Destiny's Choice (The Wandering Engineer) (63 page)

The
king and queen had not made an appearance. He hadn't seen them or the Pyrax
delegation since their arrival. He was curious about that. He realized that the
monarchs were busy. Perhaps they were in conference together? He'd been
surprised to see at least Willis here tonight. What about the others though?
They had to eat sometime right?

“Darque
sir. On the western coast,” she said adjusting her bosom. Sprite's avatar rolled
her eyes on his HUD.

“Hussy.”
He grimaced slightly. He didn't need Sprite pointing out the obvious.

“You
are an officer my lord?” She fluttered her eyelids at him, fingers stroking his
hand.

“Admiral.
Fleet Admiral. Federation Navy. I'm a sleeper,” he answered automatically,
watching a pair of lordlings fight near a corner. Edged weapons had been
banned. The young men were brawling, without any science or tact. He winced as
one man bit the other's ear. The other man snarled, punching the first in the stomach.
The biter didn't let go however. No one seemed eager to break them up. On the
contrary most were cheering them on.

“Admiral?”
the woman said breathless. He looked at her. “You commanded ships?”

He
turned to her. “Starships, yes. I'm an engineering Admiral actually. I prefer
building starships. Or the facilities to build ships.”

“You
don't say,” she said huskily, stroking his arm with her fingers.

“What
a piece of work,” Sprite said in disgust.

“Do
you know as much as Merlin?”

“None
knew as much as he. Though he was a fool in the end,” a partier said from down
the row.

“I
don't know much about Merlin,” he said. “I don't know his education, or
skills.”

“You
would have if you'd let me brief you,” Sprite sighed. He clicked his jaw.
“Shutting up now.”

“I
believe I am much more... educated than the person you call Merlin.”

“To
be able to build ships you would have to!”

“I'm
afraid the machinery to build such wonders is long gone,” a nearby gentleman
said politely. He wiped his greasy hand on his leg and then burped.

“No,
it exists now in Pyrax,” Miss Willis said. He glanced at her. She was a yellow
sun in this somber group. The two of them were the only ones not sporting white
wigs and face paint. “Thanks to the Admiral,” she said with a polite nod his
way.

“True,
they couldn't have done it without us,” Sprite said on his HUD.

The
courtesan turned wondering eyes on him. There was far to much calculated
interest there. “Do tell?” she murmured with a smile. He winced as the mole on
her chin wiggled.

“I
am a sleeper from the past,” he said. “I worked with another sleeper who had
awoken before me and we've been rebuilding the fleet.”

“After
fighting off pirates,” Willis said, interjecting with a soft smile. He wasn't
sure what her opinion of the woman cozening up to him was. She was probably
highly amused by it.

She
looked good, dressed as she was. Definitely a breath of fresh air in this over
perfumed group of peacocks. The one true beauty in the lot. He felt a pang of
guilt over that thought, it felt like he was betraying April. He let the
thought die as he watched the courtiers react to her comment. Apparently he was
the entertainment for the evening.

“Pirates!
Why how dashing!” the courtesan said smiling again. He tried not to wince at
her yellow teeth.

“I
am surprised you didn't see them here. They passed through the system. Your
neighbors in Agnosta were hammered.”

“I
dare say they didn't wish to tangle with their majesties,” a guard captain said
and then burped. He slapped a servant on the ass. She squeaked. “More ale!” he
roared.

“Right
away my lord,” she said and scurried off.

“Smart
of them,” another lord slurred in agreement, hoisting a tankard of ale. The bar
wench placed one in front of the guard captain. He took it, glanced at it's
contents and then smacked it with the lords.

“I'll
drink to that!” he said and they drank.

“Was
it some fight?” one of the lordlings asked. Irons turned. It was one of the
kids who had been fighting earlier. He was nursing his ear and black eye.

“Not
bad. They didn't know what hit them.”

“Were
there many casualties?” the courtesan asked, fluttering the fan.

“On
our side? Not many. A handful I believe. Their side was heavily hit. Most of
their small craft were battered into scrap and had no survivors.”

“Ah.”

“And
after they did that they put in a shipyard. We traveled here in Destiny, one of
the ships the fleet liberated.”

“Fleet?”
a man guffawed. “A fleet you say? Of how many old and broken down freighters?”

“Not
many freighters.  A couple of tin cans, some small craft, cruiser, and a
battleship. We are building more now.”

“You
don't say!” the man said, eyes wide. He was very drunk. Irons shook his head as
the man swayed and then fell face first into a cream pie. He winced as people
roared with laughter.

“Why
are you here?”

“Why
not? I was planning on coming out this way to see the area and to set up bases
to help civilization return to what it once was. I'm here for a look and brief
vacation before I head back to the ship.”

“Ah.”
The woman fluttered her fan, lips puckered at being upstaged by others.

A
man yawned. Irons grimaced at the show of broken yellow teeth. Another spat on
the floor. He looked away only to see another man pissing in a corner. Looking
away from that his gaze fell on a couple getting busy in the opposite corner.
They looked like they were enjoying themselves. He grimaced and closed his eyes
briefly.

“I
think I'll call it a night,” the Admiral said, yawning and then stretching
theatrically. “I'm looking forward to seeing more of your world tomorrow.” He
got up and walked out as the others murmured.

He
made the turn out the door and looked back out of the corner of his eye. Miss
Willis was talking to the courtesan. The woman seemed a little exasperated
about being held back. He made a mental note to prop a chair under the door
handle and to thank Willis in the morning. Or at least the first chance he got.

