A Family Affair - part 5
06 Nov 2017Mack Winston
PREVIOUSLY...A family affair - Part 1
A family affair - Part 2
A family affair - Part 3
A family affair - Part 4
Capitol, Achenar
Joe Kemper was a serious looking man. He was thick-set man, rather younger than Norman, but his face seemed to be set into a permanent expression of inevitability and prematurely aged. He pulled a long face the moment that he saw me.
"Alright kid, this is the plan - " he began slowly, his voice gravelly and lugubrious (and who was he calling a kid?) " - I drop you off at Lord Michael's residence, you go in, you do what you have to do, and you leave within the hour. Is that understood?"
"Yeah," I said, trying to sound dismissive rather than afraid.
The expensive hand-tailored business suit I was wearing felt unfamiliar. Norman had clearly spared no expense, and I wondered what sort of remarks I would get if I walked through the company canteen dressed like this. Probably droll remarks such as "So what are you in court for?", no doubt. I had also had the best shower I'd ever had in my life - the bathrooms in Norman's mansion were like nothing I had ever seen, and the high pressure jet of water had nearly flayed the skin off my back. I made a mental note to have a bathroom like that one fitted to my Imperial Cutter, once I had the rank and money. Dressed up in the output of Capitol's best tailor, when I looked in the mirror, I barely recognised myself.
Fit to meet a Lord of the Realm, I thought.
Fit to murder a Lord of the Realm was the rather darker thought that followed.
Kemper led me down to the tiny shuttle. It looked like a miniature Fer-de-Lance, an arrow shaped lifting body with stubby upturned wings. The hundred km or so would not take long to cover, even staying quiet at subsonic speeds.
I reached into my jacket pocket, where I had secreted the half-smoked onionhead joint. It would calm the nerves.
"Do you really have to?" Kemper asked in a tone that seemed to radiate disappointment.
I didn't say anything, and put it away, as we lifted off and sped across the plains. Kemper also turned out to be a man of few words, which suited me. The last thing I wanted right now was a conversation.
Barely twenty minutes later, we touched down. Lord Michael Alan Peshiviel Hesketh-Duval's residence was as impressive as his long name, majestically architected in a classical style and surrounded by impeccably maintained grounds. I left the shuttle, alone, and entered the building though a side entrance. I half expected security guards and alarms despite what Norman had told me about the place.
It seemed to be almost deserted. Kemper had given me the interior plan before we had left. I could feel the outline of the assassin's blade inside my suit jacket, and it was an uncomfortable reminder of what I may have to do within the hour. I wondered how I would be able to hide my anxiety when I finally met Lord Michael, and I hoped it would be soon. The wait was almost more terrifying than the prospect of actually meeting him and having to...
I tried not to think of it. I tried to concentrate on making the sound of my footfalls precise on the polished wooden floor.
Click...click...click...click... a nice, even rhythm. A nice even four four time.
A nice...
"Charles, please, I need a word if you have a moment". It was a cultured voice, and came from a room with an open door just a few paces ahead. I saw no other person, perhaps the man inside, no doubt Michael, had heard my footfalls and assumed it was his head servant.
I concentrated on maintaining my even footsteps, and made the right turn into the room beyond.
It wasn't unlike the room I had first walked into inside Norman's residence. A definite and mostly futile attempt to recreate a long lost era - the wooden desk, the bound volumes that sat unread on a bookshelf, with only a holo-display on the desk betraying the existence of modern technology. It wouldn't be exaggerating to say that the man behind the desk - Lord Michael himself - did not look like any kind of arch-nemesis I imagined I may ever have.
He was a tall, well built man, and was wearing what passed for casual wear amongst the Imperial aristocracy, the odd old-fashioned shooting jacket and shirt that seemed to turn him into almost a caricature of the Imperial old-guard. This was a world so removed from what I had seen even in the ascension ceremony back in Synteini, or what the Empire had been projecting under the reign of Arissa Lavigny-Duval, that it felt nearly alien.
He looked up, and froze.
"Who the hell are you?" he demanded queriously. I could see his hand reaching across to initiate the intruder alert.
"I wouldn't bother with that, it's been disabled," I said. Despite my increasing anxiety, I somehow kept control of my voice and spoke evenly.
Lord Michael pressed the button anyway. Nothing happened.
"I think you know who I am," I said, starting to pace around the room, reaching the small drinks cabinet on the left side of the office.
I reached in, and took out the bottle of Eranin Pearl Whisky, and turned it over.
"It's from my home world, Azeban. Only good thing to come out of that miserable little planet," I said. "To be honest," I said looking at the label, "I can't tell the difference between the twelve year and the eighteen year, I would recommend you save your money next time and get the twelve"
Lord Michael began to open his desk drawer.
