Mech 3: The Empress (10 page)

Unlike the offspring of the bipeds who had built this huge, odd ship, the Skaintz young were born with a considerable amount of knowledge. A human baby knew some things, such as when to suckle or cry, and even how to swim in a rudimentary fashion. But the human mind was largely a blank slate at birth, and took long years to develop from input. The Skaintz were more instinctual. Depending on their basic form, they were bred to their tasks. It was as if a human baby was born with a full understanding of the native tongue of their people and could talk at birth. Skaintz offspring were formed with neural pathways pre-built in their minds. They instinctively knew how to communicate with their species and their role within the nest. Even so, they had precious little to say at first and needed to be filled in on current events.

The Empress therefore listened intently for many hours. Her first cognitive transmission came half-way through the second day.

“Why have I been awakened in such a dreary place?” she asked. Her tone was not that of an innocent child, but rather one of irritation and disdain.

“Because, my Empress, this is the best I could provide at the moment,” the Parent replied evenly. She quivered and dribbled, such was her pride to receive her impressive offspring’s first transmissions. She had done what no other Parent had managed in perhaps in a thousand years: she had given birth to nobility.

“Where are my courtesans? Where are my amusements?”

The Parent tapped her throne with her feeding tube, a sign of impatience. “We are not in our home system. We are roughing-it, so to speak, my dear. I believe this information was transmitted to you as part of—”

“Yes, yes,” said the Empress. “I found many of the transmissions tiresome. You will build me new amusements and give birth to no less than seven courtesans immediately.”

The Parent stopped tapping her feeding tube and stared at the demanding creature before her. She felt an overwhelming compulsion to obey the squirming creature, but at the same time, she knew such expenditures of time and energy were wasteful. They needed to dedicate themselves to arriving in a new star system and taking it by force. This was the time to plot a military campaign, not to build amusement tanks and similar frivolities.

“What is this mess I’m squatting upon?” the Empress demanded suddenly.

“A bed of trophies from our defeated alien enemies.”

“Quaint—but unsatisfactory. These fibers are chafing my suckers and the bones stink. I require an appropriate Imperial nest.”

The Parent was not sure what to say.

“Why are you sitting there?” the Empress piped up again. “I have expressed my requirements clearly, have I not?”

“Ah yes—yes, my Empress. But we have many pressing needs.”

“Are there any immediate threats to my person?”

“No, I don’t believe there are—”

“Then follow my commands with haste. I will watch carefully and sit in judgment. Thus far, I must warn you Parent, I’ve found your performance lackluster.”

The conversation went on in this fashion for some time. Slowly, the Parent began to wonder if she’d made a mistake. Perhaps there had been a good reason why none of her recent predecessors had given birth to an Empress of their own.

Six

Ignis Glace had been colonized at the end of third expansionist period of Old Earth. At the time, colony ships full of idealistic souls were commonly built and sent speeding out toward promising star systems. The impetus for the dangerous emigrations was multi-faceted, but the primary driver was usually a disagreement over the nature of governmental authority. Humanity’s birth-world was racked with unrest and rebellions against the shackles of their worldwide government: the Social Synergetics.

The colonists who eventually reached Ignis Glace were a varied lot, but made up primarily of Austrian and French Monarchists. These original colonists believed the old ways were best, and when they reached the promised land they planned to revive centuries-old traditions such as kings, knights and chivalry.

For their own part, the Social Synergetics had decided as a committee to allow emigrations of any and all separatist groups. In fact, they encouraged the process. After all, why keep one’s troublemakers at home? Let them head out to the stars, and good riddance.

And so the Ignis Glace colonists were allowed to leave and after a long, arduous journey they reached their new home. Unfortunately, being Monarchists with no royalty of their own, nearly all the colonists viewed their eventual role to be one of dominance and high rank. Many claimed noble heritage, but this was difficult to verify, particularly in the case of Austrian colonists. Austria had outlawed nobility and titles in 1919, and long centuries later the bloodlines were muddled at best.

