Prince of Luster (2 page)

General hubbub erupted, but Marcos raised his hands for silence. “Father, I know how to disguise myself. Having just mentioned experience …I’ve been in covert ops for years. Darius, on the other hand, has only dealt with criminals in a uniformed capacity. He has duties here. He can’t make any plausible excuse to leave his occupation as head of ground enforcers. He’d be more likely recognized than I would be…” He took a deep breath and continued. Everyone was staring at him, which meant no argument against his statement was logical. “Now, it’s my guess you want someone you can explicitly trust. You called me here; I’ve negated every other candidate in the room. I’m the only choice left.” He stared at Darius and silently challenged his brother to say otherwise. But no sound came from his sibling. Only a look of fear crossed Darius’s features. His older brother was concerned for his safety, and Marcos knew it.

The king glanced at his wife before speaking. “Because the planet is our ally, we can’t just land and demand a search. That would make us an aggressor to an allied world whose governor isn’t responding completely to our simple ambassadorial queries and hails. All other planets with whom we share similar treaties would lodge every complaint imaginable. We simply cannot land on any allied world without making sure we’ve been diplomatically cleared and everyone in charge is agreeable. That’s why we’ve got the damned treaties in place. And we can’t arm you as we might on any insertion mission into some backward society. While Delta Seven isn’t state-of-the-art in many aspects, we must assume its citizens have all our latest technology. Any equipment you might take with you could be detected.”

“Then I won’t use any,” Marcos relayed.

Darius leaned forward and voiced his concern. “Marcos … you’d be out of contact. You’d have to approach the planet in an unmarked shuttle. In the event you needed help, any authority on the ground has our capabilities to detect and intercept transmissions. If there’s something wrong in their constabulary ranks or if Forrell is in collusion with some kind of enemy illegally producing fire plasma … you could be in real trouble. The last thing they’d want on the ground is a League enforcer. Just as Father says, Governor Forrell isn’t cooperating with our requests for information. At this time, he can be considered a suspect. Again … we cannot land without risking diplomatic censure from a great many sources.”

“How else are we to find out about plasma being stockpiled, much less distributed to pirates? We all know I’ve infiltrated criminal factions much closer to home; factions that should have recognized me as a member of the royal household were it not for my use of disguises. I know what I’m doing, and you know it too. There is no other choice. That’s why I’m here. Is it not?”

Darius quickly turned to his father. “I should be with him. I, too, can change my appearance.”

Marcos adamantly shook his head. “I’ve already expressed myself where Darius is concerned. He needs to be home, looking after his duty and his family. And I work best alone.” He took a deep breath and turned to his father. “If pirates have plasma, how long do you think it’ll be before they use it to attack every colony in that sector? I just have to verify our suspicions, then rendezvous with an enforcer ship in deep space. If nothing’s wrong, we’ll know soon enough. The whole thing shouldn’t take more than a week. No diplomat on the Delta Seven mining colony will ever know an enforcer spy from Luster was present.”

The king slowly nodded. “But if you
do
find evidence of criminal activity, and Forrell is involved, then there will be sufficient cause to mount an enforcer rescue of innocents. Even our allies should agree on that matter. We can deal with fears over how we learned of such treachery later. I daresay those colonists in the area would thank us for the help if they
are
threatened. First we must establish what, by the name of Chronos, is going on! When the governor of the very colony we suspect starts hedging and won’t communicate the way anyone else would, to ordinary hails and requests for reports, there’s reason to worry.”

“Marcos … I don’t like this,” Darius complained. “You’ve never gone undercover on an allied world. If you’re caught, alliances between Luster and Delta Seven could be deemed null and void. You could be put to death as a spy—”

“As was
always
the case during the war years, Darius.” He clapped his older brother on the shoulder. “I won’t get caught. That I won’t have enforcer technology doesn’t mean I can’t communicate. There are other ways. I’m not without resources, hence my having returned safely each and every time.”

The king gazed into Marcos’s eyes. “There’s another problem.”

