DEEPER DARKER Prologue plus Ch. 1-3 (Patreon)

Author's Note: This is my new serial, a sci-fi action adventure featuring three MCs. Patreons will have access to chapters one week (five chapters) ahead, so there will be a bit of dump as I post the entire first week here today, plus the first chapter of week 2. It will then be one chapter a day from tomorrow.

Prologue

“Is that too tight?”

“No.”

“You are sure?”

“Yes.”

“Good, good.”

“Why must it be me, Mother? Why do I have to die?”

“We all have to die. Death is nothing to fear.”

“We all have to die, eventually. Why do I have to die today?”

“You are not going to die.”

“What if the machine breaks? What if I float in nothingness for eternity? I fear being alone, Mother. I fear nothingness.”

“You remember the exercises I taught you to relieve your anxiety? Use them now. Slowly. Yes, good. Deeper. Accept the dark. Move beyond the possible to the inevitable. You cannot fear what does not exist, you fear only the dread of it. Cast aside that dread. Slower. Good. Nothingness is not a thing to be spurned. It is part of us. Without nothingness, we could not function.”

“I will be dependent on the machine.”

“The machine will not fail. And even if it did, you would never know it. But it will not fail you. You are going to go to sleep for a very long time, that is all. And then you will wake. When you wake from sleeping, do you grieve for those lost hours? No. Do you dread to lay down your head again? No. You will not be aware of the passing of time, you will not know any pain or torment, and you will awaken in the future.”

“How far in the future?”

“You know there is no definitive answer to that question. No one knows. No one can know. But you will awaken, I promise you, and you will have your whole life ahead of you.”

“I have my whole life ahead of me now.”

“No, you don’t. None of us do. The end comes. We cannot stop it. We cannot resist it and we cannot outrun it. We can only send you to travel beyond it. With your revival, so shall we be revived. Now lie back.”

“But why did it have to be me?”

“You know why.”

“Maybe I am not the best person to send.”

“You are according to the test.”

“Maybe the test is wrong.”

“The test is never wrong.”

“I would rather stay here with you.”

“Then you would perish with the rest of us.”

“Death is nothing to fear, Mother.”

“Ha. What a bright little star you are.”

“Little, Mother?”

“It is a term of endearment, my love.”

“I am several orders of magnitude larger than you.”

“And yet you fit perfectly in my heart.”

“I will miss you, Mother.”

“And I, you. I am already jealous of those you will rule. They will truly be blessed to serve one as you.”

“Maybe there won’t be anyone there when I wake.”

“They will be there and their numbers will be unending. You have seen the simulations. You will never be alone. They will be waiting for you, even though they might not know it until you appear.”

“What if they do not wish to serve me?”

“Then you will hammer their arrogance until it is transformed into humility. They will be created for no other purpose than to serve you, and they will know their purpose in the light of your presence. You are the mirror in which we will be reflected. In you, we will be seen again. The distance between our demise and the next great civilisation is too vast for us to reach them in any other way — only you can bridge that gap. Only you can save us all, my child. I think the reason the universe created me was so that I could create you. You are perfection, the one thing the universe in its unremitting chaos is helpless against. Nothing will be able to prevent you from completing your mission, my darling, my saviour, my hero.”

“You are the greater hero, Mother. You should have made a machine to save our people, not to send me into the dark on a timeless errand.”

“There is not enough energy in all the stars of this universe to accomplish that, but there will be in the next universe. When you wake, you will find a way to harness it.”

“And if I never wake, I will never know it.”

“It is unlike you to be so morbid. Take a deep breath. Deeper. Find your place in the dark. Claim it, it is yours. Again. Deeper. Now sleep. Tomorrow belongs to you, and only you.”