On the long voyage outward, obsession with the topic of social rank kept spirits high. Many of the colonists passed the years discussing the various niceties of being a lowly Baron versus the grandeur and responsibility of taking on a King’s mantle. Virtually none of them envisioned themselves as serfs, drudges nor even craftsmen. The fact that all these roles would have to be very common and were in fact
essential
to a successful pioneering society did not impinge.

Upon arrival on the alien surface of their new home, harsh realities sunk in. Someone had to do the work and, in fact, even self-proclaimed emperors were soon required to pick up power-shovels and wield them with vigor. Those that shunned work came to be despised, and if they persisted, were soon viewed as delusional. A Ruling Council was assembled to award titles, and they did so on the basis of merit. Individuals rose in rank during the initial decades due to displays of hard work rather than statements of bravado. Over time, those that aspired to become knights and barons did the best, while those who had scoffed at ranks lower than that of Earl or Marquee soon joined the sour legions of peasants, indentured servants and scullery maids.

One family known as the Droads were a group of hard-scrabble frontiersmen. The Droad lands bordered the wastelands of Sunside. Here, the sun’s red eye was blocked by a craggy mountain that stood nearby in the Sunside wastes. The fief consisted of the land encompassed by the mountain’s long shadow. The Droads had laid claim to the triangular wedge of land when they’d first discovered it. They’d lived ever since at the hottest edge of Twilight, in the isolated shaded region, surrounded by bright, hot deserts. The star blazed, but the cool gloom of the mountain’s shadow allowed the Droads to live comfortably further sunward that was the norm. Working hard to farm this permanent zone of velvety half-darkness, the Droad family had remained put for nearly a century.

Originally, Droad House had been a hamlet built of mud and stacked hardwood logs. It had been known simply as ‘The House’ for decades. In time, through providential purchases of neighboring properties and diligent farming, the structure came to be renovated in black granite and surrounded by a high wall. This close to Sunside, the defensive measures were prudent. The sun-soaked wastelands were inhabited by creatures such as drenquiks and venox-runners, both native species that frequently raided Twilight farms. Even more dangerous were gangs of landless nobles who referred to themselves as ‘errants’, but whom everyone else considered to be nothing but lazy bandits. When captured, it was these people who were most often rehabilitated via the process of turning them into hardworking mechs.

Droad House had persisted and thrived despite the hardships. In keeping with tradition, the original homesteaded lands came to be called a barony, and there were even flirtations from the Ruling Council indicating it may well be uplifted to the status of a duchy. Lucas Droad rose to prominence in the family at this happy time, but due to personal problems, he eventually volunteered to emigrate to Neu Schweitz to see what could be done to further the interests of his world.

In his wake, Droad house fell upon harder times. The land was relatively fertile and cool, but difficult to reach, making trade difficult. At the time of the arrival of grim vids from the Nexus warning of alien hostiles approaching the planet, the Droad lands had been lowered in status to that of a marginal barony again. The offspring of the latest generation showed some of the old Droad spirit, and still held the title of knights, but only by a thread.

The current matriarch of the clan was none other than Lucas Droad’s ex-wife, Baroness Olivia Droad. Not being a true Droad, but rather one who’d married into power, some said she’d driven Lucas to leave the barony and then ruined it. Whatever the case, the years had not favored her. She’d become an undeniably sour old woman with glittering eyes, a sharp tongue and expensive tastes. Physically, Olivia was now much older than Lucas Droad, as her ex-husband had spent many years in interstellar travel. She did not remember him fondly, and hoped never to lay eyes upon him again.

“Make your report, child,” the Baroness said to the image of a man which hung in the air in front of her.

“There’s been trouble along the rim again, mama,” the young Knight Leon Droad said. “I have not yet found the cause, but it is true, there are dozens of distillers that have been smashed by unknown bandits.”

The lad was good-looking and her favorite. He had sandy hair, a heavy jaw and a piercing stare that matched her own. Her heart warmed just to see him. Perhaps that bastard Lucas had been right about one thing: he’d always said that all hope for the future lay within the youth of today.

