Scattered Suns (53 page)

Chapter 113—KING PETER

The halls of the Whisper Palace were not safe even late at night. A disguised King Peter slipped alone through the corridors, taking a roundabout way to the meeting place. His hands were clammy, his breathing shallow. Anyone who stopped to question him would notice him sweating. He wondered if this was how Prince Daniel had escaped a few days ago.

Deep in a dead-end hall in the basement recesses of the enormous structure, Peter found the storage room without difficulty. He couldn’t remember ever having walked these levels before, but OX had provided detailed directions, which the King memorized, then destroyed. He didn’t want to carry anything incriminating, in case suspicious Hansa officials or royal guards encountered him on his nighttime stroll.

Estarra was extremely nervous about what he intended to do. Again while swimming with the dolphins, the two had used their secret sign language, then talked in only the barest of whispers, breathing into each other’s ears. King and Queen needed to form desperate alliances and gather defenses against the Chairman. Peter would not let any harm come to Estarra’s and his unborn child, and he’d finally been driven to take this terrible chance.

The storeroom door was unlocked, as arranged. Peter opened it slowly, still expecting a trap, his mind racing to concoct a viable excuse. Inside a chamber crowded with boxes, sculptures, and paraphernalia, he saw one shadowy figure.

“Ah, welcome, King Peter. I’ve been expecting you.” Eldred Cain looked ghostly in the faint light, his features pleasantly gnomish. “Any evening spent looking at art objects, even ones that are mothballed and hidden away like these, is time to be treasured. I’ve long wanted to share these things with someone of sufficient understanding and open-mindedness.” The deputy ran his gaze up and down the King’s casual disguise. “Are you that person, Peter? Or must I call you Your Majesty even in this private meeting?”

“Peter isn’t my real name anyway—as you well know.” He closed the door behind him, giving them complete privacy in the art storeroom.

The previous day, when Basil had announced his intention to force an abortion upon Estarra, Peter had realized he had very little time. Using OX as a go-between who would not arouse suspicion, he had approached the deputy and requested a brief, off-the-record conversation. He was sure Cain could read between the lines. “I am taking quite a risk just seeing you here, Mr. Deputy.”

“Likewise.” Cain turned his attention to a dusty sculpture of a woman holding a bowl of grapes. “You have no reason to trust me. None whatsoever.”

“I trust no one in the Hansa, yet I need some sort of ally or advocate. You have always seemed a reasonable man with measured responses, someone who considers his words before speaking.”

Cain’s eyes twinkled. “Such compliments. Perhaps I should be King.”

Peter said in a flat, crisp monotone, “Or maybe Chairman.”

Cain looked away. “You overestimate my ambitions.” The pale-skinned man removed a polymer tarpaulin that covered a large framed painting. Peter saw a foppish medieval nobleman on a white horse beside a woman in a voluminous blue dress; she held a bouquet of flowers.

“This work is utter rubbish,” the deputy said, “and I’m glad it was taken down from the southeast hall. The sunlight hit it all wrong there, and it simply didn’t go with the other works in the alcoves. Look, even the frame is bad.”

Tilting the painting forward, he reached behind it for a smaller study of a sweet-looking girl in a pink dress with a rangy hunting hound curled at her feet. “This one has much more character. Mid-1700s, I believe.”

Peter looked closer. “Not a name I recognize, but judging by some of the details, he might have been a student, or at least an admirer, of Velazquez. Has the bright charm, but without the bleak despair of Goya.” When Cain looked at him with mixed surprise and interest, Peter explained, “Chairman Wenceslas made me spend years learning to understand the politics and history of the Hansa. OX also took me on tours of the Whisper Palace to show me the architecture, stained glass, fountains, sculptures, and paintings. I am not an expert by any means, Mr. Cain, but I do appreciate skillful workmanship and fine art.”

The hairless skin on the deputy’s forehead wrinkled like putty. “If you appreciate skillful work, then we shall have to accomplish some.”

