Chapter Eight

Tantos Station

Tantos Station was a riot of color, sound, and life.

The old space station had begun as an Imperial military base, abandoned after the Empire pulled its forces out of the Dozen Stars following the rebellion of Artax and the War of Founding. Picked clean of weapons and information by the Tantos dukes long ago, it had been deemed obsolete and left to drift in space until it had been purchased a century later by a coalition of the various local guilds and been gradually renovated, converted and expanded until very little of the original structure could be seen beneath of hodgepodge of incongruous but highly functional parts. It had become a hub for commerce, most of that of less than legal nature – the guilds had their rules, but those were concerned more with protecting their profits than with the details of the transactions that took place under their watch, and many of the Tantos dukes had been of the same mind, turning a blind eye to the station so long as they got their cut in guild taxes.

It had been a long time since Mardoban had set foot in the station – then he'd been a young man, not yet duke, itching for adventure and the chance to prove himself as a great warrior and knight. He'd first come here not long before he met then-princess Aestera and found in her service the purpose his life had been lacking. He'd come to Tantos Station with some foolish idea in his head of single-handedly stamping out the criminal element that had so much power there and freeing it from their predations forever; the present Mardoban shook his head at the memory. He'd barely made it out alive.

Now, an older, wearier, and, he hoped, wiser man, he made his way through the crowds in one of the station's main passageways, clad in a stained brown shirt and pants with a cheap cloak wrapped around him. Gilgam followed shortly behind, similarly clad. Around them on all sides was a mass of people that seemed to represent all the varieties of humanity. Clothing and styles from all twelve duchies of the Dozen Stars could be seen on the people that surrounded them, along with some who looked like they came from Realtran or one of the other nations that had broken off from the Empire as its power faded. Mostly commoners, Mardoban thought, or people like himself who wanted to be taken for commoners, but occasionally someone who looked like a noble passed by – no doubt here seeking some business advantage or service they felt they couldn't get more reputable places. Here and there were a few who looked to have come from the Empire itself, their sleek clothing and imperious manner giving them away; while few others here seemed pleased to see them, neither were they turned away. There were even a couple of men in masks and heavy robes Mardoban was certain were missionaries from the Alaelam Alliance; that was uncommon. Even with faster-than-light travel, the Alliance was so remote that the Dozen Stars didn't even have regular diplomatic relations with them.

There were a few aliens scattered through the crowd as well; a handful of creatures that looked like giant insects clustered together, talking quickly in their buzzing, clicking language, and a tall, ethereal woman with faintly glowing skin and feathers for hair glided past, hands folded in the sleeves of her robes. All of these were given a wide berth; the Dozen Stars weren't a xenophobic as the Empire, but there were few humans who welcomed aliens among them.

The shops that lined the main way represented an equal variety. Some were little more than tarps propped up on long metal poles to provide some shelter for the tables where wares were laid out; others were larger buildings that made use of the station's structure, with holos and flashing signs in a variety of colors to attract the attention of customers. The wars themselves varied from weapons to technology to foods to art to, no doubt, a variety of drugs banned on most planets in the Kingdom; almost anything could be found here, and all of it was for sale.

Gilgam sudden reached out and brushed Mardoban's sleeve. "My lord," he said. "I think we're being followed."

"I'm sure we are," the Duke replied softly. "If we're lucky, it's just pickpockets or Guild authorities. It could be something worse, though. Keep your pistol ready, just in case. And, Gilgam? Remember that while we're here, I'm just Mardoban." It wasn't an uncommon name, and most people wouldn't immediately associate it with the regent upon hearing it.

"Sorry, my – Mardoban," Gilgam said. "Old habits." He looked somewhat relieved at the Duke's explanation, but not entirely convinced; he let one hand drop to his pistol and kept glancing about nervously. Mardoban himself kept his gaze forward, watching the signage, and finally gestured for Gilgam to follow him as he ducked down a dark side passage.

