Thirteen hurried through the doors that led to the garden, her synthetic heart—if she could call it that—racing with something that felt disturbingly close to panic. Her visual input was almost overwhelmed by the cacophony of colors and exotic life that spread all around her. The sound of birds singing filled the air—some of them not native to this planet, or any other planet within the Aegean Inner Rim.
She ignored the multicolored Pinasan fly trap as she passed. The living plant had a complex working mind and a concept of filial imprinting that bordered on sentience. It let out a soft warble as she moved by, then a low-pitched whine that she could interpret as disappointment—a child calling for its mother's attention.
Thirteen would feed it well later, but at the moment, the android did not have the time, nor was she in a logical frame of mind to play mother to a carnivorous plant.
She moved past the Lilac Nebulae roses, their blackish-purple petals letting out soft rays of bioluminescent light and releasing a visible haze of Psionic energy into the air. These flowers were heavily saturated with Psi—she would need to get the botanist to come harvest them soon and send them to the distillery. Wine and Psi-rich perfumes made the princess extremely wealthy through side channels, the sales of such luxury goods providing independent income that didn't require Senate approval.
But then again, it was expected. The methods for growing them were only known to a handful of people in the entire universe. The princess was one. Their botanist was the second. She was the third. The emperor was the fourth. And the original individual to discover the method—now nothing more than a disembodied brain in a jar, locked up somewhere deep below in the princess's vault.
She turned around a corner, coming up to a pavilion that sat like a jewel in the center of the garden.
Thirteen slowed her pace. Almost everything on Deimos had been carefully curated and grown from a terraforming core—artificial life given form through technology and Psionic manipulation. But this pavilion was different. It was made of real wood from the homeworld. There were large preserves of nature on Aegean Prime, jealously and carefully guarded by the empire. Nature was sacred—it was considered the best manifestation of life and harmony with Psi.
Thirteen could not pretend to begin to understand such concepts. They were beyond her programming, beyond the reach of synthetic thought. But what she could say with certainty was that the pavilion was made of naturally grown wood—and it was very, very expensive.
The princess was sitting there, serene and beautiful in the dappled sunlight. And across from her, as expected, was the Empress Dowager—here naturally for her Third's Day meeting with the princess. Every third day, like clockwork, she came to Deimos. Every other day she remained on Aegean Prime, whispering things in the ears of her son the emperor, fanning the flames of rivalry between the two siblings.
Thirteen admittedly did not like her.
But for the first time, the android was more than happy to see her. If there was anyone who could come up with a solution for their current predicament, it would be this ancient three-hundred-year-old snake of an Aegean woman.
Thirteen went down on both knees, her hardware creaking loudly after the torture that Major—well, rather, Admiral Orn—had put her through out there. He should have just sat still and died like a good Aegean, just like every other bastard before him.
"Thirteen, you're back quite late," the princess said, her voice light and unconcerned. "Did the hunters rough you up again? Seriously, I tell them to just take care of the targets at the port. Mingle into the crowd, use subtlety, stick him with poison, and be done with it. They don't come with guards—" She paused, taking in Thirteen's disheveled state. "Well, you should go get fixed and cleaned up—"
"He's not dead, my lady."
Thirteen's words cut through the air like a blade.
The princess stopped mid-sentence. Thirteen couldn't see it from her position on the ground, but it was in that moment that the Empress Dowager deigned her presence worthy enough to be looked at. And it was she who spoke, taking charge of the situation and assuming command of Thirteen from her daughter with a question of just four words:
"What do you mean?"
It should not be possible for an android to feel fear—not unless it was being simulated for their owner's pleasure or at their command. But Thirteen could not explain why it seemed as if her circuits had frozen up, why the stature of the Empress Dowager seemed to grow much larger than it should be, filling the entire pavilion with her presence.
"My apologies, Empress Dowager! I meant no disrespect!"
Even Thirteen knew she had not technically disrespected anyone. But perhaps cutting the princess off in the presence of her mother—the most powerful woman in the empire—had not been wise. She had forgotten her place, letting her familiarity with the princess take center stage. And it was all because of her panicked state. She needed to take a step back and reevaluate.
The Empress Dowager, however, did not say anything. She simply chose to stare at Thirteen with those unsettling eyes—expectant, patient, merciless.
Without prompting, Thirteen began to speak, her words flowing in a tangle of panicked incoherence. By this point, it would be more than obvious that Thirteen was more person than machine. She was special. But right now, she was no different from a basic android dropped in water—systems failing, logic circuits shorting out.
Both the Grand Princess and the Empress Dowager knew something must have truly shaken the android.
But they were Psionics, mother and daughter, with minds powerful beyond measure. With such capabilities, it was almost no problem for them to parse the incoherency and string it into something that could be understood.
