Books by B. V. Larson:

  IMPERIUM SERIES

  Mech 0: The Dominant

  Mech 1: The Parent

  Mech 2: The Savant

  Mech 3: The Empress

  STAR FORCE SERIES

  Swarm

  Extinction

  Rebellion

  Conquest

  OTHER SF BOOKS

  Shifting

  Velocity

  Visit BVLarson.com for more information.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, without permission in writing from the author.

  MECH 1: The Parent

  (Imperium Series)

  by

  B. V. Larson

  Copyright © 2010 by the author.

  “And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.” - Friedrich Nietzsche

  One

  Out along the rim of the galaxy hung a loose configuration of some sixty stars known as the Faustian Chain. From Old Earth, the cluster presented a colorful display of plasma-streams, luminous nebulae and brilliant pinpoints of light. Sparkling suns in relative proximity to one another shone down on numerous, rocky planets.

  One such planet was Garm, a backwater colony world in the northern section of the Chain. It was an unimportant world to humanity—but as was often the case, the local population felt otherwise. Today, the arrival of a great tradeship caused countless eyes on Garm to turn upward and gaze at the dark structure, which was visible from the surface in the clear, gray sky.

  The tradeship Gladius slid into a stationary orbit over Garm’s southern continent. Originally built in vast orbital docks over Old Earth, the vessel was a marvel of technology which local colonists could not hope to replicate. A thousand modules swung majestically around the ship’s central torus like a spinning constellation of stars.

  Sitting inside one of the more luxurious modules was the Captain of Gladius. Dining with him was none other than the new Planetary Governor of Garm: Lucas Droad. The captain knew who Droad was, but most of the crew thought of him as a reclusive passenger. Garm was a turbulent world, and new Nexus officials often had short lifespans.

  “You’ve been in this system on several occasions, Captain,” Droad said. “Can you tell me something of Garm?”

  “There’s not much to say about this planet,” said the overweight Captain with a shrug. He stirred the cup of tea that sat on his belly. “Garm was colonized some four centuries ago by German and Chinese separatists from Old Earth. A watermoon named Gopus orbits Garm and is inhabited, although very sparsely. If anything, Gopus is even more inhospitable and uninviting than Garm. On both planets the climate is exceedingly hot and the people exceedingly primitive.”

  Droad tried not to let his disappointment show. He’d expected more than an entry posted by tourist agent. Both men knew the walls were full of listening AIs, and neither wanted to trigger the generation of a report, but the captain seemed more than just circumspect. Did the man fear to speak plainly aboard his own ship? Droad was uncertain what to make of the situation. Suspecting the Captain did not yet trust him enough to divulge real information, he decided to probe delicately. “I take it you prefer the more sterile and civilized environment of the habitats? The brochures say that Garm is a wild planet with unspoiled natural beauty. Aren’t you looking forward to a few months of shore leave?”

  The captain pursed his thick lips. “Any thinking man would prefer the high ground. Cheap holo-fabric stretched over a wall can simulate more stunning vistas than nature can provide. The greatest dream of most dirt-huggers is to scrape enough cash together to retire to a luxury hab.”

  “But there are no large habitats in this system.”

  “Certainly not, there is precious little luxury of any kind. Garm is greatly isolated and hence technologically and culturally backward. In short, I find the planet repulsive.”

  “I see.”

  The conversation lagged until the Captain cleared his throat. “I’ve noticed you’re wearing the drab native clothing.”

  “No sense in being overly conspicuous,” Droad said with a smile. He glanced down at his black gauzy smock and tight pantaloons. An overcoat of dark fur with a matching double-peaked hat hung near the doors. “I find that bankers feel more at ease when facing an inspector from the Cluster Nexus if he at least dresses as they do.”

  The Captain chuckled, causing the teacup on his belly to bounce. “A bank inspector? Is that what you’re supposed to be?”

  “For as long as necessary.”

  “The only place on Garm a man needs such heavy clothing would be near the pole,” commented the Captain. “More tea?”

  “No, thank you.”

  Droad frowned into the cooling liquid in his cup, then glanced up and noticed the Captain watched him. They were both pumping one another for information, and coming up dry. He took a tiny sip, then put the cup down on the table. “I find the attire suitable,” he said. “It’s midwinter now and it’s quite cold this season all the way down to the Slipape Counties, I’m told.”

  “I see, you don’t wish to say where you’re headed,” said the Captain, nodding. “Of course—I understand. Well, I won’t keep you any longer.”

  “Perhaps we’ll meet on the surface at a later date.”

  The Captain blew out his thick cheeks, setting down his tea as well. “It’s unlikely that I will get down to the surface during this trip. My duties are up here with the ship.”

  Droad stood up. “I’ll be on my way then.”

  They clasped hands briefly. The two men smiled cordially while Droad slipped credit vouchers into the Captain’s sweating palm. The Captain’s smile broadened. He nodded, and in return he tucked a flimsy molecular datastrip into Droad’s hand.

  Then Droad left, heading straight for the docking tube. As soon as the captain was out of sight he unobtrusively wiped the other man’s sweat onto his pantaloons. He suspected the material on the datastrip was worthless. He also wondered if his bribe would help matters, or make them worse.

