Here's your Sunday delivery. Hope you enjoy :)

-Plum

24 – Welcome to Mars

When Evie intruded on his hazy dreams with a soft chime and a whispered, “Hector, wake up,” he opened his eyes, squinting into the dim strangeness of his quarters aboard Black Wing. He wasn’t worried that something was wrong; he’d given Evie explicit instructions to wake him after his level advancement completed. He’d wanted time to review the results and then prepare for their arrival in Mars-space.

“At least I recognized the room,” he muttered, throwing his soft sheets and blanket off and sitting up on the side of the bed. “That was some damn good sleep, though. Almost wish Havish was alive so I could thank him for his good taste.”

Evie’s excitement was made apparent by her non-reply: //There weren’t any issues with the level advancement, and I think you’ll be intrigued by the report.//

Hector stood and walked over to his bathroom. Like the rest of the officers’ deck, it was opulently appointed by ship standards—faux marble tile, stylized brass fixtures, and plenty of space. In fact, his captain’s lavatory held not only a shower with room to move around but a decent-sized bathtub. Hector stripped down and got into the shower, and it wasn’t until hot water was drumming on his scalp that he pulled up Evie’s report:

//Corpus vivum conditioning complete and level 17 advancement has been applied. Aura pathways have broadened and grown more resilient, resulting in a greater-than-usual improvement in throughput. This broadening has expanded your available aura pool to a much greater extent than a standard level advancement. Detailed level results are as follows:

·       Strengthened aura pathways, increasing maximum load—use caution when exploring this limit to avoid aura overload.

·       Aura Pool increased from 157 to 242.

·       Potentia threaded through skeletal muscle fibers, enhancing contractile power and raising Strength from 37 to 41.

·       Neuromuscular pathways refined, reducing physical response time and raising Speed from 38 to 40.

·       Sensory signal resolution and processing pathways enhanced, increasing Perception rating from 29 to 33.

Aura Potentia Available: 567

End Report.//

As he read the report, Hector felt something unwinding in the center of his back—a knot of tension he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying. The results were amazing; his Veilborn Duelist archetype was hungry for potentia, each level costing significantly more than one from a standard, lower-tier archetype, but it was paying off. Back in his day, when he’d been in the Invicti, Hector had known that most Praetorians had physical attributes above sixty. It wasn’t a written rule, per se, but the standard was understood.

The reason they wouldn’t make such an explicit qualification was that everyone was different, and there were talents that impacted all the attributes. For instance, Hector knew his Vitality—at 56—was already on a level with that of most Praetorians. His unnatural regeneration was, in his opinion, undervalued in that representation, never mind his similite-enhanced skeleton.

Seeing his other physical attributes climbing into the forties made his goals seem less like vengeance-fueled madness and more like realistic ambitions. His fundamental weakness was his relatively small aura pool, and this latest level had taken a big step toward plugging that hole. “This is good, Evie,” he said, summarizing his thoughts.

//I’d been waiting for your aura pool to build enough pressure to expand. I’m surprised it took so long, but based on the data I’ve collected from this breakthrough, I think you can expect the next natural expansion to happen around level twenty-four.//

Hector grunted, taking a moment to think while he scrubbed his body with some soap they’d cannibalized from Maidensong before abandoning her to the pirates. While he rinsed, he asked, “You have thoughts on my next advancement?”

//Yes. You have enough potentia for one more level and perhaps another purchase. Considering the cost of your levels, it’s very possible you won’t get enough potentia for another before the Games. That being the case, after careful review and deep consideration of your current strengths, I think you should take level 18 for the cost of 402 potentia, which will leave you with 165. I think you should spend another 126 on the skill merger opportunity still available to you: Shadow Stalk plus Ghost Reaver.//

“Why?”

