Excerpt of Andromeda's Fall by William C. Dietz

The Imperial planet Esparto

Lady Catherine Carletto snapped her lipstick closed and studied herself in the oval–shaped mirror. She had shoulder–length blond hair, wide–set blue eyes, and a softly rounded face. Everyone agreed that she was beautiful. And that was true. In the technical sense, anyway. The problem was that she didn't feel beautiful. Or anything else for that matter. No ambition. No fear. No joy. And that didn't make sense since she had everything. Or that's what the vidnets claimed. Cat made a face at herself, dropped the lipstick into a tiny clutch, and turned to go. The door to her hotel suite hurried to slide out of the way, and the private elevator surged upwards the moment she stepped on board.

There was a small but tastefully furnished lobby on the roof—and two of the hotel's employees were there to wish Cat a good evening as she passed through. Less fortunate people were constantly wishing her "good morning," "good afternoon," and "good evening." But very few, if any, meant it. And why would they? Everything was for sale—including the most trivial of greetings. So Cat ignored them, followed a green runner out to a waiting air car, and slid into the backseat A chime sounded as she buckled the seat belt.

Moments later, the limo was in the air and entering the flow of southbound traffic. Esparto was an Earth–normal planet known for its vast grasslands, rich deposits of rare earth minerals, and the glittering city spread out below her. The only city on Esparto.

There were townships of course. But laws laid down by the first families limited them to populations of no more than ten thousand people each. The idea was to contain urban sprawl and encourage decentralization. But the unintended consequence of that policy had been to create a city that occupied more than five thousand square miles of land and had a reputation for both sophistication and decadence. That was the main reason why young men and women fortunate enough to be sent on the so–called grand tour wanted to visit Elysium. And Cat was no exception.

Thanks to her family's relationship with Emperor Ordanus, and their considerable wealth, Cat was a much–sought–after guest. It was a role she both enjoyed and despised. Because although she loved the attention, Cat knew it was undeserved and felt a sense of contempt for both herself and the people who fawned over her.

So the socialite took in the view as the car followed a stream of other aircraft south over brightly lit buildings and toward the glowing globe perched atop the one–hundred–story–tall Imperial Tower. If one looked closely, it was possible to see that the familiar outlines of Earth's seven continents had been etched into the opaque structure. The skyscraper had been built by Emperor Alfred II to house the planetary government and to remind the local citizens of where the real power was.

Hundreds of people had been invited to the governor's ball, so as the limo circled the tower, and the pilot waited for a clearance to land, Cat had an opportunity to eye the sprawling city below. Elysium's streets were laid out grid–style. But there were so many of them that Cat wondered if anyone could come to know such a huge metroplex.

Rivers of glowing headlights flowed along the main arterials. Commercials, many of which circled entire buildings, flowed snakelike from one section of the city to the next. And blimps that looked like internally lit jellyfish drifted across the night sky, all competing for eyeballs and mindshare. It was both beautiful and horrible. Or that's the way it seemed to Cat as the air car came in for a landing.

At least two dozen landing pads were located in the area just below the gigantic globe. And while vidnet reporters weren't allowed on that level, their airborne cameras were. The machines jockeyed for position as Cat stepped out of the limo. She smiled as the lights hit and paused to turn a full circle so all the fashionistas could appreciate her ten–thousand–credit evening gown. It was red, with slits up both sides, and glittered under the lights.

Then Cat took the arm of the brightly uniformed militia officer who was waiting to escort her inside. He was a lieutenant, about her age, and clearly enthralled. His carefully memorized words of introduction were lost in the roar of repellers as Cat's limo took off. But it wasn't important since the officer was little more than an accessory and indistinguishable from all the rest of his kind.

Together, they entered a lobby, where Cat was welcomed by some functionary or other, guided onto an elevator, and taken down to the fifth–floor ballroom. It consisted of a huge room decorated in the early Imperial style. Heroic 3–D murals covered all four walls and morphed into fresh perspectives every three minutes.

