“My whole damn life is babies!” Esther shouted as she set her infant brother down on the bed, a fresh diaper over her shoulder and a soiled one waiting for her. “I’ll never marry and have children! Why would I need to?”
“Hush now,” Eliza scolded as she hurried around the royal quarters, looking for a shoe here, an errant sock there, all in order to get the family prepared for the day’s festivities. “You’re scaring Alexis.”
“Oh, I am not,” Esther grumbled. “Look at the little turd. He’s the happiest baby I’ve ever seen.”
“You said turd,” James laughed, his four year old finger up his four year old nose.
“Stop that!” Bora scolded, her hand slapping her little brother’s finger right from his nostril. “Haley! Why aren’t you watching James?”
“She’s using the bathroom,” Eliza sighed. “Let her pee in peace.”
“She’s not using the bathroom,” Thomas said. “She’s in the closet reading.”
“She’s what?” Eliza snapped. “We are going to be late for the procession and she’s reading?”
“Better than changing diapers,” Esther responded. “I’m serious, Mother. I am not getting married and I am not having children.”
“You say that now, but give it a couple of years and you’ll change your mind,” Eliza said.
“You were already married when you were my age, Mother,” Esther replied.
“I had just gotten married at thirteen,” Eliza said.
“Then had me four years later,” Esther said. “You want me to start having babies at seventeen? Is that what you mean by give it a couple of years?”
“No, Esther Teirmont, I do not want you to start having babies at seventeen,” Eliza replied. “I want you to live your life and be happy, any way you want. But right now? Your life is mine and that means changing Alexis’s diaper.”
“Why does he get to be Alexis?” Thomas asked. “I was the first born son, why didn’t I get named after Father?”
“Because you were named after your great, great, great grandfather,” Eliza said. “He was a Master of Station Aelon like no other. His wife, Mistress Imelda, was known as the Lady of the Breen because of her father’s holdings she brought with her.”
“Those were the Thraen holdings Father went to fight for when I was little, right?” Thomas asked. “That led to the Treaty of the Primes.”
“It was much more complicated than that,” Eliza said, finding a half eaten sandwich behind a throw pillow on one of the couches. “Really?”
“I leave it there in case I get hungry,” James said, running forward to take the sandwich from his mother. “It’s my four o’clock sandwich.”
“Sweet Helios,” Eliza sighed. “What I wouldn’t give for a nurse or two right now.”
“We’d have one if Father could defeat that nasty lowdecker,” Esther smirked. “But even a good job isn’t enough to fight Lucas Langley’s song of liberty. Ha!”
“Don’t mock your people, Esther,” Eliza scolded. “Whether they disagree with you, refuse to work for you, foment rebellion against you, or talk of murdering you, they are still your people. You learn to understand them, and if possible, forgive them.”
“For raising arms against the nobility and royalty?” Esther laughed. “They should all be ejected into space so they can float towards Helios and burn up as they plummet to the planet.”
Eliza shook her head and frowned at her eldest child.
“I’m glad I get to rule Station Aelon next and not her,” Thomas said. “She’d throw me into space for just going into her room without asking.”
“Then don’t go into my room without asking!” Esther shouted. “You little snot!”
The baby on the bed began to whimper then cry at Esther’s outburst.
“Esther, please,” Eliza groaned. “Can’t you try to be agreeable today? Just one day and then you can go back to your moody self.”
“I’m moody? Father’s the moody one,” Esther replied as she was pushed out of the way by her mother.
“That’s because he has been fighting a rebellion for seven years now,” Eliza replied as she double checked her daughter’s work then picked up her swaddled infant son. “Try ruling a station when a quarter of the passengers want to secede from your rule. See how your mood is then.”
“I’d love to see that,” Esther grinned. “But I’m a woman and can’t rule.”
“You’re a girl and can’t rule,” Minoress Melinda said as she came into the room. “And a good thing since I haven’t heard once of a successful reign by a spoiled brat.”
Esther stood there, her mouth open, and just gaped at her aunt.
“What?” Melinda asked, looking over at Eliza and giving her a wink. “You think you aren’t a spoiled brat? Try visiting the lower decks. Then you’ll see just how good you have it. And trust me, from one that watched her younger brother take the crown, ruling isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Better Alexis than me any day. I certainly don’t need white hair at the age of thirty.”
“Do you mind?” Eliza asked as she held out Alexis to her sister-in-law. “I have to pee again.”
“You aren’t pregnant, are you?” Melinda smirked.
“Helios no!” Eliza exclaimed. “Just under the weather. Can’t stop peeing and my back hurts.”
“Uh-oh,” Melinda frowned. “Sounds like a urinary tract infection. Better have a physician check you over. If it gets into your kidneys then you could be in trouble.” She shooed the mistress away. “Go pee, woman. We have to be leaving soon.”
“Yuck,” Esther grimaced. “I don’t need to hear this.”
“It’s because of the rotational gravity drive slowing down,” Thomas said. “My friend, Bibby, says that the lowdeckers have slowed down the station’s spin and now people are getting sick and going mad.”
“The station’s rotational gravity has not been changed,” Melinda said. “That’s just fearmongering. Your friend Bibby is an idiot and you shouldn’t listen to him.”
“Her,” Thomas replied.
“You shouldn’t listen to her then,” Melinda said. “Open a book, child. You’ll see that the rotational gravity drive has two settings: working and not working. If it stopped working then we’d all be floating on the ceiling. Are we floating?”
“No,” Thomas said. “But that would be fun.”
