Abendau's Heir (The Inheritance Trilogy Book 1) (13 page)

“What about basic?”

Lichio shrugged. “The powers that be say you can finish in the field.”

He wasn’t being kicked out, then; he’d convinced them of that, at least. And he wasn’t going to be left to be Eevan’s punchbag, either, which was good. “Who knows my identity?”

“Colonel Rjala, the chair of the board and the major. That’s it.”

“And you,” said Kare. “I’m not being rude, but what relevance is it to you?”

“I’m going, too. The colonel wants a link man for you. I’m it.” Lichio made a face. “And it’s sir.”

“Sir?”

“You don’t think I’m going in as a private, do you?” Lichio looked mildly horrified. He tapped the insignia on his shoulder, a crouched Lynx, teeth bared. Somehow it suited him. “It’s Lieutenant le Payne, and that’s Sir to you. Private.”

Kare waited a moment, not sure what to make of that comment. In fact, not entirely sure what to make of Lichio le Payne. Silom had warmed to him over the last few weeks, and that was a good sign, but he kept himself too guarded for Kare to be sure of him. Slowly, he felt his face break into a smile. He liked him, he decided, surprised.

Later, after a shower, he sat on one of the window seats of a transporter as it started its long, slow launch. The seats reclined, but that appeared to be the only bit of comfort; cargo space obviously had priority over the passengers.

He braced for the first moment he dreaded, when the inertia regulator took effect. His stomach churned, partly through habit, he was sure, until the initial launch was completed and he could lean forwards and look out the viewing window.

The Banned base had disappeared into the jungle, the lush green fading as they rose through the clouds and reached the high blue sky of the final atmosphere. There was a jerk as the ship switched to its star drive, the usual rush of sickness, and space blurred around them.

Six months later

“The inertia-reg will switch over in a moment,” said Michael.

Sonly made a face– she hated landings–
and closed her data pad. She put her head back as her stomach lurched, then settled. It was over so quickly, it was silly to get tense about it.

“Okay?” Michael put his hand on her arm.

“Yes, thanks.” It was worth a space flight to get the chance to meet ambassadors from the Great Families. That it was being held at the busy Ferran hub, with the added element of discovery and danger, made her excitement swell and hands tingle; she
had
to do well. She turned her thoughts to the meeting ahead, and the thing that had been niggling her through the flight. “Why are both the ambassadors meeting us now? Isn’t it sudden?”

Michael pulled at his greying beard, taking his time. “With us negotiating traffic allowances with the hub, we’re close to holding the outer rim. Tortdeniel want to get into the communities, improve their education and tie extra planets to them. Balandt get to extend their banking interests. The outer rim gets the type of development we can’t fund.”

Sonly shook her head. “That’s all very plausible. But both of them? We’ve had the upper hand in Ferran since last year, and it’s now they want to deal?” Her eyes narrowed. “They know about Kare, don’t they?”

“Yes. What of our young heir? Any progress?”

She took her time: Michael knew she’d been getting word from Lichio and that it had included snippets about Kare. But she didn’t want to reveal just how much. She was a little surprised, herself– next time the Banned decided they needed a super spy, she’
d nominate Lichio.
      

“He says he has no interest in becoming Emperor,” she said. Her seat shifted a little as the ship touched down. “He wants to replace it with something else.”

Michael cursed, and her eyes widened. Usually he was circumspect around her, treating her like one of his granddaughters.

“That,” he said, “will never be supported by the families.”

“I know. But, you know, the Banned were formed to oppose her, and there’s a part of me that thinks Kare has it right and we
should
remove everything that bitch has built.”

“Quite the rebel.”

“Maybe,” she said, shrugging. “And I know what you’re thinking: aspirations aren’t going to win the war.”

“Exactly. Which means we need to work on Kare. When is he due back from Corun?”

“They leave tomorrow.”

Michael undid his seat fastenings and pulled his long jacket over his shoulders, not bothering with its sleeves. With its silver trim, it gave him a gravitas she had no hope of emulating. “He’s eighteen and has never had tutelage in politics. When he gets back, he’ll have learned the basics of the military– ”

“The very basics, he needs more– ”

“Granted. Rjala can work on that; we’ll work on the political side.” He paused. “I think I might arrange for you to do that– he’ll be more comfortable with someone his age, it’s less likely to put his back up at the start.”

