[05] Elite: Reclamation (7 page)

‘Your father insists you need treatment for your illness,’ Dalk said, stepping aside and sweeping the sword in a downwards arc.

‘And yet I stand here full of vigour,’ Kahina countered and moved to keep the same distance between them.

Dalk smiled. ‘A sickness of the mind perhaps?’

‘A disobedient daughter is the curse of many a father.’

‘A euphemism for torture then, to convince you to change your ways,’ Dalk said, regarding her carefully, she matched his footwork step for step.

‘My ways will never change.’

‘Fighting talk from a mere girl with no rank.’

‘Cowardice from an old man armed with a sword against an undefended lady.’

Dalk scoffed. ‘A lady? Without the Loren locks of gold and clear blue eyes?’

‘Is there some rule that states a woman must be blonde to be considered worthy?’ Kahina returned.

Dalk grinned and gestured to the walls.

‘Let’s find out.’

Kahina walked across to the nearest side and retrieved a sword, her eyes never leaving Dalk’s. She returned to the centre of the room and then without warning, lunged at Dalk, sword point aimed directly at his heart. Dalk turned aside in a flash, parrying the strike with his own sword. Sparks flew from the blades as they clashed. A flick of his wrist and Kahina was pushed back. Both dropped into a ready stance, slowly circling each other.

‘I’m gratified to see you’ve not forgotten your last lesson,’ Dalk observed.

‘I learn fast and practice daily,’ Kahina said, lunging forward again. A rapid series of strikes and parries followed. Dalk turned her sword once again, sending her reeling off balance. She spun to face him again.

‘Much still to learn,’ he said.

‘I’ll have you one day, old man,’ she fired back.

Kahina struck a third time. This time Dalk deftly twisted his wrist and Kahina’s sword clattered across the floor. His blade swung rapidly, stopping just short of her neck.

‘But not this day,’ Dalk commented. ‘You’re dead once more.’

Kahina grabbed his wrist in her hands, twisted violently and his sword fell from his grasp. She bent his arm backwards at the shoulder, pulling him off balance.

‘You taught me never to stop fighting until I could fight no more,’ she said, bending his arm cruelly, hoping to see a flicker of pain on his face. She was disappointed.

Instead Dalk dropped to his knees, spun and abruptly rotated his hips. Kahina was flung over him to land with a heavy thud on the floor behind him. She gasped in surprise and pain, the breath knocked from her. A fist had stopped just short of her nose.

‘A lesson you’ve yet to completely appreciate,’ he said with a nod, before opening his hand and helping her to her feet.

Kahina winced as her strained muscles protested. Dalk studied her for a moment. The girl showed occasional flashes of skill with both the blade and her unarmed technique, but she never quite seemed to manage a strong level of consistency.

But she’s learnt enough; enough to survive.

‘Why do you do this, Dalk?’ she whispered. ‘You disobey my father’s wishes. The risk …’

‘I do not agree with torturing innocent women,’ he responded. ‘You’ve committed no crime other than knowing your own mind. You deserve more than your station allows.’

‘Could you torture me, should you wish to?’

Dalk fixed her with a stare. ‘Why do you think your father chose me?’

‘I imagine you’ve done worse in your time,’ Kahina said, shrewdly.

‘You imagine correctly.’

‘You fought for the independent worlds, so it’s told. Your prowess speaks for itself …’

‘I’ve fought for them all, but that was a long time ago,’ Dalk interrupted. ‘My place is here, serving the Loren family.’

‘You serve my father, no?’ Kahina teased.

‘Indeed. But we must all look to the future. Your father will not be Senator forever.’

‘Some might say those are the words of a traitor, Patron Dalk.’ Kahina’s eyes flashed with amusement.

‘Mere fact, nothing else,’ Dalk dismissed her with a wave of his hand. ‘Age takes us all in time. Nothing remains constant.’

Kahina laughed. ‘I will puncture your composure one day, trust me.’

Dalk grew more serious. ‘Perhaps the Reclamists will succeed in their aims. Perhaps the slaves will revolt and overrun the administration. Perhaps the Empire will intervene.’

‘A catalogue of possible woes.’

Dalk looked at her carefully. ‘Or perhaps another Senator may emerge from the esteemed Loren Lineage. Whosoever they might be, they must be prepared for the task ahead. Strong, sound of mind and purpose; would you not agree?’

