LEGACY BETRAYED (2 page)

Glitch cleared his throat. “Invigorate the Heart,” he answered evasively. “It looks a lot
like
blood. Twenty, and you won’t find any lower in all of Groundtown. That’s Glitch-verified.”

Dax glared, but dropped Legacy’s hand and rooted in his pocket to pay the man without further debate.

“Here’s the key to your automaton,” their host went on, producing a large brass key from his slacks and handing it to Dax. “You can register it under one name, and that registration will expire in twenty-four hours. You’re welcome to visit the bar at any hour, day or night, for the refreshments of your choice.”

“Thank you,” Rain said sweetly.

“Yeah, thanks,” Dax parroted, less sweetly.

As Glitch took his leave with a bow, Legacy strode to the radio –with a wary glance at that gaping hole in the left corner of the room, large enough to fall any adult of average size –and switched it on.

CIN-3
buzzed and came to life, Dyna Logan’s crow-like tone iterating that the suspected perpetrators, Trimpot and Legacy, were un-apprehended, the body count of the ill-fated coronation unknown, and even the condition of the duke –
Or Kaizen,
Legacy winced –went without report.

Rain sighed and sat on the left side of the bed, which dented deeply and groaned as if every spring were broken. “So,” she said. “How long do you think this is going to be . . . life?”

“Forever,” Legacy grumbled, taking a seat at the foot of the bed.

“Well, that can’t be true,” Dax informed them. “I mean –even at twenty pieces a night –and none of us going to work? Forever won’t be long.”

Legacy’s brow knit with the unpleasantness of this thought. “Where else can we go, though?” she asked. “We can’t
go
home. We can’t
go
to work. They know where we live. They know who we are. They know everything!”

“Well.” Dax nodded, but he wouldn’t quite look at her.

“Well what?” Rain prodded.

“Well . . . I watched the police,” Dax went on haltingly.

“And?” Rain said.

“Well,” Dax said again.

“
And?
” Legacy repeated.

“And they didn’t go into any unit besides yours,” Dax snapped. “I don’t think they know about us. Not yet, anyway.”

“Oh.” Legacy crossed her arms. “I didn’t know that.” And here she’d thought it couldn’t get any worse. But they weren’t all outlaws together. It was just her. And Trimpot, wherever the hell he was. “Thanks for paying for my room, then,” she forced herself to continue as lightly as possible. “I guess you guys don’t have to stay at this dump, then, if you don’t want to. Who would want to?”

“You don’t have to stay here
forever
, though,” Rain contributed. “The contingency plan was always to regroup at Vector’s airship if anything happened to headquarters. But . . . but we don’t know where Vector is.”

Legacy looked to Rain hopefully. “Vector has an airship?”

“What doesn’t Vector have?” Rain countered with a half-smile. “He built it himself.”

“It’ll all be fine, anyway,” Dax said with a little too much cheer. “We’ll find Vector, regroup on the airship, pool our resources, and . . .”

“Abandon my family to become a refugee in some hostile sister city?” Legacy finished bleakly.

“And figure something out,” Dax finished instead, sitting next to Legacy and patting her on the knee. “We’ll figure something out.”

Meanwhile, Dyna Logan launched into her harrowing personal account of the coronation ceremony.

Rain sighed. “I don’t know about you guys, but I could go for a drink.”

Kaizen Taliko, who had been an honorary duke for approximately six hours, had yet to retire to his chambers. It was true that his father, the late Duke Malthus Taliko, had never been particularly kind to him, even close to him, but he’d also made it clear that a firm, consistent hand was requisite to govern Icarus, and Kaizen did not want to disappoint the memory of his father, much less the real, living populace of twenty-eight thousand which was depending on his leadership.

Neon Trimpot still stood with him, having come to the archipelagos to throw himself on the mercy of the duke’s grace. The rebel leader, with his dandy tunic of lotus print, hot pink up-do, and cocky, simpering face, claimed he’d lost control of his people and had no hand in this assassination attempt –which, according to Legacy, had been targeting Kaizen himself.

Legacy.

She’d been in his bed when she confessed the murder plot. Before they’d parted, Kaizen and Legacy had shared a kiss that could’ve fused metal, much less their two bodies, and then –when he went to find her, after all the horror and madness, thinking she’d be there, safe, waiting for him–

Kaizen pushed the thought from his mind.

Trimpot had also claimed that Kaizen’s father made him a deal, offering him a position within the court in exchange for his loyalty. As a show of good faith, Trimpot made haste to reveal the location of Chance for Choice’s hidden headquarters: inside the hollow copper mountain at Heroes Park.

Kaizen had now called on his father’s court of six to attend him, with the exception of the constable, who had been sent to research Trimpot’s claim. Excepting Abner, the duke’s primary counsel, and Claude, his secondary, both of these afforded quarter in the castle, each of the court were residents of Lion’s Head, the aristocratic quarter of Icarus. Only comprising ten of its total one hundred acres, Lion’s Head was contained within high walls beyond the business district, and most had never set foot or laid eye within. It was conveniently placed, as any member of the duke’s court would reside within the castle itself or there, and even by foot, traveling to the archipelagos would take only minutes.

The court consisted of the scribe, the chancellor, the constable, the treasurer, the steward, and the personal advisor. As they each arrived, they offered their condolences, and of course, their full support to Duke Kaizen, who had been nothing but a boy to any of them only hours ago.

              “I’m going to be honest,” Kaizen announced, looking over the panel of men, all significantly older than he, save Trimpot. “I’m not exactly sure what I’m doing.”

              “Would you like the notes from our previous session to be read to you, sir?” Kristoff, the scribe, asked.

