Chaos Quarter: Imperial Ambitions Read online

  “Huh?” came Jake’s drunken tone. “Oh, right. Coming Stacey…”

  The heavy footfalls moved away, back into the room. Chaki burst out laughing. Lucius broke a smile a moment later.

  “Oh well,” he sighed. “Kind of a mood killer.”

  “Mood killer nothing!” she declared, grabbing the sash of his robe and pulling him back toward the room. “You are running off to space for God knows how long, and you think I’m gonna let a drunk robot stand in my way?”

  He could feel the robe fall open as he passed into the room.

  “Now get in here,” she said in a sultry tone. “’Cause as the old saying goes ‘I’m not doing you on the freakin’ balcony…’”

  It was the acceptance of fear that led to our demise on the homeworld—fear of the rabble, fear of their influence, fear of their power, fear of their judgment and our own. It weakened us, led us from a True Path to one of impotence and irrelevance. We must never fear what needs to be done to uphold the Divine Order by which Man must live. We must leave behind all that would make us stop and weaken. A True Morality must be upheld, where we do not shrink from using the rod when our lessers try to undermine all that society has built. We must remind all who would tolerate such dissension that our new civilization, shaped into a Unified Force of God’s Will, shall not hesitate to correct their fallen ways. Steel yourselves for what is demanded of you, and you shall earn back the greatness of your ancestors.

  —Emperor Gnaeus I, Excerpt from a speech to his nobles at the founding of the Empire of Europa

  You are not going to want to hear what I have to say, and you certainly are not going to want to believe it. But everything I say to you now is true. The empire breeds serfs like livestock—like dogs, horses, and cattle. They breed serfs, and they breed them by the millions. As many as half the serfs on any given planet started their lives in a stable. There are so many breeds that they’re separated into groups—bed serfs, house serfs, working serfs, techs, warrior mares…so many. Counts and viscounts generally don’t have enough serfs or money available to do this, but the middle and higher stations in the imperial hierarchy take great pride in their “husbandry.” They each have their own specialty breed, sometimes three or four in the upper echelons of the nobility. The royal stables have created dozens of breeds.

  The majority of these serf breeds are workers, broodmares, and the like. They breed the techs for intelligence. And that is always an iffy proposition, with by far the highest rate of failure. Breeding smart serfs to each other often leads to autism, unsocial behavior, or serfs smart enough to realize how lousy their position in life is. Many have to be destroyed before they grow to maturity.

  By far the smallest group is the bed serfs—the concubines. But they are the most prestigious. Each noble wants the best and prettiest. They are bred strictly for pleasure. Most bed-serf women are given yearly birth-control shots since if a child was fathered on them, that child would be, by law, a warrior. And petite, thin women generally do not breed large or strong warriors. Also, what nobleman wants a pregnant concubine if he can avoid it? Male bed serfs are vasectomized to prevent the abomination of their “animal seed” from taking root in a noblewoman’s womb, though this isn’t done until after they’d spent a few years as a stud in a stable to ensure a next generation of male bed serfs.

  And they breed the concubines for every trait imaginable. The women…the men…if there is any trait you find attractive, they will breed it. Men with chiseled chests, women with massive breasts, men of unusual length, women of unnatural tight—yes, I understand if you want to throw up. Feel free to; I would not think less of you for it. As I said when I began, you will not want to hear the things that I have to say. But somebody has to know the full truth of what they do.

  —Logs of the debriefing of Lucius Baliol, taken February to June 2507 Standard Date; Classified; Not for public release

  Royal Palace Grounds, Island of Austia, Europa, Imperial Reach, Empire of Europa, Standard Date 7/25/2507

  Gnaeus III Cheseworth, God’s Own Servant, Chosen of the Almighty’s Select, Protector of the Divine Order, Emperor of the Europans and all Rightly Men, Master of Serfs, Tamer of the Wild Born, and Breaker of the Feral, rode his chestnut Arabian through the rolling meadows of Austia. Waist-high grass rippled as winds passed by, the breeze refreshing against his face. He closed his eyes and trotted his horse onward, to the top of a low ridge.