  Droad told himself it didn’t matter. He’d known from the outset this entire mission was a gamble. Nevertheless, he had to try to turn the colony into a law-abiding community. The common people of Garm had lived without a proper government for too long now.

  #

  Droad glided down the miles-long jet-tube from orbit with the other passengers and arrived without fanfare. There was no one at Grunstein Interplanetary to meet the new Planetary Governor, as no one officially knew he was coming. His typical Garmish clothing made him resemble the local populace and in-system traffic more than the new immigrants who had been his travel companions on the journey out from Neu Schweitz. He blended easily, only his greater than average height and weight distinguishing him from the crowd. A flood of traders swept by, tycoons from the Slipape Counties and the foodstuffs people from Gopus.

  He pulled his Garmish hat down over his head more snugly, enjoying the unaccustomed feel of the fur against his skin. He moved with the crowd that flowed from the jet-tube gates down to the customs area. Once there, he separated from the crowd and approached the exit for official personnel. He ran his ID card through the machine, touched his thumbprint to a lit-up pad and focused his gaze on the optical sensor so that his retina could be scanned. Instantly recognized and catalogued, the steel doors shunted open and he was allowed to pass by the customs area without the routine body search. Tourists and businessmen from around the system gave him speculative appraisals as he passed them by, his single bag rubbing against his legs as he walked. The other immigrants from the Gladius shuffled along dazedly, ignoring him.

  He stepped out of the foot-traffic that flowed relentlessly toward the exits to put on his coat. While he stood there he watched a very large man bypass the security just as he had. This man was a giant from Mendelia, one of the more common forms of genetic specialization they practiced on that strange world. The giant approached and stood next to him. Standing just over eight feet tall, he also wore furs and carried his luggage with him.

  “Any problems, Jarmo?” Droad asked the giant.

  “No sir.”

  Droad stretched his aching shoulders. “It’s good to feel the solid pull of a planet under my feet again after three years of cryo-sleep. I know we only aged a few months on board the Gladius during the long flight out from Neu Schweitz, but I’m convinced that I still feel those years somehow, deep down in my bones.”

  Jarmo’s eyes never stopped scanning the crowd. One by one, he located the security devices and appraised them expertly. “We are under surveillance, but I see no reason why we shouldn’t move to the hotel immediately.”

  The Governor nodded and rode his way up the slider to the nearest waiting cab. As he climbed in, the giant appeared at the exit, smoothly folding his body into the cab immediately behind him.

  #

  “There he is,” said Militia General Ari Steinbach in a hushed voice.

  Mai Lee inclined her head a fraction, the equivalent of a nod. Linked directly to the security feed from the spaceport, Mai Lee of New Manchuria stared at Lucas Droad speculatively. “I’m an excellent judge of character, General.”

  “Naturally
.”

  “I don’t like this man. There is no softness in him, no weak button to push.”

  “Well, it certainly hasn’t shown up in his classified files, or in our psychological simulations, or even in the darkest secrets of his past, which are few and far between,” said Steinbach.

  “Most importantly, it doesn’t show up in his face.”

  Steinbach said nothing.

  “Will you be able to guide him?”

  He hesitated a moment before answering. “He doesn’t appear to be a weak man. However, enough money...”

  “Blur dust and amp-rods speak louder,” purred the lady of New Manchuria. “You will persuade him somehow.” She watched with a knowing smirk as Droad breezed through security, then paused at the door for his giant to catch up a bit before going outside.

  “Should I, ah—alert Governor Zimmerman that his replacement has arrived?”

  “I’ll do it myself. I’ll enjoy the worm’s terror.”

  “The presence of the bodyguard shows that he isn’t completely ignorant of the situation here,” said Steinbach. He broke off at Mai Lee’s gasp of surprise and followed her gaze back to the security screens.

  When the new Governor and his bodyguard left the spaceport, more giants made their appearance. They waltzed through security and waded through the throng near the luggage claim section. Each of them wore a black jacket with silver trim and carried long cases like those used by rayball players. Mai Lee judged that they were all close to, or over, eight feet in height. They touched the delivery cubicles and grabbed up huge packs as they were dispensed.

  “One, two, three, four, five... He’s not kidding,” muttered Steinbach.

  “Count silently,” hissed Mai Lee. “Pay the Captain half the agreed amount, since he withheld half of the information.”

  “He will not be pleased.”

  “He is either double-dealing us or incompetent. I have no time for him in either case.”

  Mai Lee noted one of the other passengers had touched a giant on the sleeve. She pressed the audio focus button immediately, and the computer-controlled parabolic microphones homed in and picked up the man’s words.

  “Go Rangers!” the passenger said, and laughed.

  The Giant stared at him for a moment, frowning in suspicion, then gave a wintry smile.

  “Obviously, the man thinks he’s one of the new rayball players,” said Steinbach, chuckling. “They’re often giants. I doubt that they intended such a reaction.”

  Mai Lee ignored him. She squinted a bit, examining the giants closely.