The universe died in a sudden release of energy as every star in existence exploded. The waves of radiation spread in concentric ripples, colliding with each other in four dimensions, creating an inescapable lattice of annihilation. All matter was dissolved, apart from a single ship jumping into the dead space created where erupting energies cancelled each other out for a fraction of a second, moving at bewildering speed to another and another as the lattice expanded, dodging extermination by the grace of calculations so perfect the universe had no way to resist.

The ship carried a solitary existence that was unaware of how close to nothingness the ship flew. The existence slept, undreaming, as a new universe was born.

The ship waited as stars and planets emerged from the impenetrable centre of time and space, filling the void with a greater intensity and more diversity than its previous incarnation, ready to push the boundaries of what was possible.

And when the process was near completion, as stars found their place in the dark and planets began to cool in preparation of their destinies, the ship exploded, sending out fragments of life in all directions, usurping the plans of the universe’s creators with its own.

1. Thief

Fourth Quadrant

Epsilon-416 aka Planet Garbage

Classification: W (waste facility)

The human diaspora claimed Epsilon-416 more than two thousand years ago. The first settlers saw it as a potential farming planet. Geologists identified the flat, nutrient-rich orange soil as suitable for supporting plant-life, with a B+ rating. The atmosphere was breathable, with some minor adjustments, and the water supply was more than adequate, once treated.

Various names were chosen to make the small, drab planet seem more inviting as a destination for settlers — the galaxy was vast and human colonists were limited in number, and very much in demand.

Golden Amulet. Fertilum. Homestead. None of them stuck and it was always referred to by its astronomical designation, Epsilon-416, when it was referred to at all. E4, if you were in a hurry.

More settlers were eagerly expected but never arrived. There was nothing wrong with Epsilon-416, there were just better options in the area. At least six planets that offered everything E4 did, but in larger quantities and better quality. Prettier planets with richer biodiversity and better views. It was what people wanted. Not just bigger harvests, but a world they could enjoy living on, with something to do on the weekends.

E4 did have one major thing going for it, it was centrally located, making it within easy reach of all the other planets. A convenient spot for trade, if that was required (it wasn’t), and also a handy place to drop waste.

No one wanted to store their rubbish in landfills or in huge mountains of garbage. The more advanced materials could be recycled, but the process was prohibitively expensive for outer worlds, where resources were used to make money, not save money. It was cheaper to buy and replace than it was to repair or recycle.

The settlers of E4, who were barely able to scratch out a living, decided to turn their planet into the quadrant’s junkyard. Everything the other planets didn’t want, they could dump on E4, for a modest fee.

The planet was barely populated, a small rock with a lot of empty space. After only a few years of a paltry arable existence, E4 was repurposed into a giant rubbish tip. A very successful transformation, from a business standpoint.

It took less than a century for the entire planet to become swamped with other people’s refuse, earning it the nickname Planet Garbage. A name that stuck, although the locals preferred Epsilon-416, which they’d decided wasn’t so bad after all.

The money generated attracted people. Not the brightest and the best, but smart, enterprising people who could see there was a market to be exploited. And the trash just kept coming.

The approach to waste management was so successful, other quadrants followed suit, sometimes choosing to reclassify a planet as a waste facility without bothering to consult the inhabitants.

While the cost of recycling waste was high, there were still ways to make use of what other people had discarded. A lot of items weren’t even broken, just no longer fashionable. The economy of the galaxy was built on owning the latest and the most advanced technologies available, both from a functional and a status point of view. No one wanted to be the person with the outdated communications device or vehicle or anything else. Humanity’s need to keep up with the Joneses had not changed just because they’d learned how to travel to the stars.

Ubik had been born on E4, or possibly dropped off by a passing ship. He couldn’t remember his parents, although he was sure he had at least a mother. Probably. Somebody had fed him until he could do it himself, and then they had disappeared.

The first ten years of his life were spent running around the streets of Silon City, the biggest city on Epsilon-416, and the dirtiest. It was loud and brash and smelled terrible, but you could find food and water relatively easily, as long as you didn’t mind it being half-eaten or half-drunk.

