Fortunes of the Imperium (4 page)

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Authors: Jody Lynn Nye

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BOOK: Fortunes of the Imperium
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I posted my divinitive finding, suggesting that the search continue, and got a derisive message back from my cousin Xanson, who was skeptical about my newfound enthusiasm for superstitions. I sent a suitable pithy retort, which immediately garnered many thumbs up signs and smiles from our various friends and readers, and another sour reply from Xan. I riposted with what I felt was a palpable hit.

“What a pity I was not there,” I said, swiping a hand to silence my viewpad as it tried to display for me all the posts that poured in following my latest entry.

“Just as well you weren’t, sir,” Nesbitt said. “Honor of the force, and all.”

I winced.

“You have hit upon a spot that is still tender, my friend,” I said. “Honor of the force is and heretofore shall be my priority. Now, if anyone will help me to return to the Imperium compound, I shall meditate toward my recovery and prepare for our departure.”

Oskelev rose first.

“I better go, Thomas. No way I’m going to be late for my exam.”

I raised both hands to her in benediction. They seemed slightly smaller already, though as large as leaf rakes compared to their normal size.

“Good fortune follow you.”

The Wichu snorted, the nostrils of her pink nose curled. “The harder I work, the luckier I am. See you later.”

But I noticed that she tucked her lucky circuit carefully away in a chest pouch.

CHAPTER 3

Nile Bertu leaped out of the covered flitter as soon as it landed, bursting out of the hatch as if he was escaping from prison. His expensive suit, a shimmering example of the latest fashions anywhere in the Core Worlds, was creased and stained. He ripped the jacket off his broad chest and threw it to the side of the landing strip.

“Better to go naked than to wear it now!” he snarled.

His sister, Skana, emerged calmly in his wake. A more slender version of her brother, she had the same rusty-brown curly hair, the same short-lashed hazel eyes, and the same short, thick fingers. No one would ever call them beautiful, but no one would dare to call them plain in their presence. The penalties for disrespect like that were severe.

It had taken several hours to fly to their estate from the center of the city. Nile had bounced all over the interior of the flitter, until she had dialed up a sedative for his next drink. It kept him out until just a half hour ago. Then he had started screeching about humiliation again. Skana had had hours to think about it, and put a philosophical spin on her feelings.

Their majordomo Tuk, a Croctoid who was both secretary and head of security for their organization, extended a scaly paw for Skana to hang onto as she pulled herself out of the vehicle. She rolled her eyes and picked Nile’s tunic up from the floor.

“It can be cleaned,” she said. Her brother spun to glare at her.

“I never want to touch it again!” Nile shouted. He skinned out of the matching trousers and tossed them in the direction of the cool, shadowy grotto that housed their elegant in-ground pool. Skana started toward the pants, but a small cleanerbot shot out of a niche in the wall and gathered them up. It rolled over to her. She dropped the tunic on top of it, and watched as it fled into the warren of service tunnels that lay within the walls of their compound to be laundered.

“So it didn’t go well,” Skana said. “We’ll do it again another time. But after I talk with that manager.”

“He won’t
be
there next time,” Nile said, his brows drawn down. “I’m sending a team after him right now. They won’t even find the pieces.”

“No, you don’t,” Skana said. “Your temper tantrum is what got us thrown out of there in the first place. I’ll override anything you order. So it wasn’t what we expected. We got a full refund.”

“Half our guests were arrested!”

Skana raised an eyebrow. “They should have known better! All of them have outstanding warrants. They didn’t have to get involved. All they had to do was to stay in their places and let me handle the situation. No one was going to ask any questions. The staff was coping.”

“Up until
she
got involved!”

“Well, what did you expect from a noble?” Skana said, flipping her hands over. “They’re overprivileged pains in the ass who go wherever they want and do whatever they want.”

Nile stopped punching the air and stared off into space.

“She was so beautiful,” he said, forlornly. Then he stormed into the house.

Skana sat down at her little table beside the pool. Another ’bot brought her her afternoon cocktail. She arranged the skirt of her ridiculously expensive dark orange dress around her knees, and felt terrible that there was no one around to see it except their employees. She had wanted to show it off on Sparrow Island. Skana longed for people to admire their style and have them guess how much money they had. She wanted them to look at her and think she was somebody important. She knew it. Nile knew it. The hundreds of employees they had in teams spread out across fifty planets knew it, but society had no idea.

She did feel resentment for their treatment, but not for the lords and ladies. She couldn’t blame them. They acted like they owned the planet because they
did
own the planet. Everyone else had to take second best in social situations. That was just the way things were, and had always been. People on Keinolt understood that.

What shouldn’t have happened was for the stupid
resort
to double-book their reception rooms and the private bar that Skana had gone to so much trouble to choose. She had heard that the Double Rainbow gazing salon was a favorite of the aristocracy. That was why she shelled out absurdly large amounts of money on a deposit. It was up to the management to make their experience as wonderful as they expected. As they had paid for.

She and Nile hobnobbed with the aristocracy at numerous events, such as fundraisers and charity showcases. They were part of the uppermost edge of society that stood just below the tier occupied solely by the Imperial family. The lords and ladies always treated her well, even recognizing her when they met again, but she knew it wasn’t as if they accepted her as one of their number. She was among them but not of them. That exclusion really bothered her more than it bothered Nile.

He saw his ego being bruised in more ways than she could count, but each wound was shallow. For her, it cut deep. She could never be one of the real aristocracy, and
they
weren’t going to pretend otherwise. She and Nile, like others, had to make their empires where and as they could. As she and Nile had. As their grandparents and more distant ancestors had. They might not be as well born, but she would have bet they were richer than most of the lords and ladies. Far richer.

