Angolin, p.18
Angolin, page 18
A trooper caught sight of Naul’s vehicle. “Lescain passing. Hold fire and give him way!”
Naul lowered the glass. “As you were, Commandant! You keep on firing. Show these animals the meaning of reprisal!”
Armetrian withheld another flinch as Naul removed his shoulder-holstered sidearm, pointed it out the window, and fired into the fleeing crowd. Bodies lurched in midstride and wheeled to the ground. The driver accelerated, intentionally striking a few who had escaped. He passed the protest site with crowds fleeing alongside now. Naul reloaded and took down more, then suddenly holstered his weapon. Before Armetrian could blink, the door beside Daio was unlatched and thrown open. It caught a fleeing woman. Naul quickly jumped out and grabbed her. She struggled to free herself to absolutely no avail. One angry punch sent her to the pavement. He reached down, seized a fistful of her hair and dragged her into the vehicle.
She screamed in a tongue that Cor-GON’s lingua mapper couldn’t decipher. Naul backhanded her with a grisly thud harder than any Armetrian had ever heard one person inflict on another and then clamped a hand around her neck.
“Females are not permitted in public. Where is your husband? Do not tell me you were both protesting.”
She began to sob but otherwise had no choice but to remain quiet. Her tears wet Naul’s fingers.
He yanked her face to his. “You were a part of it. Answer!”
She crimped an affirmative nod.
He slammed her head against the window, cracking the glass. She put up a weak fight that was extinguished by more punches. The last one sent her to the vehicle floor, her face twisted as she lay prone between Armetrian and his escorts. Naul reached down, cursing at the woman as he ripped away bits of clothing that looked to Armetrian like little more than soiled dinner napkins. She rallied and desperately struggled. Naul’s aides answered by stomping on her limbs. Daio’s knee to her stomach ended the barrage.
“Wait,” Naul ordered. “Do not damage my new acquisition further.” He looked to his left-flanking man. “Eldo, if you will . . .”
Armetrian put all mental energy into masking his horror. His Angolinian sensibilities weren’t prepared for this. He stared forward, up to the ceiling, out the window, anywhere but down.
“Problem, Lieutenant Commander? You do not approve?” Naul asked him with hardly a notice to the scene at his feet.
Eldo took his seat and nodded: the captive would meet his master’s tastes. A small gesture of such leisurely detachment—Armetrian would never forget it. He shut his eyes but saw clearly: absolutely no one in this land—and definitely not its legions of powerless souls—defied military rule without cruel consequence.
Outside the walled, decrepit city-prison, the quartet and their whimpering captive were driven along stately tree-lined ways devoid of the haggard shanties and ruined lives gracing its opposite end. Armetrian tried to appreciate it. Did. It was a welcome change from everything he had witnessed that was unfortunately imperial life. He stared out the window, marveling at the landscape’s sudden lushness. Naul informed him that they were nearing his compound. Armetrian needed no such notice. Gragna hadn’t sported so much as a blade of grass anywhere. The explosion of leafy, unpeopled pleasantness enveloping him here was cue enough.
The grounds of Naul’s compound went on forever. The mansion within could have held fifty M-7 gunships, and there were seemingly more attendants than Seventh’s entire complement. Armetrian was astounded. Nothing like it existed back home. Angolin knew the meaning of refinement, but accumulation and display of wealth on this scale just wasn’t part of the culture. Even Hannes and Prinsens weren’t this lavishly housed. He inhaled it all, thoughts racing as he pictured himself living this life.
“One of the weapons delivery’s first uses,” Naul said casually without the same stars in his murky eyes, “will be to put down insurrection. You just witnessed the threats we face, even within our own borders.”
Armetrian nodded restrained agreement as a servant entered the outdoor patio with a round of unappealingly cloudy drinks. He was relieved to be away from Gragna and thankful that Naul had thus far made no hint of using his newly acquired arms against Angolin. Whatever manifestation this alliance took would go smoothly if his host didn’t overstep.
“And the second most crucial use, Lieutenant Commander, involves the partnership you spoke so passionately of last year, and the ending of your people’s isolation. Our collaboration demands that vision.”