  For a moment the young sovereign enjoyed the silence and the wind, and then the clop-clop of his entourage filled his ears. He glanced back. A dozen horses followed. One half comprised members of his house guard, loyal warriors bred by his own father. They rode shorter ponies, guns on their backs and eyes scanning the royal isle for threats. There weren’t any. No Europan emperor had ever been assassinated or deposed. But they scanned all the same.

  Of the others two were bed serfs, bred in the royal stable not two kilometers away. One was an Ivory Full-Breast, a tall, female serf of extraordinary beauty. She wore a short, black kimono over flawless ivory skin. Her hips were full; her hindquarters, shapely; her breasts, large, high, and firm; her sheath, snug and welcoming. Her piercing blue eyes and long, black hair confirmed perfectly to breed standards. This particular one, Low Voice, had been in his harem for two years, and he still hadn’t tired of her. Next to her rode another bed serf, a Halcyii. Descended from a batch of Halcyonian slaves sold to his great-grandfather, this bed serf was a solid-blue color. She had the gray eyes and bright yellow hair of her native people, an exotic look that fetched a huge amount of money on the open market. Her features were not as fine as those of Low Voice, but the uniqueness of her more than made up for it. Gnaeus reminded himself idly that they would have to get their hands on more Halcyonians. The entire Halcyii breed descended from eleven individuals. He needed to broaden the gene pool to maintain the integrity of the breed.

  They rode and followed him so that should he need relief it would always be close at hand. But he wasn’t thinking of sex right now. Instead he focused on the two men next to, and slightly in front of, the bed serfs. These two were no serfs. They did not hunch their shoulders and stare at the ground, and they did not wear kimonos. They sat proudly atop Arabians, one in a royal-blue frock coat and the other in imperial purple. Medals and ribbons covered their chests. These men were lords.

  Tertius Frederick Lancaster-Kocth-Gottrop-Hohenzollern, Thane of Tlaroica-Sashchen, rode on the left. The thane was a veteran of two border wars with the Empire of Nippon and had been in countless skirmishes with the Terrans along the frontier. He was a model of nobility, having spent more of his years in service of the navy than on his own estate. He was forty-two, though years of service on the front had left him looking a couple years older.

  On the right, in purple, was Gnaeus’s half-brother, Baron Aetius Fitz-Titus. He was the son of Titus I, same as Gnaeus. But his mother had been one of his father’s consorts, one of many noblewomen he’d “honored” by taking them into his bed. Hence the name: “Fitz” for the fact that he was not trueborn; “Titus” to remind the whole of the universe who his father had been. Aetius was far younger than his riding companion—only seventeen. He looked every bit the youth—his frame not yet filled out and his posture overly aggressive, restless. His head darted about constantly, as if searching for and expecting something all at once.

  Gnaeus could understand the feeling. He himself was only twenty-six and could still remember well the years when he had been bursting with energy, ready to make a name for himself that would be sung about for centuries. Aetius’s unfortunate maternity only worsened matters for him. He’d come from the same womb that had birthed a traitor and felt the weight of it every day.

  Waiting behind them were two more serfs. Butler was a middle-aged male with a balding head and a knack for predicting his thoughts and desires. Task sat on the horse next to him. He was a youngster whose sole purpose was to dash about getting things Gnaeus needed. They kept their eyes down as trained, acting as
if they didn’t exist.

  And Gnaeus, for his part, paid no heed to their existence. Instead he focused of the two nobles.

  “Thane Hohenzollern,” Gnaeus said. “You have been briefed on the particulars on this assignment?”

  “Yes, your grace,” spoke Tertius.

  “You would not be a military man if you did not have concerns, yes?” Gnaeus asked.

  “I am content to uphold your judgment—”

  “I know all that,” said Gnaeus with a dismissive wave. “I mean to hear your thoughts.”

  “You honor me sire,” he said. “I have reservations only about the distance. Twenty-five light-years beyond our border, with several systems and petty states between the empire and this ‘Anglesey’…That is a long and tenuous supply line, sire.”

  “Indeed,” said Gnaeus. “But this is not a conquest and annexation. It is a message.”