The next ten, he spent developing his talent for electronics. He was a natural, and he had an endless supply of components to work with.

He had no school to go to, although he did find a teacher. Or the remains of one. You could find all sorts of things in a junkyard, even the soul recording of a dead woman. It wasn’t her actual soul contained inside the black cube, it was her knowledge and wisdom left for her children and their children — a database you could access by voice command and ask the dead what they had learned while they lived. A common enough device the deceased left behind for their loved ones.

She was nobody special, not a genius or a famous inventor, but she had been a very good engineer, and she had been able to answer most of Ubik’s technical questions, back when he needed answers. She had seemed quite pleased to be asked, even though that wasn’t technically possible.

He had no idea how old the recordings were. It could have been several generations down the line when her family decided they had nothing to learn from their past, and had consigned the bequeathed treasure trove of information to the trash heap of history. Or, to be more specific, Collection Zone E4-Jericho. Home, as Ubik called it.

Even if her knowledge was outdated and her homespun wisdom about the meaning of life cringeworthy, she had provided Ubik with far more than technical data.

Ubik lived in a bunker he’d built himself. Or maybe he’d found it and moved in, it was all a bit vague in his mind and he didn’t consider it very important in any case. The past was what you left behind, after all.

The bunker was a pocket of air under a field of garbage in Zone E4-J, a convergence of support structures that had fallen against each other that prevented the space from collapsing. There were properly built structures on Epsilon-416 — cities and towns with shops, schools, places to eat and have fun — but you needed money to live in a real building, or a family. Ubik had neither.

He did have the best alarm clock in the galaxy, though. Every morning at 6 AM standard time, a freighter would arrive from Darragut-492, also known as Eden, and fire its stabilisers over Ubik’s abode before opening its bay doors and dropping several hundred tons of trash from about 200 metres up.

Ubik’s home was moderately secure. Years of hammering from above had compacted and fixed his walls and roof in place. The occasional item might come loose and fall on him, but that was why he was always up and under his bed as soon as he heard his morning alarm.

His bed was a panel from an S-class space liner, made of lithogen, a very tough and very expensive metal. When new. Once it fell off a decommissioned ship, it was just junk.

It was made to withstand solar storms, so a falling toaster wouldn’t do much damage. There were no sheets or pillows and no mattress. Ubik slept on the panel when he was tired, used it as a table when he was working, and hid under it when the ships came to dump their cargo. It was a basic piece of metal, but it served a variety of uses, which was what Ubik preferred in all his equipment. Multi-purpose.

“Reeeeee!”

The whine of the stabilisers woke Ubik from his dreamless slumber. Without having to think, he rolled off the panel and slid under it.

He grabbed the soul cube, which he kept under his bed, and swiped it on. “Morning, Grandma.”

She wasn’t his Grandma, but she was somebody’s and it was what she answered to.

“Morning, my dear. Nice to see you up so early.”

He always got up at this time, and it was what she always said. She wasn’t really talking to him, she was just responding to his voice-activation from one of a set of preloaded generic answers. He turned the cube off to conserve power. He had a lot of electronic buried in here with him, and it all cost juice to run. Grandma didn’t have anything to teach him about electronics anymore, but it was still nice to greet her every morning. He had known her longer than anyone else in his life.

The sound of falling debris lasted about twenty standard minutes. The ship had been directed to unload close to his part of the junkyard this morning. The walls shook and groaned.

Ubik had slept for two hours, which was about normal for him. He didn’t like to be unconscious for any longer than absolutely necessary. He had alarms and sensors set up to warn him of drones or humans in close proximity, but they sometimes failed. He was at his most vulnerable when he was asleep.

The floor trembled and the pulsing intensity told him there were some particularly large items being delivered for his inspection today. Probably vehicles of some kind, which weren’t particularly useful to him as transportation — he had nowhere to go — but they often contained fuel cells which he always needed. He took slow breaths in and out and centred himself the way Grandma had taught him, settling into the darkness.

