“Didn’t Oand-ib tell you I’ve been working for him on the inside?” Nairom asked.
“Yes, he told me,” Aiben answered, but then remembered it was actually Achanei who had told him after it was too late to follow Oand-ib. His Hegirith, his anab, Tulan’s prized disciple, Yoren-dal, had risked his life to protect them. That very plan, which Nairom had been a part of from the beginning, had likely sent Oand-ib to his death. It made Aiben angry, but he wouldn’t show it just yet. “Did Hegirith Oand-ib give his life to get us here? Do you know?”
Nairom nodded. “My intention has always been to help Hegirith Oand-ib get im shalal. Where do you think he got the hyperportal codes so you could get to this miserable planet? I’m sorry that he sacrificed himself, but he knew what was at stake.” Although his face hardened, an empathetic ear could hear the undercurrent of pain in his voice. “I’m lucky to still be alive myself to even be telling you this.”
“I just hope it wasn’t in vain,” Aiben said. Deep down, he had already known the truth. Nevertheless, his stomach throbbed with a dull ache from Nairom’s confirmation. “Why did you even risk coming here to help us then? You already gave Oand-ib the codes we needed.”
“I’m here because Magron Orcris knows what you’re doing, Aiben.” Nairom’s steel-gray eyes broke away for just a split second before refocusing.
“How does he know that?” Aiben tried to keep the suspicion from creeping back into his voice. They already knew the Protectorate was looking for them, but it was especially disconcerting to have it confirmed that it was specifically because of their mission to find im shalal.
“I wasn’t privileged enough to have that kind of information shared with me. I haven’t been able to find it out, either. I have tried, believe me. I can tell you, though, that it was Magron who sent the Chibbi after you.”
“Thanks, but it seems that bit of information is just a little too late, don’t you think?” Ballis’s deep baritone trumpeted discord. “How do we know you aren’t working with that ratty for your own gain?”
“That Chibbi is no friend of mine,” Nairom said.
“Can you prove that?” Ballis asked.
“After Gormy kicked you over the side of the bus,” Aiben spoke up, “he turned on me, but I was able to get off the bus in time. He still had me in his sights, though, and the only reason an energy bolt didn’t cut a hole in my back was because Nairom knocked me out of the way. He saved my life. After that, he led me right to you. I don’t think he would be helping us if he was in league with Gormy.”
Aiben hoped that if he could convince Ballis, it would help him convince himself. He suspected it had also been Nairom who had stopped Gormy from killing Ballis in the forest. Why he hadn’t revealed himself to them at that time, however, remained to be seen. For now, Aiben decided to keep this particular bit of information to himself until he could confront Nairom privately.
“Then we’re to believe you’re here at the peril of your own life to warn us?” Ballis prodded.
“That’s just half the reason. Did you even stop to think how you would get close enough to Magron Orcris to use im shalal once you had it?” Nairom smirked.
“I assumed the hyperportal code would also work for Morgoloth, but beyond that, I didn’t think about it,” Aiben confessed. “I guess I just thought I would find im shalal first and hope things would fall into place somehow after that.”
The reality of Nairom’s question and the uncertainty of Aiben’s response effectively killed the conversation. Even Ballis fell silent. After several uncomfortable seconds, Achanei broke the stillness.
“What does this have to do with me, though? At first, I thought someone was holding me for ransom. House Feillion has a lot of enemies, you know. Now, I don’t think that’s it. It can’t be a coincidence that we all ended up here at the same time.”
“I don’t know,” Nairom said, “I didn’t find anything in the security logs about why you are here.”
Achanei’s grip tightened on Aiben’s hand. He could literally feel how angry she was at being a pawn in someone else’s secret game.
CHAPTER 32
Fleet Admiral Geth Atregis stood as stiff as a starched uniform in the corner of the main conference chamber aboard the Merchant One, his hands clasped behind his back, the fingers of one hand twisting a ring, House Feillion’s seal, around the finger of another.