“Yeah,” James nodded, his finger back in his nose. “That would be fun.”
Melinda rocked Alexis back and forth in her arms and cooed at him then looked over at her niece.
“What’s up your gully?” Melinda asked.
“Auntie!” Esther blushed at the slang term for her privates. “Not around the little ones!”
“Like they haven’t heard worse from your father or your mother,” Melinda laughed. “Or from you, either, minoress. I’ve heard you curse like a Vape miner plenty of times.”
“Ahhh, better,” Eliza smiled as she came back from the bathroom then looked at her second youngest son. “That finger is going to get stuck in there, you know. Think of all the horrible names the people will call you then.”
James’s eyes went wide and he yanked his finger out of his nose. “I don’t want to be called names.”
“Then act like you are supposed to,” Eliza said. She looked about the main room of the royal quarters and frowned. “Is Haley still in the closet? Haley!”
“I’m here,” Haley said, walking from her bedchamber, book in hand. “Can I bring this to the procession?”
“No, you may not,” Eliza said. “You won’t have any time to read. We’ll be shaking hands and curtseying to the nobility as well as the delegates from the lower decks.”
“I’m not curtseying, I’m bowing,” Thomas said.
“Not with a girl face like that,” Esther said and smacked him on the back of the head.
“Knock it off!” Eliza roared and everyone in the room froze in place. “Be good! Just for today, you need to be good!”
A loud chime sounded and Melinda handed the baby Alexis to Eliza. “Here. This one hasn’t spoiled yet. I’ll make sure the brood is herded along behind you. You just keep eyes forward, head up, back straight, and look like the great mistress that you are.”
Alexis burped and a wad of curdled milk spewed across Eliza’s formal tunic and shawl.
“Oh, for Helios’s sake,” Eliza said, her eyes filling with tears. “I pray today is the end of this conflict. I need a nurse back so badly.”
“We all need our servants back,” Melinda said, taking the baby from Eliza once again as the mistress stripped off her tunic and hurried into her bedchamber. “Won’t stop this one from puking though.”
“No, but he’d puke on a nurse and not me!” Eliza called from the bedchamber.
* * *
“Seven years of conflict,” Alexis said from the head of the long table. “That is a long time to hold out against an entire station.”
The master’s blond hair hung down to his shoulders, his blue eyes staring daggers at the man at the far end of the table from him. They were the only two seated, their advisors standing directly behind them, eyes locked on their counterparts at the other ends.
Alexis lifted a glass of gelberry wine and sipped at it, his eyes never leaving his adversary’s. A dribble of the pinkish liquid dripped from his lip and onto his neatly trimmed beard; a beard that was streaked with white and covered a long scar that crisscrossed his chin.
“I am not holding out against an entire station, Alexis,” Lucas Langley replied, taking a flask from the pocket of his worn and tattered cloak. He uncorked it and swigged liberally, smacking his lips when he was done. “I have only had to hold out against the royalty, nobility, and gentry. The passengers have been very accommodating. It’s almost as if they want change as well.”
“They have gotten change,” Alexis replied, setting his glass down a little too hard.
Gelberry wine splashed onto his hand and he stared at it for a second, watching the drops slide down his hand over skin that was cracked and dry from wearing thick, breen gloves under battle gauntlets for so long. He finally looked back up and grinned wide. No one standing by the table, or standing at attention along the wall of the great hall, had any illusions of mirth from that smile.
“The meeting of passengers was created to address every concern you have had,” Alexis said. “But you never gave it a chance. You started this war before I could do what was needed to equalize the balance of power on Station Aelon. All the blood that has been shed these last few years is on your hands, Lucas. Not mine.”
“I can accept some of that blame,” Langley replied. “But not all. You made choices, or better yet, your stewards made choices that were beyond ruthless. I have lists of innocents slaughtered at the hands of your men. Slaughtered by everything from your fancy longslings to basic fire axes. Not just adults, but children. Entire passageways wiped out. That is on you.”
Alexis felt the weight of the words and wanted to acknowledge them, but he had been advised not to concede a single point. De Morlan and Stolt, in a rare moment of agreement, both told Alexis that even if Langley said that his breen trousers were blue, he would have to argue that they were red.
It was not advice Alexis found helpful or comforting.
“I have wanted nothing but peace,” Alexis said. “Despite what you think. I have reached out to you through the years with treaties and offers of asylum. You have rejected every single one with the murder of my messengers, sending their severed heads back as your answer.”
“Yet you still sent them,” Langley laughed. “How many messenger volunteers do you have left? My blade has been lonely these past few months. I almost killed the last one, but decided I would hear the poor wretch out. Thus I am here.” He took another pull from his flask them placed it back in his cloak. “Explain your terms so I can reject them and we can get back to work, Alexis.”
“Sire, I cannot allow this disrespect!” de Morlan cried from just behind Alexis and to the right, his hand on the hilt of his long blade. “He will address you properly or I’ll cut out his tongue!”
“Stay yourself, steward,” Stolt said from the other side of the master’s chair. “He is less than a passenger and was raised poorly, just like all the lowdeckers.”
“You see, Alexis,” Langley smiled, brushing a lock of his wild, curly red hair from his face. Just like Alexis’s beard, Langley’s hair was streaked with white. Smugness was not defense enough against the stress and trials of war. “Lowdeckers. Not even considered good enough to be passengers. We are, and always have been, the castoffs. We are like the untouchables of the old fables. How could your meeting of passengers represent us? We aren’t even worthy of that title.”