"Are you sure this is all right?" Gilgam asked as the two of them made their way down the long, featureless hallway. "This place looks abandoned, and it feels like a good place for an ambush. There's no way out but front or back, and if they hit us from both sides…"

"The person we're going to see likes his privacy," Mardoban said. "Fortunately, he also doesn't like violence, especially if he has to be near it personally. If anyone tried to get assassins or mercenaries this close to his home, he'd know, and he wouldn't stand for it – and he has the capacity to register his objection decisively. And yes, this is definitely the right spot."

"If you say so, sir," Gilgam muttered under his breath, but he walked in a wary silence as the two men made their way down the hallway. Finally, they reached the end – a locked door with a blinking control panel on one side, flanked by two guards in body armor and faceless helmets, beam rifles held in front of them at an angle.

Mardoban walked up to them calmly and lowered his hood. "Gentlemen," he said. "I have an appointment with your boss. Will you tell him I've arrived?"

"Identification, now," one of the guards said, holding out his hand. Mardoban sighed and pulled out an identification card, something his position as regent rarely required him to actually carry and use; the guard inspected it and nodded, satisfied. Then he turned to Gilgam. "And who is he?"

"My bodyguard," Mardoban said. "He goes where I go. I trust that your boss doesn't have a problem with that?"

A faint chuckled echoed behind the helmet. "Our master understands the need for personal security," he said. "You may enter." He punched a sequence of keys on the control panel and the door slid open. Mardoban nodded to the guards and stepped inside, Gilgam following behind.

They found themselves in a dimly-lit room whose central feature was the large table at its center; on the side facing them were set two chairs, and across the center was a shimmering screen behind which only vague shapes could be seen – but Mardoban thought that one of those shapes was the silhouette of a very tall, lean man. He nodded in its direction, and the silhouette returned it.

"Mardoban ast Ordanes," a heavily distorted voice said. "Are you duke today, or are you regent? Or are you back to being a crusading knight, hunting the wicked in the name of justice? I find I can't quite decide."

"Hello, Specter," Mardoban said, taking one of the seats and gesturing for Gilgam to do the same. "Been a while."

"I suppose the great regent of the Dozen Stars is simply too busy to bother with the likes of a simple trader such as myself," Specter said. "Until, of course, I have something you want. Information is my business, and I believe that is what you've come for. I'm pleased that someone who has grown so powerful was so willing to indulge my… eccentricities by agreeing to a personal meeting."

"I could hardly do less for the man who saved my life, after all," Mardoban said.

"He saved your life?" Gilgam whispered. "Sorry for being forward, sir, but you didn't mention that."

"Does it surprise you?" Specter asked, chuckling. "I don't consider myself an altruist, but I sometimes find I have a certain soft spot for foolish young people who find themselves in over their heads. And, occasionally, for older people who should know better but find themselves in the same position anyway." The silhouette shifted behind the screen, and then Specter spoke again. "You've come for information, Mardoban. Ask me your questions."

"You've no doubt heard of the pirate attacks on shipping lanes," the Duke said. "The council has asked me to look into it. Several of the attacks have been in your neighborhood, old friend. I can't imagine you don't know about it."

There was a sudden hiss from the other side of the screen that might have been a sharp intake of breath. "You play a dangerous game, Mardoban," Specter said.

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"I'm the most powerful person in this Kingdom, Specter," said Mardoban. "I think I can handle it."

"Are you really?" Specter asked. "It has seemed to me over the years that you have little real authority – and I do not say this to insult you, it is simply a statement of fact. The dukes will do as they please, and have little interest in being ruled, or in lofty ideas like the greater good of the realm. They all value different things – Duke Naudar values his bloodline, Duke Respen his military, Duke Hiram, his wealth – but their personal interests consume them all, nonetheless. My advice to you, Mardoban, is to simply walk away from them. They don't deserve your efforts to preserve the Kingdom."

"Maybe you could do that, Specter," Mardoban said, "but not me. Both because I made a promise to someone I respected very much, and because the Dozen Stars is more than just the council. But here I think the dukes' interests align with what they say they want. The pirates are a threat to all the things you mentioned, and to the Kingdom I swore to defend. Tell me what you know, Specter. I'll pay you very well for it."