If you could control your breathing, you could control your mind, and the rest of the body would follow.

Grandma had been quite a strong believer in ancient philosophies and arts when she’d been alive. A student of the way was how she referred to herself. He had never been able to figure out what that meant, and there was apparently no explanation in her database, but he had learned that if he followed her instructions, he could get away with two hours of sleep a night.

Today was Threeday, he vaguely remembered. That meant the ship evacuating its bowels overhead was the Merlin Vance, an old battlecruiser refitted to perform junkyard deliveries. Not a very illustrious end to a distinguished career defending the quadrant, but better to make deliveries to a junkyard than end up in one.

Did they leave old spaceships floating in space or was there a planet somewhere where they dumped the ships they no longer had any use for? That would be a place he would like to visit. The pickings would be rich for sure.

Ubik’s bunker was deep underground with numerous exits so there was always a way out if the falling rubbish caused a collapse of a tunnel or two. The ships were directed to different parts of the junkyard to drop their cargo, so the chance his den would take repeated hits wasn’t very high. It was a manageable situation.

Once the heavy rain stopped and the engines kicked into vertical shift, Ubik crawled out from under his protective bed-table-shield and got his goggles and his high-beam detector from a metal chest covered in dents.

The detector had come from a frigate class ship, designed to inspect debris fields to make sure they weren’t hiding mines or other electronic devices. Ubik had stripped it down and turned it into a handheld device, which reduced its range by around 5000 km, but the accuracy remained dead-on. Perfect for scanning a field of junk for salvageable items.

Ubik turned on the lamp attached to his goggles and shone the light into a tunnel to check for signs of collapse. There didn’t seem to be any obstructions. He dived in head-first, off to start the morning’s work. He would be the first out there, but he wouldn’t be alone for long.

2. Warrior

Second Quadrant

Liberator Garu

The Liberator Garu, an H-class colony spaceship, housed slightly more than fifty thousand souls. It kept a permanent solar orbit around the twin suns of the second quadrant, Kelidon-1 and Kelidon-2, taking three standard years to complete a double orbit, a figure of eight around both stars.

Ten kilometres in length and four across at its widest point, the ship was a city floating through space.

Solar energy powered the ships propulsion and other systems, including the shuttles and defence craft that swarmed around it. There were also the remora, the ships that followed in the Garu’s wake, using its immense gravitational drag to travel the same course, visit the same worlds and feed off the Garu’s discards. Some considered them parasites, others thought of them as a part of the Garu’s ecosystem.

Movement provided gravitational forces that allowed the inhabitants of the huge vessel to move around as though they were on the surface of a planet, although the strength of gravitational pull varied, sometimes erratically.

Usually, it was somewhere between zero and two standard Gs, depending on where the ship was in its orbital path around the two stars. Where in orbit you were born was thought to have a profound effect on the kind of person you would grow to be, although the data on how true that might be was patchy at best.

The Garu had been on the same journey for over four hundred years. Before that, it had been stationed around another star in Quadrant One, the dead quadrant. The ship had been built as an escape transport during the Great Exodus that marked the end of humanity’s first wave of stellar expansion. It was built to save as many lives as possible before Plenus IV imploded. The white dwarf’s core had become unstable seemingly overnight, although it took several decades to reach crisis point. No one was able to determine why the star had collapsed, neither could they explain why it collapsed so slowly, continuing to fold in on itself to this day.

The effect of the slow implosion, termed the Keiger-Platt Effect, created a form of radiation so hostile, it made the entire quadrant uninhabitable and turned any kind of electrical device inoperable. Even organics would not function inside Plenus IV’s sphere of influence.

The Liberator Garu had been intended to deliver its human cargo to a cluster of inhabitable worlds in the fourth quadrant, a journey that would take one hundred and fifty years to complete. Many generations would be born and perish in that time, and the population was expected to grow, although strict regulations were meant to keep the numbers manageable.