Hundreds of less important individuals were already present, and most turned to stare as her name was announced, and cameras swarmed around her. Then it was time to greet the governor and her husband. Both wore perpetual smiles, claimed to know her parents, and were clearly wary. And for good reason. Though nothing in and of herself, Cat could do them harm by dropping a few carelessly chosen words to the cameras.

After exchanging pleasantries with them, Cat allowed herself to be steered over to a reception line, where a line of lesser functionaries were waiting to greet her. It wasn't long before their faces became a blur, their names merged into a meaningless drone, and she was grateful when the last sweaty hand had been shaken.

That was the point when things took a turn for the better as a group of chattering young people closed in around her. She knew many of them and was barely aware of the manner in which the disappointed lieutenant was shouldered aside by a fop decked out in a vid suit. Pictures of Cat and her friends roamed his body, and everyone laughed as the likeness of a girl with spiky pink hair slid down into his crotch.

During the next hour, Cat gossiped with her friends, took a moment to flirt with a moody sim actor, and consumed three cocktails. She was about to visit the buffet when a formally dressed hostess appeared at her side. "Lady Catherine? My name is Stevens. A man is here to see you. We told him you were busy, but he claims to have an urgent message from your uncle."

Cat frowned. "My uncle? You're sure?"

Stevens had closely set eyes and thin lips. "That's what he claims," she said noncommittally. "But I have no way to be sure."

Since departing Earth two months earlier, Cat's parents had sent her messages every couple of days. Each of which had to be recorded on a chip, loaded onto a message torp, and sent through hyperspace the same way a full–sized ship would be. A very expensive process indeed. And since most of the holos were admonishments to take care of herself, or queries regarding some of her more notorious exploits, Cat had a tendency to let a few days pass before sending a reply. Or, in some cases, she ignored the missives altogether.

But Uncle Rex never sent messages. And being the official black sheep of the family, he was in no position to complain about public intoxication, partial nudity, or the provocative statements Cat made to the press. Was a member of the family sick or something? So, fueled by both curiosity and a rising sense of concern, Cat agreed. "Okay. Where is this guy?"

"He's in the kitchen," the hostess explained. "We couldn't bring him into the ballroom because . . . Well, you'll see."

Cat followed Stevens through a pair of swinging doors and caught a glimpse of a busy kitchen before being led into an office labeled "Food Service." The man's head was bare, his cheeks were covered with at least two days' worth of stubble, and his clothes were filthy. And because his torso was resting on an argrav platform that floated just inches off the floor, he had to look up at her. "Good evening, miss. You look just like the pictures I seen."

Cat glanced over her shoulder, saw that Stevens had withdrawn, and wished she hadn't. A mistake had been made, and she'd been left with a vagrant. All she could do was play the farce through. "You have a message for me?"

"Yes, ma'am," he replied respectfully. "My name's Toshy. Sergeant Toshy back before I lost my sticks in the battle of Ripper's Ridge. But Major Rex don't forget. The money comes every year. Right on the anniversary of the day I saved his life. It helps me and the missus to get through. So I owes him just like he owes me."

Looking down at the ex–soldier made Cat feel uncomfortable so she sat on a chair. The socialite hadn't heard of Toshy, but Uncle Rex had told her stories about his career in the Legion, and the battle of Ripper's Ridge. A hellish assault that left half of his battalion dead. So there was reason to hear Toshy out. "When my uncle retired, he was a colonel."

"Really?" Toshy inquired. "I didn't know that. Well, good on him. He was a fine officer."

"You have a message for me," Cat said flatly.

"Right you are," Toshy said, as he fished a chip out of his pocket. "It came yesterday. And there was a note. ‘Get this to Lady Catherine Carletto,' it said. And don't tell nobody."

