The Dreams of Andromeda (The Imperium Chronicles Book 4) Read online

  Magnus reached along the underside of the cart and pulled out a square device taped there. Little more than a small box with a button on top and a coil of wires in the front, it sat snugly in the palm of Magnus' left hand.

  With the dripping knife in his other hand, Magnus moved quietly into the darkness of the bedroom, the only light coming from the bathroom doorway along with the sound of running water. Magnus held the device in front of him and, holding down the button, made sweeping motions back and forth until he heard a pained shout come from the bathroom. Magnus released the button, letting the device drop to the floor.

  "Ward!" a man's voice shouted. "Ward!"

  The running water stopped abruptly and a man, dressed in a robe, appeared in the doorway with a small pistol.

  "Lights on," Gregor Ivanovich said.

  The bedroom lights came up immediately and Gregor pointed the gun at Magnus in the center of the room. The gang boss touched the smoldering hole that had once been his augmented eye.

  "What the hell did you do?" he demanded.

  "I used an electromagnetic pulse to short out your eye so you couldn't see through the walls," Magnus replied coldly. "I guess I wasn't expecting you to be armed..."

  "A snub pistol can't shoot far, but it's easy to miss during a pat down," Gregor said. "Did you say EMP? What kind?"

  "Gamma ray."

  "Are you crazy?" Gregor shouted. "That’ll give me cancer!"

  "You don't have that kind of time," Magnus said. "Lights out."

  The bedroom lights went dark instantly. No longer able to see with his x-ray eye, Gregor failed to notice Magnus roll out of the way as the snub pistol fired, illuminating the room briefly with the flash. While the assassin had deftly moved from his previous position, Gregor had not, allowing Magnus to throw the steak knife accurately through the darkness, the blade lodging deeply into Gregor's skull.

  The boss took a step backwards before falling through the doorway into the bathroom.

  The day after the representatives from the Five Families had arrived on Lokeren, two of them were finishing breakfast. Lord Rupert Tagus III had just massacred a soft-boiled egg on toast while Lord Vincent Groen was watching an off-world sportscast on television. A commercial appeared on the screen:

  WATCH THIS SUNDAY AS YOUR LOCAL

  XENO LEAGUES PLAY BLOOD BALL!

  NOW WITH TWICE AS MUCH BLOOD

  AND THREE TIMES MORE BALLS!

  "Turn that off!" Tagus demanded, wiping egg yolk from his mouth.

  Vincent obliged and the monitor went blank.

  "Not a sports fan, I take it?" Vincent asked.

  "It's a waste of time," Tagus replied. "War is the only game worth playing."

  After a pause, Vincent wondered aloud, "What do you think Olivia is having for breakfast?"

  "If you're referring to Lady Montros," Tagus scoffed, "I assume she's having breakfast with Richard. Plotting her ascension to the throne no doubt!"

  "You think Olivia will nominate herself?" Vincent asked.

  "Of course."

  "That would be something," Vincent remarked, "having her as Empress."

  "Not if I can help it," Tagus replied.

  "Well, you can count on me."

  "I should hope so!" Tagus said. "And your family will be duly compensated as usual."

  Vincent nodded. "My family appreciates it."

  Tagus lifted a fork from the table for the sole purpose of pointing it accusingly at Lord Groen.

  "You know I've been hearing stories about your uncle Radford," Tagus said. "You need to rein that man in!"

  "Uncle Radford has always been a black sheep," Vincent said, "especially after my uncle Robert was murdered. He's never been the same since."

  "Why not?"

  "I don't know for sure," Vincent went on, "but he took my aunt and uncle's death quite hard."

  Tagus rolled his eyes.

  "Weakness," he said. "Pure and simple."

  "I suppose so," Vincent replied. "We should get a move on. It's time..."

  Lord Tagus and Groen found their way to the main dining hall where a round table, surrounded by five chairs, filled most of the room. Prince Richard and Lady Olivia Montros had already taken their seats while Lady Veber met the others as they entered through a pair of grand doors.

  "Are we late?" Vincent asked.

  "Not at all," Lady Veber replied.

  "I'm sure the Prince doesn't mind waiting," Tagus said, giving Richard a vile grin.