"Oh, and your side arm is no longer in your desk," I said, looking back at him. "My associates have seen to that"
"Who are you?" Lord Michael repeated, his voice booming, seemingly frozen in his seat.
"Oh come on, I think you can guess", I said, replacing the bottle, and turning to Lord Michael while trying to recreate the wry smile Norman Mosser had used on me.
Lord Michael's eyes narrowed.
"Mackenzie Winston", he hissed.
"Please, you're family. Not so formal. Everyone just calls me Mack"
"What do you want?"
"Well," I started - he could have at least been a bit more welcoming - "I want us to come to an understanding. The first understanding," I said, finally starting to enjoy myself despite a clawing feeling of terror somewhere deep inside my chest, "is that the next reaper you send after me won't find himself embedded in the station wall of Artyukhin Ring. Instead he will find himself being mailed back to you in very small pieces"
Lord Michael said nothing. He obviously knew better than to attempt denial, and was undoubtedly an experienced negotiator - and although I hoped at this point he was feeling a rising sense of fear, he could keep up his granite exterior.
"Such a shame that your reaper's throttle got jammed wide open. Apparently the maintenance crews are still picking bits of him out the hole in the station's nearside wall."
He stood up. "What do you want?" he demanded, almost snarling the question.
Was this the first crack in the granite?
"Isn't it obvious?" I answered.
"You are a vile - " he began, squaring up. I couldn't tell if it was fear or anger, but my assumption that he was a skilled negotiator may have been wrong, and now standing - I realised he stood nearly head and shoulders above me and was powerfully built. He may have been without a side arm, or a security detail, but it looked like he didn't flinch from casual hand to hand combat.
I had to act fast. Forgetting my own safety for a moment and filled with adrenaline, I charged the man. He hadn't expected it, and I briefly knocked him back, and he had to step backwards to maintain his balance. I pushed him against the wall and reached into my jacket, pulling out the assassin's blade with my left hand. Somewhat inexpertly, I pushed it against him, hoping it was just piercing his shirt and digging slightly into his chest.
Lord Michael looked down at the lethal blade.
I narrowed my eyes and stared at him, my face close to his despite the difference in our stature.
"Don't think I won't push this right through you," I hissed angrily. "You are a coward who would murder his own nephew, without even looking him in the eye. I would never have bothered you, we would never have met if it wasn't for your " - I paused, trying to think of a word that adequately described what I thought of his murderous intentions - "clumsy attempt to have me murdered. Whatever you think of me, all that crap the old guard go on about moral turpitude, at least I am here, facing you, not sending someone out to do the dirty deed for me. Think of that. If it's morals you want, perhaps you ought to look in the god-damned mirror"
I felt strangely powerful, having an Imperial Lord's life literally on the knife edge of my control. Part of me gained an inkling of what may have made my father who he was...
"And if you should be so...inadvised...as to attempt again, you should understand that the East India Company will be appraised of the situation, and your shipping company will not merely have pirates to deal with."
I removed the blade and walked away from him. I noted with satisfaction a small bloodstain growing on his white shirt. He was managing to keep his composure, but with some satisfaction, my unexpected arrival and this rapid escalation had put some fear into him. I looked at the blade, turning the slender weapon over.
"This blade has history," I said quietly. "Apparently, it has seen the insides of more than one Imperial aristocrat, or so my father says. I hope it does not need to see the inside of one more". I replaced it in its holder, inside my suit jacket. "My associate recommended that I murder you today, and he probably thinks I'm a fool for not doing it. Perhaps I am. Maybe I'm just a fool who believes in a second chance"
I turned to leave. As I reached the still open door, I stopped, and turned to face my uncle, who still hadn't moved.
"Second chances, remember this. I gave you a second chance. A good East Indiaman never burns bridges, so it would do well to know you have a relative who has the ear of Company Vice President Jarrod Lynch. I'm sure this can lead to mutual benefits our respective businesses", I said, calmly, then turned on my heel, and retraced the route back to Kemper's shuttle.
"Done what you need to?" Kemper asked, his face still wearing its default look of disappointed inevitability.
"Yeah."
As we flew back to Mosser's residence in silence, I reflected on my meeting. It hadn't even lasted five minutes, and felt slightly surreal. I hoped I had both terrorised the man and given him a reason not to try killing me again, but already I had that nagging feeling that Mosser was right, and he'd try again and again. I was already paranoid about what might be coming from the Pegasi sector - especially since Jeb Gold was obviously not reliable, and now I had to be paranoid about my own uncle. Some way or other, I'd be hearing from my uncle again, hopefully not on the business end of a reaper's hand gun.