He stared through a transparent viewport, where he could see Feillia Prime’s flagship hanging in front of a black backdrop speckled with miniscule points of spectral light. Running lights from Tain-Balmor’s cruiser emblazoned the blood-red shape of the Queen Tenok. If it weren’t for the dire circumstances of their mission, the beauty of the vessel, which the admiralty had named for Feillia Prime’s first and most beloved regent, might have carried Geth’s thoughts away to other times. Curves so mythical as to defy nature herself molded both ship and namesake.
Morgoloth had prohibited Queen Tenok and her companion vessel, Merchant One, from entering its space by jumping through the system’s primary hyperportal. Instead, the dictatorial government had forced them to use a secondary hyperportal in an orbit at the edge of the system. It was all but unheard of for a planetary system to have more than one hyperportal and their intelligence network hadn’t uncovered this unexpected surprise beforehand. Having had no other choice, both ships had swung their aft engines towards the system’s sun, a pinprick of light in the vast distance, and were now braking against the hyperportal’s imparted acceleration, climbing down towards the planet that held countless other worlds in its gravity of oppression.
The hyperportal had been in aphelion, which increased their arrival at Morgoloth by several more days of shipboard time. Four of those days had already been spent traveling the curvature of space towards Magron’s world and four more remained before they could fall around the planet in orbit. The bulk of their transit time had already been spent arguing strategy in war councils with Jolen Tain, his rented generals from the Expeditionary Guild, and House Feillion’s ground assault forces aboard Merchant One. Time was running out for them to finalize how they were going to carve out the future of the Seven Guilds from uncertain circumstances. Magron would have too much time to prepare for their arrival if he suspected anything. Geth didn’t like it.
Even now, he could hear their voices arguing behind him, some with staccato anger, and others pouring out resentment like molten metal. Today’s debate centered on how to best interpret certain pieces of intelligence they had gathered from a very shady source. Geth had tired of the bickering and left the table in search of a moment of calm. Suddenly, someone smelling of sharp cologne was standing next to him.
“When House Feillion first approached me about this undertaking, I was ecstatic about what it could mean for the future of Tain-Balmor. Fear of failure wasn’t even a factor. I’m never afraid of taking a risk, you see. As we get closer to the evil heart of the Protectorate, though, I wonder if I chose the future for my company wisely.”
Geth snorted and flicked a look of cold steel at the man next to him. Those lulling green eyes and that curly black hair enjoyed a world where charisma and money won loyalty. “This was never a business trip, Mr. Tain. This is war, the real thing, not just some holo-transmission from far-off hostilities that you can crunch numbers and calculate profits for. The very start of this conflict was enough to paralyze the Seven Guilds from acting. They’re afraid even now to send the combined forces of the Expeditionary Guild and the armies of the Noble Houses against the well-organized military of the Protectorate. Since they’ve convinced themselves it’s too late to act en masse, we have to cut out the heart of this war-mongering monster first, so the half-hearted wolves in high places can be convinced they can finish the job.”
Jolen smiled. “And you don’t call that business?”
“I call it politics. House Feillion is involved because we are the largest and most powerful of the old Noble Houses, and we have a major foothold in al
most all seven of the Guilds.” He had said almost because of the stranglehold Tain-Balmor had on the Merchant Guild. “If the Guild Masters can’t act with consensus, then it falls to House Feillion to blaze the trail for them. It’s pure politics, not business.”
“My dear Admiral,” Jolen’s hypnotic gaze sparkled, “thanks for reminding me. I guess I’d forgotten that politics and business are often the same thing.”
The admiral looked away; he declined to meet those serpent eyes any longer. He shook his head in disbelief and wondered how men of such subjective morality could win a war for right. “I’ll be damned if I subscribe to that point of view. Politics can be used as a vehicle for the betterment of the people.”
“Exactly,” Jolen said.
“Mr. Tain?” General Montis, the ranking Expeditionary Guild officer interrupted them. Habitual smoke inhalation had tortured the man’s voice. Geth was grateful for the man’s timing if not his harmonics. “Can you give us some more detail over here about your intelligence source? These reports have some very interesting discrepancies.”