"Of that, I have no doubt," Specter said, a faintly amused tone tinging his voice. "You never did learn to haggle, Mardoban. Yes, the pirates have been seen in this system; some of them have come aboard this station, in fact, to carouse and spend their gains, and I've been able to observe them and overhear their conversations. There appear to be two primary levels within the pirate hierarchy – the outer group, who appear to be little more than the standard collection of mercenaries, outcasts and career criminals who make up the bulk of such organizations, and the inner group, who are the ones who use the technology you worry about and who interest me the most. Unfortunately, all those I've seen on the Station appear to be from the outer group, but I have still been able to learn much from them.

"These are not simple pirates, Mardoban. Oh, the bulk of them may have been at one time, but the hand that guides their organization is something much more calculating than that. I do not know his name, or his point of origin – I'm not entirely certain he's even a 'he' – but the pirates have spoken in hushed voices of their leader, who they simply call "the Commander". Apparently, he first appeared not long ago in the outer systems of the Kingdom and began gathering followers to launch a sustained campaign against the Crown. His goal, so far as his lackeys understand it, is to break apart the twelve duchies and see an end of the Dozen Stars as a nation. Unfortunately, most of the pirates I've eavesdropped on know little of his long-term plans beyond this, nor do they much care save for the fact that he pays well and is apparently a very dangerous man to cross."

Specter's silhouette moved behind his screen, and suddenly a holo flickered into life above the table, display a small array of starships. "This," the informant said, "so far as I've been able to ascertain, is the primary pirate fleet. As you can see, it's the usual collection of commandeered warships and merchant vessels that have been loaded down with every weapon the pirates can afford. They are, however, extremely well-coordinated; they strike quickly and surgically, taking what they want and vanishing, taking relatively few casualties in the process. This is helped greatly by their cloaking technology; it only seems to work for a short time, at least on something as large as a starship, but it nonetheless enables them to quickly ambush their prey. Where they take their spoils, I don't know."

Mardoban raised an eyebrow. "Really, Specter?" he asked. "I thought you made it your business to know everything."

"I know much," the informant said, "but not all. None of the fools I eavesdropped on were quite foolish enough to give away the location of their base where it could be overheard, and all of my attempts to plant trackers on them failed. I no more know their base's location than I could tell you that of Lost Terra or the Eye of the Lord. I do, however, have an inkling of their next move. It seems that a large shipment of precious stones and metals from the mines of Tantos III is due to leave this system by the end of this week, en route to the foundries of Aurann where, I am told, they will be useful in the creation of a variety of powerful weapons. It also seems that the Commander has taken an interest in this shipment and intends to seize it before the transport jumps. I don't know whether he intends to sell off the contents to finance his operation, to use them to make weapons of his own, or if he has some other purpose for them; nor do I much care. But I recommend that if you want to ambush the pirates and try to take some of them alive – and thereby learn what I have been unable to tell you – this would be your best option."

Something buzzed on the end of the table and a small card emerged from a port in its side. Mardoban held it up and inspected it; as he thought, a datacard. "This contains the specific information regarding the timing and content of the shipment," Specter said. "Use it wisely."

"I will," said the Duke, slipping it into one of his pockets. "Thank you for your help, Specter. Is there any other information you have for me?"

"I have told you most of what I know for certain," the informant said. "But I can provide speculation, if you wish. I've had my sources trace the pirates spending habits while they're here, to try and track the origins of their money. Much of it, as you might expect, comes from the same systems where their robberies have taken place. A few, however, have paid with money I've traced back to highly-placed sources on Aurann and Tashir."

"Aurann and Tashir," Mardoban muttered. "Those are Respen's and Sateira's holdings. Do you think they are behind this?"

"Perhaps," Specter said. "Perhaps they merely seek to profit from the chaos. Or perhaps they are innocent, and someone merely seeks to frame them to hide their own involvement or discredit powerful rivals. I try to avoid digging too deeply into the affairs of Aurann and Tashir's governments – unlike my own Duke Hiram, who is an indulgent man where the wealthy and well-connected are concerned, their Duke and Duchess are more efficient – and ruthless - rulers who I would rather not cross. This part of the investigation, I'm afraid, is more your area than mine.