Kahina made a dismissive sound. ‘I have not the tact for politics.’

‘You did well in diverting that Rebian wastrel, but take care not to antagonise others unless unavoidable. Cultivate allies as well as enemies and perhaps you may find yourself in a position of opportunity.’

‘I’m in debt to your guidance, wise old man,’ Kahina said, raising an eyebrow. ‘Will you always guide me?’

Dalk looked at her appraisingly and then picked up her sword, tossing it towards her. Kahina caught it expertly by the hilt and spun her wrist around with a quick circular movement, before dropping into a ready stance.

‘More bruises?’ she enquired.

 ‘Your treatment must look compelling,’ Dalk replied. ‘I have a reputation to maintain.’

‘Come and get me, old man.’

Their swords clashed again, sparks flew.

Chapter Two

Sushil jumped the gate and then leant back on it, admiring the view of the family agri-site from the summit of the low hill. Below, rolling green planes dotted with deciduous woods divided by the sinuous run of a river. The water flickered and sparkled in the bright light of twin stars. Nicknamed ‘niece’ and ‘nephew’ for reasons long forgotten, each added a different hue to the vista; one a warm red, the other an actinic blue. Sushil loved the overlapping shadows cast by everything he could see.

Before him, looking incongruous parked adjacent to the tilled soil and neat rows of growing vegetation, sat a spacecraft. It was an old design, its hull a patchwork of tarnished duralium, with the occasional bright shiny repair panel secured in place. The ship was squat, short, but wide, reminiscent of an old atmospheric ship. Twin wing pods extended port and starboard, giving it a rakish profile. A single-man vessel based on the size of the cockpit, though Sushil knew it had been retrofitted with a second seat aboard.

Faint sounds of whirring could be heard, accompanied by brief flickers of light from the underside. Sushil grinned.

He’d found his brother.

He hurried down the hill, feeling the heat of the suns on his dark face. It was a relief to be in the shadows of the ship. Sushil found his brother working away with a welder, his face hidden behind a dark protective mask.

‘Don’t tell me, the undercarriage is stuck again. I thought you’d fixed that, bro.’

The welder fizzed and died. His brother sat back wearily and pulled the mask off his head. His face was drenched with sweat, his long black hair bedraggled and damp. Sushil saw him blow it out of his face. The simple motion took him back to their childhood. Hassan had always worn his hair long, much to the annoyance of his parents.

‘Stupid piece of crap actuator blew again,’ Hassan replied, giving the nearby landing strut a kick.

Sushil spared the ship a glance. Close up it was easy to see it was old and timeworn; the hull was pockmarked and tarnished. He saw evidence of cheap and less than perfect repairs; uneven welding lines, panels that didn’t quite line up parallel to each other. The technology was basic even by the standards of the agri-site.

‘Gramps always said this old bird was a deathtrap.’ He smiled to himself at the reminiscence. It had to be twenty turns since their grandfather had flown this ship. His brother had been working on it for years, hoping to make it space worthy again.

‘You here for a reason or just to bug me?’

Sushil grinned. ‘Just checking up on you, little brother. Dad …’

‘I know, chores. I’ll do them alright? It’s not like the farm is going anywhere.’

Sushil hunkered down beside him. ‘Done ‘em for you. Figured you’d need the time.’

Hassan looked up in surprise and then held up his hand and Sushil grasped it, giving it a firm clasp.

‘Means a lot to you this old piece of junk, doesn’t it?’ Sushil said.

‘She’s called the
Talon
, remember?’ Hassan rocked on his backside, throwing his feet forward and stretching his legs out. ‘I’m not a farmer, Sush.’

Sushil laughed. ‘We figured that out a long time ago. Remember when you stuck that fork in your foot and you got a grub infection? I nearly died laughing.’

‘I was in the fucking medbay for a week!’

‘Was funny though. You with that stupid massive bandage around your foot. And just before your hot date, what was her name?’

Hassan grinned. ‘Can’t remember. Don’t think she was all that impressed by the whole “infectious grub boy” look I had going.’

Sushil grew serious. ‘I guessed you just wanted this old thing to get a little private time with the girls, didn’t figure you as a spacer.’

Hassan smiled. ‘Gramps fault. Remember those bedtime stories? The theme park on Epsilon Eridani? The hall of ancients on Achenar. Earth … birthplace of humanity.’

