The Dragons of Andromeda Read online

  THE DRAGONS

  OF

  ANDROMEDA

  THE IMPERIUM CHRONICLES BOOK TWO

  W. H. MITCHELL

  Copyright © 2018 W. H. Mitchell

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher or author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles, book reviews, and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the author at [email protected]

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover design: Steven Novak

  First edition, 2018

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Epilogue

  Character List

  Glossary

  About the Author

  Dedication

  To my wife, who makes sure I put on

  pants before leaving the house.

  Special thanks to Brad Snyder and Judy Veatch.

  Additional thanks to my beta readers:

  Chris Buckland

  Ward Lenz

  A character list and glossary are located at the back of the book.

  Prologue

  The Imperial Astronomical Society surveys the night skies, mapping the stars and the spaces in between. At the farthest reaches, well beyond the edges of the Imperium and the Magna Supremacy, the charts are blank, not because these places are empty, but because they are devoid of our understanding.

  These are the areas of the great unknown where dangers may lurk and the darkness is at its darkest. As the ancient cartographers would say, “Here there be dragons...”

  Chapter One

  On the planet Aldorus, outside the city of Regalis, a sanitation robot roamed the grounds after the park had closed for the night, emptying the rubbish bins of trash left by people during the day. On a set of six wheels, the trashbot rambled along from one bin to another, lifting each with a pair of robotic arms and dumping it into a hopper.

  Near midnight, the trashbot was checking bins by the lake when sounds began drifting in from the dark, somewhere off the main trail. Unlike the animal noises common during the night, these were different, faint and rhythmic.

  As the compactor in his body pressed a clump of paper cups and a small raccoon into a tidy cube, the robot rambled over the carefully cropped grass to a cluster of bushes. Peering through the branches, he noticed an outcrop of rock and the entrance to a cave. The drumming clearly was coming from inside.

  Organics, the robot thought, are always up to mischief.

  He entered the cave.

  Inside, a group of seven people sat around a fire, the flickering light casting shadows on the walls.

  This doesn’t look like a picnic, the robot thought.

  In sackcloth robes and with hoods over their heads, each person also wore an amulet in the shape of an eight-pointed star, a black pearl in the center.

  One of them pounded a large drum in his lap while the others chanted:

  From the Void

  The Old Ones come.

  The end is near,

  As heartbeats drum.

  Bow your heads;

  Receive your fate.

  Chaos reigns;

  Their love is hate.

  Burning fire

  From sky will fall.

  Praise the Gods!

  The END for all!

  On the wall at the back of the cavern the image of a door was carved into the stone. Around the edge of the door were letters from some language the robot didn’t recognize.

  The rhythm of the drum grew faster and louder.

  The letters started glowing until the center of the doorway faded, the edges falling inward like a waterfall seen from above.

  When the beats of the drum reached a frenzied crescendo, long tentacled arms flew from the doorway, thrashing about the cavern like flailing vines. The arms coiled around the hooded figures, dragging them back toward the portal.

  The trashbot expected to hear screams, but the chanters made no sounds at all. Like sacrifices accepting their fate, they disappeared through the doorway. When the last one vanished, the portal closed and the doorway and the letters returned to lifeless rock.

  Someone appeared beside the trashbot. Like the others, he wore a robe, but the hood was down, revealing his face covered in black soot and white ash like a skull. Around his neck hung the same amulet, an eight-pointed star.

  Seeing the empty chamber, the man’s face changed to a disappointed frown.

  “Aw,” he said. “They started without me!”

  In the heart of Regalis, the Imperial capital, the VOX News headquarters building rose like a shining steeple capped with antennas. Besides beaming broadcasts across the planet Aldorus, VOX News used a network of communication drones that autonomously spread reports far and wide across the Imperium. Of their stable of anchors, Sylvia Flax was the most popular. In her early thirties, her bright, azure hair hung past her shoulders.

  Her studio on the ninetieth floor was normally a simple desk with a holographic background on which images of floods and disgraced politicians appeared. Tonight, however, both were gone and replaced by a stage with spot lighting focused on three chairs and a glass coffee table. Flax sat in the first chair, facing two others, a man and a woman, seated across the table. The woman wore a fashionable dress, typical of a noblewoman, with her dark hair up in a bun. The man’s clothes were more utilitarian, a plain shirt and casual pants. Compared to the woman’s olive skin, the man’s complexion was darker.

  The fact that he was currently one of the most important men of the Imperium seemed completely lost on him, Flax noted to herself.

  “Thank you for agreeing to this interview,” she said.

  “You’re welcome,” the woman replied.

  “My pleasure,” the man said, his smile tucked behind a full beard.