"As for the inner circle of the pirates, I was fortunate enough that one of my agents was able to capture one following a skirmish between the pirate fleet and Naudar's forces. Unfortunately, the pirate apparently committed suicide before I could… interrogate him, but I was able to dissect the corpse, and what I learned disturbed me. The pirate had extensive cybernetic implants – these, I believe, are what killed him before he could talk – and the technology was entirely unfamiliar to me. No duchy in the Dozen Stars produces such implants, and neither do any of the other minor kingdoms, the Empire, or even the Alaelam Alliance. I believe that the technology either originates from even farther afield than my sources reach – or it is so experimental I have yet to acquire any knowledge of it. Either possibility is an unsettling one. I've seen such implants only once before…"

"On the assassins who killed the Queen," Mardoban finished darkly. "Just what I was afraid of. Do you think they're back to finish the job?"

Specter shrugged. "Who can say? If you want answers, seek out the Commander; he will have them, I'm sure. But be wary – everything I've learned points towards him being an extremely dangerous man, one even a duke should not cross lightly. But at the same time, I find myself hoping that you do manage to find him; I'm curious to see how these pieces fit together, and I dislike having the pirates on my station. Their presence is bad for my business."

"All I could hope for, I suppose," Mardoban said, sighing. He withdrew his ID card from where he'd stowed it and swiped it in a reader along the table's edge; a light flashed green once. "Thank you, Specter. Your payment should have just gone through; I trust it's satisfactory."

"As always," Specter said. "A pleasure doing business with you… regent."

"And you," Mardoban said, and rose.

/

The Duke and Gilgam left Specter's dim office and made their way back out into the bright chaos of the main thoroughfare. After a long silence, Gilgam finally spoke. "Who is he, anyway?"

Mardoban chuckled. "That, Gilgam, is a question a lot of people would pay dearly to know the answer to," he said. "I know a little, which is more than most. Ask him about himself, and Specter will just say that he's a merchant of information, which is true enough. He's old, I know that – he helped me out of a tight spot when I wasn't much older than Pakorus is now, and he was already well-established then. Most people on Tantos Station have heard of him, but few get to meet him unless they can pay him well, and so far as I'm aware, nobody's ever seen his face. On the rare occasions he gets out and about, he's supposed to go around in a cloak and mask, but I think it's more likely he dresses a decoy like that and just hides himself in the crowds.

"Nobody's quite sure how he knows the things he does, either. A rumor I've heard more than once is that he's an Adept, that he was a priest who got defrocked but not before learning mystical secrets. I don't buy it; I’m more inclined to believe the rumors that link his origins to the Guilds, and I think he mostly uses spies and surveillance technology. I bet this whole station is thick with his cameras, microphones, and spy mechs, all of them sending everything they see and hear back to that quiet little office. As to how he got rich enough to pull it all off – some say he used to be a guild official, some say he was a thief, and some say he's a renegade nobleman. Some say all three. I've always thought it best not to ask."

"And are you sure you trust him?" Gilgam asked; he still looked unconvinced.

"Specter's always been honest in his dealings with me," Mardoban said, "and I think that's how he is with most people – he doesn't want to damage his reputation by dealing too much in information that's not true. I wouldn't want to cross him, though. He's very dangerous on his own turf."

"Sorry, sir, but I thought you said he hated violence," Gilgam said.

"He does; not out of any moral conviction that I can tell, but because he finds it crude and uncivilized, and because he's a bit of a coward who hates risking himself. But that just means that if he can't avoid violence, he'll make sure to end it as quickly and decisively as possible. Those guards aren't just for show, and he's got more hidden – and plenty of weapons. I heard that a local crime lord tried to force Specter to pay tribute to him once and pulled a beam pistol on him when he refused – and that afterwards there never was enough of the man left to identify the remains."

Mardoban lightly patted the pocket where he'd stowed the datacard. "Fortunately," he said, "he's not the one we're hunting. And he's given us the first real clue we've had; I intend to make use of it. Our next stop will be Tantos III itself; I need to talk to Hiram and see what we can manage, and then…"

Gilgam's eyes suddenly widened and he slammed into Mardoban, shoving him forward and knocking him to the ground. A moment later, the marketplace was rocked by a sudden explosion that struck right where the two men had been standing, leaving a column of thick, black smoke rising into the air.

Then the screaming started.