  “It is a long way to travel for a message sire, important as this one is,” said Tertius. “And maintaining influence on this world…may prove difficult. The Terran puppets on the world of Boundary are far closer to Commonwealth borders than this world is to us, making them far easier to control.”

  “Valid concerns,” said Gnaeus. “But striking at Anglesey sends a message throughout the Quarter: that no distance is beyond our reach and that any who harbor our enemies will be dealt with most severely.”

  “I agree sire. I have no doubt of the fear this will inspire in the feral serf worlds,” said Tertius. “And please do not mistake my words for doubt. But I have no mind for messages, politics, or games of the mind. I look and see the logistical challenges of capitalizing on a victory so far from our borders.”

  “A concern I understand greatly Thane Hohenzollern. I admit freely to having to balance the risks, but I feel this is one worth taking. As a man of your stature and experience knows, a battle won without fighting is better than glory and blood. The fear this will inspire will save us from having to fight many battles in the future. The worlds of the near Quarter and the feral serfs upon them will remember and go out of their way to remain in our good graces.”

  “As you say, my liege. I plead to not having such fortitude when it comes to taking great risks,” Tertius declared. “A weakness your house is fortunate not to share.”

  Gnaeus smiled slightly and then turned back to his bed serfs.

  “Thane, have you ever taken a serf of the royal harem into your bed?” he asked.

  Tertius looked away from his lord, shaking his head.

  “No, sire,” he replied. “Forgive my language, but I quite like my head attached to my neck, sire.”

  Gnaeus chuckled. His father had never been a very forgiving man and had infamously decapitated a young count living on Europa as a hostage when he’d taken it upon himself to have his way with a bed serf of the royal harem.

  “Well, as I see it, a whore is a whore,” Gnaeus spoke, waving to the two women. “Take your pick, my lord. Lead her to some sunny knoll and have your fill.”

  Tertius looked back at the two women uneasily. He glanced back at the emperor nervously. Gnaeus just smiled and nodded.

  “They are both excellently trained,” said the emperor.

  “If I may be so bold,” said Tertius. “I have rarely seen a Halcyii.”

  “Blue Girl!” commanded Gnaeus in French. “Go with Lord Hohenzollern. You are his until tomorrow.”

  The blue-skinned woman said nothing and made no gesture of response. She simply turned her horse toward the thane.

  “You honor me greatly sir,” said Tertius, bowing as far as he could on horseback.

  “Go on,” said Gnaeus. “Have fun with her.”

  Tertius turned and rode away from the group, Blue Girl following close behind. Gnaeus watched them go and then turned to his brother.

  “You were indulgent with him brother,” Aetius grumbled.

  “Oh?” said Gnaeus.

  “Father would never let another touch the women of his harem,” said Aetius. “Much less a thane.”

  “Says a man who is but one station ahead of him,” reminded Gnaeus.

  Aetius scowled, but said nothing.

  “Besides, what you just saw was an exercise of politics,” said Gnaeus, spurring his horse along. They ambled slowly down the hill, turning back toward the palace.

  “Politics?” Aetius asked.

  “Yes, bother. By giving Lord Hohenzollern the opportunity to bed a wench that I myself keep, he will grow in stature. It is not often men get such a chance. It will be whispered about by gossipy women and low-ranking nobles. They will wonder what he has done to deserve such an honor. And with this newfound fame who will Lord Hohenzollern have to thank?”

  “You,” Aetius figured.

  “Yes, little brother, me. He gains fame; I gain the loyalty of a man who knows who it is that is ultimately responsible for that fame,” said Gnaeus.

  Aetius nodded and mulled it over. They reached the bottom of the hill they had previously crested, working along the shallow valley.

  “Another thing that I wished to speak with you about,” said Gnaeus. “Though you outrank him, Lord Hohenzollern has tactical command of this mission. Though he still owes you the respect due to your station, you will obey his orders.”

  “I understand,” Aetius said.

  “And he will not treat you differently because you are an emperor’s brother,” continued Gnaeus.