“Yet you have quite a bit of passenger support,” Alexis said. “So don’t act as if you are a race of your own. No one believes that. Stewards and wardens, even deck bosses, may talk as if you are, but under the eyes of the crown, and the charter of the station, lowdeckers are passengers. Always have been and always will be. Your refusal to accept or see that is your own issue. That, my friend, is on you.”
“Tit for tat,” Langley laughed. “Tit for tat. That is the story of the last seven years. You tit, I tat. I tit, you tat. Back and forth, over and over, again and again.”
“Which is why we are here,” Alexis said. “So you can stop your idiocy and rejoin the station proper. I am willing to make concessions to the charter and adjust the scope of the meeting of passengers. I bring that to this table. What do you bring?”
“The willingness to never stop fighting,” Langley said as his laughter ended abruptly. “That has always been my offer unless you surrender the station to the people and end monarchial rule.”
Half the room erupted into shouting while the other half replied in kind. The two leaders ignored the mayhem, their eyes never leaving the others’. Eye to eye they waited, their ears taking in the insults and calls to fight that were thrown back and forth.
Finally, Alexis raised his hand and his side of the room quieted instantly. Langley’s side laughed and jeered, slinging epithets and slurs about how the men were owned and not even real people. Langley let the words be hurled for an extra minute then cleared his throat and his side slowly quieted.
“I’d say you have a knack for monarchy,” Alexis smirked. “They listen to you as if you were master.”
“They listen to me out of respect, not out of fear, as your people do you,” Langley replied. “I would gladly give up my seat here if I knew someone could do a better job.”
“Your assumption is that I would not,” Alexis said. “Let me tell you something: being master is not all feasts and evening balls. Life on the station is hard for us all.”
“But harder for most,” Langley sighed. “So stop comparing yourself to people you do not understand. If you want to experience how hard life is then toss off your shackled crown and end the rule of the masters once and for all.”
“And do what?” Stolt cried. “Bring back democracy? Turn Station Aelon into a republic? Our ancestors, the ones that fled the planet when the Vape tore apart the lands, tried democracy on the stations. It did not work then and it would not work now. The establishment of the monarchies on this station and the others, is how we kept humanity from ripping itself apart. Each man with an equal vote? Ridiculous! Nothing would be accomplished!”
“Nothing is preferable to the something we have now,” Langley replied.
“Anarchy!” someone yelled from the gallery of spectators.
“Perhaps,” Langley shrugged. “Only way to know is to try it.”
“Which will not happen,” Alexis said. “I sympathize with your cause, despite your beliefs in me. I fought side by side with many of your people during my time on the primes.” Alexis looked towards the men that stood behind Langley. “Moses. Moses Diggory. I see you standing there. You think I forgot our time in that trench, up to our asses in mud, as a flechette barrage rained over us like the air was made of metal? You think I don’t recall how we charged the line that day and pushed the burdened until their backs were up against the ocean? I see you, Diggory. I know you, Moses. And you know me. Do you truly believe your man is right and Station Aelon should be ripped apart at the seams? Is that what we both watched men die for?”
“I fought with you and for you, your highness,” replied Diggory, a short, muscular man in his late thirties. Like most of the lowdeckers, he had a shock of red hair, but his was cropped short to his scalp and not a wild halo framing his head. “I would have died for you. But that conflict is over. Now I will die for this one.”
“Fair enough,” Alexis said. “I understand your loyalty to your people and the lower decks. It was that loyalty that I admired in you all those years ago.”
“Why are we here, Alexis?” Langley asked. “Tell me what you will so I can refuse and be done with your castle and all the wealth it represents.”
Alexis furrowed his brow then slowly smiled as he looked about the great hall. Centuries old tapestries hung along the walls, depicting scenes from station history that many of the professors and teachers no longer understood. The grey metal walls that peeked out from behind the tapestries were stained with rust and pocked with corrosion. Alexis laughed at the idea of wealth, knowing that the conflict had nearly drained his coffers.
“You know nothing,” Alexis said finally. “You have your head shoved so far up into your little world that you forget we aren’t the only station in this system. You call this wealth? I call it decrepitude. Funds that should be going to badly needed repairs are instead going to pay for an internal war that we cannot keep fighting!”
The master stood up quickly, knocking his chair back and making the entire hall jump. Hands went to blades, slings were raised, eyes watched and waited for the signal to fight.
“Stop it,” Alexis said quietly. “Release your arms.”
He began to pace back and forth as he shook his head.
“The issues you have with the monarchy are from the reigns before mine,” Alexis said, turning and pacing, turning and pacing. “I saw those issues, I felt them too. Not as you felt them since I was raised in this castle of wealth.”
He laughed bitterly and stopped his pacing, slapping his hands on the table.
“From the moment I took the crown I set out to change what was wrong with Station Aelon. As did you. This conflict isn’t about two sides fighting for their beliefs. It’s about bad timing. You saw an opportunity to go after a young, new master. I saw an opportunity to use my youth and place to go after an old, weak nobility. We both wanted what was right for the station and its people. We just attacked it from two ends, not two sides.”
“I think you have oversimplified what I fight for,” Langley responded.
“No, I have not,” Alexis said. “Because there is nothing simple about any of this. Do you have any idea the resistance I encountered when I proposed the meeting of passengers? The odds were very strong it would never have even seen more than the first session. But your attacks gave me the power to insist upon the meeting as a way to bring passengers into the fold and away from you. Your rebellion has strengthened the meeting of passengers, not weakened it. Now help me strengthen it even more.”