“Certainly, General Montis,” Jolen replied honey-mouthed. He nodded to Geth. “Well you are entitled to your view after all, Admiral. Shall we go see what my money has bought us? You never know whether you can trust a Moolag.”
Admiral Atregis stayed as Jolen Tain scuttled off to woo his self-paid fighting force. He let a deep sigh escape dry pursed lips. Jolen fancied he had the loyalty of the Expeditionary Guildsmen in the palm of his hand and that he was the final word in their chain of command. Money commanded their devotion, and if the risk became greater than the reward, their allegiance would weaken.
This was just half of his concern. Geth, more than most, understood the necessity of dealing with less desirables in order to get the information one needed. Maybe because of that very fact, he had such a bad feeling about this Moolag. The repugnant marine creature had been almost too eager to give them information about Morgoloth’s defensive and offensive capabilities. It was as if he were just doing business as Jolen had put it. It made him wonder what the Moolag’s payment had been.
Admiral Atregis purposefully took several seconds before he acknowledged the new presence that stood there. Although he had known the mechanoid was there from the moment he had approached, ignoring him for a bit was an old card of situational control that the admiral kept in his hand. Every once in a while, he would play it with these people.
“And what does the great Ubaad Balmor think about this endeavor? Does he agree with president Tain? Are we just doing business?” When Feillia Prime’s leader had ordered Geth to partnership with this pair, he had done his homework. He knew their history well enough.
The mechanoid’s synthetic eyes watched the admiral. Geth felt compelled to reciprocate unlike he had with Jolen. The mech’s skin was real enough: soft, pliant synthetics that were pink, wrinkled, and veined. He was the only mech of his kind ever made. Balmor-6’s body had been market research gone wrong. It looked too real to be a mech’s and the public had exerted sufficient pressure on Tain-Balmor to have production of the model stopped even before the mold had dried. That had been a century ago, right before the Free Accords.
Ten years ago, Balmor had taken on the one body still preserved from that era and enhanced it as his sixth. The casual observer would never know that carbon composites were his muscle and bone. Geth had to admit that Balmor-6 made him a bit uncomfortable as well. A mech masquerading as a man was not normal.
“We plan to bring peace by forcing the Seven Guilds into all out war. If successful, there will be profit enough for Tain-Balmor and all of the Guilds and the companies and Houses that run them. There will be the need for the manufacture of weapons, the construction of ships and bases, and, of course, reconstruction once it is all over.”
“So you’re two of a kind then.”
“We are not the same. You asked, I answered with facts. In my opinion, it will be very difficult for Tain-Balmor, let alone the Seven Guilds, to survive long enough for profits to matter. I fear all of our futures will end with this war.”
Balmor-6’s honest reply astonished Geth. As Fleet Admiral of House Feillion’s navy, he was a man not easily surprised. He wondered what the mech’s real motivation in all of this was. “Well, I’m just concerned about making it through this first little deception alive so that we can fight for the citizens of the Seven Guilds another day.” With that, he excused himself and left the raucous room to search for the facilities.
***
“I wish you wouldn’t speak so apocalyptically my friend. You didn’t give anything away did you?” Jolen stood at the viewport again, now next to Balmor-6. His eyes slid down the curves of the Queen Tenok.
“Our agent’s identity remains anonymous, Mr. President.”
Jolen waited a few more seconds and when Balmor-6 didn’t say anything else, he baited the hook again. “So you think the insurance we’ve invested in won’t do us any good? If that cybermancer succeeds, our chances double, you know.”
Balmor-6 looked unmoved. “I believe even doubling our chances won’t ensure the survival of the Seven Guilds after we go to war.”
“You’re such a pessimistic mechanoid. I don’t much like
your doom and gloom attitude.”
Balmor-6 refused to comment further.
CHAPTER 33
“General Nairom has made contact with the cybermancer.” The Moolag’s artificial voice gurgled. Static warped it as it came over the hypernet. “Should I order the Chibbi to kill him now that we know his choice?”