  “They are wearing black and silver, the Rangers’ colors. Could they be players?” asked Steinbach.

  “Of course not,” snapped Mai Lee. “If you looked carefully, you can see that their cases aren’t quite long enough to hold rayball sticks. Besides which, there are only flares for catch-baskets at one end, not at both ends. Viewed objectively, they looked suspiciously like weapons cases.”

  Then the giant that she had focused in on turned an eye to the optical probe. His eyes challenged hers. Staring into the giant’s somber face Mai Lee blinked and for a split second felt a quaver of... not fear exactly, but what did the fool Germans call it? Angst. This emotion was followed immediately by rage.

  “Damned Captain! Pay him nothing!” she screeched.

  “He probably sold them as much information as we got out of him,” said Steinbach. “More perhaps, since it would be easier to get, I wouldn’t be surprised if the new governor was carrying a load of files in that bag of his on both of us.”

  “Cease your prattle!” Mai Lee was becoming increasingly agitated.

  Steinbach glowered and pursed his lips. “I take it you want me to do something about this rather large team of problems.”

  “Ignore them for now. Kill the new Governor. Give him just enough time to let his guard drop a bit, but not enough for his flashy little escort to get organized.”

  “Direct,” said Steinbach with an amused nod. “Quite a tall order milady. Might take a good deal of credit.”

  “Do it.”

  With a cordial nod, but not the bow that she demanded from her staff, the General turned on his heel and left.

  She snapped off six months worth of nail-growth from her fingertip as she jabbed the cut-off button. The scene of the spaceport faded. She walked to the north side of the room, where a wall of one-way glass looked out over the city and into the forest of red hork trees beyond. The fruit on the tallest of the giant trees glittered in the sunlight.

  She thoughtfully tapped her chin with the remaining inch of her broken nail, then called the Governor.

  #

  Governor Rodney Zimmerman was sitting naked in his bath, sipping from a glass of green hork-fruit wine when Mai Lee’s call came through. He was quite irritated. It was time for his afternoon sex, which he liked to have while relaxing in his ten-thousand gallon tub, to be followed immediately by his afternoon nap. To his mind, there was no room in this scheme for a rude call from the dried up old prune that had helped appoint him. Accordingly, he let the phone chime six times, flashing Mai Lee’s ID and stern image on the screen each time, lest he forget who it was that was calling, before he gulped his wine and opened the connection.

  “Working hard as usual I see, Governor,” she said, making no attempt at pleasantries. She stared rudely at his exposed fatty pink abdomen and stick-figure arms.

  “I’m on vacation,” he said stiffly.

  “Naturally,” she purred, a dangerous sound.

  “Of course, it’s always nice to hear from you, Empress,” he smiled, using the title he knew she liked best. There hadn’t been an official Emperor or Empress of New Manchuria since the earliest years of the colony, but Mai Lee had the proper blood and the power to fit the title.

  “I’ve got some unpleasant news for you,” she said, pausing to ponder her broken nail. Governor Zimmerman knew she was playing with him, but couldn’t help responding with a groan. He so hated bad news. Bad news usually meant work at the capital, or worse, a field trip away from his beautiful villa on the rim of the famous Stardrop Cliffs to some squalid corner of Garm.

  “Do you recall how you got your post, Governor?”

  “Why... why, of course,” stammered Zimmerman, spilling a dollop of his green wine into his steaming bathwater. He had refilled his glass, having sensed he might need bolstering. “I was appointed by the Planetary Senate.”

  “After the unfortunate demise of the duly commissioned Governor Riedman sent out from Neu Schweitz by the Cluster Nexus.”

  “Yes, the shuttle accident over the Desolation, a black day for the colony,” said Zimmerman, really beginning to hate Mai Lee all over again. She had swung her clan’s votes in his favor unanimously, which when added to the block from the Zimmerman’s made him a shoo-in for the appointment. She all-too-often made a point of recalling this to his attention.

  “Yes. I recall your presence at the funeral. You can fake tears like a holo-actor.”

  “Could you get to the point, Mai Lee?” he asked with uncharacteristic bluntness. Her prodding was beginning to get under his skin, which was pruning up badly in the churning waters. His paygirl stepped out onto the terrace wearing a terrycloth skirt and slippers. He waved her back into the house. She left with her lower-lip protruding in an exaggerated pout.

  Mai Lee appeared to be enjoying herself. “Ah, how strange are these coincidences of fate that change the faces of power.”

  Feeling the first pang of real worry, Zimmerman leaned toward the phone, pressing his flabby side against the cool lip of his tub. “What’s happened?”

  Mai Lee’s eyes ceased wandering and focused back on his face, her black-eyed gaze hardening. “The new Governor has just arrived on the Gladius. He will be claiming your title shortly, I suggest you prepare a reception for him.”

  “What!” cried the Governor, horror-struck. He sunk back into the warm waters, eyes bulging like a heart-attack victim. “But it’s only been eight years! How could this happen? What will I do?”

  “It was bound to, sooner or later. The Cluster people aren’t total idiots, you know,” said Mai Lee with an off-handed gesture.