Langley watched the impassioned master closely, looking for the deceit and lie he knew was just under the surface. But he couldn’t find it and finally nodded.
“Strengthen how?” he asked.
“Lucas,” Diggory hissed. “Don’t even entertain the thought. The Lower—”
Langley held up his hand and the man fell silent. “I’ll hear out the master about what he proposes.”
Alexis smiled and then sat back down.
“Good,” he said and snapped his fingers. A thick stack of papers was set before him as a porter hustled down to the other end of the table and set a copy of the papers before Langley. “We better get started. This will take a while.”
* * *
“You can’t be serious, sire!” Stolt almost yelled when the great hall had finally cleared and all that were left were Stolt, de Morlan, Derrick, and Eliza. The latter having been grudgingly accepted by the former two. “This is just one step closer to democracy! A form of governance that nearly brought our ancestors to their knees! The very people with the intelligence and knowledge to build the stations! Do you think you know more than they did about the dangers of popular rule?”
“Careful, Girard,” Derrick said. “You are speaking to the master, remember.”
“I know exactly to whom I speak!” Stolt snapped. “A fool that will give everything away that we fought so hard for!”
“That I fought so hard for,” Alexis corrected. “Of the people in this room, I was the only one to take up arms and bleed for this station. The rest of you did no such thing. I don’t begrudge that, Steward Stolt, as you were all needed here, but never attempt to speak as if you know what it is like to stand on a battlefield with your comrades’ guts splattered across your polybreen armor.”
Stolt started to speak, but stopped. He took a deep breath and then continued. “My apologies, sire. I would never presume to understand the horrors you experienced.”
“Apology accepted, Cousin Stolt,” Alexis responded. “And my apologies are also offered if I offended any of you. I know your roles on the station were of the utmost importance. Derrick, my brother, you reigned in my stead once father died.”
“I reigned while he lived,” Derrick replied. “He was not one to cross T’s or dot I’s.”
“Very true,” Alexis smiled. “And Alasdair, your years of service have made you invaluable to the Master of Station Aelon, no matter who that person may be.”
“I thank you, sire,” de Morlan said.
“And my wife,” Alexis grinned. “I’m nothing without you. This family, and its legacy, would be nothing without you.”
“But you plan to give part of that legacy away,” Eliza said, surprising everyone except for Alexis. “I have some of the same worries as the stewards. But I know you and I trust you must do what your heart says.”
“Thank you, my love,” Alexis said. “There is no backing out of this now. I have signed the accord and the changes will be made to the charter and to the meeting of passengers. Elections will be held by season’s end. I want this business behind us so we as a station can enjoy Last Meal with the rest of the System. By Helios, I am too tired and getting too old to keep fighting.”
“You are thirty, Alexis,” Eliza smirked. “That is hardly too old.”
“It feels it though,” Alexis sighed. “It’s like I never left the battlefield. I was born there, I live there, I’ll die there.”
“Stop it,” Eliza said. “You’re being maudlin and morose.”
“Aren’t they the same thing?” Derrick asked.
“Are we playing crosswords now?” Eliza snapped.
Derrick shrank back and held up his hands. “Sorry. I was just playing.”
“I believe my wife is as tired as I am,” Alexis chuckled. “A new baby will do that.”
“As will raising five other children with that new baby,” Eliza said. “If we get one thing out of this, it will be to have all of our servants and nurses back. It’s petty to say, I know, but I too feel like I have been at battle my whole life. I’m just battling diapers and tantrums instead of blades and flechettes.”
“I know my dear Lesha could use some help in our manor house,” de Morlan responded. “She has kept us to our chambers most nights in order to avoid looking at the squalor the place has fallen into.”
“You see?” Alexis said. “This is why I have signed the accord. We are complaining about not having servants while the lowdeckers complain about not having rights. They get freedoms they didn’t have before and we get clean toilet seats once again.”
“Our toilet seats are plenty clean,” Eliza said. “I do make the children earn their keep in some respects.”
“Minors and minoresses cleaning toilets,” Stolt huffed. “The lowdeckers should pay just for the indignity they have brought on the crown.”
“Have you not been listening to me, Cousin?” Alexis asked.
“I have, I have,” Stolt said. “But understanding and acceptance are two different things. As you will see once the meeting of stewards convenes next week. They have to ratify the accord, remember. This is not settled yet.”
“Which is why I expect everyone in this room to be busy these next few days drumming up support,” Alexis said as he stood. “We will get the votes, of that I have no doubt, but I want more than just a majority. I want a consensus. I want the nobility to be in agreement so we can truly move forward and make Aelon the station it was always meant to be.”
“But first we sleep,” Eliza laughed as she stood up and took her husband’s hand. “The children are with your sister tonight. I have expressed enough milk for Alexis to eat until lunch tomorrow. We can fall into our bed and sleep as long as we want.”
“I could sleep for eternity,” Alexis said as he kissed his wife deeply. “So we don’t exactly get to sleep as long as we want.”
“I’ll make sure the royal quarters are not disturbed,” Derrick said. “Then starting tomorrow I will work on swaying support for the accord.”
“As will I.” de Morlan bowed.
All eyes looked to Stolt. He shook his head then shrugged.
“I will do everything in my power to see your vision through, your highness,” Stolt said. “I may disagree, but only because I do not have the view that you do from your position. I’ll get the support we need.”
“Thank you, Cousin.” Alexis smiled then yawned. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, it has been a long day.”
