Her name was Heather Pt.7
05 Dec 2017Gmanharmon
Part 6Princess Duval and I were standing on the bridge of the Imperial Freedom, awaiting the entrance of Denton Patreus. King Fitzherbert was standing nearby, listening intently to our separate debriefs, while the boarding party leader stood to my side with another brute, keeping an eye on me.
“My dear,” the King said for the thousandth time, “we were so worried when we heard about the station! We know you are at odds with your aunt over the control of the territory, but taking an unsanctioned trip there by yourself was madness!”
“I appreciate your concern,” replied the Princess, sipping on a glass of Lavian brandy furnished by a headwaiter. It was more likely than not he was an Imperial slave, but if Aisling knew, she didn’t say anything about it. “But I felt that if Arissa and I had an honest heart-to-heart talk at the outpost, we could come to an amicable conclusion, that would benefit both of us.”
The King was well-versed in the goings-on within the Empire’s political scene, and he showed it in his frank dialogue with Aisling. “With all due respect, Your Highness, it is a very tenuous time for both of you. Denton is in turmoil after a member of his entourage assassinated our beloved Emperor, and had retreated to Eotienses to take stock of what he must do. This leaves the Senate without one of its most powerful voices.
“Meantime, you and your aunt are currently embroiled in your own personal campaigns to claim rightful ascension to the Imperial Throne, and the entire Empire is of two minds about who should assume the seat. The Inquisitors are as doggedly loyal to protecting Arissa’s interests as your Angels are to protecting yours. Putting yourself in harm’s way is not befitting your station!
“Moreover,” Fitzherbert continued, his diatribe making me drowsy, “why in the Emperor’s name are you two fighting over that system at all? Gorramacor is nothing but two young stars, several thousand kilometers of rock, and a mining outpost on the brink of a pandemic!”
“That’s what I said!” I replied, before being struck in the back of my leg by the brute’s blaster rifle. The pain sent me to one knee, sucking in air through my teeth.
“Silence, Serf!” the squad leader growled. “You will hold your tongue in the Captain’s presence!”
The Princess couldn’t care less about what was happening behind her. “We can use the profits of the metals and minerals they produce to fund our operations, as well as spread the influence of Stop Slavery Stupid. Not all systems require a brilliant white star and a Coriolis station to exist, Charles.”
“Very well, Aisling,” Fitzherbert said softly, “if that’s what you truly believe.” He turned to me, his highly-polished jackboots clapping against the plasteel deck plating as he moved closer. “And you… Harmann, did you say your name was? However you came across the Princess in that outpost, and whether or not you were rescuing her from Inquisitors or kidnapping her for your own nefarious ends, we’ll leave that for the tribunal to decide.
“The murder of an officer of the Imperial Navy is a capital offense, young Serf,” he continued, stooping down to look me in the eye. “And while Aisling here frowns upon the death penalty, despite how heinous the crime may be, you will find no such restraint in Achenar. Were I not bound by Imperial mandate and my royal duty to render you to the Magistrate, I would kill you myself.”
“Charles!” Aisling reached out and touched the King’s arm. “Justice must prevail. He is still an Imperial citizen, and deserves the presumption of innocence.”
“Don’t go to bat for me, Princess,” I said. She looked down at me with hard, but caring, eyes, and I shot a smile her way. A strike across my jaw sent me to the deck, and suddenly I saw the brute’s massive frame fill my vision. He grabbed me by the lapels with his monstrous hands and stood me on my still-shaky feet, a drop of blood snaking its way from my lip.
The brute bared his teeth and bellowed, “You must have a hearing problem, you little shit!” Flecks of spit found their way from his mouth onto my face from his verbal fusillade. He wound up his right arm behind him, and I braced for a punch that would surely tear off my head.
“Put him down!” The stentorian command from afar stayed the brute’s hand, causing him and everyone present to look back at the navigation station. Standing in the doorway, in full regalia, was Senator Denton Patreus himself. The brute let go of me, and I backed away slowly, albeit with a slight limp and a faint dribble of blood down the front of my uniform jacket.
“Denton!” Aisling ran towards the Senator, letting go of the terry-cloth draped over her Remlok suit. They embraced, but did not kiss.
“Cara mia,” Patreus crooned, “I was worried sick when I saw the news about Gorramacor! You should know better than to take off on your own to a contested system!” From my position, the Senator acted more like a doting father than a star-crossed lover, to coin a phrase. “Promise me you won’t leave my sight again!”
“I can’t promise you that, Denton,” she replied, oddly pinching his cheek. “It’s not in my nature to remain in one place and ruminate while my people suffer in slavery.”
“Then at least promise not to leave without an escort.” At this point he stepped away from Aisling and turned his attention to the four of us on the observation deck. “You there, Serf!” He stepped forward, and I made my best attempt to stand at attention with a bum leg. “Are you the one who rescued Aisling from the Inquisitors?”
“Yes, sir,” I responded.
“I must thank you for saving her life!” He took my hand in both of his and shook vigorously, not unlike how I used to pump water on the homestead back Out There. “I don’t know what those barbarians would have done to her had you not shown up!”
“Denton, if I may...” King Fitzherbert started, raising a finger.
“There will be no more talk about tribunals or executions!” Patreus replied, dismissing the King with a wave of his hand. “Uncuff this man at once! This is no way to treat a true hero of the Empire!” With a look of sheer incredulity, and with great reluctance, the squad leader produced a key from his belt and removed the heavy manacles, and I massaged my wrists to bring the feeling back into them. “Give him back his toy, as well!” With an even more perturbed expression, King Fitzherbert handed me my gun belt, which I put back on. Whatever had come over the Senator, I didn’t know, but it was a lot better than the alternative.
