Arkship Vengeance Page 4

  ‘Here you can see the current master simulation,’ Reader Tremblay explained, pointing to the strings of possibilities that pointed to a single end event, lying ahead in some distant future. After a moment the calculations realigned themselves and the future endpoint shifted. ‘And this is my calculation.’

  ‘The Reformation,’ the Scribe said in awe, ‘it happens sooner?’

  Reader Tremblay nodded quickly. ‘If we exile the House of Kenric, if Prince Halstead defeats Orcades Draig, if the two houses merge under one ruler.’

  ‘A lot of ifs.’ Librarian Horst said grimly.

  ‘Yes, I agree,’ Reader Tremblay conceded, ‘but I’m not aware of an alternative that could have such a positive effect on the timing of the plan.’

  ‘A lot of bloodshed,’ Reader Mori reminded them.

  ‘But there is potential here,’ Scribe Barrahaus noted. ‘Great potential.’

  She stared at the simulation, marveling at its detail. She had studied it for years, but it had never lost its wonder.

  ‘Archive,’ the Scribe said.

  A computer voice responded. ‘May the light of the Infinite Gods reflect upon you.’

  ‘Check the validity of Reader Tremblay’s proposed addition to the plan.’

  An excited silence took over the room. Eventually, the computer responded. ‘Simulation is accurate to ninety-nine point seven percent, given known variables.’

  A murmur of hushed conversations spread around the table.

  The Scribe smiled. ‘Thank you, Archive.’

  ‘A lot of bloodshed,’ Reader Mori repeated, obviously unconvinced.

  Librarian Horst leaned closer, studying the new computations. ‘But, if it helps to bring about the Restoration sooner, their sacrifice will not be in vain.’

  The Scribe retreated from the discussion, only half-listening, letting the others debate the finer points. If Librarian Horst was convinced, then it was only a matter of time before her allies joined in her conclusion.

  An aide came to the Scribe’s side and whispered softly in her ear.

  The Scribe nodded, addressing the room. ‘I am late for a meeting with the Prince. Given this information I propose we follow Reader Tremblay’s addition to the plan. May we have a vote?’

  The assembled Readers and Librarians each consulted the display in front of their chair and made their decision.

  After a moment, the result came through in front of the Scribe. ‘Thank you. The addition is approved: nine votes to three. I will inform the Prince. Please see to the appropriate preparations. Congratulations, Reader Tremblay.’

  The Reader bowed, a proud grin forcing its way onto his lips. It was an honor to add to the plan, especially for one so inexperienced as Tremblay.

  The Scribe stood to leave. The others rose from their seats, bowing until she had left the room.

  VISIONS

  When Commodore Jacque Valine arrived on the flight deck of the arkship Fenrir Orcades Draig was already there. As the doors closed behind her, Valine tried to hide her disappointment, wondering what damage Orcades had managed to do in her absence.

  ‘Commodore on the flight deck!’ an officer called, announcing her arrival.

  Orcades didn’t respond. He was stood at the wall of glass at the far side of the flight deck, staring out into space. Valine took a moment to go to the operations map and speak to the Duty Chief there.

  ‘Well?’ she asked briskly.

  ‘He’s been here for an hour, ma’am,’ the Duty Chief replied. ‘No orders, just looking out of the windows.’

  Relieved, Valine nodded then turned to greet her leader.

  ‘Valtais,’ she said as she joined him at the windows. ‘Are you well?’

  Orcades grinned, his face illuminated by the red glow of The Infinite. ‘Do you see it, Valine?’

  ‘See what?’

  He tapped on the glass. ‘The Infinite.’

  She looked outside, at the swirling string of matter. It had been a star once, they said, the heart of the solar system, a beautiful yellow-white orb of light. That was before the Fracture, before the star was torn apart, before every single planet and moon was ripped to pieces. Now, all that remained was the Cluster, a mess of asteroids, gas and debris that stretched out over six billion miles from one side to the other. At its heart was The Infinite, the hypnotic strand of stellar material that coiled around itself in a never-ending loop.

  ‘Yes,’ Valine said. ‘I see it.’

  Orcades shook his head. ‘You’re not looking properly. You can’t see it like I do.’