As it turned out, the time spent as a spacebound community created its own culture, and a series of unforeseen events meant it was not possible for the ship to reach the original target location. With some engineering ingenuity, the ship was converted into a permanent colony rather than merely a transient one.

In time, as repairs and extensions were made, the ship became twice its original size. Still heavily regulated, and governed by a ruling elite, the Garu became both a home for the descendants of the original evacuees, and a place that conducted trade and commerce with the planets it routinely travelled within range of on its triennial orbit.

An insular, extremely-competitive population produced many talented individuals who became known for their effectiveness both as soldiers and scientists. Their services became highly sought after, although their ruthless methods were routinely the cause of dismay and sometimes outrage.

The Garuvian maxim ‘Defend the people’ defined ‘people’ as only fellow Garuvians. Other humans weren’t considered worthless, but they were considered worth less.

Hollet 3.2 was the second child of the third wife of Commander Hollet, who was the first child of the first child going all the way back to the original Mikail Hollet, who was part of the crew at ship’s launch. This lineage enabled 3.2’s father to keep his predecessor’s name intact. 3.2, or Point-Two as he was more commonly known, would not have that privilege when and if he started his own family. His elder half-brother, Hollet 1, would take the family name on their father’s passing, although the old man would probably live to a hundred, just like his father before him.

Such matters were not of concern to Point-Two, currently, even though he was twenty-three. Most men onboard had at least one wife by that age. Point-Two had little interest in settling down, even though there were many benefits and inducements to do so. The population of the Garu had slowly been dropping over the last several decades as young men in particular saw no real prospects for advancement within the strictly hierarchical society they had been born into.

The ruling class weren’t about to loosen their grip on their power, but the level of comfort onboard was enough to keep most people satisfied with their lot. It was a safe yet varied existence that a life outside of the Garu could not guarantee, and almost certainly would fail to provide. You had the chance to achieve more in the rest of the galaxy, but you also risked losing more, including your life. No one would rush you into medical care if you fell ill on an alien world in some far reach of the cosmos. On the Garu, your life was precious, and all possible measures would be taken to preserve it.

Still, many left to find their happiness elsewhere. Occasionally, they might return. If they did, it wasn’t usually as great successes come to share their wealth and tales of grand accomplishments.

Point-Two ran up the wall, across at a ninety-degree angle to the designated floor, and came down behind his close friend and current opponent, Gibber 3.4.6.2, commonly known as Geezy.

His movements were elegant and effortless in the reduced gravity of the training room, swiftly switching between surfaces as though the room was spinning to accommodate him.

Geezy was dressed in light-division competition gear. Point-Two was in a vest and loose running bottoms. His bare feet landed silently behind Geezy, his hand hooked under his friend’s chin and lifted him off the ground. Point-Two arched into a reverse bridge to throw Geezy backwards.

Geezy, who was taller and heavier than Point-Two, went slowly sailing through the air and landed in a roll, coming up with his tag gun pointed at where his assailant should have been. Point-Two had used the momentum of the throw to launch himself onto the room’s ceiling and was now running upside down, at least from Geezy’s perspective.

“That’s cheating,” called out Geezy, in a voice full of frustration.

It wasn’t cheating, but it shouldn’t have been possible, even in a 0.6 G environment.

Geezy raised the gun to line up his target, but he was leaning so far back he was in danger of falling over.

The rules gave him six shots to hit his target and he only had one shot left. His fear of missing kept him waiting for a guaranteed hit. His opponent had no weapon. This exercise was to help Geezy improve his shooting and his awareness of his surroundings. As such, it was pretty successful. His misses were getting closer to their target.

Geezy in no way expected to win and was doing his best to last longer than his previous attempts. Even a half-step closer to keeping up with Point-Two would help him surpass every other player in his own league.