Cat frowned. Rather than send the chip to her hotel, Uncle Rex had chosen to entrust it to Toshy. And cautioned him to keep it secret. Why?

"Thank you," Cat said as she accepted the chip. "It was very kind of you to come and find me."

"I saw you on the news," Toshy said proudly. "They said you'd be here."

"I'd like to give you something for your trouble," Cat said, and opened her purse.

"No thank you," Toshy said stiffly. "The chance to help Colonel Rex is payment enough. Give him my best."

And with that, the ex–legionnaire used two blocks of wood to propel himself toward the open door. Moments later, Toshy was gone. He was, Cat knew, one of thousands of badly wounded veterans who had been handed a severance check and put on the street. In all likelihood, Toshy had been issued a pair of bionic legs, but lacking the means to maintain the prosthetics, had sold them to pay the rent or gambled them away. Of course, that was his fault, or so many people maintained, her uncle being a notable exception.

Cat stood, took a quick look around, and spotted a holo deck. Having closed the door into the hallway she went over to the player, slipped the chip into the slot, and touched a button. A cloud of confetti–like motes of light appeared, were attracted to each other, and combined to form a three–dimensional image.

The lighting was poor, as if her uncle had been forced to make the recording in a dark room, and there was a momentary buzzing sound as his face disintegrated and came back together again. "Cat . . . It's me, Uncle Rex. I'm sorry, honey, but I have some very bad news for you. The emperor committed suicide. That's what the vidnets say, but I don't believe it. First, because Alfred was anything but suicidal, and second, because hundreds of his close friends and supporters have been killed during the last week."

At that point Cat felt a sudden emptiness at the pit of her stomach. Because her parents fell into both categories. Friends and supporters.

"They were killed in air crashes, diving accidents, and house fires. And that's what supposedly happened to your parents Cat . . . Except I was there. And before the house caught fire, a military transport lowered at least two dozen synths into the estate. And they killed everyone. Servants and family alike.

"So it's clear that Princess O was behind it. Except that she's the empress now, and judging from the way Alfred's associates continue to drop left and right, she's determined to purge anyone who might stand in her way. And that includes relatives who might want revenge. You and I are bound to be on that list, pumpkin. So listen carefully. Drop out. Hide as best you can. And don't use your credit cards or try to contact any of the people you know. Because if you do, they will find you."

There was a noise in the background at that point and, as Rex turned to look over his shoulder, Cat saw the gun in his hand. When he looked back there was concern in his eyes. "I'm sorry, Cat. So very sorry. Find a hole to hide in honey . . . And don't ever come out." The image broke into pieces at that point. They were sucked inwards and disappeared.

There was so much to absorb, so much to accept, that Cat was numb. Then, as the full weight of her uncle's words began to sink in, she started to cry. Deep sobs racked her body, and her stomach hurt as she rocked back and forth. Her mother. Her father. Both dead. It seemed impossible. Yet there it was, and having seen the look on her uncle's face, she knew it was true.

The crying lasted for a good five minutes; tears were still running down her cheeks when someone knocked on the door. It was Stevens. "Lady Catherine? Are you okay?"

Cat wasn't okay. But she couldn't say that. So she said, "Yes, I'll be right there," as she plucked tissues out of a box. Then, having wiped the tears away, she removed the chip from the player and stuck it into her bra.

The door whirred out of the way, and judging from the expression on the other woman's face, she knew something was wrong. Together, they walked back through the kitchen and out into the ballroom. And that was when Cat saw the synths. There were at least six of the Carletto Industry ALF–46s (Artificial Life Form model 46s.) They crisscrossed the floor, pausing occasionally to stare at particular individuals, while the pale–faced governor was forced to look on. The room, which had been so noisy before, was eerily silent.

Cat stopped, and was trying to decide what to do when a robot spotted her. The machine fired a pistol and a bullet ripped through Stevens' throat. There was a look of surprise on her face as she crumpled to the floor. Life as Cat knew it was over.