  “I would not want him to,” Aetius managed, a bit of darkness creeping into his voice. Gnaeus frowned at that; it was exactly what he was afraid of.

  “What do you mean by that brother?” Gnaeus asked.

  “Only that it is time I won honor to my name,” said Aetius. “I am ready to fight for the True Order.”

  “Is it for the Order that you fight? Or to clear your name of your mother’s stain?” said Gnaeus.

  Aetius stopped his horse. A barely controlled rage animated him. He seethed where he sat, restraining himself only because of the august nature of his half-brother.

  “Well?” asked Gnaeus. “Do I need to worry you’ll get yourself killed trying to free yourself of the legacy of the name ‘Baliol’?”

  “I am a Fitz-Titus,” Aetius forced out.

  “But your mother was Septima Irina Savoy-Habsberg-Baliol, was she not?” Gnaeus pushed.

  “You know who my mother was,” Aetius seethed.

  “And you know that our father’s royal seed is what makes you what you are. The lineage of your mother—”

  “The lineage of my mother!” fumed Aetius. He forced several heavy breaths through his teeth, his face an angry mask. “They see it brother. All your nobles who swear otherwise, they whisper about it when they think I can’t hear—talk of how the same weakness that turned Lucius traitor will surface in me, how it will only end in tragedy for the empire…for you.”

  “You are not your half-brother, Aetius,” Gnaeus pointed out.

  “To them I might as well be,” Aetius grumbled, pushing his horse on. He trotted ahead of the emperor, brooding. Gnaeus moved to catch up. Were Aetius anybody else, anyone not family, riding ahead of the emperor would’ve been an unbearable insult—the type that got you knocked down a station or two. But Gnaeus let it go with Aetius.

  “If you’re thinking that a noble death for the empire will rid you of this weight, then let me correct such thoughts now,” Gnaeus asserted. “I have no need of dead barons. And there are few enough people in this universe, even among my own kin, that I trust.”

  Aetius glanced over at his brother, momentarily surprised, and then regained his composure.

  “I am not looking to die,” Aetius assured.

  “No, but you are looking for greatness on the battlefield. And that is something that death often follows,” Gnaeus stressed. “And while I would never tell Lord Hohenzollern not to let a noble son of Europa lead warriors into battle, I will tell my most obstinate brother not to let himself get too far forward in the fight. It would not do for an emperor’s son to die a
t seventeen, without a wife or heirs, without even a chance to rule a barony of his own. All the fine songs sung about your ‘valiant death’ won’t equal the feeling of holding your first trueborn. They won’t match the joy of awakening in the arms of a beloved consort. They won’t stand up to the feeling of looking out across all that is yours and knowing that your will rules all. Those songs won’t do anything for you Aetius, because if such songs are sung, then you are already dead.”

  Aetius nodded and then said quietly, “God does not turn his back on those who die nobly for His cause.”

  “Nor those who lived a long life in His Service,” Gnaeus countered. “May He forgive me for saying this, but God can wait for you. I have need of you in this world.”

  “As you wish, my liege,” Aetius conceded. “I will try not to be too aggressive in my prosecution of this mission.”

  “Hmm,” said Gnaeus, not sure how deeply his words had struck. With Aetius he rarely was. For all his qualities as a nobleman, and he had many, Aetius had a demon burning within. Lucius Baliol had put it there the day he’d murdered his father and wife and fled the empire for the Terrans. It was not fair that Aetius should suffer for his half-brother’s crimes, but suffer he did. Aetius was not the only one who heard the whispers of nobles. Gnaeus had heard all his brother had and more, to the point that he’d had to “remind” a young count, living on Europa as a royal hostage, that the essence of the emperor who had fathered Aetius overpowered any treasonous shortcomings inherent in Baliol blood. After being threatened with a public flogging the young count had repented, announcing to all in the royal court that he’d been foolish and momentarily unworthy of his title. The apology had been long, gracious, and worthy of a nobleman. Gnaeus had had him flogged anyway, stripped naked and whipped right there in court, to send a message to all of what would happen to those who dared insult his family.

  The whispers had become much quieter after that, but they persisted nonetheless.