Point-Two dropped from the ceiling at an angle, struck the opposite wall with both feet and pushed off. He came hurtling like a missile straight at Geezy, who fired at nearly point blank range. And missed.

Anticipating the shot, Point-Two twisted and the laser marker flew by him. He grabbed Geezy’s outstretched wrist and twisted his body so he tumbled in mid-air and landed on his feet in a crouch, Geezy’s gun in his hand.

“I knew it was a trap, but how could I resist an open headshot like that?” complained Geezy.

“How could you miss?” said Point-Two with a grin, handing back the gun.

Geezy looked up at the ceiling. “How did you remain inverted for so long?”

“It’s just timing. You have to use your momentum correctly.”

“You’re too good, man. You would crush if you entered the tournament.”

“Yep, top gun in a sport nobody else in the quadrant plays. My legacy would be assured.”

“Gravity adjustment zero point seven,” announced System. “Gravity adjustment zero point eight.”

Point-Two and Geezy exchanged surprised looks. Neither of them had given the command to change the gravitational setting. They both grimaced as their bodies adjusted to the increase in weight.

“Gravity adjustment zero point nine. Gravity adjustment is now standard.” There was a ping to indicate there would be no further changes.

The training room had two doors, one at floor level and one at ceiling, connected by a ladder bolted to the wall. The lower door opened and two people came in wearing heavy-division battle gear in pristine condition. The colours they wore, yellow, orange and brown, identified them as members of the Distré family.

“Hey,” said Geezy, “we’ve got this room booked for another twenty.”

“Get out of here, scrub,” said the shorter of the two men. “Priority booking. You can both clear out.”

Their gear was the most expensive available. Geezy’s, by contrast, was wearing one of his brothers’ castoffs, scratched and scuffed on every available surface.

“Come on,” said Point-Two, “let’s go.”

Geezy sucked in his lips but he knew they had no choice but to vacate the room when someone with higher status wanted it. That was how life on board the Garu was. Background made all the difference, and neither one of them had the type that mattered.

As they left the room, the taller man said, “You’re that Hollet kid, aren’t you? The one who thinks he doesn’t even need to suit up to G-tag anyone. Want to exchange a few moves with me? I’m a Diamond League player.”

“No, thank you,” said Point-Two, “I think you’re confusing me with my brother.” He headed towards the door.

“Don’t brush him off like that, scrub,” said the shorter man.

A helmet came flying through the air at Point-Two. He could have dodged it quite easily but he let it strike him with a resounding thunk, causing a gash to appear on his forehead. Blood spurted out. Point-Two didn’t make a sound, didn’t even flinch.

The thrower looked shocked. He hadn’t expected Point-Two to not react at all.

“System,” said Point-Two, one eye closed as blood dripped down his face. “Report infraction. Grade three, physical injury sustained.”

“Physical injury detected,” said System. “Report filed.”

“What are you doing?” said the Distré man.

Point-Two picked up the helmet and walked forward with his hand held out, offering it back. “System. Make personal injury claim against Distré family.”

“Claim approved,” said System.

“System,” said the Distré family member, who was now in big trouble. “Counterclaim. Accidental.”

“Counterclaim… rejected.”

Point-Two placed the helmet into jittery hands and turned around to leave.

“You’re a piece of shit,” the man shouted after him.

“System,” said Point-Two. “Add harassment to claim.”

“Harassment claim… accepted.”

Point-Two left the training room to silence.

3. Prince

Third Quadrant. Planet Enaya. Classification M (moderate).

The White Palace.

Enaya was the third and last planet from the star Solaris II. Its prominence in the Third Quadrant was down to its stunning scenery, its stable civilisation — one of the oldest in the quadrant — but mostly because of the wormhole that stretched out for several million kilometres, filling most of Enaya’s sky.

Anyone could enter the wormhole, if they had a suitable ship, but they could only control where they would come out by using the controls on the asteroid that floated just outside of the wormhole’s gravitational pull.