  ‘Tell me,’ she said, knowing when to encourage or appease his moods.

  ‘It’s not just light and color, Valine, it’s so much more than that. I see into the heart of The Infinite. What they say is true; there are things alive inside it.’

  ‘The Infinite Gods?’

  Orcades laughed. ‘Don’t be stupid. I’m not talking about some made-up religion. But there is intelligence there, I can see it. I can feel it, in here.’ He tapped the side of his head.

  Valine smiled outwardly. She had watched over Orcades since the destruction of the Obsidian two years ago. In that time, she had seen his addiction to the antipsychotic drug maxidopamil grow stronger. The medication had some of the same core ingredients as Gravel, the narcotic of choice for the desperate classes. Orcades was a Gravel Head now, his moods dictated by his addiction. For weeks at a time he appeared highly functional, able to make decisions, only to slump again into bouts of paranoia and indecision. She had protected him during those darker days, ensuring his orders were carried out, hiding his dependencies from those around him. It suited her to keep him addicted, it was a means of control, but in recent weeks his mood had darkened, and she had struggled to keep his needs hidden from those around him.

  He turned away from the window, his eyes wide with a child’s wonder. ‘I wish you could see it, Valine.’

  ‘As do I. The assimilation of the Braal Castle is complete. We have replaced much of their senior staff with Draig loyalists. The Earl has been executed, as per your orders.’

  ‘My orders?’ he asked, looking confused.

  ‘Yes, Valtais. The last Sinclair arkship, the Braal Castle, now flies under a Draig flag,’ Valine explained patiently.

  ‘Sinclair? Yes, Sinclair. Good. Our expansion goes well?’

  ‘Yes, it goes well. We are ready to move to the designated point in the Jovian cloud.’

  Orcades flinched, as if in recollection. ‘No! Not there. Venus. The Fields of Venus. That is where we will go. That is where we will lay our trap.’

  ‘Venus?’ Valine asked, taken aback. ‘What about the Venusian Accord? If we enter their territory, we risk–’

  ‘They will not stop us! Besides, the Jovian Cloud is too obvious. The only place where this will work is in the Fields of Venus. The Ven Cord will not stand in our way, trust me.’

  Valine hesitated. She had not expected this turn of events.

  ‘Set course, Commodore,’ Orcades said firmly. ‘See to the arrangements.’

  UNWELCOME GUESTS

  ‘She’s late,’ Tanis noted with a hint of irritation. He stood and perused the food and drink laid out for them on a table to the side of the suite. Wynn watched him from the armchair next to the open fire. The heat was making him sleepy and he removed his tunic. Opposite him was Bara, watching the flames with a vacant expression on her face. She brushed her short dark hair with her fingers and caught Wynn’s gaze.

  ‘What?’ she asked with a self-conscious smile.

  ‘You’re beautiful,’ he said. ‘I don’t say that very often, do I?’

  ‘I don’t want you to say that.’

  Wynn’s brow furrowed. ‘Why not?’

  She pulled her feet up so that her chin rested on her knees. ‘Just feels odd.’

  ‘Well, it’s true,’ he laughed.

  She scowled at him.

  ‘How did it go with the Chief today?’ Wynn asked, wanting to change the subject.

/>   Bara rolled her eyes. ‘He’s getting there.’

  ‘He’s behind schedule.’

  ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘Of course!’

  Bara sighed. ‘There’s always something urgent, isn’t there? We’ve been here two years, but it hasn’t changed. Something always needs fixing.’

  Wynn stared at her, sensing the undercurrent to her words. They didn’t spend time together any more. There was always some duty or ceremony to perform, another meeting to attend, a schedule to approve. He was Prince Halstead all of the time. Never Wynn. He thought about the dinner he was due to attend tonight, a working meal with the senior medical staff to discuss resources.

  ‘Are you free for dinner?’ he asked her.

  ‘I’ve told you before, I’m not going to any more of your functions.’

  Wynn shook his head. ‘Just you and me, on Lexica. I’ll cook. We can stay till the morning. Like we used to.’

  Her face lit up, but then doubt corroded her smile. ‘Something’ll come up. Always does. You’ll be called away.’

