Interlude - Clarice Caduceus
Interlude - Clarice Caduceus
This entire day was, to use a word that her uncle had once uttered near her younger self, fucked.
It felt like most everything that could go wrong had, and now her entire future was in limbo.
Yesterday, she had been en route to return to Holy Terra, where the Caduceus family had a small holding on the planet's surface and a modest space station in orbit. The holdings truly were small for a noble house, most of the tower they owned being taken up by medicae facilities except for the last few floors at the top, and the station in question was actually smaller in tonnage than The Broken Scale and was more of an orbital waystation than anything else.
Still, that was fine. She was to stay on Holy Terra when the ship left and did another short circuit along three or four safe routes through the Segmentum Solar. By the time The Broken Scale returned in one or two years, she hoped to have her situation well in hand.
Marriage to one of the older noble houses would be ideal, but that was unlikely. Those scions were practically pre-ordered generations in advance.
Bagging a merchant fleet captain, preferably one with a hereditary charter, would do her family good. Even a particularly talented cold trader might fold well within the Caduceus.
They were a Rogue Trader dynasty, which meant that the head of their family was a person with more freedom than the vast, vast majority of all humans everywhere.
However... their writ was relatively young. Not one of those signed by the Emperor himself, but rather one signed by one of the High Lords of Terra for distinguished services some five generations ago.
In any case, she wasn't ever going to lay eyes on that writ. She was ninth in line, if one counted things the way noble families did. A good spot to be in. It afforded her a position akin to a lesser noble on most worlds and of a... young debutante of little note on Terra, where the game of politics was significantly more complex.
Then her uncle chose to up and die this morning, and her life had rapidly turned to shit.
Clarice wanted to fidget, but that kind of behaviour had been trained out of her a long time ago. Now all that remained was the desire.
She wasn't alone, of course. Gabriel, her loyal-enough attendant, was in the room, along with some three other servants whose names she had never bothered to learn.
And the medicae woman.
Vena Venin stood there with her back straight and her head held high. Not that she needed that. The woman was an abhuman, and wasn't hiding it. No natural-born woman was that tall, or that lanky.
Clarice had been taught to read people. Vena was good with her own body language, but she was good in the way a civilian might be. She had micro-tells. A small twitch here, a little uncertainty before speaking there.
Her confidence wasn't entirely real.
If anything, that was one of the only reasons Clarice hadn't ordered Gabriel to blow the woman's head off her very tall shoulders.
"The Head of Medicae on a Rogue Trader's ship basically means that you're part of that Trader's retinue, you know?" Clarice said. "That was the case for the prior Head of Medicae."
"Was?" Vena asked.
Oh? So, she didn't know?
How strange. The woman's garb was several cuts ahead of the usual civilian's. Clarice knew how to judge these things, having taken a passing interest in fashion at one time. She was over that, now, but still, she recognized personalized tailoring when she saw it.
The Junior Medicae's outfit was worth more than what a Junior Medicae made in a year. The folds and pleats were designed to draw the eye up and highlight the woman's unnatural height, the shoulders made her look wider, and a little more feminine while also suggesting powerful musculature.
It was good work.
So who sent this junior up here without informing her about the most important thing that had happened on the ship in a decade?
"I'm curious," Clarice said. "About how much you don't know."
"Assume that I know nothing," Vena said.
"Well, what use would you be for me if that were true?"
The woman shrugged. "Because once I do know, I can assist you."
"Setting aside how, exactly, someone so low on the ladder could help, I must highlight that the current situation involves decades of rivalries, conspiracies, and several ploys, all being pulled into a chaotic mess at an unexpected time."
Stolen from NovelPhoenix, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
"Are the Genestealers part of this?" Vena asked.
Clarice blinked. "The what? Are you referring to that minor squabble down below? That was, at most, a distraction for the Voidsmen-at-Arms. Goodness, you truly do know nothing."
She had better things to do than explain this to an uninformed, upjumped bumpkin. Such as... drown herself in the few bottles of high-quality amasec she had liberated from her dearly departed uncle's office.
Ah, perhaps she didn't have better things to do.
"Very well," Clarice said. She gestured to one of the larger maps on the table. A side-profile of The Broken Scale, with cutaways to show various sectors of importance. "This is the bridge." She placed a full bottle over the bridge. "On our fine vessel the bridge has three levels, overlooked by the command throne. That is where my uncle was seated when we had that little... bump in the warp."
"I see," Vena said.
"I don't think you do. See, my uncle fell out of his seat and... how was it put... landed gracefully upon his noble head two levels down and saved his bodies from the rigours of a long fall by absorbing the impact with his neck."
"Ah," Vena said.
"Diagnostic, dear medica?" Clarice asked. The sarcasm was so thick it was impossible to miss.
The woman sighed. "Likely a fractured skull. I recall that the Lord Captain has some augments over his eyes. That may have led to some additional complications after a hard impact. The neck injury sounds like a torsion injury to the upper spine. Diagnosis... he's either severely injured or dead."
"Full marks," Clarice said. She poured a cupful for herself, then held the goblet up without sipping from it. "Now, what happens when he dies? No, don't answer. The answer is obvious. A designated heir takes command. If they are indisposed, then there is a set of procedures to follow."
"And the heir is onboard?"
"No," she said. "He, my cousin on my mother's side and dear uncle's firstborn, is on our homeworld. That's a half year's trip if we turned around in the warp and rush over, or a year and a half if we continue on our jaunt."
She took a gulp.
"Now, here's the real issue, dearest. The fourth in line as well as the seventh are on this very ship. In theory, the fourth could take command, but he's a fucking dunce. The Voidsmen-at-arms' commander is 'protecting' him. The seventh is in cahoots with the Medicae, and they want a Rogue Trader in their pocket quite badly. Finally, there is the senechal, my dear uncle's second, who is... a power-hungry sack of shit, to put it in polite terms. He wants the firstborn heir to take over because that fool is in his pocket."
"So, three factions," Vena said.
"Four," Clarice corrected. "There is I! I... have no men, little power, and the only thing keeping me in the game is my alliance with the Navigator House, which won't stand the moment any of the others takes over fully."
"Is this liable to turn into a civil war onboard the ship?" Vena asked.
Clarice scoffed and waved a hand dismissively. "Don't be a fool. We're civilized. Either the fourth or seventh will ally themselves to the senechal, who is in full command of the bridge, and then the other will fold. They'll likely have an accident en route to either home or Holy Terra, then be rewarded for their loyalty at a later date."
"And you haven't taken this option pre-emptively?" Vena asked.
"I would if I could, but I'm not worth it," Clarice replied. "So, little Junior Medicae... how can you help?"
"How long do we have?"
Clarice shrugged. "Between a day and three."
"Can you send a message across the ship such that the greatest number of people receive it?" Vena asked.
The question took her off guard. "Yes?" she tried before glancing over at Gabriel who frowned, then nodded faintly.
"In that case, I'd ask for forty-eight hours, ma'am. After that... I plan on having you sit on the ship's throne. However, if you do so, I will want certain minor concessions."
Clarice leaned back, then downed the entire goblet.
It was good amasec, the kind of thing someone willing to bet big would drink before flipping a few cards.
***