After listening to what Thirteen had to say, they sent her away to get looked over and serviced. The moment they were left alone, the Empress Dowager widened her eyes as a deep lilac glow spread through her irises. A tangible haze of powerful Psionic energy radiated out from her as the epicenter, spreading like fog. It seemed to cling to the borders of the pavilion, the wood taking on a faint purple glow as the area suddenly felt... locked down. Isolated. A pocket of reality separated from the rest of the universe.
The glow faded from the Empress Dowager's eyes as she and her daughter sat in silence for a long moment. Finally, the Grand Princess decided to speak.
"What do we do now?" Her voice was quiet, uncertain. "This has never happened before."
The Empress Dowager clasped her hands together, resting them on the table as she stared at her daughter. Even though her eyes were no longer glowing, they remained an eerie shade of purple with concentric rings within her pupils—like looking into the heart of a spiral galaxy. Those eyes commanded attention in such a way that it made your soul hurt to look away, yet equally painful to hold her gaze.
Kikian blinked. In fifty-six years of life, she could count on one hand how many times she had seen her mother this serious.
It worried her.
Perhaps their luck had run out with this Cornelius Reese. But what worried her most was that she had not seen it coming. Granted, she had stopped bothering to do readings for the successful assassinations of her new husbands since the eleventh one. They always died. Some lasted longer, even getting to meet her, but never living long enough to consummate the marriage that night.
"This is troubling," the Empress Dowager said finally, her voice measured and cold. "And it pains me that you do not see how significant an oversight has been made. More so the fact that we have gravely underestimated our prey this time." She leaned forward slightly. "But you should listen to the key points in your machine's report."
At the mention of Thirteen being called a machine, the princess clenched her fist under the table between her and her mother. But her expression remained unchanged—a mask of composure.
"She never rebooted," the Empress Dowager continued. "She's in this panicked state because he used a Psi-Pulse—and it had no elemental distinction but worked extremely well against machines and technology." She paused, letting that sink in. "It seems your husband, in addition to being a Fire and Wind elemental Psionic, is also a Technopath. And he's dangerous."
She tapped one finger on the table. "I believe this is the first match from the military side of the empire... yes, this really was an oversight on our part. Right from the beginning, the entire narrative changed. He's not some soft senator's son. He's a soldier—and a famous one at that."
The Empress Dowager's eyes narrowed. "You and I seem to have lost our touch with the wider politics and situation in the empire. He's a superstar soldier with an equally accomplished general for a father—and your brother's own overly ambitious Grand Imperator. It's why I chose him for you this time. That George Reese is flying too close to the sun, and his popularity has been heightened even more by his extremely talented son." She paused. "A son who is both an Admiral and a Priest of the Order of the White Ones. A subordinate of yours, I might add."
Kikian shifted uncomfortably but said nothing.
"From what I can tell," the Empress Dowager continued, "he is more suited to be your husband than eighty percent of your old husbands and one hundred percent of your current pool of suitors. But forget about the semantics of popularity and bloodlines. Look at the cold, hard facts." Her voice took on an edge. "He took out a mercenary squad that I personally outfitted, along with Psionics trained by my best apprentices. He is no coddled son of a senator or lord. He is a soldier of the empire—a cold-blooded killer and an inheritor of the teachings of the Founder."
She leaned back, her expression unreadable. "Never has there been such a combination, and it astounds me how his existence went unnoticed for so long. We should not even worry about him telling anyone that his wife tried to kill him. He killed them all by himself and has depths of power that remain unknown and undocumented." A pause. "We've made a powerful enemy, daughter. He's more likely to come back for his pound of flesh—especially if the classified files I just received about him are even half as true."
Kikian rolled her eyes. Trust her mother to multitask—reading a report mentally while talking to her at the same time. It spoke volumes about the power of her mind. But seeing how the Empress Dowager had grown silent, it was obvious she was going to make Kikian ask.
"Well, what do the files say?"
The Empress Dowager looked up at her daughter and said two words:
"Driven and vindictive."
She let that hang in the air for a moment before elaborating. "He is happy to play nice and even conduct war by the book with enemies. But he has an extremely short fuse that is usually triggered by dishonorable behavior—any of his officers or soldiers being hurt, war crimes, ugly women, petty men, politicians..." She smiled faintly. "And if he simply doesn't like the way you look or the way you look at him."
She chuckled softly. "Well, I for one commend whoever wrote this report. They do have a sense of humor. But I have been able to cross-reference multiple sources, and he is as dangerous as listed here. However, he is loyal to the empire to his core, so perhaps you won't have to worry too much. I'm sure he knows the way these games are played."
The Empress Dowager stood, her robes rustling. "But all eyes are on you once again, my daughter. So prepare yourself to leave immediately."
