Starquest: Scourge of the Spaceways, page 10
Brandoch said, "Give me your opinion."
The question might have been about anything. He might have been asking his view of Sir Orgulus, or the hunting trip, or the golden world where Ansteel was now stationed.
The best answer might be the least controversial. So the centurion said, "Execute the terraformer for negligence."
Brandoch smiled. "This world was a hunting preserve for the Imperial family for hundreds of years, back before the Fall of Septentrion to the rebels. The Emperor's widow and Lord High Chancellor cannot be stowed just anywhere. The Summer Palace on the other continent was secure. This continent was kept wild on purpose. Cannot have young princes unprepared for the fatigues of the field or the sight of blood."
"You expose the royal family to that creature, sir? It was a freight train made of ham. Hardly worth the risk."
"Wait till you have a rasher of bacon long as your forearm or a pork medallion big as your fist. No finer meat found on the surface of any world! Swine originally come from the buried realms of the Urnain. One of the few animals we hauled from world to world, cave to cave, back in the forgotten past. But this is a special breed. Special imperial monsters. They are designed to be no threat to the Emperor's family."
"Designed?" asked Ansteel. Most biotechnology was black tech, and forbidden.
"These here were genetically modified by Ophidian Blood Warlocks to be instinctively unwilling to hurt anyone of the Imperial bloodline. Works by scent or pheromones or something. The Empress literally cannot be attacked by one of these brutes. Only her courtiers are at risk." He looked at the other man sidelong. "And her soldiers."
"Sir, if I may, Her Highness' soldiers would be at less risk if we were not hunting with these archaic weapons, and perched on top of nonmechanical cavalry. I never saw a flesh and blood speederbike before I came to this crazy planet."
"Horses. They are called horses."
"Sir, with respect. I have talked to Horses. They are, ah, very logical beings. Very smart."
"You mean 'insufferable'."
"That, too, sir. But that groin-grinding iron-legged quadruped was not a Horse."
"These are an unrelated species we brought from Milky Way. The resemblance to Houyhnhnms — the rational equine creatures everyone called horses — is no coincidence. You know how much Ducks like monkeys as domesticated pets, and apes as riding beasts? Because they were once indentured to the Hominids? Hominids are likewise about riding horses. Sort of a revenge for old wounds. Restitution."
The Centurion peered at Lord Brandoch thoughtfully. "The Hominids also held the Urnain as a servant race, during your apprenticeship. But your people do not ride apes."
When Brandock turned his lips upward, it was a secretive, eerie expression only resembling a human smile on the surface. His real smile did not come by his lips, but by a merry squint of his eyes. They twinkled now. "Ah? Who are my people? I was raised from childhood by Nemeans of the highest and oldest branch of the Nemean royalty, of Great House Regulus, the same family which gave birth to Agramant Lord War, whom the people name as one of the Four Dark Overlords. My only ambition is to serve his legacy, glorify his name, and be possessed by his spirit!
"Agramant was slain by a traitorous Duke of Houe Arislan, the son of the great and noble Lord Doomshadow himself." Brandoch continued, the mirth in his eyes winking out like two snuffed candles. "He was expelled from Arislan and took the name Lone. Raphean Arion Lancelot Lone! I am Nemean only by adoption, but I live by the blood-code, the lore of vengeance, more perfectly than even if hot Nemean blood ran in my veins, instead of cold Urnain ichor. There is an enmity between the House of War and the House of Lone, between my family and his."
The deep, strange eyes of Brandoch seemed to grow deeper and more strange as he spoke, as if he were drawn by a hidden emotion into some far place in his memory. "You perhaps cannot understand the depth of family pride, and how tightly this binds the soul. We are haunted by our ancestors." Ansteel said coolly, "For a clone trooper, the Empress is our mother. We need no other."
Brandoch looked up, as if startled out of his thought. Wryly, he said, "Forgive me. A thoughtless comment! We are more alike than it may seem, centurion, you and I. I am adopted, as I said, but it was because my mother was taken away. Yes! Urnain children have more in common with clones than you imagine."
It was a strange thing to say Ansteel asked, "How so, sir?"