Olivia considered Leon’s words for a moment, and they gave her pause. “Has anything been taken? The copper tubing, the controlling AI boxes?”

“No, mama. Nothing.”

The aging Baroness sat thinking about bandits on a dingy throne inside Droad House. The throne was upholstered by sun-scorched reptilian leather made from Sunsider venox skins. Olivia hated the throne, and yearned to replace it. Unfortunately, she had neither the funding nor the willpower to do so. Everyone in her family would be howling to depose her yet again if she dared to do so much as put a blanket over the rough, wart-encrusted hides.

“Is there anything else, mama?” Leon asked.

“Call me
Baroness
, Leon.”

“Yes, mama.”

Olivia rolled her eyes, but did not press the point. He was a good boy, if not the most brilliant of souls. “I don’t like the sound of this, Leon. If they are not stealing, they might be baiting you into a trap.”

“For what purpose? What profit?”

“I don’t know. But I don’t trust bandits that aren’t stealing things of value.”

“All right mama—uh, Baroness. I’ll be careful.”

“See that you do. There’s a good boy. Call me when you find them.”

“Hello mama!” said another, higher-pitched voice. For a moment, a second face interposed itself between Leon and the vid pickup. It was Knightrix Nina, a small creature with eyes and hair as dark as Leon’s were light. Olivia flinched at the vision of her daughter. She was perky and cute, and smiled at her mother with waggling fingers.

Olivia struggled to keep the corners of her mouth from twitching downward. She nodded to her daughter in recognition, but said nothing. It was all she could do.

The connection was broken a moment later, and Olivia reflected briefly why she hated her daughter so. She amended the thought immediately: she didn’t
hate
the girl. She just—didn’t like to look at her. It had to be her appearance. She was the holo-image of Lucas Droad, her probable father.

In that sense, the girl was a reproductive oddity. Olivia wondered how she could have had twins, with one resembling her husband and the other her consort. Could the twins really have been sired by two different men? Biology was strange and faintly disgusting, when one really pondered it.

Olivia shook her head, trying to clear it of unwanted thoughts. She shifted her buttocks, trying vainly to locate a comfortable spot on the abominable, bumpy throne. Oh, how she hated Lucas Droad’s throne. If she dared, someday she’d burn it and build a new one that was thickly padded with fur-covered gels.

#

Leon and Nina were mounted. They rode one-man skimmers that glided ahead of a trotting squadron of mech perrupters. Unlike mech laborers, these mechs were designed for combat and were assembled with light cannons in place of their right grippers. The cannons fired explosive rocket-propelled shells at high velocities. The perrupters were specialized for combat duty, but except for a slightly thicker chassis, they resembled labor mechs in most other respects. In order to keep up with the mounted twins, the perrupters had to run at a churning, ground-eating pace.

Nina was the first to spot the dust cloud sunward on the wastes.

“There,” she said, pointing. “What do you make of that, Leon?”

“A train of vehicles, perhaps? Men mounted on skimmers shouldn’t produce so much dust.”

Nina bit her lower lip and frowned. “I think we should call mother. Let’s report this and call for backup.”

Leon’s mouth drew into a line. “I don’t think we need help. We can handle this for ourselves. Must we call an uncle every time there is a leak in a processor? They will never stop thinking of us as children, Nina.”

Leon charged off and the mechs followed him dutifully, two abreast. Nina considered calling mother on her own—but she didn’t want to. She didn’t want to see her mother’s lips twist in annoyance upon seeing her own daughter’s face. Watching her brother move ahead at full speed, she finally twisted the throttle and charged after him.

They chased the phantom dust cloud into the open wastes where the sun was painfully bright. Despite goggles and air-conditioned riding suits, Nina still felt the heat seep through. She’d almost caught up with her brother when the dust cloud slowed and dissipated. She saw Leon and his perrupters ahead, cruising over a ridge as if looking for something. She zoomed after them, following the rise and fall of the hot dunes.

“I don’t know what to make of it,” Leon said, looking all around them from atop a hump of hard stone. “There was something out here, making that dust cloud.”