“We don’t have much time, Mr. Deputy. I should get back to the royal quarters before anyone notices my absence.”

“All right, then, raise your question—not that I can’t guess what it is. I know about the Queen’s pregnancy. And the Chairman’s somewhat extreme response to it. It lacks a logical foundation.”

“So, you’ve noticed that he’s becoming somewhat...unstable,” Peter said.

But the deputy would not commit himself to a comment.

Peter’s eyes flashed as he pressed. “This is not an isolated incident. You’re aware of Basil’s erratic behavior. You’ve seen him become more aggressive, his decisions more rash, his actions more desperate and unsound.”

“He is under a great deal of pressure,” Cain said. “We can all understand that. He believes he is acting in the best interest of the Hansa.”

“We all want to believe we’re acting in the best interest of the Hansa, but that can’t be used to excuse just any action. Year by year, day after day, the Chairman becomes less reasonable and more volatile. He kidnapped me as an unknown street child and murdered my whole family to cover his tracks. I’m certain he did the same with Daniel’s family.”

Cain stared at him, absorbing the information. Peter wondered how much the deputy already knew about what was going on in the shadows of the Hansa. Cain ran his milky hands over the smooth surface of one of the statues. A nervous fidget? Perhaps the deputy was as anxious as the King.

Peter continued, “Almost two years ago I raised legitimate questions about the dangers of producing the new Soldier compies. I asked for an investigation. Rather than listening, the Chairman squashed my objections, threw me out of a meeting, and utterly ignored the threat.”

“I don’t believe he wanted to admit it, because the consequences would have been devastating. He didn’t want to lose a potential weapon in our war against the hydrogues,” Cain said. “But you may have been more right than you knew, if Admiral Stromo’s report from Corribus is correct.”

“Corribus? What’s happened?”

“We are still investigating. I’m not surprised, however, that Chairman Wenceslas has kept you in the dark about it.” He obviously wanted to change the subject. “I believe you were enumerating your grievances?”

Peter’s nostrils flared. “Then Basil tried to assassinate Estarra and me. He planted a bomb on our royal yacht, but OX deactivated it in time. The Chairman intended to frame a Roamer trader and use our assassination to launch his war against the clans.”

“So he’s been planning to go against the Roamers since before they issued their embargo? Interesting. When faced with certain failure in a war, manufacture an artificial enemy you think you can defeat—especially if they have resources you’re interested in. Helps with morale.
If
you’re successful, of course.”

Peter was in too far to stop now. “Have you seen what he’s done to Daniel? He keeps the Prince drugged into a stupor, strapped to a bed. And now, for no reason other than because he’s
annoyed,
Basil demands that Estarra kill our baby. I can’t simply stand by and accept it.”

“I don’t dare take sides in a personal vendetta between you and the Chairman, Peter.”

“This isn’t about a personal vendetta. This is about my baby—and about a man who has too much power and is out of control. Basil is like a rabid dog. He can’t even see the irreparable damage he’s causing.”

Peter looked up, his blue eyes clear in the shadowy confines of the storage room. “Next time I speak in public, I’m going to announce that Queen Estarra is about to bear a royal heir. Maybe I can shout it before the Chairman cuts off my microphone. Once the people know, Basil wouldn’t dare do anything about it.”

“Oh, he’d probably still dare,” Cain said. “And that’s a very dangerous course of action. Given the circumstances, I doubt he’ll let you appear in public until the abortion has been performed. The Chairman will probably act tomorrow or the next day anyway.”

Cain moved to another sculpture, a small figurine of a unicorn, as if he were a man perusing a gift shop. “I don’t disagree with you, Peter. The Chairman is very wrong in this, and perhaps in many of the other things you cite. However, it would be wisest if the news about Estarra’s blessed condition were leaked to certain media contacts right away. Rumors would spread swiftly, and people would believe them, of course. They want to believe. And once their hopes have been aroused, as you suggest, Basil isn’t likely to dash them, just out of spite. Especially if you weren’t responsible for the leak.” He paused and pursed his lips, as if wondering whether to believe his own statement.