Another sign of trust. She resisted the urge to smile, getting up and stretching instead. “That means he’s staying on the base. Isn’t that risky?”

“With a new identity.”

Sonly shook her head. “It’s no good. Lichio says anyone who knew Ealyn will recognise him. A new identity hides nothing.”

“Surgery? It’s expensive, but …”

And painful
. “There might come a time when we’re glad he looks like one of his parents,” she said. “We should reignite the old tales about Ealyn and the twins, so that when he meets the families there will be no denying whose son he is. That builds the link back to the Banned.”

They moved to the hatch, and Michael turned to her as it opened. “Good. You know, if you
do
want to follow your father’s legacy, you need to be able to take decisions– rational, planned decisions, not emotional ones–
and
know you’re doing it for the right reasons. Aspirations, like you say, won’t win the war.”

“I know.” Even so, she was glad today was about trading agreements and not Kare, because she didn’t know how she felt. They were using his name everywhere, and he hadn’t said they could. It didn’t seem right. But if they didn’
t….

Michael stepped onto the ramp and she followed, focusing on the two people waiting at the bottom. The private docking bay they had been allocated was empty, but the Ferran insignia reminded her to be careful. The wrong eyes, the wrong person hearing her name could be lethal. It was, she suspected, one of the reasons Michael had brought her: being so young and not yet on the board, her face would be relatively unknown.

“Louis,” Michael said. He shook the first ambassador’s hand, and Sonly decided– he was so tall and thin– that he must be the Balandti. Michael turned to her. “This is my associate, Sonly le Payne.” He nodded to the other psycher, a woman. “And this is Margueritte Tortdeniel.”

Sonly stepped forward, holding out her hand. “It’s lovely to meet you.”

Margueritte nodded. “Darwin’s daughter?”

“Yes.” Sonly looked at her traditional Tortdeniel dress, high collared, its rich blue material shimmering in the light, and wished she could have something so lovely.

“It’s nice to meet you, Sonly,” said Louis. He contrasted against Margueritte’s colour, in the traditional Balandt black from head to toe. Even his boots, polished beyond what seemed possible, were jet in colour. She supposed it was the banker-genes running through the Balandt family– she’d never come across one who was anything but painfully sober. “I met your father, once, when he was still with the Empress’ army.”

“That must have been a long time ago.”

“Nearly thirty years.” He gestured down the corridor. “This way.”

Sonly followed, moving a little closer to Margueritte. “Your dress– it’s beautiful,” she said. “I just had to tell you.”

The Tortdeniel’s face broke into a smile, and Sonly relaxed a little. She’d been worried it was the wrong thing to say.

“Thank you. Very few people mention it. Especially the men; clothes are wasted on them.”

Sonly’s eyes opened slightly, and she paused, not sure how to respond. The other woman’s eyes challenged her but a smile remained in place. Finally, Sonly shrugged slightly, and said, “Well, what can you say about black?”

They walked into a small boardroom and Sonly pulled out her data pad, bringing up the figures she had prepared for the meeting. If they could pull this off, there was a nice income stream for the Banned; a five percent levy for access to the Banned-controlled outer zone was more than reasonable.

Michael paused at the door. “The facilities? May I?”

“Second on the right,” said Louis.

Both ambassadors sat opposite Sonly, and there was an awkward silence. The Balandti smiled, his eyes meeting hers, and he seemed friendly enough for all his long face and thinning hair. “We hear your group has had an interesting… arrival.”

She fought to keep her face straight, and not look around for Michael. “Arrival?
”

“We heard,” said Margueritte, “that the Empress’ son is alive and with the Banned.”

What should she say? If they were voicing it so openly, they knew, and she needed them to trust her. “Yes, that’s true.
”

“And does he support the Banned? Is he standing with you against the Empress?” Balandt’s voice was casual, but his posture was on edge, alert, and she warned herself to be careful.

She gave a smile she hoped was relaxed. “Yes, of course. He came to us, not Abendau.”

