Star Storm

Chapter Thirteen

Call the Guard

As he folded his arms at the head of his flagship, Vuke watched his crewmen panic while they set about getting the cruise on the landing platform below. It was not a difficult job – the platform had been cleared for the Celestial Watch's private usage – and his crew had managed the task countless times before.

Yet they struggled all the same. And Vuke, confused and frustrated by their perspiring faces, could not bring himself to snap at his crew to hurry up. One word out of him and the cruiser might plunge off the side of the city or crash into the communications tower a mile out from the landing strip. His people were jumpy, and Vuke knew it had nothing to do with his ranking.

Uterca's storm had unsettled even the most superior officers of the Celestial Watch. Nothing of the sort had appeared in their records and Vuke, like the rest of his fellow Watch members, could only guess at what had caused the storm of stars.

The ship started a steady decent. Vuke turned to the windows and watched Uterca's golden palace rise around him, its spires marked and emitting smoke. The palace was a mess. Crumpled brickwork, smashed windows, holes in the courtyard. Vuke failed to imagine what the rest of the city looked like.

"I have a private call to make." He flicked his hand at the navigation officer, and she nodded briskly in response. On his way out of the long chamber, Vuke heard the woman sending her message down the line; the commander must not be disturbed.

Vuke tugged on his uniform as he marched the length of the hallway. Since his convoy's delay, Vuke had found no time to answer the Governor's latest wave of messages. He had read them of course – nothing more than minor questions from the old man. But Vuke had not dared to answer until he was completely alone.

The crew would be held up with preparing for landing. Unless something went terribly wrong, Vuke would be able to slip into his private quarters, call the Governor and answer the man's unnecessary questions. Perhaps if Vuke was lucky, he would be able to pour himself a glass of wine or two.

"Station yourselves at the cargo hold," Vuke told the guards standing by his door. The two masked figures bowed slightly, then headed to their new posts, leaving Vuke to smile at himself. It was all too easy to get what he wanted from these people.

A tray of letters had been dropped onto the table in his anteroom. Vuke filtered through them to check for any stamped with an urgent symbol in the top right corner, found none, and continued his way. The rest of his chambers were as he had left them; the bed made, curtains closed and a clean set of glasses sitting in the window bay. Vuke spared the glasses a glance before pulling out his communicator.

The call was answered on the second ring.

"You are somewhat late," the stern voice of the Governor said. "Part of our deal was that you would always answer my requests. Night or day. May they be long or short."

"Of course. But the deal also stated I must be able to keep up my role within the Watch. We wouldn't want anyone getting suspicious." Vuke paced his room, stopping when he caught his reflection in the mirror. He winked at himself before continuing. "I kept the Watch from your ships, my friend. I see no reason for you to be upset."

"Are you in Uterca?" The old man's face turned to a wave of pixels on Vuke's narrow screen. There was never any chance of a good conversation with the man.

"Just about." Vuke had tuned the location on his device to somewhere vague in the Noric Region. He did not need the Watch or the Governor knowing exactly where he was at all hours of the day. As for his flagship, he could easily tell the Celestial Watch he was using another vessel for his private needs. And the Governor did not have the power to track Vuke's waste, never mind his ships.

"I need you to pass a message onto Telion."

"This wasn't part of the plan." Vuke caught his next step. Even looking at Telion was dangerous. To lie to her face, to be forced to speak with the woman – Vuke would require a wage rise in the least.

"There's been a change of plan," the Governor croaked.

"Well, don't be shy about it."

The static from the old man's bad connection crackled through the room for a moment before he spoke. "The prince was presumed dead, and so my people took the princess instead. She's of no use to us. We're have to ransom her."

"I will be passing on the message, then."

"Yes. Make up one of your stories about hearing something from a contact or something, it doesn't matter. Just tell the queen we want a million credits by the end of the tomorrow's cycle."

The Governor proceeded to tell Vuke the bank code for the ransom to be paid into, but Vuke had stopped listening. He could not understand how these idiots had picked up the princess rather than her brother, or why it mattered which of the royal brats they swiped.

But Vuke did not need to know. All he needed was his credits. To get his money, he simply had to follow the Governor's instructions. He did not need to like or understand his job.

"Fine. I'll do what needs to be done." Vuke flicked a piece of lint from his jacket and sought his mirror again. A meeting with Telion would require his cleanest uniform and his finest fragrance. "One million is too little for Nona, though. I'll tell her you want ten. When the credits are delivered, you can keep your desired one million. The spare nine will do me nicely."

A rude sound came from the communicator as the Governor muttered a curse. "You can have four. And only if nothing goes wrong. For every mishap on your end, I'll remove a million."

"Seven."

Vuke sighed as he adjusted his collar. The floor shuddered beneath him. The flagship had finally landed. Soon he would have to make his appearance on the landing bay. There would be officers to speak with, cargo to exchange and his hooded couriers to bid farewell to. It all seemed so pointless.

"Five," the man said.

"Five and you tell me if those falling stars had anything to do with that new station of yours." Vuke straightened his shoulders. His uniform was about as clean as it could get; the other clothes in his wardrobe would be no better than what he was already wearing.

"Six," the old man grunted. The call ended swiftly after.

Six and no answers, the man had meant. Only the Governor had given Vuke more than Vuke had wanted. An extra million and confirmation that the station floating on the edge of the Sorii's territory was a mighty new form of weaponry.

Vuke's smile was brief as he tucked the communicator into his pocket.