Page 1 of Defiance (The Intersolar Union #7)

The Citadel, Helion

Marigold blades of light cut through the hallway, bouncing off the glass walls and copper tiles like prisms made of precious metals. The Citadel was beautiful in the dusky light of Hephae, the dwarf sun that Helion had made its orbit in recent decades. The Intersolar Union’s capital station was a needle-like cylinder with long evening shadows and longer political fingers, creeping their way through the city strata and into unscrupulous cache accounts.

Chairman Aescopis Ferulis, the venandi commanding officer of the Union’s fleet, exhaled a breath of frustration from his slitted nose and pressed his external mandibles against his jawbone in an attempt to look breezy and untroubled. He stood with his talons crossed at the small of his back, mismatched silver eyes lidded as he observed the jammed traffic on the civilian strata beyond the Citadel’s defensive holoveil.

“Sorry to have kept you, Chairman.”

“No trouble. I was enjoying the view.”

Ferulis flexed his talons but kept his voice measured. As if anyone who knew him would think he’d stop to stare at a coagulated city landscape he’d already been subjected to for two decades. Still. Appearances, appearances.

Souls, he hated politics.

He didn’t turn as Baellanus Atarian strode up to his side. His fellow venandi was in his prime with spires that stood straight well above his head like a crown. He was sapphire blue with a disarming green stare, and several modest but revealing engravings on his spires. One each for his children and vira. A proud young father that stood by his principles with a long view of the future.

Ferulis saw his old friend Duram in Baellanus more than anyone else, even if he’d been named after his mara, Chairwoman Baella Atarian. Duram had been one of his closest friends at academy decades ago. As steady as a mountain with a sense of right and wrong that ran as deep and unshakeable as the ribbon rivers of their homeworld. But cocksure charisma ran in the Atarian clan thicker than wine too, and just like his younger brother Thel, Baellanus carried himself like he had it in spades. Effortless golden boys, the whole lot of them.

Their eyes met, and the eldest Atarian son clapped his mandibles together in an easy if formal greeting, swooping his head in the slightest of bows. Thank souls they both agreed that formalities were worth less than dirt.

If he’d insisted on using honorifics, the young sec officer would have been insufferable.

“I’m afraid you have a lunch arrangement,”

Bael said, nodding to his extended holotab. The glowing screen that hovered above his forearm pulsed with a schedule reminder. “With…”

He cocked his head to read the screen.

“Chairwoman Navimbaruthi. And… Oh, it’s a trade luncheon with–”

“Steed Shipping and Bospho Valent. I’m aware,”

Ferulis barked.

“Could you at least pretend to be good at your job?”

Bael smirked, but gave Ferulis proper deference. He clasped his hands together and bowed his head to the side.

“Apologies. It has been a difficult transition. My duties at Helion Security Bureau did not prepare me for spreadsheets.”

Ferulis raised one brow plate.

“What about calendars?”

Bael’s smirk widened as he minimized his holotab.

“Those too.”

The chairman stalked off before Bael could see the twitch at the corner of his mouth and his new chief council assistant followed at his heels. While Bael’s gait was as smooth as a lithe predator, every step Ferulis took echoed with a metallic gong through the cavernous halls. Clerks and security officers alike stepped aside with their faces turned down as they passed, knowing the thunk vwurrr of his prosthetic leg better than they knew his face. He wondered if they heard the sound in their sleep. The thought pleased him.

Ferulis had made an entire career out of being a bogeyman.

As they wound their way through crowded halls and then not-so crowded security points, Ferulis knew they would be fashionably late. The phrase made him think of Olivia Atarian, off on a council-mandated diplomatic tour with her vir, Thel Atarian. They happened to be some of his best operatives, and letting them dally off on some social honeymoon made him want to spit.

Not that it had been his choice. The rest of the council had voted unanimously to send them away. It made his hackles rise then, and it still did now. Olivia was good with her words. He could have used her as an advocate. Instead, the only representation they had on Helion was Baella Atarian and his own prickly attempts at shmoozing.

Had he mentioned how much he hated politics?

“Heard from your brother lately?”

he threw over his shoulder with a more biting tone than planned.

“My brother and sister are getting along well in the Ximeni system. Thel’s frothing at the thought of having whelps soon.”

