Full dark settled over the old city of Glasne before Starko Odela deemed it safe enough to leave the sanctuary of the Toveil cathedral. He signed off on a purely fraudulent report about Halleg's unethical activities and subsequent escape from the facility, and then bid a final farewell to Targ Oley.
Starko led Aldur and Dira down three flights of stairs to the cavernous motor pool chamber, with its thick support pillars spaced every one hundred feet. He stopped at the registry kiosk, officially checked out a Zalte Deluxe six-door hovercar, and took the key fob from the seneschal bot minding the kiosk.
Dira noticed that the bot had affixed a rectangular black patch on the upper hemisphere of its brassy hull. She brought it to Starko's attention that she found it curious.
“It's a mark of mourning,” the Sjo replied. “A seneschal bot was destroyed in the line of duty during the confrontation with the Ledelkrig.”
Her eyebrows furrowed. “Mourning? But they're robots.”
“That is not entirely accurate,” Starko said. “Yes, they are robots, but each AI is unique in its design, personality, and behavior. All Toveil initiates must create their own seneschal AI before they can qualify to gain their first full rank in the caste.” He gestured toward the motor pool bot. “Lazoti was my creation, some years ago. Among other things, I programmed him with the capacity for recognizing loss, if not true sorrow. So, when calculations show that the population of seneschal bots has declined in number, Lazoti will wear the mourning patch. Most of the bots were programmed with this feature retroactively, because it is also useful in recognizing the final passage of dying Toveil caste members.”
Aldur grimaced, shaking his head with a disdainful sigh. “You can program a robot to weep for a fallen comrade, but you can't manage more than one catalog update per day. It seems to me that perhaps your caste's priorities are misplaced.”
Starko gave a rueful smirk at the old Konterbeid's chastisement. “I never said we couldn't manage more than one update per day. We just don't allow it. It's a tradition that we choose to follow. Sort of like the tradition that requires the Toveil to treat our houses as sanctuaries for refugees. Bad idea to make exceptions for such traditions, don't you agree?” He started walking down the central aisle, passing several standard Zalte four-doors until he reached the white-hulled six-door model waiting for them at the end of the row.
Aldur eyed the car suspiciously as the back door hissed open. After all, the last time someone had taken him for a drive, he had been left to fight for his life in a parking garage. But, so far, Starko hadn't given Aldur any reason to suspect he was anything other than honest about his intentions to see them safely to Comorro Station.
<<>>
“It's not too late to eliminate Bokren and Urtigo before they get offworld,” Rojt Omara said, standing before a closed-door gathering of the Grand Moot in the capital city of Kjernkor. “However, time to act is running out. Starko may be able to eliminate them on Comorro Station, but I am not sure that we can trust him to follow through. His conscience has always been his weakness. I am certain that he could eliminate Aldur Bokren without a second thought, but the woman represents the sort of collateral damage that Starko cannot countenance.”
For purposes of privacy and security, all of the council members were cloaked in shadows behind their great rockwood table, while Rojt stood upon the central dais in a single bright shaft of purple light. Large windows behind the long conference table granted a view of the tall stone and steel buildings that dominated the skyline of Hekayt Prime's oldest and most venerable city.
“You are, for the most part, cautious and thorough,” one Grand Moot member observed. “However, today's actions at the Toveil house raise serious concerns about increased recklessness on your behalf.”
Rojt frowned, tilting his head. “You would have preferred I do nothing to try to stop Aldur Bokren from revealing the truth about his son?”
“Oh, no, not at all,” the Hekayti politician replied. Patrolling Ledelkrig watcher skiffs zoomed past the window outside, maintaining a steady three minute circuit on each pass around the tower. “Quite the contrary. You should have stopped at nothing! Starko should be dead, along with these two new troublemakers. Your weakness for an old friend has put much at risk.”
“I agree,” said another of the Grand Moot members. “You did not go far enough, Rojt. It makes one ponder whether you have adequately assessed your priorities.”