"Our mothers give us nothing. Urnain are raised in dorms by pediatrists, as children are common property of the community." He smiled sadly. "On the other hand, in my case, mother gave me an older sister. When I was a toddler, living in the deep caverns, I followed and adored my sister. Her name is Waterfall. She who took me home with her. Saved me from the dorms. My mother was of high reputation enough to defy public opinion. Advocate Thornbush; no one wanted to tangle with her. Then my mother flew too high, fell from grace, and was gone, and my sister with her. I was traded as a hostage to House Regulus, to ensure our good behavior — but I was as wild and ferocious as any lion cub, so House Regulus took a liking to me, and raised me as one of their own."
Ansteel was uncomfortable with this talk of motherhood and loss. But he thought back on the death of Tenwhy, and found he understood. Tentatively, he asked, "Sir? What happened to her?"
"My mother? She was accused of treason." Brandoch's voice was bitter.
Ansteel said stiffly, "Our legal system is scientific. No lawyers. Error is impossible."
Brandoch smiled sadly, "I did not call the accusation erroneous. Many folk who seem loyal are traitors. We are swimming in treason. Princess Vesper, the mother of our young Empress Galinda, was also accused of treason. Galinda was raised among traitors on a traitor planet, and only this year rescued back to us. That is why Lady Venom is still Queen Mother. The title was never passed to Vesper after the birth of her child, Galinda."
"And Galinda is legitimate?"
Brandoch said softly, "It is treason to ask that. Of course Galinda was born in wedlock."
"Out of curiosity, who did she marry? Who is Galinda's father?"
"Hope fervidly never to meet him! If the very daughter of Emperor Mors himself could not resist his devilish hypnotic techniques, or brain-altering drugs, who can? Practitioners of parapsychology deserve death!"
"You mean he was a Templar."
"I mean we are swimming in treason, as I said. That is why loyalty is so prized."
"Sir, I am not a courtier. There must be a reason why the Commander-in-Chief of all the Legions, and the Marshal of the Deathguard, invited a noncommissioned officer to the Imperial Family game preserve for a boar hunt. Have pity on a plain-spoken trooper, and tell me what this is about."
"I mean to show you grace."
"Beg pardon?"
Lord Brandoch said, "I saw what you did on that day. Saw the whole thing, and reviewed the recordings. When the Empress was threatened, you did not hesitate, even for an eyeblink. Yet you knew from his footstep that, underneath his pageboy appearance, the assassin was a cyborg, a mechanical organism designed for killing. You knew even trained legionnaires are no match for cyborgs, not in a knife-fight, not in a wrestling match. The forensic inquest examined the death-wound. You struck him with the spade of a flagpole in the one spot that would pierce his heart-pump and prevent any failover to his backup heart. You could not have known where to hit him unless his bio-blueprints were in your hand. So you did not know. You struck nonetheless. The victory was just pure grit. Raw courage."
Ansteel nodded his head. He thought it unwise to say that he had not known the boy was a cyborg until after he struck metal under the skin, yet had known where and how to deliver the deathblow due to a prophetic dream. Practitioners of parapsychology, after all, deserved death.
Instead he said, "If the Empress needs a man to trust, I will serve. The Inquisition can reach the highest places, unquestioned. Give me the name. He is a dead man."
Brandoch raise his palm. "Whoa, there, centurion! I was not asking to recruit you for a covert operation! Although your readiness to serve is noted, I assure you. Sir Orgulus is certainly right. You are quite the firebrand, Flint — if that is your callsign hereafter. The name suits you."
"Sir, if I may, if you are not recruiting, what are you asking?"
"I am asking you to remain loyal to the Empress. And I want to warn you."
"Warn me, sir?"
"If the assassin were not sent by the rebels, then it was sent by a traitor in our midst, or a cabal of traitors. You see, the Empress is grateful for your loyalty, and it would be remiss of me to allow you to stumble blindly into danger, if a simple word could open your eyes. Off the record, of course."
Ansteel said, "Who do you suspect? And why no arrests? Torture makes men talk."
Lord Brandoch grimaced and said, "Because if you face the beast head-on, it will rend and trample you before a second blow is struck. Better to wait in the blind, be sure of the blow, and take it in the flank. As you learned today. Riddle me this: When superiors quarrel, to whom is loyalty owed?"
"For me," answered Ansteel, "my oath is to the Empress."