Ferulis paused abruptly and turned a sharp glare on Bael. His assistant took a deferential step back under that famous gaze. One eye a gunmetal orb lost at war, the other a searing white glow.

“Not yet,”

Bael amended.

“Just the prospect of it.”

“Good.”

Ferulis huffed like a ryhidon, expelling bitter air from his lungs. If those two fools diversified without his blessing so help them…

And of course, they would have fucking beautiful babies too. He’d bet his retirement on it. Hell, he’d probably spend his retirement on those whelps, no bet required. They’d cast a spell just like their human mara and bend every brittle old soul to their bidding.

Ferulis clapped his mandibles together with supreme irritation.

“Does your leg ail you, sir?”

The chairman’s tympana twitched at the familiar code. He nodded slowly.

“More and more these days. No matter. I can manage fine.”

“Steed and Bospho will survive if you’re late. Let’s rest at the fountain. We can refresh on the lunch’s meeting points.”

“I said I can manage.”

“You can blame being late on me. How’s that for a compromise?”

Ferulis rolled his one real eye, but turned down the hall towards the smells of food.

The upper levels of the Citadel were warm and balmy, a greenhouse symptom of the glass architecture and everlasting sunrays. Condensation gathered around the floor of the windows where a thick border of waxy green-leafed plants cleaned the air in long rows along every pathway and conference room. Fountains had long been part of that equation, not only for the plants, but the shilpakaari and venandi, who both craved humidity.

As a result, the fountains inside the Citadel were social hubs in large domed plazas with food and drink. Voices, drinkware, chairs, holotabs, and all manner of kitchen noises echoed off the water and tiles. Ferulis used to avoid such places at all costs, what with the way they made his talons itch and his chest plates grate together. He hated crowds.

They sat right next to the strongest spray of water and he sighed with relief, rubbing at the prosthetic socket vacuum-sealed to his disarticulated hip. Behind him, water poured from the open mouth of a copper fish with draconic scales and long steel whiskers that twanged with each wayward drop.

Bael leaned in, brushing his optical bionic display like he was scratching an itch on his nose so that it sent a holo directly into Ferulis’s optics as well. He extended his holotab and displayed a list of meeting notes.

“Ship manifests,”

Ferulis growled, perusing the information in his optic stream. Neither venandi spared a glance at the bullet points hovering over Bael’s arm. There was no reason to fake the niceties or new-bumbling-assistant bullshittery anymore with the cacophony of the fountain to scramble anything that might try to listen in.

“Yes,”

Bael said in an even tone.

“Three days ago, an in-bound cargo ship from the Outer Rim went missing in the Uaeri Corridor.”

Ferulis gave him another sharp-eyed look.

“Rakta Corps?”

“No. Med-Go, bound for Huajile. There was an S.O.S., then their auto-ID system blinked out.”

Ferulis rumbled in thought, his mandibles vibrating against his cheeks as his metal eye scrolled through the manifests and distress signal. They’d been carrying a de minimis cargo of useless junk for the Huajile’s famous bazaars. Perfume rollers, toiletries, first aid supplies, coolant patches. Nothing that even warranted a customs control check.

“The Uaeri Corridor is dense and unruly, but it’s cheaper on fuel. Navimbaruthi would be more interested in this than me. I’m not the chairman of trade.”

“That’s why I didn’t bring it to you three days ago. But another ship passed through the same corridor yesterday afternoon, Helion time. Its AIS blinked out for a few hours, and when it came back online, the ship was off-course. It docked at Huajile for two turns in the early hours, then departed.”

Ferulis creased his brow.

“Do you have its manifest?”

“Coolant patches, hygiene products–”

“Perfume rollers?”

Bael nodded solemnly.

“Huajile is classified as a Flag of Convenience by the sec bureau. The rules are lax there, at best, and the inventory logs for both ships lacked quantities. I’m pretty sure they’re not cargo ships. Med-Go might not even be a real entity.”

Ferulis smirked mirthlessly.

“Pretty good for someone who can’t wrap their head around spreadsheets and calendars.”

Bael grinned back.

“I am grateful for how patient you’ve been while I learn the ropes, sir.”

Ferulis destroyed the manifest copy in his bionic and extended his leg, massaging his joint again.

“Why should I care? I have a lot of plates spinning already.”