  “No, the pleasure’s mine,” Flax went on. “It’s not every day I get to interview the first new royal houses in the last seven hundred years...”

  The woman smiled broadly, but the man’s grin disappeared as he adjusted his position.

  On a monitor, out of view of the cameras that hovered around the set, a timer slowly counted down. When it reached zero, the intro music played and credits for the show appeared on the monitor, superimposed over Flax’s face.

  “Good evening,” she said, staring into the camera. “I’m Sylvia Flax and tonight I have two important guests, Captain Andre Santos of the colony ship Mero
pe and Captain Sheba Nasri of the Sterope.”

  The camera cut to the guests before panning out to include all three in the frame.

  “I doubt there’s anyone in the Imperium,” Flax continued, “who hasn’t seen your faces by now. Certainly, the exploits that led to the discovery of your long-lost ark ships are well known. Until now, however, no one’s had a chance to really hear what the captains of those two ships had to say.”

  Santos laughed, pulling on his beard mischievously.

  “Not publicly,” he said.

  “Of course, I assume the Imperial government has debriefed you both...” Flax said.

  “Oh, yes,” Santos said. “To no end!”

  Giving the other captain the side eye, Nasri interjected, “After hundreds of years in cryosleep, naturally there’s a lot to get caught up on.”

  “Absolutely,” Flax said. “It must have been quite a shock.”

  Nasri nodded.

  “We’ve missed out on a great deal,” she said, “but I feel fortunate we’ve been presented with such a rare opportunity.”

  “I’ll say!” Flax said. “Seven ark ships set out from Earth, but only five arrived safely, or so we assumed. The Five Families descended from the captains of those five ships. Now, all of that’s been turned upside down!”

  Flax felt herself getting too excited. She took a breath.

  “Not to mention the rest of your crew,” she went on, “who are considered nobles in their own right, and the thousands of settlers who were also on board.”

  “It’s a lot to take in,” Santos deadpanned.

  “Well, speaking for myself at least,” Nasri said, “I consider this a great responsibility. I had no idea when we left Earth so many centuries ago that I might someday be the head of a royal household.”

  Santos rolled his eyes.

  “I don’t know about all that,” he said from the side of his mouth. “It seems crazy to think I went into cryosleep a captain and woke up a lord!”

  “It’s been rumored,” Flax said earnestly, “that the government will be giving you both a large stipend in keeping with your new status.”

  “Frankly,” Nasri replied, “it would be hard to wield the power of a noble without the proper funds.”

  “That’s the other thing,” Santos said. “Why should I get a king’s ransom? That money should go to my crew and the colonists from my ship. We were in it together as far as I’m concerned.”

  “It’s what we deserve,” Nasri said.

  “For what?” Santos replied. “We didn’t do anything.”

  “To Captain Nasri’s point,” Flax said, “your new status reflects the importance the Five Families place on their lineage to those other five ship captains. In some ways, you were robbed of your proper place in the Imperium and, certainly, the place your descendants would have enjoyed.”

  Santos leaned toward Flax.

  “For me, it’s like this,” he said. “I signed up to bring the colonists to a new land so they could build a new society. When I woke up, I found a new society, but it’s not what I expected. There’s no democracy or rule by the people. Far from it! I don’t want any part of that!”

  Flax cleared her throat and tried to smile convincingly.

  “Well, we have the Imperial Senate...” she said.

  Santos shrugged.

  “No system is perfect,” Nasri spoke up, “but being part of the system helps us make it better. If I can serve humanity in my new capacity, I’m willing to try.”

  Off camera, the director made a cutting motion across his throat.

  “Well, I’m afraid that’s all the time we have,” Flax said, turning to face the camera hovering a few feet away. “I’d like to again thank the two of you for coming.”

  Captain Santos and Nasri thanked her in reply while the monitor behind them slowly faded to black.

  The streets of Regalis were mostly empty when Sylvia Flax strolled down a darkened sidewalk, her high heels tapping with a steady cadence. She probably should have taken a grav taxi, but the transmat station was only a few blocks away and she was still exuberant from the interview.

  Sylvia’s stylish dress, cut just above the knee, rustled against her legs as her long hair swayed with each passing step. She listened to the rhythm of her heels repeating tip tap, tip tap.

  She became aware of another sound with a different tempo, clump clump, like a pair of heavy boots.

  Not many people are out this late, Flax thought, and he seemed to be getting closer.

  Even with the occasional lamp filling a puddle of light, the street was dark, but Flax could still make out the shape of the person approaching.

  Tip tap.

  Clump clump.

  He was definitely not a woman, she realized. He was short, but not feminine in any way. His shoulders rose and fell like the pistons of a poorly maintained machine. Not a robot either, although that would’ve been a relief. Robots rarely attacked people.