  "I can always wait for your inevitable defeat," the prince replied, which drew a laugh from Olivia.

  "Alright," Lady Veber said impatiently. "Let's sit down and get this over with."

  A servant pulled a chair out for Lady Veber beside Olivia, while Vincent and Tagus occupied the remaining two places. Tagus made a point of taking the chair beside Prince Richard, eager to show his lack of deference to the prince. Richard, for his part, ignored him and focused his attention on Lady Veber who was once again speaking.

  "This opens the Imperial Conclave," she said, motioning to the others with a wave of her hands. Seeing little response, she continued. "In accordance with tradition, we will begin with a round of nominations and then, after however much deliberations are needed, we will commence with voting on those nominations."

  Tagus stifled a yawn which brought a quick glare from Lady Veber.

  "Let's get on with it, shall we?" he replied.

  "Very well," she said. "I will start with Lady Montros and move around the table."

  Olivia, her blond hair pulled back from her sharp, piercing eyes, smiled like a cat about to eat a mouse.

  "On behalf of the Montros family," she said, "I nominate myself for the next Empress."

  Although Lady Veber nodded, Tagus and Vincent showed little in the way of emotion while Prince Richard stared impatiently at the section of table directly in front him.

  "Very good," Lady Veber said. "I will abstain from nominating anyone and pass the turn to Lord Groen."

  To her left, Vincent bowed his head before turning his eyes to Lord Tagus.

  "I nominate Lord Tagus," he said. "The next Emperor of the Imperium!"

  Tagus made an effort to feign surprise, even if the nomination was a surprise to no one. His attempt at humility was even less convincing.

  "Thank you very much, Lord Groen," Tagus said. "I accept your nomination and hope that the rest of you will see the rightfulness of my future reign. After my father was unjustly passed over the last time this conclave was held, it is only fitting that I, his son, be the next to wear the crown."

  Vincent smiled, but the others failed to follow suit.

  "Alright, Lord Tagus," Lady Veber began, "we will now recess while we discuss our votes..."

  On the opposite side of the table, Prince Richard cleared his throat.

  "Actually," he said, "I would like to speak, if you don't mind."

  "It's not necessary for you to affirm Lady Montros' nomination," Lady Veber replied, her eyebrows raised in surprise.

  "I don't intend to," he said. "I wish to nominate someone as well."

  Olivia, her face contorted, leaned toward Prince Richard but he waved her away. The rest merely stared at the prince.

  "As you wish," Lady Veber said.

  Pushing out his chair, Prince Richard got to his feet so he stood taller than anyone else at the table.

  "After much thought," he said, "I am nominating myself."

  The suite for the Griefers was on a different floor than the Cyberpunks. Magnus Black entered without knocking, using the keycard Kid Vicious had given him earlier in the day.

  Kid was waiting impatiently.

  "Is it done?" he asked from across the room.

  "It's done," Magnus replied.

  Kid laughed, shaking his fist in the air. "Suck on that, Gregor!"

  Unlike Gregor Ivanovich, the boss of the Griefers was dressed in his usual attire, jeans and a t-shirt, and not a bathrobe provided by the hotel. A complimentary bottle of Champagne
sat empty in an ice bucket on a glass table just in front of where Kid was standing.

  "Have you been celebrating early?" Magnus asked.

  "Damn right!" Kid yelled, almost losing his footing. "Gregor was a pain in my ass and I'm glad the bastard's dead!" After catching his breath, he went on, "Did he scream when he died?"

  Magnus shook his head, showing the snub pistol he had retrieved from Gregor's body. "But he had this..."

  Kid laughed again.

  "We used to call those belly pistols," he said, "because you had to stick it in a guy's belly before pulling the trigger, or you'd miss."

  "He apparently smuggled this one past security."

  "Sneaky little shit," Kid remarked. "Gregor never liked playing by the rules... not that it did him any good in the end."

  Magnus gave the room a quick glance. "Where's your burnt friend?"

  "Munge?" Kid asked. "I sent him home. Big G's security is enough to keep me safe while I'm here."

  "Good," Magnus replied and pointed the pistol at Kid.

  "What's this?" the Griefer boss asked, the smile melting from his face.