“Which is?” Marcos asked.

“Because some of our politicians here demanded permission from Delta Seven to land—and with much greater zeal than necessary—our motives are suspected by officials on the surface of that colony. We’ve been informed that we won’t be allowed to set foot there for at least five months,” the king said. “While this in no way alters
your
mission, it makes sending help even more difficult should circumstances grow exigent.” Dar leaned forward. “Connect Forrell and his minions to any criminal actions, especially in regards to fire plasma, and all this is a moot point. I’ll have enforcer ships there in short order, no matter what anyone thinks or says.”

“Diplomacy or the lack thereof! It boggles the mind,” Marcos said as he ran one hand through his hair and considered all he’d heard. He gazed into his mother’s eyes, Hannibal’s, and finally Darius’s. “I’ll be all right as long as I can maintain my alias. I’ll be just another gem merchant, trying to make a decent living by buying whatever the mines of Delta Seven yield. If there’s anyone there who wants to keep my mouth shut, they’ll present themselves in short order. I’m almost certain other merchants have been threatened with having their ships and crews seized or destroyed if they didn’t cooperate. This is assuming there’s no logical explanation for all this foolishness. However, if this
is
all some terrible misunderstanding, someone will owe me a month’s liberty in the Starlaw mountain stronghold, with all the women and wine I desire.”

Darius snorted. “I should have known you’d come up with some kind of extra payment for your efforts.”

“Sorry, brother. But I count myself a hedonist to the extreme. When I get back, I want the castle in the north ready for my use.”

“Just make sure you come back,” Darius sternly responded.

Two weeks later, Marcos boarded an outbound transport. He’d decided that outfitting an old freighter and trying to pass it off as being from another world would be unnecessary. In fact, a succession of transfers from one shuttle to many others would make his trip virtually impossible to trace. This would leave little possibility of his parents being held responsible for any breach of diplomacy, assuming he was caught. He took on the alias Marcos Orlandis, using his real first name in the rare instance anyone would ever recognize him and call out his name. In that highly unlikely event, the hope was that he could shut them up before they said anything more. His cover story was set.

By the time three months passed, he’d sport a beard, his hair would be much longer, and the clothing he wore wouldn’t pinpoint his origin as being from one place or another. He’d look very much like any moderately successful gem merchant, looking for the ultimate deal in medium-grade, rare stones that would set him up for life. Not even his own family would recognize him as their brother or son. If he bore the green eyes of his sire, thousands in many sectors of space claimed that feature. Only acting like someone of regal heritage would undo his cover. Drawing attention to himself wasn’t an option. He meant to let the role consume him. He
would
be a nondescript merchant.

• • •

As he finally neared Delta Seven—after the predicted three months of utterly boring travel through innocuous sectors of space—his appearance in the mirror reflected that he’d achieved the desired result. He in no way resembled a prince of Luster.

When the last of many long shuttle transfers landed on the outskirts of the central town known as Prosperity, he’d versed himself in every aspect of Delta Seven’s habits and customs. He turned as the last permitted transport off the planet for weeks left him behind, and made his way to the nearest tavern.

Walking through the small town revealed first clues that something was indeed wrong. For a mining colony, Delta Seven should have had its share of wealthy merchants and business owners. Their lives and property wouldn’t match the elegance of those residing on Luster, but the storefronts indicated anything
but
business as usual. Instead, they’d been scorched and were in terrible disrepair. Serious confrontations had recently occurred. Probably since the last enforcer patrols had visited. And now that someone had seen fit to end larger and objective law enforcer landings for months, whoever had committed the damage couldn’t be held responsible.

He walked into the only tavern, sat on a stool at the bar, and put his pack close to his feet. There was nothing in his belongings but clothing, travel papers necessary for interplanetary business, and those tools someone in the gem merchant profession would use. There were a few personal items, but nothing to indicate who he was or where he was from. His money was sewn into the lining of the long, brown cloak he wore. Pushing the hood off his head, Marcos placed his order with the barkeep.