“Partnership is my mission,” Armetrian said, “though I can’t speak for the rest of Angolin.”
“How is that so? I recall that you swore to force your people’s cooperation if they did not offer it willingly.”
“Lord Naul, what I actually meant was—”
“We will break Angolin, is how you so enthusiastically put it then. Never underestimate a Carmogen’s memory, and know that in spite of your retreating intentions, mine rest firm. That is my promise to you.” Naul leaned across the patio table. “You bring guns and ideals. I appreciate that. But there is one more item in your technological arsenal that I require.”
“And that is?” Armetrian asked warily.
Black-flecked yellow irises drilled into fatigued, bloodshot blue. “Something minor—a trifle. Something I saw on Negara—or did not see, as I should put it. Your troops and equipment have the convenient ability to simply disappear from existence.”
Armetrian inhaled. He hadn’t noticed Naul moving closer to him. They stared at each other over half a meter—the closest he had ever allowed a Carmogen to get without blasting him. Naul’s eyes were relentlessly patient and focused. Armetrian’s were fearfully evasive, and he knew it.
“If you’re referring to cloaking tech, Lord Naul, we haven’t yet agreed—”
“I recall you offering to give your realm’s technology willingly back on Negara. And cloaking is only part of my wish. You have something far more valuable that allows your people to appear in one place one second, and elsewhere the next. That, I will have.”
Stealthtech! Where on Tentim does powder face get his information? “M-my Lord,” Armetrian said, quivering as he tried to figure out how to steer the conversation, “weapons are easy, relatively easy, to deliver, but we’ve had no discussion on cloaking, and as for—”
“And as for TimeSpace, as it is so interestingly termed, all in good time and with your full cooperation. General Estes briefly mentioned it. I know you will expand on that.”
Estes! Idiot. Gods-damn him! Armetrian wished he could have said that out loud. “That technology . . . is unreliable. Even we can’t quite master it. Whatever the general revealed, it’s not on the table.”
Naul’s gray face was expressionless. “If you intend to further this alliance and the continued fortune of your people, Angoliner, see that it finds its way to the table.”
The negotiation that Armetrian knew he’d botched ended an hour ago, though it seemed longer. A servant had escorted him from the patio to the guest apartments. The way in, the way through, the way up—the grandeur had defied expectation. I want this life. I want it now. The thoughts filled his mind as his quarters’ splendor filled his eyes. But pain and suffering back home would be needed to buy it. He didn’t care. Empathy even in the slightest wouldn’t fulfil his wishes. Will it be enough? he mused. Angolin, my people, will you do this for me? Will you? Even through his wearied stupor, it became clear that this was the beginning, for better or worse, of something from which there was no turning back. He would have to maintain control of the situation. His dreams—and remaining alive to live them—would require more from him than running guns and technology. An Angolinian niche into Carmogen world order would need to be carved, if with bare hands.
There was a knock at the double doors. Servants thrust them open, quietly stood aside as Naul entered. “Lieutenant Commander, how do you find your accommodations?”
“Better than anything I could’ve hoped for. My Lord is gracious.”
“It is beyond grace, as you call it. Carmogen vocabulary does not include the word,” Naul said. “It is sklarvro—total power—and it can be yours if you are truly willing.” He cast proud eyes around the room. “All of this has been paid for time and time over. I was a lowly conscript, snatched from a hut in Gragna when I started. With this shade of skin, I was never supposed to do more than fight and die quickly for the empire. No one in my caste is. But I excelled, worked my way upward, and cut a path few could dream of to get where I am. I have pounded men into the dirt to secure my place in the Lescainate! Your path will be no different if your ambition is as I see it.”
“Maybe, but things work differently where I come from.”
“Things move at an excruciatingly slow pace where you come from, with no glory or reward in return. You know this. You brought yourself to this point knowing it,” said Naul. “And morals, principles, fairness, goodwill—none of that will elevate you. If you are willing to take what you do want and accept nothing less, you will grow great. Avarice will envy your achievement.” He turned to the doors. “Enter!”