  ‘I’ll turn my com off. Hell, I’ll post a guard at the entry ramp! No interruptions, no being Prince until after breakfast.’

  ‘Breakfast as well?’

  ‘You’re making breakfast,’ he teased.

  ‘Deal!’ Bara’s eyes sparkled as her infectious grin returned.

  ‘What’s funny?’ Tanis asked, returning to the fireplace with a sandwich in his hand.

  ‘I’m taking the night off,’ Wynn said triumphantly.

  ‘Tonight? We’ve got the medical dinner.’

  ‘And I’m sure you’ll represent your prince perfectly.’

  Tanis flustered, then nodded his acceptance.

  The wide doors to the chamber slid apart and Gofal entered. ‘Forgive my late arrival . . .’ He scanned the room. ‘Where is the Scribe?’

  ‘Late,’ the Lord Chamberlain said with his mouth full.

  ‘Oh,’ Gofal replied, sounding surprised. ‘That is unlike her.’ He bowed to Wynn and Bara, then strode purposefully to the window overlooking the dock.

  The doors opened again and Derward entered, followed by the Scribe, an aide and a young Reader, her eyes to the floor. Wynn and the others stood respectfully, waiting for the Scribe to join them by the large fireplace. Instead, she walked to the windows, stopping beside Gofal. She turned to look directly at Wynn.

  ‘Prince Halstead,’ the Scribe said harshly. ‘You have deceived me.’

  Startled, Wynn walked towards her. ‘I’m . . . I’m not sure I–’

  ‘Your arkship, the Vengeance.’ She pointed out of the window at the broad mass of the nearly-competed vessel. ‘It is not as we agreed.’

  Tanis stepped between the Scribe and Wynn, his arms outstretched. ‘We have made some minor modifications to our submitted plans, but–’

  ‘Minor modifications?’ the Scribe nodded to her aide who handed a palm screen to Tanis.

  ‘The armament violates your agreement with the Church,’ the aide explained, ‘by some considerable margin.’

  ‘I wasn’t aware we needed your approval,’ Wynn said coolly.

  ‘You are our guests, you are using our resources. Any change to the agreed specifications should have been sent to our design committee first.’

  Wynn turned to address the Scribe. ‘There is no deception here, these are just incremental design changes made during the evolution of construction.’

  ‘Incremental, perhaps,’ she replied, ‘but they add up, and you have gone too far.’

  ‘Too far? I have a duty to protect my people from the House of Draig. We have to be ready. We cannot rely on the Church’s protection forever.’

  ‘Indeed,’ the Scribe replied. ‘The Church has been very generous to the House of Kenric . . .’

  ‘And we’re grateful.’

  ‘. . . But I think it is important that the Church retains its impartiality.’

  ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘That there is a difference between offering humanitarian aid and assisting an arms race.’

  Tanis moved to calm the situation. ‘Scribe, please, we meant no disrespect. We’re grateful for your help, and I’m sure we can negotiate some compromise here.’

  ‘Compromise is not sufficient. You have outstayed your welcome.’

  Wynn stared at the Scribe, hardly believing what he had heard. ‘You want us to leave?’

  ‘If you are unable to follow our covenants, then perhaps it is time for you to retake your place in the Cluster.’

  Wynn stared at Derward. Had he known this was coming? ‘We need more time. The Vengeance is not yet space worthy. Once construction is complete we’ll leave and–’

  ‘You have one week,’ the aide said firmly.

  ‘A week?’ Tanis laughed wearily. ‘We couldn’t possibly be ready in that time. Let’s be reasonable here, we haven’t done anything wrong. We just need enough time to–’

  Wynn put his hand on Tanis’ arm. He stared into the Scribe’s ungiving eyes and knew there was nothing more to be said. ‘The House of Kenric appreciates your hospitality. Without your help, we would not be alive today. We will leave in a week.’

  ‘But . . .’ Tanis protested, before Wynn silenced him with a glance.

  ‘The Church thanks you, Prince Halstead,’ the Scribe replied. ‘Know that you still have a friend in the Church of the Infinite. As a gesture of our continued friendship I would like to present Reader Keres Mallory. I have personally chosen her as our representative on the Vengeance.’