The Bertus had a heritage of their own in which they took pride. The Bertu Corporation had been formed by their own great-grandfathers and great-grandmothers. Their primacy simply wasn’t based on, well, being the face of government, the uniting principle of the Imperium. It had fulfilled needs as and when they arose. Skana knew their income was illegal—most of it; they were branching out into legitimate enterprises—but the stuff that paid the bills and got them the best cars, the fastest ships, the fanciest jewelry, hangers-on, power and land, lots of land, was outside the law. It still had to be treated like a business and run like a business, or they were just as pathetic and small a concern as the aristocracy treated them. Since the death of their mother, they had taken over the empire left to them, and made it prosper. Both she and Nile had good sense and the tenacity to find opportunities and exploit them. Neither of them gave ground out of pity. They were rich and feared, but respected . . . ish. Occasionally they needed to issue a reminder to those who defied them. Skana never attacked without provocation. Nile was another story. He was hot-headed and occasionally impulsive. He had been known to take personal vengeance on rivals. It put him into danger of exposure. Being publicly humiliated in the courts would weaken their hold on those who were in thrall to the corporation. They could not afford that.

She was worried, and with good reason, what Nile would do next. He had fallen in love at first sight with a
noble
. That was understandable, but stupid. He had tried to kiss the lady. That was absurd, but forgettable. He had threatened her, which was criminal. The impulse could be put off as being said in the heat of the moment, but so many witnesses couldn’t be silenced. If the matter went to court as an assault, too much would come out in discovery regarding their business.

When the authorities were called, Skana had bundled a protesting Nile into their limousine and ordered the driver to take off. Nile had raved, wanting to go back and reason with the lady, beg her to forgive him and accept him as her true love. Skana wanted to put poison in her wine. Something that took a long time to take effect, so no connection could be made between a very unfortunate incident and . . . a very unfortunate incident. It wouldn’t be much trouble. She had had to dispose of one or more of his girlfriends in the past. Nile usually had rotten taste in women. This time, he had chosen a winner, but one he had no hope of wooing, let alone bedding. Better if there was no chance of a second meeting.

Never mind; she had other responsibilities to take care of.

“Have we received the deposit from Otimbo yet?” she asked Tuk.

The Croctoid extended his oversized viewpad for her inspection. Hundreds of items awaited her attention, but she was interested only in that one. She found it at the top of the list. Tuk was the best administrator they had ever had.

“The deposit came while you were in transit. I sent a message with the details.”

“I was taking a nap,” she said. “Nile wore me out with his nonsense.”

Tuk curled his scaly lip. He understood.

“The money has been allocated. Party drug Blute ready for shipment to the Leonines on your word.”

“Give it,” Skana said.

Tuk made a note and touched an icon. The word had been given.

Fortified by another drink, Skana went through entry after entry on Tuk’s viewpad.

“I didn’t know we were doing so well with the low-income housing on Paradil,” she said, approving of the bottom line.

“It works that way when you use other companies’ materiel to build your stock,” Tuk observed dryly.

“It was a steal,” Skana said, with a bark of laughter.

It wasn’t her business to inform another concern that
their
employees were ripping them off. That was the problem with operations that had centralized offices too far away from the action. If a company had no one on the ground to make sure that shipments were going where they were intended to go they tended to stray, often one piece at a time. Nile would never make a mistake like that. He kept an office with a team of enforcers on every world that contained a Bertu Corporation project. Sometimes he liked to go and oversee a punishment himself, but word spread quietly. He rarely had to.

“The rents are scheduled to go up in two years unless the cost of living index on Paradil drops,” Tuk said.

“Put in a reminder for me for twenty months from now,” Skana said. “I want to review it at the same time I look over the factory receipts. No sense in letting too much of that profit go offworld. I have a lot of other projects there the rent money is intended to fund.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Tuk entered a few gestures on the screen. It filled with graphs. The tips of Tuk’s sharp, curved claws tapped in squares too small for Skana’s fingertips.

The next item made Skana frown. It was surrounded by a red frame, an indicator of extreme urgency.

“What’s the problem with the goods Enstidius ordered?” she asked. “Didn’t they get there safely?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Tuk said. “One of the main pieces was intercepted. It was confiscated by Customs.” The viewpad displayed a rotating image. “So were some of the small pieces. Eight ships were compromised.”

“So what?” Skana asked, impatiently, dismissing it. “We have people in place to take care of that. Didn’t you notify them?”

“Enstidius did at the time it happened,” Tuk said, showing her the decoded copy of a sent message. “They are doing what they can to make the merchandise disappear from the Banned Goods warehouse.”

“It’ll be fine. So why the red frame?”

“He is afraid he will not get the value of the goods. He’s afraid the planned obsolescence will kick in before they make their attack.”

Skana snorted. “Enstidius has nothing to worry about. I promised him the program won’t fail. I guaranteed it with my life. I promised that the goods will remain intact as long as they’re needed, and I mean it. I have that much faith in them. Has he put the deposit in our account to download the destruction codes when he wants them?”

Tuk checked the records, and scrolled down the list of receipts.

“No.”

Skana shook her head. “His problem, then. When he starts a coup, how he gets rid of the evidence is his smallest problem. His last shipment’s going to be the big one, though. He’d better be ready to act when it arrives. Craters! It’ll be big news all over the
galaxy
when it happens!”

“He is looking forward to having you witness his triumph, ma’am,” Tuk said. “If your plans to accompany the shipment have not changed.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she said. Tuk’s expression changed to one of concern. Skana peered at him, trying to guess what he was thinking. “What am I missing?”

“There is one more matter. All the traders who carried in your merchandise will be tried under the laws to prevent smuggling. If they’re found guilty, they’ll be executed.”

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