The Rosetta Codex

PROLOGUE

BOOK ONE

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

BOOK TWO

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

INTERLUDE

BOOK THREE

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

BOOK FOUR

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

EPILOGUE

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

 

The Rosetta Codex

 

An
Ace
Book / published by arrangement with the author

 

All rights reserved.

Copyright ©
2005
by
Richard Paul Russo

This book may not be reproduced in whole or part, by mimeograph or any other means, without permission. Making or distributing electronic copies of this book constitutes copyright infringement and could subject the infringer to criminal and civil liability.

For information address:

The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Putnam Inc.,

375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

 

The Penguin Putnam Inc. World Wide Web site address is
http://www.penguinputnam.com

 

ISBN:
978-1-1012-0845-8

 

AN
ACE
BOOK®

Ace
Books first published by The Ace Publishing Group, a member of Penguin Putnam Inc.,

375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

ACE
and the “
A
” design are trademarks belonging to Penguin Putnam Inc.

 

Electronic edition: December, 2005

for Candace

Disguised as a freelance star freighter, the
Exile Prince
entered the Costamara System and made for Conrad's World, the system's only habitable planet. Like any other freighter, it approached Conrad's World with loaded holds and formal trade contracts, but was also outfitted with weaponry and defenses no freighter was ever authorized to carry, and passengers who would normally never travel on such a ship.

Two days out from Conrad's World, the
Exile Prince
transmitted its manifest—legitimate and accurate, if incomplete—along with encrypted registrations and certifications from the Independent Traders Collective. The orbital docking station returned a preliminary authorization.

One day out, Captain Jan Olveg had two long
conversations with the station master. After the second conversation, the station master transmitted final authorization codes to dock and unload the
Exile Prince
's cargo.

Four hours out from the station, three combat fighters emerged in battle vectors from the shadow of Ambrose, Conrad's larger moon, and attacked the
Exile Prince.

 

Although they were still in zero gravity, Sidonie and Cale sat strapped into their acceleration couches, the woman's outstretched hand resting on Cale's arm. Just five years old, Cale did not understand what was happening, did not understand why they were strapped in, but he felt safe with Sidonie. She'd been taking care of him since he could remember; sometimes he accidentally called her “Mother,” and though she would gently correct him, she always smiled and didn't seem to mind. Now she softly squeezed his arm and smiled at him, but it wasn't her normal smile and he wondered what was wrong.

The couches jolted from an explosion, and Cale stared at her, eyes wide, but remained silent.

“It's okay, Cale,” Sidonie said in a hushed and soothing voice. “We'll be okay.”

The stateroom door slid open and Cale's father moved into the cabin, bringing with him the sharp tang of burning plastic and distant electric cracks of sound.

“Papa!” Cale cried. “What's happening?”

His father was tall and stocky and his thick black hair was more than half gone to gray—a handsome man with lined skin. His clothing was a rich indigo, undecorated except for the family crest of gold and crimson just above his
heart—a hooded falcon gripping a world in each set of talons against a background of stars.

“Someone's attacking the ship,” he said.

“Why?”

“I don't know.” He turned to Sidonie and said, “Take Cale to the
Kestrel.
It's too dangerous here.” She nodded and immediately began unstrapping herself from the couch. “I'll have Captain Olveg launch decoys,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. “I'll have him do any damn thing I can think of.”

Sidonie pulled herself to Cale's side, released the restraints, and helped him out of the couch.

“There's only one real city on Conrad's World,” Cale's father said. “Morningstar. The
Kestrel
is programmed with flight paths, evasive maneuvers, access codes. If anything happens to the programming and you have to fly the
Kestrel
manually, head for Morningstar. Don't land anywhere else on Conrad's World. The air space above Morningstar's restricted and aggressively protected.” He wrote something on a pocket slate and handed it to her. “Verbally transmit these emergency access codes if necessary.”

Cale tried to move forward and tumbled through the air, limbs flailing until Sidonie caught and steadied him; he still wasn't used to zero gravity.

“Aren't you coming with us, Papa?”

His father shook his head. “Later,” he told his son. “I have to stay with the ship and help.” He looked into Cale's wide, deep green eyes, then wrapped his arms around his son, pulling the boy tightly to him. “I'll follow as soon as I can,” he said. “You go with Sidonie, all right?” Cale nodded, and his father looked back at Sidonie. “Once you get to
Morningstar, find Adanka Suttree. Remember that name. It's important.”

“Adanka Suttree.”

“He's my brother. That's the name he's using here. Find him, and stay with him. He'll protect you both. If I . . .” He stopped, released Cale, and straightened. “When this is over, I'll come for you and Cale. If I don't come soon, Adanka will know what to do. Whatever he tells you, treat his words as if they come from me.”

Sidonie nodded, then took Cale's hand in hers. Cale's father looked once more at him. “Cale, you must remember something. It's very important.” Cale nodded, his brow furrowing. “Do not tell anyone your last name. Never mention the name ‘Alexandros,' not until I see you again. If someone asks you what your last name is, say you don't know. Your last name's dangerous now. Do you understand, Cale?”

“Yes, Papa.” He paused and added, “My name's Cale. Just Cale.”

“Good. Now go, quickly.”

“Bye, Papa.”

“Goodbye, Cale. I'll see you soon, I promise.” Then, with a halting voice said to Sidonie, “Take care of him.”

“I will.”

She gripped Cale's hand tightly and led him out into the passage, and Cale looked back at the tense and hard face of his father, afraid he would never see him again.