//Because the Games are unpredictable, and stealth may play a major factor in your survival. Currently, Shadow Stalk is an ability you can maintain for a long time, but it fails under scrutiny or if you perform overt actions. Ghost Reaver is stronger, but you can only maintain it briefly. I’m hoping that the hybrid will combine those positive traits to some degree.//

Hector finished his shower and took a few minutes to shave and clean his teeth before getting dressed. The whole while, he considered Evie’s words and, as he pulled on his boots, he voiced his only argument. “I just don’t want to wind up with a skill that’s significantly worse than either of the originals for their intended use.”

//I understand that concern. However, I don’t think it’s likely; I can see which of the skills’ pathways will converge, and they’re, for the most part, the strongest traits of each.//

“Well, my gut says to trust your instincts. Go ahead.”

//Please confirm: you’d like me to spend 402 aura potentia to advance your level to 18, and you’d like me to spend an additional 126 aura potentia to merge Shadow Stalk and Ghost Reaver.//

“Confirmed.”

//402 potentia applied. Corpus vivum conditioning has begun. Approximately 36 hours to complete level advancement. Disorientation, weakness, and even fleeting incapacitation may occur. Extra caloric intake is recommended.

126 aura potentia applied. Pathway revisions are being mapped and will be implemented to merge Shadow Stalk and Ghost Reaver into a novel hybrid ability. This process is likely to result in visual and auditory distortion, vertigo, coordination deficits, and fleeting sensations of physical displacement. Momentary phase instability is possible.

Note: Queuing skill merger propagation to begin after level advancement. Once initiated, the process will take approximately 8 hours to complete. Use of either originating ability during propagation may produce unpredictable results and is strongly discouraged.

39 aura potentia remaining.//

Hector glanced at his bed and, though he tried to resist the urge, walked over and made it, tucking the corners tight and straightening the pillows. It was a habit he’d tried to break ever since leaving the Invicti, and he’d never succeeded.

His bed was one story; the overall state of the suite was another. It had only gotten messier since he’d first explored the contents. He and Lemon had spent some time going through the cabinets and closets and looking through Clay Havish’s books and papers.

It had been a welcome distraction from his troubles, only made more amusing by generous helpings of alcohol and snacks ordered up from the galley. Hector found himself smiling as he looked around, remembering Lemon’s flushed cheeks and giggles as he’d read to her from some of Havish’s ancient books—a surprising number contained poetry and plays that read like poetry. Sighing, he tucked in a stray shirttail, smoothed down the buttons, and walked to the door.

“Anyone on the bridge, Mori?”

The ship’s AI responded immediately, his voice bodiless but somehow sounding like it came from just beside Hector. “Iris Sparling and Helmsman Rudolph.”

“Iris, hmm?”

“Yes, she was using the comm array to queue an encrypted message to her father.”

Hector grunted, walking down the corridor to the elevator. As he stepped into the car, he asked, “We’re still on course?”

“Yes, sir. Around six hours until we exit fold-space.”

Hector was silent as the combination elevator and tram brought him to the bridge. When he stepped off, Iris was still there, sitting at one of the support crew stations, and she looked up at the sound of the elevator door.

“Oh! Good morning, Hector.” She frowned, the expression almost charming on her youthful face. “It is morning, I think.”

“Yeah.” He walked over to her and sat at the station beside the one she occupied. “I should have asked this earlier, but did you hear anything from your father before we left normal space?”

She nodded. “He’s preparing for our arrival.”

“I bet he was glad to hear from you.”

Her lips twisted as she looked to the side, shrugging. “He didn’t say anything like that, but I hope so.” When Hector didn’t respond right away, struggling for an adequate response, she added, “He’s prepping his training compound for us—clearing out non-essential staff, upgrading the jammer, and all that. He wants to make sure reports of Gladia’s survival don’t get leaked.”

“She could stay on the ship,” Hector said. Gladia had already gotten Ventress family identifiers for Black Wing and the shuttles—ones that wouldn’t be tied to Gladia or Maidensong. If things went as they all hoped, they’d be able to avoid scrutiny from Imperial customs agents with the credentials of a Great House.