“Orion whiskey. No ice.”

The barman nodded.

Marcos noted how the man’s eyes darted around the room, as if he was looking for someone or worried for some reason. After filling his order, the barkeep leaned across the counter and spoke in a soft voice.

“If I were you, friend, I’d take yourself to some other part of the planet and wait for the next shuttle out. Strangers aren’t welcome here these days.”

Marcos casually sipped some of his drink before responding. “Why is that?”

“Local problems. We have unruly criminals lurking. They’d steal for nothing but the pleasure of it.”

The barman quickly moved away as a number of people entered the small establishment. Marcos had his back to them so as not to look as if he was protecting himself. But he’d seen a look in his host’s eyes that boded no good.

Pretending he hadn’t a care in the world, he sat still, with his gaze on his glass of whiskey. Someone soon tapped him on the shoulder. He slowly turned and saw two local constables, laser weapons strapped to their right sides. Both men were wearing helmets. The gear was typical police issue. The lasers were new and very like what the best-equipped enforcers on Luster wore. “Can I help you, gentlemen?” he casually asked.

The bigger of the two enforcer officers spoke. “We understand, from the shuttle pilot, that you disembarked at the outer-city landing pad. Do you have travel documents and identification?”

“Of course. I can’t very well do business without them.” Marcos reached for the pack at his feet, but the smaller of the two constables grabbed it up and proceeded to search the interior.

When the man found the folder containing the faked ID, he handed it to his comrade.

Marcos watched as the first constable looked over the documents and compared the video-imprinted photo to his likeness. “As you can see, everything’s in order,” Marcos insisted.

“It would seem so. These papers say you’re here to buy gems from local miners. Anything in particular?”

Strange question from a constable.
“No, no particular type of stone. Anything will do as long as the quality is decent. And what I can afford.”

“And how long do you intend to stay?”

Marcos cautiously regarded the two men before replying. “No longer than it takes to obtain enough to sell. I’m a freelance trader. Just trying to make a living without having to give up my share of any gem sales to a large broker.”

The constable handed the paperwork back. “I’d make your trip a short one.”

“I noticed the store fronts. There seems to have been a number of fires lately. Is there some trouble I should be wary of?”

“Dissidents. They don’t like Governor Forrell’s policies, and they’ve taken to attacking some of the business owners who do. Some of them are just thieves, really. If I were you, I’d get your business done and leave as soon as possible.”

Marcos nodded. “I’ll certainly take that into consideration. And I thank you most kindly for the warning. All I want it some sellable gems, and I’ll be gone.”

“The next shuttle isn’t due for a few weeks. Where will you be staying?”

It was on the tip of Marcos’s tongue to tell them it was none of their damned business, but he was sure there was a specific reason the question was being asked. “At the Celestia Inn. I’m told a man can get a cheap room there and meals for a little extra.”

“There’s a curfew … I’m sorry, what’s your name again?”

Marcos knew he was being tested. “Marcos Orlandis … from the Allusion star sector.”

“Haven’t ever been there.”

“Not much to see,” Marcos commented. “Just a lot of planet clusters with a couple of business outposts. I could probably do better elsewhere, but managing the transport fees to one of the bigger planetary trade systems is out of the question right now.”

The constable looked him over, and then gazed into Marcos’s eyes for a moment. “You don’t look much like any of the other gem merchants who’ve come through this sector lately. Anybody doing business here is usually on his last credit. Your clothing looks fairly new.”

Marcos shrugged. “One has to look as successful as he can if he wants to be taken seriously by gem salesmen. They’ll take advantage of a buyer if they think he’s desperate. Or looks as though he is.”

The constable laughed. “That’s probably true in any profession.” He nodded curtly. “Just be sure to get to your room before the sun sets and stay there. The curfew is lifted at dawn.”

“Guess I’ll be doing all my business during the daylight hours.” He thanked the two men, then watched them walk away. From his conversation with the one law enforcer, he knew two things.