“Come, my friend,” Patreus continued, placing an arm around me and guiding me to the door, “lunch is about to be served. I would be honored if Aisling’s rescuer would eat with us!”
As it so happened, Patreus had the Imperial Freedom moved from its dock in Eotienses to Wakea several days prior, as the Type 2B frame-shift drives operated on much older technology that took up to a week to jump, a byproduct of which was the great fanfare that preceded the appearance of the Interdictor from witch-space. The same was true of the Federation’s Farragut-class battlecruisers. A sheer stroke of luck caused Patreus to catch up with myself and the trigger-happy Sentinel I had pulled over in a reasonable time window, who happened to arrive in Wakea hours prior to scout out the drop point. Why his fleet was so keen on firing upon one of his own men was left unexplained as the three of us made our way though the Majestic, into the habitation ring that provided its own microgravity, and entered the grand banquet hall.
The room was utterly massive, paneled in dark wood, with multiple long oak tables on a floor of polished basalt. The whole room started humming with energy, which I learned was because the ring was rotating near the gargantuan frame-shift drive aft of us that was required to move the Freedom around the galaxy. Patreus informed us that preparations were being made to jump again, and the next stop would be in Zaonce for a social event.
We were seated at the head of the largest table, with Patreus assuming the customary host’s chair, Aisling seated at his right as the guest of honor, and myself at the left. After we were set and refreshments were poured out, three waiters pushing large trolleys entered through a set of double doors and served a mountain of food before us. The wonderful smells of saffron, cumin, and cardamom filled the air as platters and tureens were presented, heaping plates full of rich curries and fragrant rice, stacks of steaming-hot flat bread, spears of cubed meats and vegetables cooked to perfection. It was more food than I had ever seen at one of our feast days back home, and I had no idea where, or how, to start. I shrugged and proceeded to fill my plate with rice and curry, and observed Patreus as he tended to his bowl of lemon chicken, plucking out bits of parsley with a scowl, while Aisling had lost all composure and began assaulting a kebab, tearing into it like an apex predator after a kill.
As we dined, several waiters wandered about, presenting large dataslates to the Senator as he discussed politics and society with unseen Imperial politicians, well-heeled supporters, and captains of industry. At one point, a camera drone flitted in, zipping to and fro like a hummingbird, as Patreus fielded several questions from reporters regarding Aisling’s condition. The Princess only stopped eating to swallow a mouthful of biryani, smile politely for the camera, then return to her plate with unequaled ferocity. Never in my life had I seen anyone of such a svelte stature pack away more food, and not show any ill effect. However, the meal reached its zenith as I watched Patreus stroke Duval’s cheek lovingly, and as if on reflex, she turned her head and bit down on his finger. The Senator let out half of a pained bellow, then gritted his teeth and pursed his lips as he drew back his hand, wiping the finger on a napkin.
I reached for a glass of wine immediately, needing all my faculties to remain stoic and feign choking on the drink. A napkin rushed to my face as I covered up a giggle with several coughs, then excused myself, rushing through the door and into the nearest empty room. I locked the door behind me, then sank to the floor and laughed like an idiot for the next five minutes.
“You’re quite efficient with your purging, Grayson,” Patreus exclaimed when I returned to the banquet hall, smoothing the sides of his hair as he regarded himself in a mirror held by a waiter. “Not even Zemina Torval could beat that record. Aisling should be along in another minute or two.” I cocked an eyebrow at the Senator, unsure of how to answer. His finger was now wrapped in a flesh-colored adhesive gauze, causing me to remember the event and turn my head, pursing my lips shut.
“Of course,” I replied, after a drink of water. “I wouldn’t miss dessert for the world.”
He smiled. “I had the chef prepare some parfaits for us. They’re his specialty. Fresh berries picked from his garden this morning, and yogurt sourced from the finest dairy cows on Kamadhenu. Arissa has a gold mine in agriculture on that system, but she refuses to leverage it like she should.”
“That so?” I said thoughtfully, spearing one last piece of lemon chicken with a fork before the bowl was bussed away.
“Absolutely. That dumb cow will never be Emperor.” The turn of phrase was strange to hear, uttered without provocation, and with no other words, the Senator returned to his vanity. Aisling returned, wiping her mouth with a paper towel, and we stood as she took her seat again. The waiters returned, presenting three glass chalices filled with the tasty treat, and mugs of coffee with digestive biscuits to chase. To my chagrin, the Princess was more refined in her enjoyment of the parfait, savoring every spoonful with closed eyes and a smile. Patreus’s behavior was far stranger, eating the dessert he had just given ultimate praise for as if it were a chore. Quick stabs with the spoon, a swift jab into his mouth, and back again, with no soul or passion. As for me, the parfait was delightful, and the coffee was immaculately brewed. The headwaiter offered us mints, which I accepted gladly, but the other two declined, which he seemed to expect as he didn’t stop once. I popped the mint into my mouth and parked it against my cheek, letting it stew as Patreus turned to me and began offering more platitudes, praising my family name for saving the Princess, holding her hand all the while. She looked at me and smiled gently, partially embarrassed at the scene from the Senator. I nodded politely, not listening to a word he was saying, pretending to be intently focused on his boutonnière while my thoughts drifted back to Heather.
I need to see her again.
“...many affluent patrons and influential figures will be there, as well. No better way to get your foot in the door and ascend from Serfdom.” I snapped out of my stupor, now focused on Patreus and Duval, both waiting for me to answer.
“O-of course,” I replied, completely oblivious to what was just said. “Sounds splendid.”
“Perfect,” Patreus concluded, clapping his hands. “We jump to Zaonce in three days, so you’ll have plenty of time to prepare.”