The three men bowed as Alexis and Eliza left the great hall, trailed closely behind by Corbin and a contingent of the royal guards. Once the echoes of the doors shutting faded away, the three men all took seats at the long table.
“Can it be done?” Derrick asked.
“Possibly,” de Morlan replied.
“Highly unlikely,” Stolt added. “But the master has already pushed us down this path. If we don’t get the support he needs then he will look weak which means the entire station looks weak to the rest of the System. That is something we must stress when we present the accord to our fellow stewards.”
“Then we better get to it,” Derrick said as he stood up and stretched. “I’m done for the night. We’ll check in with each other tomorrow?”
“Of course,” de Morlan said.
“Certainly,” Stolt responded.
The two stewards watched the minor leave then looked at each other across the table.
“Do I need to worry about you, Stolt?” de Morlan asked.
“Worry? About me? Whatever for?”
De Morlan studied the younger man for a second then shook his head. “You are good, Girard. Better than your father and better even than his father. The way you navigate politics is a sight to behold.”
“I’m thinking that wasn’t a compliment,” Stolt smiled.
“You have more sectors than any other steward. Yet why do I have the feeling that you have higher ambitions than just steward?” de Morlan asked then stood up and held out his hands. “Don’t bother answering. Whatever you say will be calculated and less than sincere. Just know that I have zero intention of letting the master’s plans for Station Aelon fail. You have been warned.”
“That I have,” Stolt said, still smiling. “Good night, Alasdair.”
“Good night, Girard.”
Steward Stolt waited until he was alone in the great hall before he stood up as well.
“Fools,” he whispered.
* * *
The sound of blades being drawn was like thunder in the close quarters of the passageway.
“You,” Diggory sneered as Stolt walked out of the shadows, his hands raised. “In a million years I never would have thought it was you.”
“That was the point,” Stolt said. “If the lowdeckers would never suspect it then why would the stewards? Or the master?”
Diggory watched as the man before him removed his breen gloves and tucked them into his belt. One of those hands was extended and the lowdecker just stared, looking at the appendage as if it were covered in filth.
“I don’t do business with those that refuse to at least be civil,” Stolt said.
Diggory reluctantly shook the offered hand and then wiped his palm as if he’d been contaminated.
“How pleasant,” Stolt said. “Your leader had more tact. Much more. Which doesn’t put you in the greatest light since Langley’s tact was almost nil.”
“Why’d you reach out to me?” Diggory asked. “Why not one of the others?”
Stolt looked past the lowdecker to the group of armed men behind him.
“It looks like you brought them all with you anyway,” Stolt said. “I believe you misunderstood my request for you to come alone.”
“My need to live is stronger than any traitor’s request,” Diggory laughed. “But you needn’t worry. These are all my men. Not one of them would dare speak a word of this meeting without knowing their privates will be taken from between their legs and stuffed into their mouths.”
“Delightful,” Stolt frowned. “Can’t you just kill a man? Why does everything with you lowdeckers involve removing private parts and feeding them to your enemies?”
“Because it’s fun,” Diggory said. “Now what business do you have for me?”
“The same business I have had for Langley,” Stolt said. “Weapons, of course. You will need them, and a lot of them, very soon. I can provide you with a fresh supply of those horrendous blades your people prefer as well as possibly getting you the plans to the longsling. If you were to have that in your arsenal then I believe you might actually win the next round of conflicts.”
“Next round?” Diggory asked, his eyes narrowing. “There will be no next round with the accord being signed.”
“The accord will not be signed,” Stolt said. “I can guarantee that.”
“How?”
“I have my ways,” Stolt shrugged. “The accord will never finalized.”
“You make no sense,” Diggory replied. “You would undermine your position for what? Profit?”
“The only thing undermined is the monarchy,” Stolt snapped. “My place will always be secure.”
“Then why should I help you?” Diggory asked. “Why support another overseer?”
“Because the overseer you have now has caved in and given away your freedoms for the illusion of peace,” Stolt said. “Have you read the accord?”
“I have,” Diggory nodded.
“And was there anything in there about disbanding the monarchy?”
“No, not a thing.”
“And isn’t that the basic tenet of your entire rebellion? To take down the monarchy?”
“It was,” Diggory replied. “But there has to be compromise somewhere.”
Stolt started to laugh, but kept it under control as he saw the fire build in the man’s eyes.
“I am sorry. Forgive me,” Stolt said and bowed slightly. “But monarchs do not compromise. Langley has given up. He has left your people to trade one mantle for another. That is all. That is why I have come to you. Because I know deep in that lowdecker heart of yours, you think compromise is an abomination. Did Helios compromise when he devoured the other gods? Will the Dear Parent compromise when the Final Feast happens and he devours all of existence?”
“No,” Diggory said and was echoed by his men behind him.
“No,” Stolt smiled. “Then let’s talk terms. I was a little harsh with Langley on the profit margin, but you, Diggory? I see good things with you and might be able to lower my price if you are willing to take a good quantity of blades.”
“What about the longsling?” Diggory asked, already hooked and almost landed.
“Let’s focus on those blades first,” Stolt said. “Once you take control of the station then the longsling will come into play. Can you imagine what the other stations would pay for that design? Best to keep that in your back pocket.”
“You have to think long term,” Diggory nodded.
“I knew I liked you, my good man,” Stolt replied. “You are a man with true vision, that is for sure.”
* * *
“This is ridiculous,” Dormin Sloughtor said as he stood next to Derrick in the lift. “The stewards each want their own copy of the accord? Signed? Why?”