Peter leaned closer, intent. “Can you do that? Leak the news?”

“Of course I
can
do it...but will I choose to? I’m not entirely convinced this is the wisest course of action for myself.” He lifted an eggshell-thin porcelain vase with a fluted opening adorned with gold leaf. He mused, “A bit too ornate, but it does have a certain fragile magnificence. It evokes grace, streamlined movement.” He upended the vase and several dead spiders tumbled out.

Peter’s stomach knotted. He waited, fearing he had made a terrible mistake.

Finally, drawing a deep breath, Cain set the vase down and boldly drew a conclusion. “So you want to ask me how to get rid of Chairman Wenceslas. That is your ultimate desire, isn’t it, Peter?”

The King swallowed, surprised the man would be so blunt. He chose his answer carefully. “Given Basil’s recent actions, I have no doubt that it would be for the good of the Hansa.”

“Ah, for the good of the Hansa...” Cain hesitated. “Still, I’ve watched and listened to you for years, and I believe you really mean that. Though this is certain to cause me a great deal of trouble, I have to admit that you’re probably right.”

Chapter 114—RLINDA KETT

After the clumsy rabble-rousers captured the
Voracious Curiosity
above the Plumas moon, Rlinda and BeBob sat in mutual misery inside the cockpit. They had risked everything to get away from the EDF, only to fall into another trap. A stupid one! While Rlinda ground her teeth together, cutting off useless curses, BeBob grumbled. Cold and helpless, they hung in space.

Fifteen Roamers from the water mines boarded the cargo ship as if they owned it. Looking at the strangers invading her craft and deciding whether or not to fight, Rlinda figured she might be able to take out two or three of them; BeBob might account for one, provided his opponent was small and didn’t struggle too much.

A well-dressed man who had introduced himself as Denn Peroni came to the pilot deck, grinning as if he had landed a bigger fish than he’d expected to. “Marvelous, just marvelous!”

BeBob’s eyes were closed, and Rlinda assumed he was deep in his own gloom. “I was just trying to do an honest day’s work, that’s all,” he groaned. “Where did I go wrong? I didn’t want any attention, didn’t even demand decent pay. I rescued a man and that poor girl from Corribus, and for doing such a good deed, what did I get? Arrested and court-martialed! On top of that, my ship was destroyed, Davlin Lotze may have gotten killed, and we’re on the run.”

“Everyone has it tough these days.” Someone named Caleb Tamblyn, a scruffy old man who looked like he had vinegar for blood, stood next to Peroni in the
Curiosity
’s pilot deck. Other Roamers had gone down into the engine compartment, trying to get enough thrust to land the ship on the ice moon.

Peroni said, “We’re appropriating this vessel as a spoil of war in partial repayment for all the Hansa thievery against the Roamers.”

“Fine. Make my day,” Rlinda fumed.

“Maybe you haven’t heard,” Caleb blustered. “Eddy battleships wiped out our facilities, including Rendezvous! The material damage and casualties are astronomical. Taking this ship is just a little bit of payback.”

“Maybe
you
haven’t heard,” BeBob said, “but the EDF is after
us,
too. You’re collecting on the wrong account.”

“So consider this sanctuary, then. We’re happy to help.” Caleb needed a shave. “We’ll take you down to Plumas—a safe haven, if the Eddies really are after you.”

Rlinda knew the damaged
Curiosity
wasn’t going anywhere. “She’s all yours, provided you know how to take care of her. But you boys better hurry up. The EDF is hot on our tail, and I guarantee you those fighter craft have enough weaponry to wipe your asses across this solar system.”

The news of nearby EDF ships intimidated the would-be pirates. The Roamers went about their activities with an almost panicked haste.