The
Admiral grimaced as he walked around the castle. So far he hadn't gotten out.
He had been headed off with every kind of excuse. True the first few days it
had rained hard, so he hadn't pushed the issue. He really didn't want to slog
through the mud and muck on this planet if he didn't have to. That wasn't what
he considered a vacation. But now four days later it was bright and sunny.
There wasn't a cloud in the sky. He didn't intend to spend his entire vacation
staring at the inside of a moldy stone keep.

“I
am heading out for a look around,” the Admiral said as he walked to the gate.
He was seriously considering just walking back to the space port. He was sick
and tired of the crappy accommodations.

A
portly bearded guard held out a hand. “You need a pass.”

“I
am a guest on your world. I've already been invited on a tour. You seem to have
one going now.” He waved to the tour group he could see leaving in the
carriages. He should have joined the group.

“You
were not invited. We were told to keep you here,” the guard responded,
disinterested in him. He turned back to the guard.

“You
were, were you?” Irons asked eying the belligerent guard. The guard was young,
probably in his twenties. In other words not quite gone to drinking and fat
just yet. “Any particular reason why? And why me? And not them?” He indicated a
woman. From the hair it must have been Miss Willis. She was going with the
group but the carriage had guards. Which was odd, since they didn't have any
coming in from the port.

“We
just follow orders,” the guard said with a sniff. Irons jaw tightened as he
stood straight and locked eyes with the suddenly nervous guard. “Um, sir.”

“Right.
A soldier's excuse,” he said gruffly after a moment.

“Perhaps
the king wishes to take you hunting sir? I believe there was some mention of
that. Later today or tomorrow,” a servant at his elbow suggested. “I'll just
escort you back to your rooms so you can change.”

“I've
got a better idea. I am going to go speak with Miss Mayfair,” he said turning
to them. “Got a problem with that?” he asked, letting a menacing subsonic growl
enter his voice box. He hadn't seen the little witch since their first
introduction to the king and queen come to think of it. Perhaps she was behind
this? It was time to find out either way.

“Um...”

“Better
not,” the Admiral growled walking off. “Sprite what the hell is going on?” he
asked under his breath, getting a look around with his implants Sprite had
already plotted a course to the guest wing for him.  The guards weren't looking
out, most were watching him. “Did I get ratted out or something? Are they
worried about me contaminating someone?” Damn it, was he going to have to put
up with this crap until he shook Mayfair off?

“I'll
look into it Admiral. But only a handful left in the tour group Admiral. The
rest are in their quarters locked down.”

“Oh?”
he paused. “Then who just left?”

“Servants
in their spare clothing,” Sprite answered. “I'm curious if they are trying to
escape this place or not. From the look of the guards going with them I doubt
it. Which makes me wonder.”

The
thought of servants pretending to be tourists made him pause. He didn't envy
the others if and when they got their clothes back. It would be better to burn
them to keep from being infested with vermin. But why the elaborate charade?
And for who's benefit was it? “Oh this gets better and better,” the Admiral
growled. “Any idea why they would be leaving like that?”

“To
keep up appearances? Honestly, the logic of organics sometimes escapes even me
Admiral.”

He
scowled, coming to a decision. “Right. Okay. I want you to check on what's
going on. Take over the entire system. Full access. Full authorization to break
anything you have to do. Get me intel. I have a bad feeling I will need it
soon.”

He
made his way through the castle to the guest wing. The page who had been sicked
on him had been easily distracted. A simple puff of chloroform his nanites had
constructed had knocked the lad out. A guard nearby saw him but didn't stop him
as he passed and knocked on the door.

“Admiral
ah, come in,” Miss Mayfair said as she opened the door. “I was ah, hoping you
would drop by. It seems we have an audience with the king and queen in an
hour.”

“I
heard something about a private hunting trip. Something used as an excuse to
keep me in the castle,” Irons replied grimly. The woman had changed into a
spare outfit.

She
looked up at him with a mixture of annoyance and fear. “We too have been
restricted to this wing,” she admitted and then grimaced. “Without indoor
plumbing I might add. Disgusting,” she said wrinkling her nose and looking a
little pale. She shook her head. “I haven't had a shower in days and I must say
this is terrible.”

“Tell
me about it,” Irons sighed. “I think we should go talk with the king and
queen.”

“I'll
just ah, go on ahead. To make sure everything is okay,” Mayfair said,
practically jogging off as Miss Willis expertly delayed the Admiral. Irons
grimaced. Well played ladies he thought, blocked by the chatting Willis.

“Where
did you come from?” Irons asked. “I thought you were in the tour group?” he
asked Willis. She shook her head no.

“Since
when does the leader of a delegation play errand boy?” Sprite said with exasperation.
“I swear the entire concept of protocol is lost on these people,” she shook her
virtual head.

The
Admiral grunted but didn't give any other outward sign as he nodded to Miss
Willis and her polite conversation.

“Their
royal majesties will see you now,” a page said in the doorway. They turned and
followed the boy out of the waiting room. They made their way through the
corridors to the grand hall. The rich red carpet was noticeably missing. The
guards were looking at them coldly, dispassionately. Something was definitely
wrong, it was time to find out what.

From
the look of things the guards had been tipped off that something was about to
go down. He didn't like the ominous feeling that kicked off in his gut. He sent
a signal, readying his shields and defenses.

“Is
he wearing what I think he's wearing?” Sprite asked as they entered the throne
room. The Admiral's knowledgeable eyes turned on to the figures on the throne
and quickly recognized the armor for what it was. It didn't take long for his
practiced eye to take in the details.

“If
you're asking if that's powered combat armor, it is. Militia grade. About two
hundred years out of date before the war,” Irons replied grimacing. The armor
was nice, clearly touched up and gilded with gold and silver leaf on the edges.
Ribbons adorned the pauldrons and chest plates. The standard of the king was on
each shoulder in gold with red ruby eyes.