Lord Brandoch said, "You know the Chancellor, Xerophage Blight, called Lord Famine?"
Ansteel said, "The Chancellor of the Treasury. Something like the Quartermaster General for civilians. Controls finances. Arrests the rich. Loots banks."
"That is the one. He was the only surviving member of the triumvirate that elevated Lord Death to the Purple, and so he claimed the powers of the Regent. The Queen Mother, as the widow of the Emperor, had no legal claim — until now. The Empress has been found and rescued. Lady Venom is her grandmother, and holds power over the child until Galewind, excuse me, Galinda, reaches her age of majority. Meaning Venom is now running the Empire."
Ansteel said, "I am just a simple soldier, your Lordship. Why is Lord Famine not in irons?"
"He is one of the Four Dark Overlords."
"And you are not also?"
Lord Brandoch smiled. "When and if I am anointed as the Magister Militum and Prince of Hosts in truth, and I take up the mantle and the memory of Lord War, who was slain by Duke Lone, then I will take up that title as well, even if it is unofficial. It terrifies and thrills the people to name us after fictional sorcerer-kings of old, and call us Pestilence, Famine, War, and Death, even if we are nothing more than the Scientist General, Chancellor of the Treasury, the Prince of Hosts, and the Grand Inquisitor.
"No, centurion, I have no power to act on mere suspicions, and, frankly, no desire to. Let any infighting be done without me! Even the rebels are our cousins and brothers. Duke Lone is my — let me see — first cousin four times removed. By adoption. I love war, and hate civil war. The Empire is civilization. Our sole enemy is barbarism. And even barbarians, outsider races, from worlds beyond the rim of Andromeda, the Batrachians, the Ophidians, the Pavo — they were conquered and civilized after the Unholy Wars, and now serve in the highest offices in the Empire! We even have an Ellyll as a Regent."
"And the Urnain," added Ansteel. "The other barbarian race that joined in the Unholy Wars were the Urnain."
"We were never barbarians. Urnain were civilized when the Sphingali were still roaming the sand-dunes of Algol, raising gravestones tall as hilltops, mausoleums like windowless metropoli."
Ansteel said, "Algol had no microscopic life able to digest non-vegetable flesh, so carcasses of the dead there never rotted, never showed corruption. It is not odd that the Sphingali would raise memorials with care. The Ceti civilized them, and taught them to see the future and past as real, not as memories, nor as hopes, nor fears. The Nemeans blasted the world to asteroids thousands of years ago, not just to slay the living but to destroy the dead, or so it seems."
Lord Brandoch raised an eyebrow. "And do … the Sphingali … seek restitution still for these ancient wounds? Do you have an enmity against we Nemeans?"
Ansteel said, "The Sphingali? Ask them, not me. I am an Imperial. My race and clan and bloodline is the Empire. The old ways were all put away when the Empire arose, and only the Empire saved the galaxy from the chaos of the Unholy Wars. All other forms of government have been tried and found wanting: Prophets and Jurists, Tyrants and Technocrats of the Ancients! Equine Philosopher-Kings, Sphingali Guildmasters, Vulpino Plutocrats, Nemean Patricians! Ralline Hierophants, Hominid Demagogues. Everything's been tried! I seek no revenge for ancient wounds. I am not Nemean, and do not live by the blood-code you follow, sir. The Field Manual of Regulations is enough for me. I will strike whom my Empress commands, or her servants placed over me, and follow all lawful orders."
Lord Brandoch nodded, as if to acknowledge the good judgment of these remarks.
The centurion continued: "Now, sir, if I may, you said Lord Famine and Lady Venom are at odds, but did not tell me which you thought sent the assassin. Lord Famine is the obvious choice: Lady Venom would not eliminate her sole claim to the Regency. Or would she? Either way, why do you go to such lengths to warn me?"
"Because you may be assigned bodyguard duty to either or both in days to come, or to the Empress. Don't look surprised! The Deathguard is still a cohort of the Praetorian Legion, and the Praetorian duty is protecting the throneworld, the throne, and the court. Also, you recognized Sir Orgulus. You called him by name when you were on the sick roster. Remember? How did you know him?"