“I know, but she doesn’t want to. We’ll be planetside for months while you work your way through the Games, assuming you aren’t eliminated in the first one.” Her teasing smile returned with the remark, any hint of deeper emotions safely boxed away.

“What’s the compound like?”

“It’s dreary…and beautiful.” She shrugged. “It’s a former colony ranch out in the middle of nowhere. No town to speak of within easy reach, but lots and lots of lovely countryside—if you like the Martian desert and canyons.”

“Spent a lot of time there?”

“When I was a child—months at a time. It was boring for a while, but my father doesn’t tolerate moping. He’d tell me to get out and explore. ‘Hunt varmints!’ he’d say.” Iris smiled, clicking her tongue. “I learned to ride, of course, and I really did have a lot of freedom—something a child who never left the city could only imagine. I bet I knew the canyons near the facility better than anyone.”

Hector gave her an appraising look, a little surprised. “Did you? Hunt?”

“Sure. I had a target needler—accurate but safe for a child, considering my AI wouldn’t let it fire if it wasn’t pointed at something safe.”

“Real horses?”

Iris beamed. “Of course! No synthetic animals would do for Grover Sparling!”

Hector snorted. “Figures. The…” He almost said Contis and barely caught himself. “The kids I used to protect were the same. Rich family—insisted on real horses with a gene-line traceable to old Earth.”

“Oh! Some more tidbits of Hector’s mysterious background? You were a bodyguard?”

“For a while.” He shrugged and stood, figuring he’d let his tongue get loose enough.

Iris watched him stand but stayed in her seat. “We’ll have some fun at the ranch before you have to start the Games. I’ll show you around. We can go for some rides.”

Hector shrugged. “Could be fun, but I’ll be busy.”

“Even my father will tell you—part of training is decompression. You have to let your mind process the work.”

Hector looked at her sideways again. She was constantly surprising him, though he wasn’t sure why. It was so damn easy to forget she wasn’t a teenager, easy to forget she’d been watching her father recruit and train fighters for decades. He glanced at Rudolph and said, “Rudolph, give me the bridge for a while, will you? Go for a break—breakfast should be on.”

The man immediately stood and nodded. “Yes, sir. All systems are reading in the green. I’m sure Mori will let you know if something goes awry.”

“Thank you.” Hector watched him leave, then turned to Iris. “How long has your family been working against the Empire? How long have you been involved with Gladia’s faction?”

She shook her head. “A while, I think. Longer than I’ve been involved. My father didn’t include me in that side of things until about five years ago.”

“Pretty damn ambitious—your old man.”

“That’s an understatement. Did he give you his spiel about the mine? He truly made a fortune from it, and most people would have been satisfied, but he wanted something more. He’s always craved respect, and, well, you don’t really get respected in the Empire unless you’re a Royal. Once a family gets beyond that threshold, then you learn that there are tiers to Royals—those with authority beyond property rights, from Magistrates to Governors, then to those who own empires within the Empire.”

“The Great Houses.”

Iris nodded. “Grover Sparling didn’t like the idea that he’d never even be able to set foot upon that ladder, no matter his wealth.”

“So he started looking for ways to bring it all down?”

She shrugged, smiling coyly. “You might say his philosophy was along the lines of ‘if I can’t play, then none of you should be allowed to.’”

“And he found a convenient ally in Loyal Ventress? Or did Loyal find him?”

“I’m not sure how that worked, but I’ve drawn some conclusions over the years. I recall dinner parties out at the ranch—gatherings of moguls. I can remember seeing my father in his parlor with powerful men and women. The doors were always closed, a haze of smoke in the air. I remember them talking late into the night. Sometimes I wonder if he tried to recruit the wrong person to his cause; maybe a report was made about his sedition, and maybe he got lucky. Maybe it was one of Loyal Ventress’s agents who received the report.”

“Lots of maybes.”

“Well,” Iris said, rotating her chair side to side, “it’s not all wild conjecture. I’ve heard things over the years. Snippets of conversation—comments my father let slip.” She threw Hector a saccharine smile and said, “Like the one you almost made just now.”