Sushil shrugged. ‘Different people, same old bureaucratic shit. That’s why we came out here, to get away from that. Taxes, permits, tolls, papers … that what you want? Gramps said it was murder nowadays, not like his good ol’ times way back when.’

Hassan shook his head. ‘I want to see it for myself. I want to get to the edge of the frontier. Find a new world, maybe get it named after me.’

Sushil looked around at the tatty old ship. ‘And you think you can do it in this old wreck?’

‘Don’t be a stupe. This is just the start. Few trading runs, up the spec, trade her in for something better. Won’t take me long.’

‘Takes money, bro. It’s dangerous up there. You know it is. Gramps said folks would sooner shoot you than shake your hand. I know you got good sim scores, but fighting a mech is one thing, real folks with real guns …’

‘I can handle it.’

‘Oh yeah? How’s that then?’ Sushil eyed his brother suspiciously.

‘Got myself a plan.’

‘You going to tell me?’  

‘I’m gonna apply to the guild.’

‘The traders’ guild?’ Sushil replied. ‘They don’t take rookies.’

‘I won’t be a rookie.’

‘You’ve got no rating. Harmless, isn’t that what they call it?’ Sushil caught his brother’s knowing look. ‘You’d better tell me the rest of your plan.’

‘No,’ Hassan replied. ‘You’ll only try to talk me out of it like you always do.’

‘That’s because your plans are always crazy and someone ends up getting hurt. Usually me.’

‘Like when?’

‘Like when we were kids, pretty much every rest day?’

Hassan grinned.

‘This one is going to work.’

‘Fame and glory, eh?’ Sushil put on an affected voice. ‘Going to come back here in a few years with your kick-ass blinged up monster ship, smart off-world threads, back with the attitude, impressing all the pretty girls with the big man gait? Hassan Farrukh Sharma – all debonair and sophisticated? That the plan?’

‘Something like that.’ Hassan was subdued. ‘I got to do this, Sush.’

Sushil looked at his younger brother for a long moment, before giving him a brief nod. He looked at the offending actuator on the landing strut.

‘You can’t weld for shit. Give me that. Might as well start with it looking neat and tidy.’

They set to work on the old ship, still jibing at each other. The bright flicker of the welder slowly growing stronger as the suns set behind the hills.

***

The wedding of T’Clow Guntat of the house of Rebia and Corine Tanja of the house of Loren was an ostentatious event, even by Imperial standards. Supplies, provisions and exotic victuals from across the galaxy were couriered in to the Imperial Palace on Chione for several months in advance.

Servants, maids and slaves worked tirelessly to prepare food, set tables and dress the hundreds of rooms within the palace. Plans were made for the arrival of distinguished guests from across Chione and the nearby systems. Invitations were checked and double checked, seating arrangements planned. Transport vessels were chartered. Everything was set to converge upon the day of the wedding.

A veritable cornucopia of exotic dishes from across the Imperial systems were arriving in specialist cuisine transport vessels. Many foods were selected on their ability to impress visually rather than for their taste and texture. There were colours from across the spectrum, including some unusual appetizers that were recommended to be eaten under ultraviolet light for maximum effect. There were morsels, aperitifs, hors d’oeuvres and selections of fine cuts aplenty, enough to cause even the fussiest gourmet to salivate in anticipation.

Accompanying this was a sophisticated selection of wines, some brewed traditionally from fruits and berries, others from more esoteric ingredients including grain, algae and even, in one case, live invertebrates.

A small army of consultants had been drafted in to write speeches, check protocol and co-ordinate the fashions worn by the guests. In some parts of the Empire your clothing wasn’t simply for show; subtle messages could convey loyalty, disapproval and understated declarations of superiority. It was important that such messages were checked, balanced and made appropriate for the wedding. Hats were a particular problem. Fashion had drifted towards the excessive in recent years, with the size implying a degree of status. Exotic materials were now being used to ensure the more flamboyant designs could survive the rigours of a social engagement.

Music was to be provided by the much respected East Coast Orchestra, a favourite of the Loren family. They’d followed the Loren’s to Chione and set themselves up in a newly built and prestigious Musicians Hall in Leeson City. Fortunately Leeson City was eastwards of New Ithaca, so their name could be retained. As musicians they were unrivalled in Chione and their fame spread beyond the limits of the system, deep into Imperial worlds. They were set to play a series of especially commissioned pieces to mark the wedding, prior to the speeches and the banquet.