Eldo appeared with the woman from the transport. He held her by a chain fastened to a collar around her neck. Its metal shank sported a blackened join and a newly etched Carmogen number. Tears ran down her cheeks onto her exposed breasts. Beyond a swollen eye, she surprisingly showed no other blemish despite the beating on the way in, and what had likely happened again since. In combat, Armetrian had seen and done more damage to people with fewer, lighter blows. These men knew exactly what they were doing.
“Now finally,” Naul beamed, “take this beauty as the first of many gifts you will receive in service to me. She is a fine fruit. I tasted her myself while you settled in. I would normally ask that you not use her up too quickly, but I have many others.”
As Naul and his aide left the room, Armetrian’s forced smile that had concealed his disgust evaporated. He looked at the woman. She immediately looked down. He turned to a window, hoping the sight of the painstakingly manicured, bucolic grounds would ease his mind. But his new life that he had cultivated since long before Negara, the one he had just knocked Estes out of contention for, demanded more. No room for weakness. None.
He summoned callousness beyond normal even for him and stretched his entire body to wring himself free of fear. He turned to the woman. She dared catch his eye, murmured pleadingly. His internal had begun to decipher her language, and her words relayed to his earplant.
“Have mercy, please,” she was saying. “Do you not see the pain I am in? I can . . . no more. I will . . . anything you ask if you spare me . . . please . . .”
He looked down to the floor. His inner voice telling him not to go through with this was overpowering. But he managed to squelch it. Do it, or you might as well go back home now. No room for weakness! He looked up and refused to take his eye from her. She began to weep again, backing away from him as he stepped closer and undid his belt.
10
CLOSEST FAMILY
Ma’am, my link to Fifth Command has been severed again.
Has it, Lun-AE? I wasn’t aware.
It was ma’am who severed it. And it appears to be permanent.
Perhaps.
Will it be reestablished, Lieutenant?
It may. It mayn’t. That depends on your cooperation. Finish your search for Cor-GON’s ID signature, I want to know where his user is and what he’s up to. After that, question me no further.
“Oh, I think it’s absolutely splendid, Dharmen,” Aremel gushed. “My cousin thinks the world of you. He’ll be so pleased!”
“Pleased?” said Dharmen’s image floating in front of her. “I’m not asking him out to a school dance. I need more than pleased.”
“Well, certainly, dear. But why consult me of all people? What about his parents?”
Dharmen’s upright-generated eyes rolled behind half-shutting lids. “Talking to them isn’t an option. If they despise Will, they hate me. I wanted to ask his closest family, his real closest family.” His image leaned forward. “That would be you.”
“Ah yes, of course,” Aremel sighed, “and what a shame! I don’t believe Will’s ever known real love outside his relationship with you. It’s not a typical Hanne emotion, at least not from that segment of our clan. My parents are a tale unto themselves, but his . . .” She put hands to hips and looked around, flustered. Her farthest gardens’ wilting, undertended perennials were about as comforting as the conversational tangent. “They haven’t said a word to him in years. Heavens to Lothnë, I do wish they’d put stubbornness aside and see reason.”
“They’re not made for reason, Aremel, they’re made for politics,” Dharmen grumbled. “Will sidestepped his father and chose the career he wanted. Do you think old Henk Hanne would ever forgive him for that?”
Aremel frowned. “I really must get the gardeners back out here. These haven’t been micronourished in days. Such poor maintenance is simply not suitable for an estate of this—”
“Aremel!”
“Oh! Oh, I’m so sorry, dear. Do go on. I’m listening.”
“I have no more. Do you approve?”
“Most definitely. How could I not? And by the grace of Kleve Park and from deep within my heart, I wish you both the best! May you flourish in the Lady and Lord’s light. I know the Heaveners smile brightly upon you and—”
“Thanks, Aremel. It means a lot to me. To us, really . . . What’s that awful thing behind you? I’ve been staring at it for the last few minutes, or rather, it’s been staring at me.”