  The man wore baggy pants and a sleeveless shirt. He looked like he came from the Underclass, Flax concluded, the lowest of the low except for non-humans. He wore goggles, hiding his eyes.

  Tip tap. Clump clump.

  He was nearly abreast now. Flax couldn’t tell if he was looking at her. His eyes were hidden behind those terrible goggles. And his lips. They were painted black, a sharp contrast against his sickly white skin.

  Tip clump tap clump.

  She could smell him as he passed. She tried not to look, at least not directly. And those goggles. What were his eyes doing? Were they looking at her?

  Clump clump. Tip tap.

  He went by without a word. Flax released a long breath, not realizing she had been holding one in the whole time. Then, something like metal flicking across metal snapped behind her and she instantly felt the edge of a switchblade scrape against her neck. It was him, his body pressed against her back.

  “Step out, Magnus!” he yelled down the street. “I know you’re there!”

  Further up the sidewalk, a different man stepped out from a doorway concealed in the shadows. Lamp light reflected off his closely shaved head and stubbly face. Intricate tattoos at the base of his neck poked out just above the collar of his shirt. The rest of him was covered by a long, brown coat.

  “There’s a contract out on you, Tokai,” Magnus said. “And I’m here to collect.”

  Tokai, still holding the knife at Flax’s throat, shrank behind her. “Come any closer and I’ll cut her!”

  “Do what you like,” Magnus replied. “She’s nothing to me.”

  Flax didn’t like the sound of that.

  “You can’t just let him hurt me!” she shouted.

  “Sorry, lady,” Magnus said. “I’m a hit man, not a hero.”

  “I’ll pay you ten thousand credits,” she offered.

  “Twenty thousand.”

  “Fifteen.”

  From her vantage point, at least twenty feet from the hired killer, Flax detected a nearly imperceptible grin at the corner of Magnus’ mouth.

  “Deal,” Magnus replied, effortlessly drawing a weapon from a holster beneath his coat.

  Tokai, the situation perhaps dawning on him, yelled out “Wait!” but a blast of orange light had already charred a hole in his forehead, exiting the back of his skull.

  Flax stood in stunned silence until Tokai’s body landed with a thud behind her. Then she got angry.

  “You could’ve killed me!” she screamed.

  “No,” Magnus replied calmly. “Then I wouldn’t get paid.”

  “Are you crazy? I’m not paying you!”

  Just as calmly, Magnus pointed the gun at her.

  “Yes, you will,” he said, and he was right.

  A cool wind on an otherwise warm day blew in from the sea. Lady Rebecca Veber, along with two of her aides, waited on the transmat platform. Draped in a long gown of aqua and white taffeta decorated with a scallop shell pattern, Lady Veber was in her early forties with a wide face and blue eyes, her blond hair wor
n in an intricate braid. The platform jutted out over a cliff, high above the white beaches and turquoise waters typical of the planet. The Veber family owned the planet Lokeren, a world of island chains and vast, tropical oceans. Of the many estates built on the planet, this particular one was Lady Veber’s favorite due to the gentle breezes that blew just after dusk.

  “He’s transmatting now,” an aide said, holding a finger to his earpiece.

  At the center of the platform, the air sizzled like burning oil as a golden haze materialized into a man. Lady Veber and her two staffers bowed.

  “Prince Richard!” she said, raising her head. “Always a pleasure.”

  The first son and eldest child of the Imperial emperor, Prince Richard was ten years Lady Veber’s junior, with a primly trimmed mustache and wearing a gold and red tunic. He smiled graciously as he walked stiffly toward her. He took her outstretched hand and kissed the back of it, just above a ring encrusted with diamonds.

  “Of course, the pleasure is all mine,” he said.

  “I must admit I was somewhat surprised the Imperial palace could spare you for a personal visit,” she said, withdrawing her hand.

  “We live in interesting times.”

  “Do we? I hadn’t noticed.”

  “Perhaps we could talk inside,” the prince suggested. “This is more fresh air than I’m used to...”

  The group walked away from the cliffs toward the palace, a series of cube-shaped buildings with clay walls painted white and domes of light blue. Once inside, the two aides left them alone in a large room with a vaulted ceiling covered in byzantine tiles with the same shell motif as Lady Veber’s dress. She and the prince sat on a bench covered in satin pillows.

  “You really should get out more, Richard,” she said, feigning concern. “A little fresh air never hurt anyone.”

  “No, but sound travels,” he replied. “I wanted our conversation to be more private.”

  She sighed.

  “Very well,” she said. “Why have you come all this way?”

  “I assume you’ve seen the interview with Lord Santos and Lady Nasri?” Richard asked.

  “Well, I don’t think Captain Santos would care for the title Lord being used.”