Hector shook his head, clicking his tongue. “You’re dangerous.” He turned toward the elevator. “I’ve got things to do before we arrive. People to meet with, things to inspect.”

“Of course.” Iris spun in her chair, back to the console. “I’ll queue some more messages. Lots of arrangements to make.”

Hector stepped back onto the elevator, and when the door closed, he said, “Mori, take me down to the shuttle bays. I’ll see how preparations are going.”

As the elevator surged into motion, Mori said, “Am I correct in my understanding that we’re working with rebels against the predominant political force in the Sol System?”

Hector snorted, surprised by the AI’s bluntness. “Yeah, I guess I should have filled you in on that.”

“I’ve always been more comfortable with a clear view of my enemies, sir. The more the merrier, I say. Black Wing stands ready to aid your cause, though I recommend acquiring ordnance for her main gun ASAP.”

“That’s on the menu, Mori.”

Hector passed some time wandering the ship after that. He watched a handful of crew members loading up one of the shuttles and realized he ought to pack a bag so he didn’t have to worry about getting more clothes planetside. While he was down there, he walked through all the bays. There were two shuttles from Maidensong, but Black Wing had four—smaller, sleeker, and armed with underwing missile racks.

He figured they didn’t want to use those to ferry down to Sparling’s training camp, but it was nice to know they were there. He ate a late breakfast—for him—sitting with Orin and Demon and filling them in on what to expect down at the camp, or ranch as Iris called it. They were both eager to have a sky overhead again. Orin grumbled about having to eat soft food, but Hector knew he was happy he’d received such good medical care.

Stinson was there too, and when he heard where they were going, he asked Hector if he thought Gladia was going to bring him along. Of course, Hector wasn’t too sure, but he thought it was likely. He might have helped to repel the boarders, but he was still a former enemy, and he doubted she wanted him anywhere she couldn’t watch him—not that Mori would allow him to contact their enemies.

After breakfast, he spent some time visiting Lemon, and when he told her and Kit about the ranch and the possibility of horses, he could see they were both more than a little excited. Watching her pack reminded him of his need to do the same, so he left, went to his room, and filled a duffel with clothes.

He had a couple of hours until arrival, so he took the bag down to the shuttle himself, and on his way back, he ran into Mathews, who was lugging two duffels similar to his, one of which was clearly loaded with guns.

“Going on a hunt?”

“I don’t know,” she replied, narrowing her eyes. “Seems like my employers don’t like to divulge their plans.”

“I think you know enough to realize that packing a bag of guns isn’t a bad idea.”

She nodded. “Fair enough.” As Hector started to walk past her, she put a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, you know Burton’s training Sass and Freddy right now?”

Hector shook his head. “I knew he was going to give Freddy some extra training when he wasn’t busy with me. I guess this qualifies.”

She shrugged. “Yeah. He’s a good guy, if you ask me.”

“Freddy?”

She snorted. “Burton. You know I like Freddy.”

“Yeah, fair enough. The kid was in your corner when we were all debating whether to kick you out of the cave.”

Mathews smiled, but she lifted her hand from his shoulder and traced the scars on the right side of her face. Her eyes went a little distant as she said, “You joke, but we were all talking about ambushing your ass when you disappeared for almost two days.”

Hector laughed and pushed past her. “Just make sure you’re all strapped into a shuttle in—” He glanced at the countdown on his AUI. “—fifty-four minutes.”

“I will,” she called after him.

When Hector got to the bridge, Gladia and Flint were there with four of her former Maidensong crew. Nothing had been said about what she’d do with her crew, but the simple fact was that they had nowhere to go for the time being—not unless Gladia cut them loose, and he knew she wouldn’t do that. He figured they’d stay on Black Wing pending the eventuality that Gladia got a new ship.

Flint was massaging his right hand, kneading the synthetic flesh between his thumb and forefinger, and when Hector stepped close, he asked, “New hand bugging you?”