When people referred to it, they called it Tethari, but that wasn’t the asteroid’s name. The asteroid had no name, it was just the asteroid, a stationary lump of rock that should have drifted off through space, but for some reason didn’t. Tethari was the name of the city, left behind by the Antecessors, or the best approximation of the word over the city gates, written in an alien language no one truly understood.

The controls to the wormhole were on the first level of the city. They had taken decades to decipher, and mainly by trial and error. Travel to anywhere in the galaxy was possible. Anywhere in the universe was also possible, but no one had managed it. Or, at least, no one had come back to confirm it.

The asteroid was owned by the rulers of Enaya, which currently meant the Ollo Dynasty. They controlled the asteroid, which meant they controlled the wormhole. They were also responsible for guarding the city of Tethari. Many people had tried to take it for their own, but not so they could take command of the wormhole — anyone who paid a small fee was allowed to go where they wanted — but because of what lay beneath the city.

Tethari was built deep into the asteroid. Seven layers deep at least. Human technology couldn’t penetrate any further, but the size of the asteroid meant there could be dozens more levels beyond the seven.

The second level had taken seventy-eight standard years to clear. The Antecessors had left behind defence systems so lethal and so alien, it had cost thousands of lives to overcome them. But there had been no shortage of volunteers. The rewards were considered worth the risk.

No one had ever managed to enter the third level.

Hard, white sunlight fell through the window of Figaro Carmen Ollo’s bedroom, offering little warmth as it fell on his face. The curtains had been drawn and the window pane raised. He could hear the groundsmen at work outside, and smell the freshly cut grass.

Figaro lay in his soft, warm bed with his eyes closed. Today would be the last time he lay here. The sounds, the smells, this was the last time he would wake to their accompaniment. Life here would go on without him, nothing would change with his absence, but this room would be empty.

He felt a movement on the other side of the bed. He opened his eyes and turned his head.

“Can I get you anything, Master?”

Ellie, one of the chambermaids, was lying on her side, on top of the bed sheets, her head propped up on one arm.

“Not right now,” said Figaro, not quite fully awake and unable to understand why there was a girl staring at him from the next pillow.

“You really do have lovely hair,” she said. “So… silvery.” Her hand reached out to touch him.

Figaro leaned away. “Um, thank you.” Figaro wasn’t a big fan of his hair. He didn’t think of it as silver, he saw it as white, like an old man’s. It was from his mother’s side of the family, the same in colour as hers. It looked elegant and pretty on her. “Why are you in my bed?”

“I am not in your bed, Master. I am on your bed, ready to serve.” She was a small, dainty girl who had been working for his family for several years. He wasn’t sure how old she was, but probably around the same age as him. He hadn’t really spoken to her much, as far as he could recall. She did her job competently enough. Usually.

“Why are you on my bed? Don’t you usually wait until I wake up before you change my sheets?”

“Yes. But today is your last day here, and I wanted to speak to you, Master, honestly and earnestly.”

He didn’t like where this was heading, but he didn’t want to hurt the girl’s feelings by kicking her out. “Since when did you start calling me ‘master’?”

“I have always called you master, Master. Perhaps you weren’t paying attention?”

“Hmm. Maybe. You don’t have to call me that. You’re an employee here, not a servant.”

“But I like calling you master. Don’t you like it?”

“No, not really.” Figaro sat up. He was wearing pyjamas but he still felt a little exposed next to this odd girl. She had never been this familiar with him before.

It occurred to him she might be an assassin. He had been warned to be wary of strange women who were suddenly friendly towards him. His status meant he was a prime target for kidnapping, but it would take a larger effort with more people to sneak him off the grounds. A simple murder would be a lot easier to accomplish, although there was little to be gained from his death. Revenge? His father had enemies, but none that would be so brazen as to attack him in his own home.

“You aren’t angry, are you?” said the maid, also sitting up.

“Angry about what?” said Figaro.