 

Gusting winds and turbulence buffeted the
Kestrel
; the wing-jet dipped and bucked, shimmied sideways. They could see little more than dark gray. Thick storm clouds
engulfed them. Sidonie turned to Cale. “Don't be afraid,” she said.

Cale shook his head, regarding her with complete confidence. “I'm not.”

But Sidonie seemed to be afraid. She turned back to the now nearly useless controls, pulled and twisted at the stick, and punched light panels with her fingers. The roiling clouds continued to rush past them, and she said quietly and tautly, “We're dropping too fast.”

A break in the clouds opened to their right. Cale craned his neck around and glimpsed the towers of tall buildings in the distance behind them: a big city, glass and metal reflections like flames in the rising sun. Far, far away and getting farther every second. He thought they were trying to get to that city and all those bright buildings. He thought his father was going to be there soon. But not his mother, she was back at their home and he hadn't seen her in a long time and he didn't know when he would. The clouds enveloped them again and they continued to hurtle farther from the city.

Suddenly they were beneath the clouds, and the land below them appeared. Mountains stretched endlessly in all directions, broken by plains and valleys, large tracts of blue-green forests; a river snaked through a jagged shadowed canyon then widened and meandered through golden flat grasslands; far ahead and to the left sprawled a vast dark blue lake like a giant gas nebula. All of it coming up at them much too swiftly.

Sidonie struggled with the controls, hissing out words that Cale couldn't quite understand. The wing-jet passed over a peak of black rock and continued to drop. There was no place to land. They cleared another peak, this time with
a far smaller margin, and a flat and barren mesa spread out below them, networked by gullies and ravines, pocked with dry and spindly scrub. Steep rocky slopes rose to one side, and the mesa dropped precipitously away on the others. Sidonie worked at the controls, and the
Kestrel
dropped toward the earth. “I'm going to try to land us here,” she told Cale.

She twisted around and checked once more to confirm that Cale was securely strapped in, tugging at the harness clasps. “Hold on tight,” she said, then returned her attention to the controls. Sand and rock in striated reds and yellows rose up to meet them, mercifully flat and even. Mere seconds before impact, the ground opened up and became a narrow and jagged ravine. The
Kestrel
bucked violently twice and then dropped into it. Sidonie cursed and pulled at the controls. Cale's stomach lurched as a pocket downdraft hammered the wing-jet to the earth and they were both thrown forward against their harnesses as the
Kestrel
tore along the bottom of the ravine. Cale cried out, metal squealed, objects crashed and shattered, the straps cut into his skin, something crushed away his breath, and his vision silvered. . . . The pilot's chair broke free and tumbled past him, Sidonie screamed, the fingers of one hand scraped Cale's face as he spastically reached out for her. Everything slammed to a halt, silver went dark, and he blacked out.

 

They came over the ragged rise, boots scraping rock and scrub as they shuffled their feet. They numbered seven—five bearded men and two women—and the sky above them was a bright pale blue with blossoming white clouds. The
hot and gold sun beat down on them, baked the earth beneath them.

The lead man saw the wreckage, stumbled, then halted, holding up a hand. Charred and smoking metal lay scattered along the ravine, with the largest section wedged between a cracked boulder and an uprooted tree. He worked his way carefully down the unstable slope, and the others followed.

Cale watched them approach, standing shaky and nauseated and stunned amid shattered steelglass and crumpled flooring, no memory of getting out of his seat. Blood ran from two gashes in his forehead and he blinked at the men and women; he opened his mouth, but closed it again without making a sound. Sidonie was only semiconscious behind him. She was covered in blood streaked with viscous black fluids, and she moaned, eyelids fluttering like the wings of a dying insect.

The men carefully pulled him out of the wreckage, freeing him from a tangle of blue fabric bands that clung to his skin and clothes, and gave him into the care of the two women. Then they cut the fabric bands from Sidonie and dragged her carelessly across jagged metal, ignoring her cries as they scraped fresh wounds across her side and legs. They laid her out on the ground beside the torn and twisted wreck.

Discussion ensued over what to do with the wreckage. Cale listened intently, as if their decision was important. One of the men suggested they tie ropes to the main section of the wreckage and drag it back to the village. The others looked at him, spat, and laughed. Another suggested they torch it. The leader finally decided—they would shuttle
back and forth over the coming weeks, routing by on their scavenging runs, and take whatever was useful back to the village a little bit at a time.

As Cale watched from between the two women, who held him in place, the men gathered around Sidonie. They dragged her down the scraggy ravine until they came to a flatter section of earth sparsely covered with grasses. For a minute or so they stood wordlessly over her, looking down at her motionless form, then they stripped off her clothes, tossing them into the dirt as if she would never have use for them again.

The men then lay atop Sidonie, humped and thrashed against her, one after another. One of the women dug her fingers deeper into Cale's shoulder, holding him back. At first Sidonie's semiconscious cries intensified, and her hands and arms flailed weakly, uselessly. But it wasn't long before she stopped moving; soon after that, a final wheezing gasp broke weakly from between her lips; then the only sounds were the grunts and coughing sounds made by the men.

When they were done, and the last had fastened his belt tight around his waist, the leader, who had gone first, kicked Sidonie in the side of the head. He found a large, flat stone nearby, and with the help of two of the others picked it up and carried it over toward Sidonie. They held it over her head and Cale cried out, some awful and wordless sound. The men looked at him, then casually released their grip and dropped the stone onto her face.

The five men turned and, without a glance back at Sidonie's body, made their way toward Cale and the women. Cale's harsh cry had subsided, but his mouth remained
open. He felt paralyzed, unable to move his feet. The leader of the men smacked Cale's ear and barked something. The men climbed out of the ravine and the women followed, dragging Cale between them.