“When cargo ships dock, they log their auto-ID, then go dark to conserve fuel. Absolutely everything but the breathable atmosphere and vital sensors. Medical goods and sensitive electronics are cleared to unload at most ports by hand in micro-gravity rather than using auto-cranes, which means their goods are scanned and documented by the local port authority.”

“Which doesn’t exist in Huajile.”

Bael shrugged in confirmation. He minimized his holotab, adjusting the cuff of his cote sleeve.

“It departed three turns ago and still hasn’t queued for a chainskip back to the Outer Rim. It never turned its auto-ID back on either.”

Heat radiated out of Ferulis’s chest, the kind that left the tang of soot in his throat. He gnashed his teeth, trying to hide his reaction between a wince as he dug his thumb into his hip.

“Engine type?”

Bael clacked his mandibles once in the negative.

“Not listed.”

“Damn.”

They didn’t need to say anymore about the cargo ship because they both knew the danger. Only covert elite vessels were cleared to have their own chainskipping engine core that allowed them to bypass the queue for long-space travel. If a ship like that came disguised as an industry-class vessel, dropped off cargo and disappeared…

“They could be anywhere.”

Bael said the worst part out loud.

Ferulis ground his teeth together. It wasn’t just the ship being a ghost that was the problem. Engine cores capable of creating their own gravity wells were rare and expensive. They could bankrupt a small planet. Which meant there were only a handful of entities that could afford something like that.

The Nephim Employment Agency being one of them, a company that had drilled holes into the soul of the Outer Rim for more than a century under Rakta Corps's umbrella of unscrupulous subsidiaries. They specialized in slave contracts, smuggling, illegal substances and mining, and were the company that seemed to be funding Chairwoman Guei’s attempts at stealing living code from humans to sell for a mind-boggling cache horde.

Ferulis felt a rare moment of helplessness with the fountain’s spray pelting the back of his head. He’d been chasing Guei’s shadow for months, pulling every trustworthy string at his disposal, Duram and Baellanus Atarian included. He knew she was involved. He had the recording to prove it.

But audio-visuals didn’t hold up in a court of law in the Union. He needed a lot more than a vid the defense would tear apart as politically-motivated generative lies. He needed raw numbers. Data. He needed to form a web around her and catch her in it.

Except she was a spider too. Only night show hosts and impressionable academy grads ever mistook her for a fly.

Ferulis stared at the cafe across the plaza like a petrified lump of wood, wondering at the venandi couple pretending they weren’t touching knees beneath their table during work hours. He opened the collar of his uniform and withdrew an old chrome bone scarred from years of clenching it between his fangs. With a twist of the cap, the pipe glowed up, turned warm against his mandible, and he took a drag of spiced smoking oil.

“I muttered it the first time I saw Liv,”

he admitted, exhaling lavender mist as he watched that couple like a hawk.

“Muru grace us.”

Bael exhaled, shoulders rounding.

“As did I. My sister-in-law isn’t a god, but… Well, maybe she’s a sign.”

Their stares met, determined and solemn.

“HIXBS is throwing a bash on Piaoguo in a satbit. They’re raising funds for human advocacy.”

“You mean they’re raising a bribe cache to lobby for access.”

“Correct. They’ve sent an invitation to Imani James as their honored guest, but curiously no invitation has come through your office.”

Of course not. He would have burned their party to the ground. Maybe he still would. There was time.

“How did you find out about it?”

“TS Pau on the Yafridi is an old friend from my first tour. She’s been keeping tabs on the colony for us while Thel and Liv are away. Guei will be there.”

Ferulis took another drag off his bone, contemplating. It was a trap, no question. Imani James had been the one to record Guei at the dollhouse on Huajile. It was a good opportunity to get on the inside. James was ferocious, smart… but a terrible actor. The moment she and Guei locked eyes, the chairwoman would know Ferulis was closing in. Then he’d lose her.

Ferulis’s one living eye glowed bright with a sudden realization.

He would lose her.

The chairman stood abruptly, screwing the cap closed on his chrome bone and stowing it away again. His mind raced as his strategy unfolded.

“I’ve rested long enough,”

he declared.

“Let’s get this lunch over with.”

Bael’s green eyes shone just a little brighter.

“Yes, sir.”