Kikian's eyes widened in surprise. "Leave? Why do I have to leave?"
She stood as well, meeting her mother's gaze. "Where am I going?"
"To attend your new husband and secure his seed, of course," the Empress Dowager said matter-of-factly. "He will give you a powerful child—one whose grandfather is an ambitious Grand Imperator. Enough to give you a significant foothold and a clear pathway to the throne." She began to pace slowly. "George Reese has built his army. His son, no matter how bright, is nothing more than a tool to breed superior genes. And three Psionic manifestations are not just good genes—they are the best genes the empire has seen in centuries."
She turned to face Kikian directly. "He will resurface eventually, and when he does, you will go to him. Be loud about it. Use all the fanfare you can muster—a longing wife going to meet the husband she has been smitten with." Her voice took on a calculating tone. "There will be feeds and footage of the entire assault. Grab them all and have them edited properly. Cornelius 'Orn' Reese is the man who survived against all odds to become the chosen, divine husband of the Grand Princess and future Pontifex of the Order of the White Ones."
She moved closer. "If we control the narrative, there is no way he can use this against us. You must bear his child. And if his attitude is tolerable and he can be manipulated, you can have more children and push him to see how far he can go." A cold smile. "In the end, he will be a valuable tool in your efforts to seize the throne. And if your appetite for your brother's birthright grows as I hope it will, then you become a powerful figure in Aegean Empire politics regardless."
She tilted her head. "Who knows? Perhaps your brother's progeny will prove as useless as so many of his sons and daughters have been lately. And then the throne would be yours. You might not sit on it yourself, but your sons or daughters—with the power you will gain from this union with this wildcard—you will finally get to do what you've always wanted."
She paused for effect.
"Rule a galactic empire."
The Empress Dowager turned to leave, her business concluded. But Kikian reached out and grabbed the hem of her mother's robes.
Almost immediately, a sharp lance of psychic force stabbed through Kikian's head, giving her a splitting headache that drove her to her knees. Her vision blurred with tears of pain. Her mother did not trust even her own children enough to let down her guard around them. And if Kikian proved to be a threat—even accidentally—she knew her mother would end her without hesitation.
There was a reason she was known as the most powerful woman in the empire.
"But Mother!" Kikian gasped out through the pain, her voice breaking. "This was not the agreement! I don't want to marry—not like this! And he's younger than me!" Her words came faster, more desperate. "The whole age difference thing might not mean much to you people who have lived more than three hundred years, but in the last century—half of which I've been alive for—we prefer to marry someone closer to our own age."
She looked up at her mother through tear-filled eyes. "Please, I need more time. I'm sure there will be someone much better than him in the future. There's no reason to rush our plans, Mother. I'm not ready to have my children born into a reality where their mother is not yet Empress—and most definitely not for common blood!"
The Empress Dowager scoffed, the sound dripping with contempt.
"Have them born?" She released the psychic pressure slightly, allowing Kikian to breathe. "Child, you will do this the old-fashioned way. You will go to his bed. You will take his seed into your belly. And you will carry his children to term—your children." Her voice hardened. "This is to ensure that the purity of his Psionic power and yours can pass on to your offspring fully and without dilution."
She looked down at her daughter with something close to disgust. "Your stupid machines are an abomination to the purity of life. There is no Psi in them, and they cannot control it. You disgrace your future position long before you are even ready to assume it."
The Empress Dowager's eyes blazed. "There is no better candidate than him, and no better time than now. The debut of your brother's progeny draws near. You need to outshine him in front of the entire empire to foster the idea that only you are destined for divine rule—regardless of whose birthright it technically is. You are still the eldest, after all."
She crouched down, forcing Kikian to meet her gaze. "He is everything an emperor consort should be. And most important of all—he can make you a mother." Her voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "You want to rule our empire, but you spit on and disregard the most sacred principle it is built upon. What do you think will happen to your precious ambition when the galaxy finds out you look down on the honor of motherhood? You will be no saint in their eyes."
She stood, brushing off her robes. "Only shit."
The words hung in the air like a curse.
"You say you want the throne," the Empress Dowager continued, her voice cold and final. "To gain it—even for someone like you, oh great Grand Princess—will cost you everything. So you had better be ready to pay that price." She turned her back on her daughter. "Find him. Bear his sons. Or I will take every android you've made—including your precious Thirteen—and melt them in a furnace right in front of you. And I will broadcast it live for the whole empire to see."
She paused at the edge of the pavilion, not bothering to look back.
"Now don't touch me again. If you do, I will kill you."
With that said, the Empress Dowager left, her footsteps fading into the garden.
Kikian remained on her knees, watching her mother's retreating form, a despondent and broken look settling onto her face like a funeral shroud.