The warrior lifted his chin, clasping his hands behind his back. He could ill afford to protest and criticize the Hekayti of the Grand Moot. It would be far more productive to shout at the wind to convince it that it should blow the other way. He sensed Gridan's hand in this turn of events. After all, he must not have liked hearing a relative subordinate defy his wishes, no matter how respectfully Rojt had done so. The Grand Moot previously had seemed content to let the fugitives die offworld, quietly and without fanfare. Now, in the time it had taken for him to fly from Glasne to Kjernkor, the mood had changed drastically. He actually didn't mind that they seemed to want them both dead as soon as possible, but Rojt didn't particularly care for the fact that the Grand Moot's hunt for blame appeared to be leading to him.
“What is past is past,” Rojt said, not apologizing but also not rebutting his accusers. “I have attempted to follow through on instructions to the best of my ability, with full loyalty to the Ledelkrig and the Grand Moot of Hekayt Prime. I live to serve my commanders on behalf of the world we all so dearly love. If it is the wish of the Grand Moot to kill them now, inform me and I will get word to Starko immediately. I leave the matter to wiser minds.”
After a long few moments of silence, a central member of the Grand Moot finally spoke: “You are dedicated and loyal, no one doubts this. However, we do think that it would represent a greater risk, allowing those two to get offworld. Tell your friend to kill them as soon as possible. We will take no more chances.”
<<>>
Starko pulled the hovercar up to the curb next to the Glasne Depository Center – a pyramid-shaped brick building at the corner of Yorkvard Way and Alue Street, across from the city's copper-domed athletics arena. The holographic marquee for the arena read: "CONGRATULATIONS, GLASNE SONS - HEKAYT WORLD ROQ CHAMPIONS!"
He smiled wistfully, thinking of the last home game that he had attended with Rojt. They had secured seats on the mid-level palisade, with an excellent view of the primers as they scrambled for the torq during free-flight intervals. As a child, Starko had showed great promise as a roq player. However, his parents couldn't tolerate the idea of a caste-less son whose value would be based on something as transient as raw athleticism. So, he had undergone his Worthing trial with the Toveil instead, won acceptance to the caste, and settled for watching the sport as a spectator. Rojt understood what that sacrifice had meant to Starko. Lately, though, a new specter had begun to loom.
Starko's parents found it unusual that he had not yet taken a mate, despite their efforts to introduce him to more than a dozen suitable caste-born females. He had achieved adequate ranking in the Toveil caste to qualify for marriage. It was part of the natural order in their family. Yet Starko seemed reluctant, if not outright rebellious.
If they knew the truth, of course, they would be utterly scandalized. However, Starko knew he could never divulge his darkest of secrets to them. To do so would undoubtedly lead to Rojt's disgrace and expulsion from the Ledelkrig. So, before very much longer, Starko would be expected to take a mate to at least preserve the appearance that he was a masculine Toveil.
It did not matter that much to him that he have an heir to carry on the family line - his older sister's marriage had already yielded two strong sons. But he did want to put his parents at ease insofar as this issue went. When that day came, though, Starko felt certain that his illicit relationship with Rojt must end. That would come as a crushing blow to both of them, to be certain. But Starko knew that Rojt would endure what he must for the sake of their families and their careers.
"Looks clear," Starko said, sliding the transmission into park mode. The main bank area would be closed, but a palm scan would grant Dira Urtigo access to the chamber with the safety deposit boxes. He leaned over to open the dashboard compartment, taking out two items: A holster containing a plasma pistol, which he quickly determined had a full charge, and another nanoglove. He slid the glove onto his right hand, clutched the pistol in his left, then straightened so he could look into the back seat of the hovercar. “Let's go. Not much time to spare.”
“I'll wait here,” Aldur grunted.
“Out of the question,” Starko said, shaking his head. He wanted to keep both his wards – he didn't think of them as targets just yet - with him as much as possible. In particular, he wanted an eye on Aldur Bokren at all times.
“Lock the doors, Starko,” the old Hekayti growled. “I'm not going anywhere. I'd just slow you down. Bad leg and all.” Again, Starko hadn't done anything specific to set Aldur off, but he still felt entirely too vulnerable. Getting out of the car would mean taking the chance. It would mean trusting, possibly too much. If Starko killed Dira, Aldur might still have the opportunity to escape, but only if he remained in the hovercar.