“I don’t know, Dormin,” Derrick said. “But do shut up about it.”
“Yes, sire,” Dormin replied. “I apologize. It is not my place to criticize the nobility. I am here merely to serve you.”
“That’s right,” Derrick said and gave the man’s cheek a firm pat. “And the way you’ll serve me best is by keeping your mouth shut once we get down to the lower decks. And also by lugging the copies of the accord for me.”
Dormin looked at the handcart stacked with heavy boxes filled with copies of the accord. He sighed and said a few words of prayer for his poor back. He had been Master Henry III’s valet at one time, but that was many years ago. Now he was relegated to be the minor’s assistant in all matters. There were plenty of worse jobs for an aging servant, so he didn’t complain. Much.
“We will be at your beck and call at all times, my lord,” a guard said from the back of the lift. “And I would still like to stress that we should take point. Letting you walk from this lift unprotected is not a wise strategy.”
“Nockmon, right?” Derrick asked.
“Yes, my lord,” the guard nodded.
“Well, Nockmon, what do you think will happen if I let the royal guard lead the way? What would you do if heavily armed men came out of the lift at you?” Derrick asked. The man was silent. “Exactly. If I walk out of this lift first then it shows that the monarchy has faith in the accord. If you walk out first then it can be interpreted a million ways, one of which is as an attack. We’d be under siege before I could even get past you to explain.”
“Of course, my lord,” Nockmon nodded. “I was only thinking of your safety.”
“And I’m thinking of the entire station’s safety,” Derrick replied. “That’s why I’m a Teirmont and you are not.”
“Yes, my lord,” Nockmon replied. “As you wish, my lord.”
“You bet your Vape ass it’s as I wish,” Derrick grumbled. “Shitty enough I have to do this duty. I sure as Helios don’t need a guard questioning my moves.”
“My lord! I was never questioning—”
“Oh, shut up,” Derrick said. “I was talking to myself. I had a long night last night with some of the pleasure girls in Sector Forbine. You know how those women are trained, right? You get your credits’ worth there, that’s for sure.”
“I’ve never had the opportunity, my lord,” Nockman responded. “The pleasure girls in Forbine are strictly for the nobility.”
Derrick kicked the boxes of accords. “Should have had that put into this thing,” he laughed. “Although I would guess that in of itself would prevent the stewards from signing off! The nobility doesn’t like to share whores with commoners. I could give a grendt’s ass feathers who a whore screws as long as she washes up after. Right, Dormin?”
“If you say so, my lord,” Dormin frowned.
Derrick was about to respond when the lift lurched to a halt and the doors slowly slid to the side. Everyone inside tensed as they faced the unexpected.
“Ah, good,” a man said as he stepped forward to take the hand cart. “We were hoping it was you coming down. Langley is not happy about this and having to sign all of these copies will cut into the important business of his day.”
“No one said it would be easy to wrap up a rebellion,” Derrick said, looking the man square in the eye.
“You are addressing Minor Derrick Teirmont, lowdecker,” Dormin snapped, slapping the man’s hand away from the cart.
“I know who I’m addressing,” the man said. “We’ve been expecting you.” He reached out once more, but his hand was slapped again. “Stop doing that! I’m here to help wheel this into Langley’s quarters for you!”
“I have been entrusted by the meeting of stewards to see that these copies of the accord are delivered directly to Lucas Langley,” Dormin nearly shouted. “I just spent four hours on a lift to come down to this Helios forsaken place and I will not have an impertinent commoner like you take that duty from me!”
“Calm down, Dormin,” Derrick said. “He’s not taking it from you, just helping you wheel it to Langley. That is a good thing since it will get us there faster and get this job over and done with.”
“Of course, my lord,” Dormin said. “I spoke out of turn.”
Derrick shook his head and looked at the lowdecker sent to greet them. “What’s your name?”
“Sperry Langthon,” the man replied. “I’m from one of the original engineering families of the lower decks.” He nodded towards the lift. “My great grandfather ten generations back invented the servo in the lifts that allows it to maintain equilibrium even when getting closer to the rotational drive core. You think four hours is long? It used to take three days to get from the surface to this deck before that. Show a little respect, will ya?”
“My respect is earned, not shown,” Dormin snapped.
“Dormin? Calm down,” Derrick said. “Just push the cart and let’s get done with this business.”
“Yes, my lord,” Dormin nodded then looked at Langthon. “Will you lead or should I guess where I am going?”
“Testy servant you got there,” Langthon smiled. “We could use his scrap down here.”
“I would never—”
“Dormin, shut up,” Derrick growled. “No more talking. That’s an order.”
Dormin nodded and waited for Langthon to show the way.
“Come on,” the lowdecker waved. “Langley is this way. We don’t got no fancy great hall for you to see. You’ll just have to make do with the mess hall like the rest of us.”
Langthon and the rest of the lowdeckers turned and started walking briskly down the passageway. Not another soul was seen as they passed door after door, passageway intersection after passageway intersection, but the sound of whispers and hushed exclamations could be heard in their wake.
“We are being intentionally mislead, my lord,” Nockmon said quietly from behind Derrick. “It does not take this long to get to the mess hall on this deck.”
“It does if you have to go around all the fortifications we have in place,” Langthon responded, making it known he could hear the man perfectly well. “Feel privileged you are being allowed this far into the heart of things. Just a couple days ago and you wouldn’t have lived long enough to take five steps off that lift.”