  "Gregor wasn't the only target tonight," Magnus replied.

  "The hell?" Kid said. "I paid your contract!"

  Magnus pulled a credit stick from the apron around his waist.

  "I've been meaning to give this back," he said, tossing the tiny device across the room and onto the table. "It turns out somebody hired me before you did."

  Kid sneered.

  "Go ahead and shoot," he said. "Do you really think you can hit me from all the way over there with that pop gun?"

  Magnus fired two shots, both striking Kid between the eyes. His mouth still frowning, the boss fell face-first onto the table, shattering the glass into jagged pieces.

  "Yes," Magnus replied.

  Magnus dropped the gun to the floor and left. Taking a private elevator, he arrived at the penthouse suite on the top floor. Big G stood in his sunken living room, rubbing his furry belly.

  "Is it done?" he asked.

  "It's done," Magnus said.

  Chapter Nine

  The information from Shady O'Shea led Thomas Martel to an old mansion in the Middleton district. A wall surrounded the property, but the detective could see the three-story home through the wrought-iron gate. Paint was peeling off the walls, but fresh scaffolding suggested somebody was renovating the place.

  Martel rang the bell beside the gate.

  "What do you want?" a gruff voice asked over the speaker.

  "I'm Detective Thomas Martel. I'm here to ask Jollux a few questions."

  "Bugger off!" the voice replied.

  Martel turned to leave when a different voice spoke. "Alright, come on in."

  A buzzer sounded and Martel heard the lock unlatch. Pushing on the cold iron, Martel walked through the now open gate. The path to the front door wound through tangled weeds and patches of dead grass. Even before Martel had set foot on the front step, the door opened and a man, dressed as a butler, stood in the entranceway. Martel noted that the man's clothes were tight around the arms and shoulders, concealing the muscles of a thug underneath.

  Checking Martel for weapons, he removed Maxwell from its holster and put it aside on a table cluttered with several other guns of various types.

  "This way," the servant said, his face bearing scars from what Martel assumed was a knife fight.

  The inside of the house reflected the same dingy appearance as the exterior, although there was evidence of new wallpaper in places to cover the black mold growing on the walls. The servant took Martel through to a hothouse in the back, a glass enclosure where the temperature was stifling and the air hung with oppressive humidity. Martel removed his coat but felt a trickle of sweat already running down his back.

  The hothouse was filled with orchids and exotic plants, their green leaves brushing against Martel's face as he walked past. In the center, on a wide bench of teak, a creature sat on spindly legs, tucked beneath a wide belly like a fat Buddha. A waddle dangled from a weak chin, hiding a near non-existent neck. The being's big yellow eyes surveyed Martel as he approached, and he stretched long, slender fingers in a beckoning gesture toward the detective.

  "Thomas Martel, the private eye," Jollux said. "I've heard of you."

  "I'm flattered," Martel replied, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Quite a place you have here."

  "This? Oh, I inherited it from somebody who owed me money. It's a bit run down, but given time I expect it to regain some of its former glory."

  "Do you always keep it so hot in here?" Martel asked.

  "My apologies," Jollux replied. "It reminds me of my home planet, a jungle world, you know."

  "Got it."

  "Now," Jollux said, "what brings a PI to my doorstep?"

  "I'm investigating a racing sled crash," Martel said. "Somebody tampered with the sled and I think it was to win a bet on the race."

  "Oh, dear," Jollux replied, his eyes rolling in his head. "Who would go to such extremes?"

  "I was hoping you could help me find out."

  "Well, whose sled was it?"

  "Lord Devlin Maycare's."

  A chuckle came from deep inside the loan shark's stomach. "Oh, him. Yes, I remember hearing about the crash. Can't say I'm surprised though. He's a bit reckless, isn't he?"

  "I looked at the sled," Martel replied. "It was definitely sabotaged."

  "In that case," Jollux went on, "perhaps someone had a grudge?"

  "I've looked into that too," Martel said. "Nobody appears likely."

  Jollux waved his hand at the servant who still remained nearby. "Bring us some refreshments, won't you?"

  "I'm fine," Martel said.

  "Nonsense," Jollux replied dismissively. "It's no trouble."