“I knew I would be betrayed sooner or later,” rasped Selat. Scabs of corroded skin littered the rim of the soiled cloth hood, which threw darting blood-red eyes into shadow. “What better way to get rid of treason than to weed it out with the aid of your enemy.”
Eyeballs throbbed on meaty stalks while bits of flotsam swirled around them. Huge, wrinkled, rust-colored lids folded over the Moolag’s eyes and whisked away the watery grime. The submerged lump of shelled flesh revolted Selat, not because of his appearance, but because of his ignorance. The Moolag thought he spoke of Nairom’s treason and the escaped cybermancer as his enemy, when Selat had in fact directed the insinuation of disloyalty at him and the accusation of enemy at Nairom.
“You have a true gift for tragic irony,” the Moolag hummed. The sound of his feeding suction bled over the channel.
Selat caught the sound of disgust in his throat before it could escape. Nothing more than a strange croak emerged. The Moolag had no idea that it had been Selat’s plan all along to grant him the post as governor of Mora Bentia because he wanted the Moolag where he could destroy him. “Yes, my justice will be poetic indeed.”
The Moolag Hegemony, just outside the perimeter of Guild and Protectorate influence, in the corner of one of the galactic spiral arms, had tied together the economy of a sizeable swath of space with the fibers of compulsory commerce. The Moolag were every bit as advanced as the Humans of Guild and Protectorate space, maybe even a little more so, but they lacked the size and military might to take advantage of it. Therefore, they chose to trade, compete, bribe, and cheat their way into both spheres of Human influence.
When the Protectorate first began to carve itself out of the Seven Guilds, Selat enlisted the services of this certain Moolag and his group of geneticists to perform specific physiological tasks for him. Since then, over the years, a curious thing had happened. One by one, all those that had been involved in helping the Moolag service his genetic needs had come to mysterious deaths, albeit deemed accidental. Presently, only the Moolag remained alive and he had gathered such a large underground organization around him inside of the Protectorate military that a mysterious death on his part would raise suspicion and might even incite a rebellion if someone discovered it wasn’t an accident.
A small revolt wouldn’t be anything Selat couldn’t take care of, but he would rather avoid the money and resources it would take to quell it. In
stead, Selat had been ageing a plan for years to get rid of the last being that was intimate with his secret. The Moolag’s payment for his genetic work had been real power, not just economic power, in Human space, first as a minor dignitary in the fringes of the growing Protectorate, later as governor of Mora Bentia. His posting there had not been by chance but by fateful appointment.
Selat suspected from the very beginning that Nairom had come to them for other reasons than simple defection. It was obvious to him that the young cybermancer was more than a dissatisfied halath who Hezit had wooed away from the Cybermancer Guild, desiring nothing more than to serve Magron. It took him months of patience, perseverance, and scheming to discover Oand-ib’s complete plan by spying on Nairom.
He continued to allow the young man to believe he was the one in control until he had been with the Protectorate for almost a year. Then he let Nairom discover the master hyperportal code and put it in his head to follow through with his own plot for power. It would be more rewarding doing it for himself than doing it for the good of the Hegirith’hi Shez. There would be another promotion in it for him, of course, the position of Supreme Commander itself. Although Nairom had lusted after the position, Selat believed he would still betray the Protectorate in the end.
In reality, though, Selat was less concerned with Nairom and the plots of his childhood friend and their pitiful cybermancer teacher. The quest for im shalal on Mora Bentia had just turned out to be the perfect time and place from which to stage his play of subterfuge, and the Moolag was ready to play the lead role. His goal was to make sure the Moolag would debut just this once. Im shalal was still something to worry about to be sure, but Selat had seen to that issue without really having had to depend on Nairom’s loyalty. His young cybermancer would be his well-deserving scapegoat. As the old Haman saying went: it would be like killing two birds with one stone.
“I guess you’ll need the Feillion witch to bait the boy, after all.” The Moolag drew Selat’s thoughts back to the conversation at hand. “Remember, you promised not to harm her. I so much want to issue her ransom to House Feillion.” The Moolag swished back and forth and shot out a siphon to suck at something outside of holographic view.