“Yes, we feel quite privileged,” Derrick said. “The honor is overwhelming.”
“I am sure it is,” Langthon snorted. “You can express your gratitude directly to Langley. We’re here.”
Langthon stopped before a set of double doors. He pushed them wide with both hands until they locked into place then stepped aside for Dormin to wheel the cart of boxes into the dimly lit mess hall. Men and women that were busy chatting and eating all stopped and turned to look at the delegation from the surface.
“No weapons,” Langthon said, stepping in front of the royal guards after Derrick and Dormin had already entered.
“My lord?” Nockmon said. “I cannot give up my blades to these men.”
“Understood,” Derrick said then looked about the mess hall at the many heavy blades set upon benches and on tops of the tables. “Then I would expect the same from your people. My guards will leave their weapons out in the passageway once your folks do the same.”
All eyes instantly turned to Langthon. He licked his lips then sighed.
“Fine,” Langthon said. “Keep them. But any moves toward those blades and this room will fall on you like a Vape storm.”
“When have you seen a Vape storm?” Derrick asked. “Because I’ve seen more than my share on the planet. Have you even left this deck?”
Langthon moved quickly and was in Derrick’s face before the guards could even twitch.
“I’ve been off this deck plenty, you spoiled royal brat,” Langthon snarled. “I led the slaughter of two hundred of your men in Sector Gwalter. They thought they could hem us in on Lower Deck Forty-Seven. They thought wrong.”
The mess hall let out a loud cheer then went quiet. Derrick looked once more at the faces that filled the hall and saw nothing but pure rage. And bloodlust. He had to wonder what in Helios his brother was thinking in agreeing to Steward Stolt’s request and sending him down here with only his assistant and a small band of guards. They would all be ripped apart in seconds if it went sour.
“No offense meant, Langthon,” Derrick said and gave a slight bow.
“Hey, Langthon!” someone shouted. “You just got a royal curtsey! Ain’t you something special now?”
“Shut up!” Langthon yelled then nodded to Derrick. “Follow me.”
The man led them to the far right corner of the mess hall where Langley was seated; busy eating a plate of porridge that looked like it had congealed several days before. He was the only one seated at his table, but the surrounding tables were filled with men, their hands gripping the hilts of their heavy blades.
“Minor,” Langley smiled as Derrick walked up to him. “I am sorry you had to make the trip.”
“What do you mean? Four hours in a metal box is exactly how I like to spend my day,” Derrick chuckled.
“I am sure it is,” Langley laughed then looked over at the cart of boxes. “Your meeting of stewards is more than a little paranoid, don’t you think? Requiring my personal signature on each copy of the accord? Do they plan on signing each one as well?”
“They have,” Derrick said. “It took forever. The signatures towards the end of the day ended up being nothing but drunken scrawls since more than a few barrels of gelberry wine were consumed.” Derrick rubbed at his temples. “I may have participated in that, as well. So the sooner we can get done the sooner I can look forward to another four hour ride in a lift.”
Langley pointed to an empty space by the far wall then looked at Langthon.
“Set the boxes there,” Langley ordered. “Then clear this line of tables. Set out all the copies and I’ll go down the line, one by one, and sign them. It’ll be faster if we do this assembly line style.”
“Yes, sir,” Langthon nodded.
“Langthon and Langley?” Derrick asked. “Any relation?”
“No more than someone named Teirmont and someone named Peirpont,” Langley said.
“Point taken,” Derrick replied.
“Good,” Langley said. “Let’s get this over with.”
“My sentiments exactly,” Derrick grinned. “Dormin? Go set the boxes over there and oversee the laying out of the copies.”
“Yes, my lord,” Dormin bowed and pushed the cart towards the wall.
“May I sit?” Derrick asked, gesturing towards the empty bench across from Langley.
“If you must,” Langley said.
“You’d rather I stand right here and hover over you?” Derrick glared.
“I’d rather you weren’t here at all,” Langley said as he looked over at Dormin as the assistant began to unpack the top boxes. “Your guards aren’t going to help? It will take your man forever to get all of those out of the boxes.”
“Then maybe have some of your men help,” Derrick said as he took a seat across the table. “Neither of us want to deal with this so how about a little less attitude and a little more cooperation?”
“I have no desire to cooperate with royals,” Langley said. “But the sight of you is ruining my appetite. The sooner you are gone the sooner I can eat in peace.”
He shoved his bowl of porridge away and crossed his arms over his muscular chest. He studied Derrick for a minute then looked over at the table of lowdeckers closest to Dormin and the cart.
“Micho? Treal? Morgie? Help the old guy out,” Langley ordered. “Now.”
The three men looked at each other, glared at Langley, then glared even harder at Derrick before they stood up and started to help.
“What are you eating?” Derrick asked as he reached across and took the bowl into his hand. He sniffed at it and frowned. “Smells off.”
“Fermented wheat berry porridge with myco-oil swirled in,” Langley replied. “It doesn’t taste as good as it sounds.”
“It sounds disgusting,” Derrick said. “No shaow bacon or cutlets? Grendt eggs?”
“This is the lower decks, Teirmont,” Langley responded. “I haven’t seen shaow bacon since I was a little kid and my father took me up to the surface for one of Henry III’s random feasts.”
“Right,” Derrick laughed. “He would throw one anytime one of his architectural projects was completed. Sometimes me and Alexis would just sleep in the great hall between feasts. We’d wake up and grab a plate of something, steal some wine, then pass out in the corner again until the next one.” The minor looked about at the bowls of mush that everyone was eating. “A far cry from this subsistence, I guess. I can almost see why you rebelled.”
