quick, knowing glance with Strange. “Even if they did come looking for us here, we’re a needle in a haystack.”

When he glanced back, Sierra still looked perturbed.

“Take us to Flotsam,” Davin said to Strange.

She nodded.

“Flotsam?” Sierra asked.

“It’s an island on the far side of Apex,” Davin replied over his shoulder. “Home of the biggest scrapyard in the VN.”

As they soared over the cityscape, the glistening buildings faded into duller, blockier ones. The streets showed more cracks and ruts. The digital billboards advertised less reputable products and services. One could buy any form of drug or deviancy on Agora. Whatever one liked, somebody sold.

Sierra unbuckled and stood up to see the slum below. “So, not everyone on Agora is rich.”

Davin heaved a laugh. “If everyone on Agora was rich, I wouldn’t be collecting scrap for a living.”

“I figured you just enjoy stealing other people’s property,” Sierra jabbed, quietly but with enough kick to raise Davin’s eyebrows in surprise.

Strange shot him a sideways glance, the corners of her mouth curled in amusement.

Davin twisted around in his seat to face Sierra. “Alright, Princess, let’s try to remember something here. If we hadn’t found you, you’d be in the hands of some creeps in black robes. A little gratefulness would be nice.”

“I’d be grateful if you returned my safe to me, unopened,” she replied in a remarkably calm voice.

“Uh—” Davin exchanged a look with Strange, who wasn’t getting involved in this one. He felt as if he’d stepped in an animal trap. He couldn’t think of any decent excuse to keep it, except his raging curiosity, which he didn’t imagine Sierra would find convincing. “Right. You’ll get it back as soon as we deliver you safe and sound.”

“I’d like access to it when we land,” she said.

Davin felt the sting of more money slipping away from him, untold treasures escaping his grasp. He sighed. “Yeah, yeah, of course. Soon as we land.”

Without another word, Sierra turned and navigated her way out of the cockpit, holding onto handlebars for stability.

Once she was out of sight, Strange let out a breathy laugh and shook her head. “Girl wants her privacy.”

“I’ll bring her some Jazzie Mike’s,” Davin said. “She’ll warm up to us.”

* * *

Jabron grudgingly hauled the solid-looking safe out of its storage nook and onto the main floor, grunting with each heave. He gave Davin a nasty look afterward, as if to say,
Dumbass, why are you allowing this?
Davin just stood with arms crossed as Sierra knelt, spun the knob around a handful of times, then pressed her thumb to a small pad. The front panel blinked green and popped open.

Davin, Strange, Jabron, and Jai all watched curiously as Sierra pulled away the heavy front panel. She noticed them gawking and stepped aside to show what was inside. Her lips formed a disarming smile.

Inside the safe sat a stack of old-fashioned, paper-and-fabric . . .
books
. The kind with words printed in them. One spine was labeled
The Book of Certitude
, which struck Davin as strikingly self-confident, even for him. Another was called
Gems of Divine Mysteries
. Another
The Most Holy Book
. Geez. Whoever wrote these apparently had an ego. The whole interior space of the safe was taken up by these antiques. Possibly worth something, but Davin got the impression they were more valuable to Sierra than they would be to anyone else.

“They belong to my family,” she said softly. “I’d be grateful if you left them alone.”

So the girl was religious. Davin should’ve expected as much, her being Carinian and all. Not to mention part of the Carinian prime minister’s family. They were probably the most religious of all. Davin had to think of something to break the sudden awkwardness.

“So, how many Carinians does it take to change a lightbulb?” he asked.

Blank expressions all around.

“Four,” Davin said, trying not to laugh. “One to pray about it, one to lobby the politicians about it, one to change the lightbulb, and one to make tea.”

Strange recoiled in revulsion. “What the hell, Cap?”

Jai crossed his arms and shook his head, muttering to himself in Mandarin.

Sierra cracked a smile. “Never heard that one before.”

Davin raised his open palms to Strange. “She thought it was funny.” He turned to Sierra. “You thought it was funny, right?”

Sierra shrugged. “Not the worst Carinian joke I’ve heard.”

Davin exhaled and clasped his hands together, no longer peeved about the books. Besides, his real moneymaker was still standing right before him. “Well, I’m glad you’ve got some reading material while we wait.”

* * *

Davin left the
Fossa
to cool off on the landing pad. Jabron stood under the ship’s steaming hot undercarriage checking for cracks or faults in the plating while Jai and Strange stayed inside to go through the obligatory system checks. Davin hated that boring stuff—hence the beauty of having a crew. Sierra hung back as well, too recognizable to be let out. Besides, Flotsam wasn’t the nicest neighborhood on the Commerce Islands. Soft girls like her would look mighty fine to a roughneck scavenger.

He stepped through an opening into a rusty, corrugated metal warehouse. Stacks of tires and drums full of twisted scrap littered its stained concrete floor. The scrap market seemed alive and well today, people bustling from booth to booth as sellers touted their junky wares. These folks were the lowest gunk scraped from the barrel of society, but they smiled and laughed with carefree abandon. They bartered and traded and sang bar songs and told the wildest stories. These were Davin’s people, warts and sweat stains and all.

Around a corner booth, where a stout, leathery-skinned fellow missing at least half his teeth was peddling scrap jewelry, Davin heard a familiar sound.

“Hey cowboy.”

A woman’s voice stopped him in his tracks. Cool and breathy and tough. Davin could recognize it anywhere.

Jade Ramey, the Scrap Queen herself, leaned against a stack of tires, arms crossed over a black leather vest. Her vest wrapped around just enough to cover the necessities, and tight black pants sat low on her hips, outlining her toned thighs. A piece of metal bent into the shape of a shark tooth hung from her neck, while waves of raven-black hair came to rest on her shoulders.

“Just the man I wanted to see,” she said, smiling like a vulture.

Davin grinned. “Not the first time I’ve heard that from a lady. Probably not the last. What can I do for ya, Jade?”

“You can buy me a penthouse suite in the city and come visit at night.” She stepped toward him, putting each foot directly in front of the other so that her legs crossed as she walked.

Davin got the sense he was being seduced, and he liked it. “Looks like the pheromone supplements I’m taking work. Or else I’ve just gotten more attractive recently. Since when did I become such a priority to you?”

She tilted her head toward the activity in the warehouse. “Market’s running itself today. I blacklisted some hooligans and hired a couple bouncers. Got every booth filled. Don’t have much to do around here anymore. Plenty of time to play.” She lifted an eyebrow suggestively at the last word and hooked her fingers into Davin’s jacket pockets. “Buy me a drink?”

“Seems like you should be the one buying me a drink.”

“Guess we’ll have to get two drinks then,” she said. “Make it even.”