“And he is in the position to take the Emperorship, should his mother… pass on?” Margueritte asked. She, too, was alert but there something in her eyes, something just a little less calculating, that made Sonly sure she understood more of the nuances of the situation. Had she grasped why Kare was with the Banned, and how he felt about the empire? If so, caution had to come first: none of the great families could get any hint of Kare’s feelings about the empire. Change could be a threat to any of the families, supported and enriched by the status quo as they were. Even remaining under the Empress, paying her tariffs and abiding by her rule, might be preferable. It was impossible to know for sure– the game was too finely played between the families; nothing was ever as it seemed on the surface. It was why she loved politics.

She picked up the glass in front of her, took a sip of water and set it down.
Come on, Michael.
The two ambassadors watched her. Michael had said she had to be prepared to take hard decisions and stand over them. She sent a mental apology, smiled, and said, “Absolutely. He is committed to overthrowing the Empress and continuing her empire in a peaceful manner.”

The door closed behind her and Michael slipped into the seat opposite her. Their eyes met for a short moment, and he gave her the slightest of nods. Her smile widened, and then she looked down at her hands and it faded. She'd promised something she might not be able to deliver.

“But that’s for the future,” Michael said to the ambassadors. “He’s currently undergoing tutelage in the military and politics. When it’s time, you’ll meet him and have a chance to discuss it further. Now, we’re proposing a ten percent levy.”

There was a harsh laugh from the Balandti. “We pay the Empress four.” Margueritte may be the ambassador who grasped the nuances of the people she dealt with, but when it came to numbers, no one sneaked anything past a Balandt. It was why they had the richest planet, with its huge financial district under a glittering dome that had cost millions of credits and provided a means of reducing the gravity so non-worlders could utilise the financial hub.

Sonly broke in. “That’s for legal trading routes, and you pay taxes on top of that. This is illegal; the Banned planets carry the risk of attack and protect you from it. Ten is fair. You’ll have to come up.”

“And you down.”

Sonly met his eyes, the typical pale blue of his people, and held his gaze. It was going to be a long day. Which was fine: she had all day. She pulled her shoulders back, pasted a smile on, and said, “Eight. That’s our lowest; any further and we aren’t gaining anything from this.”

Kare crawled under the table, cursing the wall’s disrepair– if he managed not to electrocute himself on the exposed cabling, he’d be lucky. He worked his way through the wires, matching colours, until he completed the last connection and backed out, the smell from the old flooring making him gag. A shower, that was the first thing he’d do at barracks. Then he remembered he wasn’
t going back to barracks; it would have to wait until his transporter was established in hyperspace.

He stood and looked around the group in front of him, taking in their mismatched uniforms and inconsistent weaponry. They ranged from a girl of about thirteen up to a man who looked well into his eighties.

“Okay, then.” Kare pointed at the computer system he’d taken apart and rebuilt over the last week, pleased to see lights pulsing on its control panel– at least it still worked. “This direct-links the Corun comms to the Banned fleet. It will be much, much quicker. That’s the weaponry tied in, too.”

“Karl!” called a familiar voice. “Time to go.”

Kare joined Silom, answering a flurry of questions as quickly as he could. As they stepped outside they were surrounded by children.

“Do the magic,” one of children said, a boy of about seven, with a grubby face and eyes that were too big for the rest of him.

“I can’t,” Kare said, “I have to go.”

“Please,” asked another child.

There was a clamour of voices and Kare raised an eyebrow in question. Since Silom’s promotion to lance-corporal, he outranked Kare. For now; he was doing okay in the tech squad. Better than okay, now he’d learned the systems.

“Five minutes.” Silom’s voice was stern, but Kare could tell he was struggling not to smile.

The children gave a small cheer as Kare reached into one of his pockets and took out a sweet. The lad who’d been brave enough to ask first focused on the sweet, and his eyes widened even more. Kare paused, angry– what they really needed was a decent meal, but he couldn’t give them that. Instead, he’d raided most of the sweets in the barracks, exchanging whatever tokens he had for them. There was nothing to buy here, anyway; pretty much everything was embargoed– the system's alignment with the Banned had cost them what little support they'd had from the Al-Halad family. He hoped the rebels were making things better and not worse. He wished he could make the planet better. He wished he could provide a newer dome, one that let enough sun in for crops to establish. Each wish was as useless as the last–
all he could do was his job: train them; establish reliable comms to military support; entertain their kids. It felt like very little. He tossed the sweet from hand to hand. “Whose ear is sore?”