“Almost?” Langley asked. “What else do you need to see? The lack of physicians? The eight person families crammed into a closet? The missing limbs from rotational drive engineers because their safety harnesses haven’t been updated since the last century?”
“Alright, alright, you can stop,” Derrick sighed. “I’ve heard it all before. Trust me when I say that my brother understands all of this and truly wants to help.”
“And you?”
“Me? Honestly?” Derrick mused. “I could give two shits. I’ve lived under the shadow of others my whole life. I let them make the hard choices and just worry about staying out of the way. I do as I am told and don’t rock the boat.”
“So you live as a coward,” Langley stated.
“I live,” Derrick replied. “Not always the easiest thing for a royal to do.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “I used to set a timer to wake me up every fifteen minutes. That way no one could sneak into my room and kill me in my sleep.”
“That’s pretty paranoid,” Langley said. “How do you sleep now?”
“Oh, I sleep fine now,” Derrick said. “That was what I did when I was eight. That was the year Alexis came down with the weeping sickness and almost died. My sister told me if he died I would be next in line for the crown which meant there would be plenty of people wanting me dead.”
“Nice sister,” Langley chuckled.
“She’s gotten better,” Derrick smiled. “Now she scares my brother’s kids instead.”
“You have no children of your own?” Langley asked.
“No,” Derrick said, shaking his head. “Never married.”
“Marriage isn’t how children are made,” Langley winked. “I should know. I have three by my wife and probably more than a couple others running around the lower decks wondering who their daddy is.”
“Some royals have a stable of bastards,” Derrick shrugged. “I’ve always been careful.”
“Why? Knock up a whore and so what?”
“Because if anyone found out who sired the bastard then that child would be dead in an instant,” Derrick replied. “You forget I hear the secrets of other stations. Master Rutge of Station Klaerv sent three of his bastards down to Klaerv Prime to hide. Within the month they were returned to him, piece by piece, until he had their whole bodies. Then someone sent him an instruction pamphlet on how to sew them back together.”
Langley stared at Derrick for a good long while before he shook his head.
“That story makes my case for why the monarchy should be abolished,” Langley said. “And to think lowdeckers are considered the barbarians of this station.”
“Please,” Derrick laughed. “You understand brutality and violence, but we royals understand that and cruelty. You haven’t met evil until you’ve looked royal ambition in the eye.”
“What do you call that?” Langley asked, pointing at the stacks of paper being set on the table. “Looks like royal ambition to me.”
“Hardly,” Derrick responded. “My brother wanted nothing to do with this. It was all the meeting of the stewards’ idea.”
“I am willing to bet there was one steward in particular that wished for this to happen,” Langley smiled.
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing,” Langley shrugged. “It’s business better left unsa—”
His voice was lost in the massive explosion that roared towards them in a split second. Langley and Derrick were both thrown from their seats and sent flying against the wall. Smoke filled the mess hall and body parts rained down on those still left alive. Bits of paper floated lazily to the ground.
Derrick struggled to open his eyes and blinked several times before he could focus on the carnage.
The dead were everywhere. Legs, arms, and torsos covered every inch of space. Small fires burned here and there and Derrick realized most were fueled by human remains. Of the several dozen lowdeckers that had been present, only a third seemed able enough to stagger about and try desperately to help their fallen friends.
Derrick tried to look for Dormin, or any of the royal guards, but the space where they had been, where the hand cart had been, was nothing but a smoking crater and massive hole in the wall. No one within a thirty foot radius could have survived the blast. Derrick quickly realized he was alone.
That wasn’t his only realization: he could see all the panicked activity, but he couldn’t hear any of it. He reached up and snapped his fingers by his ears, but there was nothing but a high-pitched ringing and the low thump-thump of his pulse. He wiped at the skin just below his ears and his fingers came away bloody.
But his attention was quickly diverted from his new disability as hands grabbed him and yanked him to his feet. All were suddenly screaming at him, fingers jabbing Derrick in the chest. Bloody spittle flew onto Derrick’s face, but he didn’t care. All he had eyes for was the heavy blade one of Langley’s men was pulling free from its scabbard.
“Hey. Stop!” Derrick shouted. “I didn’t do this!”
His words were a far off buzz in his head. The minor started to thrash and fight against the men that held him, but a couple quick shots to his kidneys stopped that. He felt as if his back was on fire and he wondered what other injuries he had.
The men dragged him over to an overturned table and forced his neck against the edge. Derrick continued to fight, despite the constant battering he took, but his strength gave out quickly as he felt wetness run down the backs of his legs. He was bleeding and badly, he knew it.
Not that it mattered as a man stepped in front of him and showed him the razor sharp blade of impossible size. Then the blade was lost from sight as it was raised over his neck.
Derrick’s last thoughts were how in Helios’s name could anyone even lift a blade like that.
Then it was over.
* * *
The lift came to a stop and the guards turned to open the doors.
“Welcome back, your highn—” one of the guards said then stopped, his jaw dropping.
The other guard shoved him out of the way, stared at what was inside the lift, then turned and vomited.
Inside were piles of papers, most scorched and charred by fire, with each pile topped by a bloody body part or two. A couple of fingers on that pile, an ear on the other; a foot over there, a shoulder on that one.
In the middle of the grotesque scene was an almost pristine pile of paper. And on top of that was the severed head of Derrick Teirmont, Minor of Station Aelon.