              “Yes, that sounds good,” Kaizen guessed, trying to sound authoritative.

              “Claude had established the parameters of the security detail for the coronation,” Kristoff began.

              Claude, the Steward of Public Events, immediately stiffened.

              “Malthus expressed his doubts that the coronation would be successful.”

              Kaizen nodded, maintaining a neutral expression.

              “N.E.E.R. reported a sudden shortage in their serum supplies regarding Curiosity and Calm.”

              He hadn’t actually thought about New Earth Extraneous Relocation in a long time. It was an uncomfortable thing to consider. The operation was presented as a helpful alternative to those who had exceeded their single child limit for whatever reason, but in truth, the orphans were not found loving, childless couples or even moved to larger cities. They were raised on Old Earth and worked to death, providing materials the floating cities would need to maintain energy and production. They weren’t taught to read or write. They were hardly even clothed or bathed. Their passions were chemically tempered on a weekly basis to ensure their manageability. Every city of New Earth had one: a dome on the ground, filled with mind-numbed orphan slaves. It was the kind of fact one just got used to shoving to the back of their mind and ignoring.

              “I suppose we should get them more,” Kaizen replied dully. “I suppose that would be the best thing to do.”

              “Already on it, sir,” Ando, the treasurer, piped. “It’s easy enough to locate Calm, but Kill Curiosity . . . that’s technically illegal, and so – although we have increased our supply, we must wait for nightfall. And we must wait to ensure that the Center is well-guarded during the drop.”

              “Yes, well, I can’t control what has happened,” Kaizen fumed. “I’m sorry if the Center has had some staff diverted to the castle, but it was the contingency plan! Between the Center and the castle, which one do you think needs to be guarded at this time?”

              “The castle, of course,” Ando asserted. “Of course, my lord, it’s the castle.”

              There was a stiff silence as the court seemed to mentally congregate and weigh who should speak next.

              “Would you accept a word of advice?” the chancellor, Jonathan, suggested.

              “Oh, thank God, someone’s going to say it,” Abner sighed.

              “I believe the most pressing matter is how you respond to this appalling attack on the castle and the monarchy,” the chancellor continued. “Icarus is waiting for your reaction. So, too, is Ferraday. The entirety of New Earth. If your reaction is not sufficient . . . his certainly will be.”

              “Yes,” Kaizen agreed. He was certain that the monarch would be in contact shortly with instructions, and would likely deploy his own troops or himself to investigate this matter, in spite of the six day duration of flight. He looked to Abner. “What were you going to say?” he asked.

              Abner glared at Trimpot. “What is
he
doing here? That was another note which Kristoff failed to read,” Abner added. “Your father discussed whether or not to kill the man you’ve invited to the royal court!”

              Constable Wesley entered the throne room and approached, bowing. “We have returned from Heroes Park,” he decreed. “Recovered roughly fifty weapons, both melee and ranged, as well as some unique inventions, the functions of which are uncertain. They’ve been retained for further documentation and examination in the evidence room of the police headquarters. We’ve also intercepted a Hermetic transmission from Monarch Ferraday in regards to an investigatory squadron.” Hermetic transmission was the only method of third party secured two-way communication, and the only method at all of two-way communication over great distances, such as that between Heliopolis and Icarus. These devices were tiny, winged silver balls of astounding lightness, which often contained audio tape of the message or written messages. They traveled more swiftly than bullets, and with the intelligence to target an individual based on the location of their registered automata. He supposed that was why the constable had intercepted this missive on his behalf. The castle was completely offline, for all intents and purposes. The distance between Heliopolis and Icarus could be covered by one such device in roughly six hours, so it must have been sent as immediately as the
CIN-3
bulletins had come streaming. “The monarch offers to send his own team as soon as possible. Projected arrival in one week,” Wesley said. “If I may quote, sir?”

              Kaizen gestured. “Freely.”

              “To see that this insurrection is immediately and thoroughly stamped lest military force become requisite, end quote,” he finished.

              Trimpot raised his hand. Although, to the untrained eye, such a gesture would seem self-conscious, Kaizen recognized this as coy and smug. Perhaps he and Trimpot just had too much in common to fool one another. “If I may make a suggestion?” Trimpot spoke.

              Abner was apoplectic. No wonder Malthus had liked him so much. Both men were married to the caste system, and to them, the thought of this ragamuffin –at best, a charming jester, never to be a man of consequence –truly becoming a courtier was just heartrending. Kaizen had no doubt that his father’s offer had been intended as purely symbolic, if not an outright lie.

              “Let’s
smother
the rebellion before Ferraday’s men–”

              “
Monarch
Ferraday
the Third,
” Abner corrected him.

              “–
arrive
,” Trimpot finished with a glower. “The plot is simple. Disinformation. We seed disinformation through
Dyna Logan
to ensure that the CC is lulled into a false sense of
security
. We continue to claim that there are
zero
leads. Even that Malthus–”

              “The
late duke,
” Abner inserted.

              “–is still alive,” Trimpot continued.

              Kaizen had to admit that the notion of “stamping out” the insurrection prior to the arrival of Ferraday’s personal squad was preferable. Not for any political reasons, but because he feared what the monarch might do. Ferraday would certainly show Legacy no special mercy just because she had that willful pout –not that Legacy probably deserved any mercy. Kaizen’s face darkened. She’d probably engineered that willful pout just to ensnare him. His father had claimed that, all along, he’d been her simple puppet, and that canceling the coronation would have played into the CC’s hand. But then, she had warned him of the assassination plot . . . and at great personal risk; another man, or his own father, might have killed her for it. If Malthus had listened, he’d still be alive now.