Flint looked at him, startled; both he and Gladia had been focused on Lewis, who was explaining the ship’s projected exit trajectory. “…should be just a short transit to high orbit.”

Flint leaned closer to Hector and said, “This damn thing just doesn’t feel right. Not sensitive enough when I want to feel something, and too damn sensitive when I don’t.” He held up his hand, spreading the fingers wide and gesturing toward a ceiling vent. “Feel the airflow?”

Hector nodded.

“It’s like water pouring over my hand right now.”

Gladia took note of their conversation and said, “I told you, Flint: we’ll get it adjusted planetside.”

“I’m not complaining; he asked if my hand was bothering me.” The burly bodyguard shrugged.

“I hope you don’t mind that we’re here, Hector,” Gladia said. “I’m not trying to assert—”

Hector waved a hand, moving to stand closer to her. “Don’t worry. Mori keeps me updated.” He looked around the bridge. “No Iris?”

Gladia shook her head. “She’s packing. It’s a good thing we’re taking two shuttles down.”

Hector rubbed his chin, studying the display Lewis had put on the big viewscreen. It showed Mars and dozens of large orbital objects. A thought occurred to him, and he said, “It’ll be good to get the latest news. I’m curious if we were right about giving up Maidensong—if she’s gone.”

Gladia sighed. “I am as well. Though, as Mae told me before I agreed to the plan, it’s worth a lot for our enemies to believe me dead. If we’d kept her and she returned to Mars or any other major port, they would have gleaned the truth.”

“Excuse me,” Mori said, his voice cutting through the crew’s chatter. “It seems my calculations were slightly off—we’ll be breaking out of fold-space momentarily. The transition should be uneventful, as the gravity waves near our exit point are optimal and the fold is ideally narrow.”

Hector glanced at his countdown—still forty-two minutes. “Really, Mori? You were off by almost an hour?”

Gladia smiled at him. “Fold-transit calculations are always like this, though on my brother’s ships, we tend to arrive later than expected.”

Hector frowned. He supposed that was right; as an Invicti, he’d never really been told how long a transit would take—just to be ready on a given day. He could recall sitting in a boarding pod or dropship for hours and hours, meditating to keep his mind off the impending battle.

Unprompted, Mori announced to the ship, “Fold-space transition in one minute. Please brace yourself appropriately.”

“Will it be like before?” one of the crew members asked.

“No,” Gladia replied. “Entering normal space is always easier.” Even as she spoke, though, she walked down the ramp and sat down in one of the empty crew stations. Flint followed suit. For his part, Hector stepped up to the railing overlooking the lower tiers and took hold, watching the new countdown Evie was displaying for him.

Flint spun his chair so he could look up at Hector. “What’s your plan if the Empire’s waiting with a handful of destroyers and a dozen orbital lasers aimed our way?”

“Flint Tenebrix!” Gladia scolded. “Don’t frighten the crew.”

Hector decided ignoring him would have the most impact, so he watched his countdown: 10…9…8…

“Well,” Flint said, “who else is looking forward to a little shore leave? I haven’t been to a good dollhouse in months.”

“Flint!” Gladia cried.

5…4…

“Right, right. These poor bastards won’t get shore leave for a while.”

…1

The air rippled in front of Hector’s face, and a warm tingle washed through him. Then the big viewscreen flickered and began to populate with images, chief among them the rusty, blue- and green-belted planet. To Hector’s relief, there weren’t any warships arrayed before them, though he knew he wouldn’t be able to see them; space battles were often settled with combatants thousands of kilometers apart.

“Welcome to Mars, ladies and gentlemen,” Mori announced, stealing poor Lewis’s thunder. “I’m happy to report that there are no hostile vessels targeting us, though we’ve received no fewer than 348 requests for our Imperial identifier. Shall I supply the one recently acquired from Lady Gladia’s contact?”

Hector cleared his throat. “Yeah, Mori. Do that, then get us into orbit.”