Aremel swung around to a marblite statuette on a squat podium. “That? Oh, it’s one of my family shrines. Note the Hanne coat of arms near the bottom. They absolutely litter my gardens like fruit flyers in the night. Hadn’t you noticed any of them on your visits here?”
“No.”
“Dear, one would think you don’t enjoy my hospitality. Do impart more vigilance to go with that severe uniform.”
“More vigilance? Me?” Dharmen retorted. “And is there a shrine to the goddess of horticulture to go with your family ones? She must be offended. That’s probably why your flowerbeds are so sparse.” Aremel lowered eyes to the plant life around her, so nutrient-starved as to not bother with the friendliest of tendril wraps around her ankle. “Sorry,” Dharmen said. “And thanks again. Will looks up to you. I wouldn’t even attempt this without your support.”
Aremel’s smile was as incandescent as the afternoon suns. She was clueless to what she was being partly cozened into. “You two will have a wonderful life together, and my Balaneth and I won’t follow far behind.”
“What about his other wives?”
“Oh, them. Well, I’ll deal with his, uh, ladies in due time. His spouse collection isn’t the problem, if you can believe that. It’s that aide of his that has my back up.”
Dharmen’s simulated eyes flickered. “You mean Gallin?”
“Yes! And I hope they . . . I hope you get him soon!”
“So he can be brought to justice?”
Aremel peered at the curiously inquisitive image moving ahead of her steps. “No! So he can reassume his duties, and Balaneth can dismiss the candidates for his job. Do you know the Lenan government has seen fit to send only female applicants for the vacancy? By Lothnë, I’m sure that’s Princess Nien’s doing, snotty little bitch that she is.”
“Maybe, but Gallin’s a dangerous man. He did try to kidnap Will, among other things.”
“Oh, I know that. Let a lady squeeze a bit of fun from difficult circumstances, why don’t you? I don’t really want him back here, and he won’t be, of course. But I want a suitable aide for my Balaneth—a male one, not these skinny, winking sluts that Lena keeps shuttling down. And our Will is none the worse for his ordeal. I’m most proud of him. I think he handled Gallin quite nicely, don’t you?”
“He did, at that,” Dharmen replied. “But what would help now is your family’s involvement in the search for Gallin. The Guard has no leads, and the conurb police aren’t exactly investigators, but we might just catch him with Hanne weight behind the effort. Pass that one by good old Henk next time you see him, won’t you?”
“Uh, right!”
Dharmen’s straightening semblance sighed. “I know you prefer the peace of your gardens to detective work, Aremel, but think about it. Not just for me and the Guard but for Will.” A stern, insistent face suddenly waxed warm. “Tate out.”
Aremel flattened her lips, perplexed as Dharmen’s image vanished. Perplexed because for the first time, she thought she actually saw him—
“To answer your question, yes. I do smile,” Dharmen’s image reappeared and said. “When it suits me!” He flashed a wide grin, then vanished for good.
“Well, haven’t I just been put right?” Aremel said at empty air as she withdrew to her favorite, more secluded gardens.
She passed through the concealed opening of a tall hedge, elated with Dharmen’s news even if she could find no joy in her wonderfully fragrant but withered . . . “You. What are you doing here?” she asked her startled pilot, who stood at the leafy space’s opposite end. “This is my personal enclosure. It’s off-limits to all but the gardeners and myself. You’ve no business out here. Shouldn’t you be in the carriage hangar seeing to the—”
The rustling behind her bore no resemblance to the tittering of the small creatures inhabiting her grounds or to the natural movement of the hedge itself. She wheeled on a man watching her with pale, cold eyes. Peeved curiosity evaporated as she realized her presence was equally unexpected. Absolutely frightened, she inhaled for a scream. Hopefully, someone in the house would hear—
“Do it, Miss, and I’ll slice it from your throat!” Gallin threatened, whipping out a knife and pressing it to her neck. Her pilot’s gloved hand covered her mouth from behind. “That’s better,” Gallin said. “Now I’m afraid you’ll be coming with us. We quite insist, and oh, I’ll take that.” He snatched her necklace away, including the small comm discreetly chained into it. “We can’t have you calling your Guard friends for help, now can we?”