"Sir Orgulus is famous. He is the only living knight to have ever killed a Templar. Good man to have in charge of the Inquisition soldiers. I hate Templars."
"Why?"
"I am Deathguard. We serve the Inquisition. The Inquisition hunts Templars." Ansteel could not keep a bitter note out of his voice. He turned his head and spat on the ground. "Death to all Templars!"
"You seem to have more than a professional interest. I approve, of course, but I am curious. The Empire has many enemies."
"A Templar killed Emperor Mors."
"That was before you were born."
"Decanted. Clones aren't born."
"In any case, it was before your time. Why such fervor?"
"A Templar abducted and mesmerized Princess Vesper, or so you said. Carried her off. Married her against her will. Turned her against her father. Because of that, the Empress was missing until this year. The Empire has been headless. Is that not reason enough?"
Lord Brandoch said, "I am not sure I said exactly that, but let us not quibble. I see I am right to have arranged our little talk. For I wish to warn you, not against Lord Famine, who may indeed be working against the Empress Galinda, but against Sir Orgulus."
"Him?" Ansteel was so surprised that he stopped walking. He turned and peered through the aspen trees, but Sir Orgulus, and the various grooms and huntsmen, had loaded up the slain hunting steed to an air sled, and this sled was diminishing in the distance, heading back to the hunting lodge.
Lord Brandoch said, "He was knighted by Lord Famine. Orgulus owes his spurs to him. I have seen Orgulus take a shine to you. He did not come up through the ranks, and he has no respect for any regulations, including rules about fraternizing between ranks. If he befriends you, be his friend."
"Why would he befriend me?"
"Because you are observant enough to spot an assassin two thousand other soldiers did not, including Her Highness' security detail. Including Orgulus himself. The Inquisition is always looking for men observant enough to notice abnormalities, to see through holographic deceptions, or penetrate Templar sleights of hand. Or were you just lucky?"
It was a trick question. Ansteel said, "The Inquisition regulations say that all miracles are misreports of entirely material phenomena, some based on misunderstanding, some on malice and fraud. The universe is nothing but matter in motion. Fate and fortune do not exist, so luck is just a word without meaning. Sir!"
Lord Brandoch nodded, eyes twinkling, obviously pleased with this answer. "If it was not luck, it was skill. Sir Orgulus will no doubt help you cultivate that skill. Sometimes you will have palace guard duty. Sometimes you will have offplanet duty. Your unit will hunt down abnormals, squires and templars, dabblers in the occult, and other cultists dangerous to the Empire. Orgulus may ask you to volunteer for clandestine operations, off-the-books. If so, do so."
He did not like the idea of irregular operations. But war was war. "Yes, sir."
"Develop your skills! But there is a tension in court between Lady Venom, who believes in the Dark Sun Weapon, and Lord Famine, who cautions against its use."
Ansteel said, "What is this weapon?"
Lord Brandoch's eyes grew deep and strange once more. "It is a weapon beyond the power of any Omega Weapon. The stars of heaven at last are within mortal reach! The endless lives of the heavenly ones must end! It is the Great Eye of Darkness! It is a weapon of life and death! Infinite life! Infinite death!" he turned his blazing gaze on Ansteel. "You will see it smite! I promise you! The Empire will crush the holy lamps on high, and darken the Golden Will!"
Ansteel recoiled, "Sir — Your Lordship! What? What does that mean? The Golden Will is not real."
Lord Brandoch's face was startled back into masklike calmness. "Ah! Of course. Just an expression. I mean that false reports, spread by superstitious cultists, of alleged acts of angels and astral influences must cease, once the power of Urnain engineering grants victory to the Empress. All is for her glory! There is no will, but what the Empire wills! The stars are merely balls of energy."
"What was that about infinite life?"
"I meant that certain vital rays, beneficial to cellular regrowth, can also be harvested by the Dark Sun Weapon when it fires, and the stellar forces, much like nuclear power itself, can have both military and medical uses. It is power enough to take Andromeda up to the next level of the Kardashev scale."
Ansteel did not know what the Kardashev scale was, so he merely nodded. Then he turned again. The first sun by then had set, so the golden light of the golden world was diminished. But he could see a speck of motion in the sky, growing larger.
He said, "The air-sled is returning, sir. I think Orgulus is aboard."