When Peroni shooed Rlinda out of her pilot’s chair, which was much too large for him, she reluctantly stepped aside to let him study the controls. “Be gentle with her. The
Curiosity
’s been to hell and back.”

Peroni poked at various buttons, activating the systems, but it was clear he didn’t know what he was doing. “What kind of equipment does the Big Goose make you put in your ships? Malfunctions everywhere—I’ve never seen such a mess!”

“It comes as-is,” Rlinda said sarcastically. “Don’t complain to me if you end up having to do a lot of repair work.”

When Peroni continued to fiddle with the ignition controls, she finally bent forward and showed him how to activate their forward propulsion drive. “I thought Roamers had given up the pirate life. How many times did we hear that Rand Sorengaard was just an anomaly and that the rest of you had all disowned him?”

Peroni was engrossed in the
Curiosity
’s controls. “That was back when we thought Rand was doing something wrong. Now it looks like he was just the first to see how treacherous the Big Goose really is. So we recently decided he was ahead of his time.”

Caleb glared at the two captives. “Those charges against him were trumped up. They executed him for purely political reasons.”

Now Rlinda unleashed real anger. “Bullshit! I don’t care if you’ve made him out to be some kind of a hero, but Sorengaard really did destroy a cargo ship. You want to know how I know? It was one of
my own
ships, and I was there. He killed one of my captains. Gabriel Mesta.”

“Yeah, and Sorengaard tried to kill me, too,” BeBob said in a small voice.

Caleb worked his jaw, but couldn’t seem to think of anything to say. Peroni, who had been occupied with the unfamiliar controls, turned with a bright smile. “I think I’ve got it now.”

She looked at the two Roamers. “Gentlemen, when all is said and done, I sympathize with what’s happening to your clans. You don’t have to convince us of EDF treachery.”

“Yeah, we’ve had some firsthand experience with it ourselves,” BeBob said.

Peroni glanced up as the ship started moving. “Then I guess you two were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Sorry.”

Caleb shooed them from the cockpit back to where his own ship was docked. Several of the Roamers had already gone back aboard, anxious to return to Plumas. Rlinda called back at Peroni, “You take care of my vessel or I’ll crack your head open.”

“She’s a beauty. I won’t leave a scratch. Of course, I may need you to help me understand a few of these systems.”

Rlinda bit back a retort and grudgingly followed Caleb and his team aboard his smaller ship. Maybe the pursuing EDF Remoras would show up again...though she didn’t see much advantage in that. It would be better if General Lanyan considered them both dead and the
Curiosity
destroyed. That would leave her and Branson Roberts with only one problem—albeit a big one.

When the group of passengers was secured aboard Caleb’s ship, he disengaged the dock and took the two prisoners toward the ice moon. Before long, Denn Peroni and his team of pirates guided the
Voracious Curiosity
in their wake. Rlinda skeptically watched his maneuvering abilities, and was relieved to find that he was doing an adequate job.

On the icy surface below, Rlinda was surprised to see the marks of habitation: landing pads and drill shafts, cermet-lined wellheads that tapped into an underground ocean, several large tanker ships.

“We have a settlement under the ice caps,” Caleb explained. “We’ll find you satisfying work at the water mines.”

“And then what?” Rlinda asked.

He shrugged. “For lack of a better term, you two will live under planetary arrest. Someday, maybe we’ll arrange a prisoner exchange with the Eddies.”

“Wonderful,” BeBob said. “Exactly what I need.”

Grinning, Caleb landed the craft on the broad ice fields. “You’re Roamers now. Get used to it.”

“Hurray,” Rlinda said in a flat voice. “Now all my dreams have come true.”

Though forlorn, BeBob dredged up the last remnants of optimism. “Well, at least we have each other. I’d rather be stuck on an ice moon with you, Rlinda, than sitting in a prison cell for the EDF. At least you’ve gotten me this far.”

Rlinda loved him for it. “You’re right, BeBob. I can think of a few worse ex-husbands to be stranded with.”