Dira rolled her eyes at both males. “Listen, I don't care who comes or who stays. I just want to get in, pick up what I'm after, and then move on. The longer you two sit here and bicker, the later we get to the spaceport. I expect the clock is ticking, yes?”
Starko scowled at Aldur, not liking the challenge one bit. He couldn't win, not without provoking suspicion. Aldur was correct enough in his assertion that he should be safe from attackers as long as the doors remained locked. “Don't open them for anybody,” the Sjo insisted before clambering out of the car.
"I am not a child," the old Hekayti grumbled as he watched Dira and Starko make their way up the steps toward the bank.
<<>>
Dira crossed her arms, warming herself against the chill of the light wind blowing in from the harbor. "I won't miss this weather while we're offworld," she said.
Starko chuckled, following the woman to the doors of the lockbox chamber. "You say that now. Granted, there's not much weather to speak of aboard Comorro Station, but circumstances could send us just about anywhere if we have to duck agents of the High Moot."
After her scan, the doors opened, allowing Dira and her protector to enter the public section of the box repository. Starko paused in the doorway to spare one last look back at the hovercar. Aldur still sat in the back seat. No apparent threats. The old Hekayti would just have to survive for the next few minutes. The door slid shut, locking in place. It wouldn't open again until Dira re-scanned for the interior sensors.
She found her box in the fourth row, third from the top, number 717. She unlocked it with a thumb scan, then pulled the container from the shelf. The box was about a foot long and a foot wide, standing just under ten inches tall. She set the box on an island counter in the middle of the chamber.
"Everything in order?" Starko asked, walking toward her.
Dira opened the box. From it, she took something wrapped in black cloth. She unfolded the cloth on the island, revealing a black stone cylinder engraved with ancient runes. He'd seen enough Kamir artifacts in his life, especially during his career with the Toveil, that he could recognize one without any difficulty.
"How did you come by that?" he asked.
She shrugged. "It's all my father had left after he had been ruined during the commerce drought. He gave it to me. Why? Do you know what it is? All I know is it's supposed to be worth a lot of money."
Starko nodded. "It is quite safe to say that it is priceless." He didn't like the thought of killing a woman, but if it would mean coming into possession of this artifact, well, then Starko's conscience could buy plenty of assuagement in the days and weeks ahead. In fact, it might pay enough that he and Rojt could abandon their caste positions, leave Hekayt Prime, and love each other openly. They deserved such happiness. It would be wrong to let this opportunity escape. "We should go," he pressed.
"Of course," she said. Dira started wrapping the cloth around the runed cylinder once more when the tips of her fingers brushed the stone. She felt a brief moment of dizziness, gasped for air, and wondered when the lights had gone out. The air felt warm and stifling. She was huddled between boxes of some kind. They vibrated, thrumming with the energy of the great crate's velocity through the - cargo tube? - and she felt her - fangs? - clack nervously as her - whiskers? - danced up and down. A face leaned in from the shadows, illuminated by a sparking metal trident - a scarred Hekayti male, handsome and dark-eyed. He asked: "Hold it together, Zazal."
Dira shook her head, snapping back to the here and now, in the adequately illuminated repository, breathing chill air with Starko standing by.
"Are you well?" he inquired.
"Oh, yes," she said. "Sorry. Just got distracted there for a moment." Dira tugged the cloth fully around the cylinder, then started toward the sensor panel by the door.
<<>>
Aldur waited until he saw Starko and Dira vanish behind the closing door of the box repository before worming his way up into the driver's seat of the hovercar.
If trouble did come, Aldur didn't plan to be caught sitting in back. Instead, he waited behind the wheel, ready to activate the controls and speed off at a moment's notice.
His right hand drifted over to the infomatrix panel. He tapped the NEWS button. First, of course, was an article about an explosion in the commerce district of Glasne, which destroyed a bakery belonging to Dira Urtigo. Then came a blurb about a rare case of inter-caste violence on the steps of the Glasne Toveil House. Information shifted to the broader galactic headlines, in which an Aukami politician named Hideg Fekretu tried unsuccessfully to get a special holiday declared to celebrate all the good things that his people had done for the cosmos. Aldur actually laughed at that. Next came dramatic footage without audio of a blurry craft blasting past a toppling skyscraper on Kamsho. Thousands of people killed, the text scroll reported.