  The Scribe gestured to the Reader, stood close by. Wynn had paid her no attention until this moment. He glanced at the stranger; she was young for a Reader, perhaps in her early thirties, with a slender face and close-cropped white-blonde hair. Her pale skin seemed to draw attention to her dark eyes and, at Wynn’s inspection, she looked down, her cheeks flushing.

  ‘We do not need a Reader.’ Wynn said.

  The Scribe’s aide smiled, his voice clipped. ‘May I remind you that all arkships allied to the Church submit to at least one Reader on board. Reader Mallory will administer to your peoples’ spiritual needs.’

  ‘I can vouch for her,’ Derward said quickly. ‘I’ve known her for a long time.’

  Feeling cornered Wynn suppressed his anger and fell back on diplomacy. ‘The House of Kenric is honored, of course. I look forward to getting to know our new Reader in the coming weeks. Now, if that is all, there is much to do before we depart.’

  The Scribe nodded.

  Wynn turned to look again at the Reader, then Derward. Finally, he bowed to the Scribe and walked out of the meeting. As he left he cursed himself, knowing he would have to break his promise to Bara.

  PROPOSITIONS

  ‘Well, that could have gone better,’ Derward said with a heavy sigh as he dropped into one of the armchairs by the fire. The others had left the room, only Derward and the Scribe remained. She took in the emptiness of the chamber, relishing the rare silence, just the pop and crack of the fire playing out a staccato rhythm.

  She glanced at the Vengeance one last time, then Scribe Ermengarde Barrahaus joined Derward at the fire. She stood for a moment, contemplating the flames, feeling the heat on her fingers, then she rested in an empty the chair. ‘They had to go, Derward, I’m sorry. I had no choice.’

  Derward’s eyes narrowed, skeptically. ‘Of all people, you have a choice, Ermen.’

  ‘I may be Scribe, but that does not make me above reproach. The Circle voted.’

  ‘I know, I was there. I saw how they maneuvered you.’

  The Scribe frowned. ‘They did what?’

  ‘Reader Tremblay puts on that innocent new recruit routine to keep your guard down.’ Derward observed. ‘He’s a devious one. Ambitious. You should watch him.’

  ‘I will.’ She smiled, grateful for his loyalty. When they were alone, his affection for her was obvious.

  ‘A week . . . that seems harsh,’ Derward said quietly.

  The Scribe s
ighed. She was tired, and the fire wasn’t helping. ‘A week, a month, it doesn’t matter. At least this way it’s done. It’ll be over soon.’

  ‘Wynn will need some persuading about Mallory.’

  ‘You can be very persuasive, Derward,’ she teased. ‘He’ll come ‘round.’

  Derward turned towards the fire. ‘You put too much faith in me.’

  She laughed, enjoying their time together. But the sadness would follow, it always did, knowing this moment would end soon.

  ‘You’ll go with them?’ the Scribe asked.

  ‘I must. Wynn needs me, as does Reader Mallory.’

  ‘Has she changed much?’

  Derward didn’t reply immediately, and the Scribe saw the regret on his face. ‘In many ways she’s unrecognizable,’ he said softly. ‘But sometimes I see the little girl I brought here all those years ago.’

  ‘You’ve missed her.’

  ‘Of course. She was like . . .’ He dismissed the notion with his hand. ‘I should go. As Wynn said, there’s much to do.’

  He stood to leave, but the Scribe leaned over and touched his hand. ‘Wait. I have something else to ask you first.’

  Derward settled back into his seat.

  ‘When the time is right, you will leave the Vengeance and infiltrate the Fenrir.’

  Derward laughed, but then he saw that she wasn’t joking. ‘The Draig flagship?’

  The Scribe nodded. ‘They have killed our Readers. We have little information from inside the Draig fleet. I need someone I can trust there, someone who can report back directly to me.’

  ‘Do you hate me so much you would send me to my death?’

  Tears threatened the Scribe’s eyes. She inhaled, forcing her emotion away. ‘You are a trader, Derward, you can move freely between houses, between arkships. Your ship will be stocked with supplies that you can sell. Your experience makes you the perfect person – the only person – for this mission. You’re right, it is dangerous, but I know you can do it, Gods willing.’