  "I'm told you front betting off the books," Martel said. "I was wondering if you recall any bets on that race, especially anybody betting on Lord Maycare to lose."

  "I'm a legitimate banker, Mr. Martel," Jollux said. "It's true I loan money to those in need, especially those who the major banks refuse to serve. However, I would never dream of backing anything illegal."

  "I'm not a cop," Martel replied. "I don't care if your business is legal or not."

  Jollux smiled. "Perhaps, but loose lips sink ships, as they say..."

  The servant brought a tray with two tall glasses of lemonade. Martel took one and drank a sip while the servant placed the tray and the other glass on a side table.

  "Speaking of which," Jollux continued, "I'm curious who suggested I might have the answers you're seeking."

  "Nobody," Martel said. "Gelatinous Bob is well known in Ashetown."

  Jollux's big eyes narrowed.

  "I detest that nickname," he said. "Fat shaming and such..."

  "Sorry."

  "Are you quite sure you won't tell me who sent you?" Jollux pressed. "I have a pretty good idea who it was. An Irishman perhaps?"

  Martel, who was already sweating profusely, felt droplets collecting in his eyebrows. The room was also turning murky. He glanced at the glass in his hand.

  "Are you alright, Mr. Martel?" Jollux asked.

  The glass, slick with condensation, slipped between Martel's fingers. He took a step toward the exit, but his legs were weak and rubbery. The heat bore down on him like a heavy blanket.

  The last thing Martel saw before passing out were the shoes of the thug masquerading as a butler. He noticed they were caked in a reddish mud, and then everything went black.

  Jessica Doric and Henry Riff were examining one of the many artifacts displayed in Lord Maycare's hallways when the sound of a commotion echoed down the corridor. Following the noise, Doric and Henry ran through a doorway into the media room where a television monitor took up most of one wall. On the screen, the armored bodies of non-humans were throwing themselves at each other while another non-human was carrying an oblong-shaped ball. Their shouts and screams filled the room.

  Also, the unexpected squawks of Lady Candice
Groen.

  Doric and Henry slid to a halt on the parquet floor, their eyes fixated on Candy and Lord Maycare sitting on a couch in front of the giant screen.

  "What's going on in here?" Doric asked.

  "It's called Blood Ball," Maycare replied. "Have you heard of it? Candy brought it to my attention—"

  Candy, who held a pennant in one hand that read Boneyard Bruisers, clenched her perfect teeth as a Gordian on the monitor knocked another player off his feet.

  "Yeah!" she shouted.

  Doric, her eyes and mouth open, stared in horror and disbelief.

  "You like this, Lady Candice?" she asked.

  Barely able to look away, Candy replied, "Of course! It's great fun!"

  The fun appeared to take place on a green field of grass with two lines of opponents, mostly Gordians and a few Draconians, each carrying tall, plastic shields. At the start of each play, a referee blew a whistle and the two phalanxes slammed together in a great clamor while, behind the offensive line, another non-human took the ball and tried running around the outside. A fast moving Tikarin met the ball runner, slamming him to the ground. He did not move, lying on the grass in a pile of arms and legs.

  "See?" Candy shouted. "Great fun!"

  "Why are they all non-humans?" Doric asked.

  "Humans aren't allowed by law," Candy replied, "for their own protection."

  Maycare spied Henry still in the doorway, his shoulders slouched and his hands covering his eyes.

  "Oh, come on, Henry," Maycare said. "It's not that bad!"

  "It frightens me," Henry whispered through his fingers.

  "Well, it's called Blood Ball after all," Maycare replied.

  "And you can bet on it too," Candy said. "There's even a dead pool!"

  "This is terrible," Doric remarked, mostly to herself, but clearly audible to the others.

  "Don't be silly," Candy said. "They're just xenos after all. And anyway, they deserve to have their own sports, don't they? Devlin's sports only allow humans."

  "That's true," Maycare admitted sheepishly.

  "And you bet on this?" Doric asked.

  Candy hesitated.

  "Sometimes," she said reluctantly. "Uncle Radford got me started."

  "That figures," Maycare remarked. "How's he been doing?"

  For the first time, Candy's eyes left the screen and stared at her lap. "We haven't heard from him in days!"