INCOMING TRANSMISSION - TEXT ONLY. ACCEPT? DECLINE?
The words sprang up in a bubble as the holovid image froze in place. Aldur didn't even hesitate. He tapped the button labeled ACCEPT.
The message scrolled left to right along the middle of the screen display in pale blue letters on a white background: GRAND MOOT WANTS THEM DEAD. NOW. - ROJT.
<<>>
Starko waited until they walked out of the repository before jabbing the gun's barrel against the small of Dira's back and clutching her right shoulder with his nanogloved hand. He spun her so that he could press her between himself and the dark glass wall of the bank.
"What are you doing?" Dira shouted. "You're supposed to be protecting us!"
"Yes, well, I've got a weak spot for valuables like the one you're carrying," he said. "Drop it on the ground."
"No," she said, trembling as she realized this wouldn't end without her death. "No, please. If I drop it, you're going to kill me."
"Honestly, Dira, you're going to drop it one way or another," Starko replied. "You're going to die, though. Yes. I'm very sorry about that."
Her eyes caught sight of a reflection in the wall glass: The hovercar making a three-point turn in the street so that it could start ascending the steps, accelerating. She hoped with all her heart that Aldur was driving, otherwise her next trick would end rather pointlessly. Dira chucked the cloth-wrapped cylinder to her left. It arced through the air and landed with a thud about five feet away.
"Stupid," Starko grunted, keeping the gun trained on Dira but releasing her and moving backward toward the relic just the same. He raised the nanoglove, palm out, and said, "I don't know what you think that accomplished." He stopped next to the cylinder, holstering the gun so he could free up the ungloved hand to grab the artifact. That's when he noticed the car in the corner of his eye, growing closer and larger. Starko spun, firing off a cloud of nanomodules from his glove, which disintegrated the windshield and followed momentum that should have allowed them to chew Aldur's grizzled head into a pink mist. Instead, Aldur flung himself flat on the front seat so that the expanding cloud of nanocritters just kept eating their way through the back of the car - and he jammed his hoof hard on the accelerator.
The sloped hood slammed into Starko's chest, crushing him against the blast-proof glass with an eruption of blood and bowels. The hovercar's engine, located in the back chassis, dissolved under the last moments of the withering nanoassault. The bank alarms blared. Bright spotlights blinked on, bathing the area in a bright blue-white glow.
Dira suddenly realized that the dead hulk of the hovercar was about to collapse onto the Kamir artifact, either crushing it or making it virtually impossible to recover without seeking help. She ran toward the vehicle, dropped, rolled under the creaking belly past a puddle of something vile that had come from the dying Toveil turncoat, and snatched the cloth-wrapped bundle before coming out on the other side. The hovercar hit the concrete with a thud, snapping the bottom half of Starko loose from the top half, which sprawled lifelessly across the hood.
Aldur climbed out of the car through the busted windshield, now that the doors no longer responded. He pushed the corpse aside, then slid over the smeared blood to stand on the concrete next to Dira.
"The Grand Moot wants us dead," Aldur said, taking Dira by the arm. "Are you hurt?"
"No," she said. "He lied to us!"
"Yes," the old Hekayti agreed. "Now he's dead. Good message to send to our enemies, don't you think?" A feral smile crept onto his lips.
"Stop your grinning!" Dira hugged the cylinder bundle close, leading Aldur down the steps in front of the bank. "Why does the Grand Moot want to kill us, for all the fathers? What have we done to offend them?"
Aldur stopped, looking up toward the wreckage of the hovercar and the remains of the dead Toveil bleeding in front of the bank. "Well, if my guess is correct, the official story will be that we killed Starko when he tried to take us into custody after we attacked the Toveil cathedral, following that terrorist bombing in your bakery." He shrugged. "It's what I would do."
"That's the fabricated reason to justify it for the public," Dira growled. "What's the real reason?"
Aldur lifted an eyebrow, scratching the right side of his face. "We were in the wrong place at the wrong time." Sirens started howling in the distance, but, of course, growing louder. "Best we get moving. We'll need to get offworld before they try to lock down the spaceport."