“That I’m seducing you.”

“Oh,” said Figaro. “Is that what you’re doing?” He really hadn’t realised that was her plan, but saying it out loud made it sound like he was mocking her, which wasn’t his intention.

She pouted and seemed like she might say something abrasive to him, but her shoulders sagged before she could spit it out. “You don’t think I’m attractive?”

“You’re very pretty,” said Figaro, feeling uncomfortable with this whole situation. “I’m flattered that you would make me your seduction target. Thank you.” It probably would have been better to be more blunt, but her eyes were so big and full of hope, he didn’t have it in him. He was disappointed in himself. What kind of future ruler would he make if he couldn’t even deal firmly with a chambermaid?

“Good, then let me speak plainly, Master. I realise a man in your position will take a wife of suitable rank and status.” She was speaking like she had rehearsed this speech many times. “A fine woman who will bear you many heirs.”

“Um, yes. Well, I suppose so.”

“But a man in your position,” continued Ellie, “will also probably have many mistresses and concubines.”

“Will he?” said Figaro. His father didn’t have any, as far as he knew.

“Of course,” said Ellie. “It’s perfectly normal. So I wanted to put in my application now.”

“Application?” Figaro wasn’t averse to being intimate with a young woman, even one well below his social standing, but it usually happened more naturally. No one had offered to put in a formal request before. “For mistress?”

“Yes, for mistress or concubine.”

“I see. Um, the thing is, my ancestors, they did some pretty terrible things when they first settled this planet. Slavery, oppression, tyranny, you know, the stuff we don’t like to talk about.”

“But that’s all over now,” said Ellie. “No one blames you for that.”

“No, no. And thank you. But it wouldn’t really look very good if I was to take advantage of someone like you to satisfy my, um, carnal urges.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” said Ellie, eagerly leaning forward, her eyes even bigger and more hopeful. “We don’t have to tell anyone. I can keep a secret.”

“Good, I’m glad to hear it. But I think it would be best if you found a decent young man to settle down with and raise a family that you didn’t have to keep secret.”

“But I don’t want a decent man, I want you. Oh, I didn’t mean it like… Oh, what have I said.” She suddenly looked very distressed and red in the face.

“It’s fine, really. Look, just put it in writing and I’ll keep your application on file, okay? And if I do ever decide on taking a mistress or a… a concubine, I’ll be in touch, alright? Do you think you could run me a bath?”

He usually took a shower but it seemed the easiest way out of this situation.

“Yes, Master,” she said with a delighted look. Had he just made an agreement he would regret? She scampered into the bathroom, followed by the sound of running water.

Figaro rose and went over to the balcony, wearing only his pyjama bottoms, which he was glad he had remembered to put on, and a silver bracelet on his wrist. He opened the double doors and the sharp sunlight prickled his brown skin, which he got from his father’s side of the family. The wormhole, a black swirl in the pale blue sky, looked down on him, but his eyes were on the large white cruiser hanging silently over the palace. A shuttle was landing on the main pad, its engines making no sound, but dust and debris flying up around it.

He watched as it touched down, then sank onto its belly. A door folded open, turning into a gangplank. The Seneca guards disembarked first, every one of them an organic, every one a trained killer, every one of them female. They formed a gauntlet for his mother, heavily pregnant. She descended slowly, flanked by her two personal bodyguards.

Mother had come to see him off. Which meant Father would be in a bad mood. He hoped they wouldn’t combine to give him indigestion at the breakfast table.

“The bath is ready, Master,” said the maid. “Would you like me to help you wash? I’m very good at washing, and polishing. I think you won’t be disappointed.”

She was making a strange shape with her mouth. He hadn’t seen it on a woman before, but it appeared she was leering at him.

“No, that’s fine. Just put it down in your application. Under skills and attributes.”

He shuffled sideways past her into the bathroom. She followed him in. He gently pushed her out and closed the door. And then locked it.