Eye of the Pharaoh: Black Ocean: Mercy for Hire, #8

By J.S. Morin

"We're going to find someone with a nice ship. Someone who doesn't deserve one. And we're going to steal it."

Esper made that promise. Now it's time to make good. The Cult of Ra has a flagship, and thanks to a turncoat in their ranks, Esper and her friends know where it's going to be. Better yet, they know that Pharaoh Ramesses XIII will be aboard. It's time to cut the head off the cult.

One problem...

The cult knows they're coming.

Two problems, actually...

The Poet Fleet knows where they are, too, and have sent a team to make Esper pay for humiliating their admiral.

What comes next is a battle of trap and counter-trap, deception and betrayal. Who is worthy of trust? Redemption? And will our heroes be able to win the day without crossing the gooey red line into villainy themselves?

It's a thrilling showdown between the forces of evil and the forces of fed up with evil.

Eye of the Pharaoh is the eighth mission of Black Ocean: Mercy for Hire. It follows the exploits of a pair of do-gooder bounty hunters who care more about saving the day than getting a payday. Mercy for Hire builds on the rich Black Ocean universe and introduces a colorful cast for new and returning readers alike. Fans of vigilante justice and heroes who exemplify the word will love this series.

Your copy awaits if you have the will to seize it!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Magical Scrivener Press
• Release date: Apr 23, 2019
• ISBN: 9781643550459

J.S. Morin

I am a creator of worlds and a destroyer of words. As a fantasy writer, my works range from traditional epics to futuristic fantasy with starships. I have worked as an unpaid Little League pitcher, a cashier, a student library aide, a factory grunt, a cubicle drone, and an engineer--there is some overlap in the last two. Through it all, though, I was always a storyteller. Eventually I started writing books based on the stray stories in my head, and people kept telling me to write more of them. Now, that's all I do for a living. I enjoy strategy, worldbuilding, and the fantasy author's privilege to make up words. I am a gamer, a joker, and a thinker of sideways thoughts. But I don't dance, can't sing, and my best artistic efforts fall short of your average notebook doodle. When you read my books, you are seeing me at my best. My ultimate goal is to be both clever and right at the same time. I have it on good authority that I have yet to achieve it. Visit me at jsmorin.com

Book preview

Eye of the Pharaoh

EYE OF THE PHARAOH

MISSION 8

BLACK OCEAN: MERCY FOR HIRE

J.S. MORIN

Copyright © 2018 J.S. Morin

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed Attention: Permissions Coordinator, at the address below.

Magical Scrivener Press

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Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

Ordering Information: Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address above.

J.S. Morin — First Edition

ISBN: 978-1-64355-045-9

Printed in the United States of America

EYE OF THE PHARAOH

MISSION 8

As palaces went, Prince Taavi’s was modest. On the shores of Aman Beach, it nestled on an outcropping of rock between desert sands and lapping waves. A mere twelve bedrooms precluded hosting large gatherings. A few hangers-on cavorted in the shallow tidewaters, a dozen meters from the blanket and umbrellas that marked their base camp.

Taavi didn’t bother joining them.

At one point, a thousand kilometers of ocean seemed a safe distance to keep between himself and father. King Darius hadn’t cared what Taavi had done with his allowance so long as it was done privately and well away from Persepolis. Now, Taavi watched the sky as dawn chased away the stars, leaning on the balcony railing of his beachfront getaway, an empty tumbler of brandy in his hand.

Maybe he shouldn’t have done it.

King Darius wouldn’t thank him for it.

Abbas was the one who would inherit a kingdom free from the madmen of the Cult of Ra, not him. Taavi was so far down the line of succession that swaddled babes still living in his brothers’ harems had stronger claims to the throne.

As if on cue, the door to the balcony slid open with a whisper barely audible over the waves, and one of his own wives ventured into the morning breeze beside him. She wore nothing. The sunrise glinted off bronzed skin and painted lips. As she glided up beside him, she brushed erect nipples across the bare flesh of his arm.

So, she’d come to seduce him.

With an inward sigh, Taavi supposed he ought to let her. Anything to tear his mind from the terrible heaviness that weighed upon him. With a deftness he admired, the empty brandy glass in his hand swapped for a full one.

It’s cold out here, she cooed in his ear. Come. Warm me from inside.

Her hair smelled of jasmine.

Throwing back the contents of his drink, Taavi set down his tumbler and lifted her in his arms. He carried her inside, tasting her body with kisses all the way as she giggled in anticipation.

As he flung her down upon the bed, the room wobbled. Taavi blinked to clear his vision. Surely, he was no limp-livered boy to go weak-kneed over a mere two glasses of brandy. Crawling after her, Taavi fumbled with his belt buckle, fingers unusually clumsy at a task he’d performed a million times.

Short of breath, Taavi reached up to loosen his collar. The crush of ocean waves outside became distant.

What… was in…?

He didn’t get the last word out before collapsing onto the bed face first.

His young wife, so new he couldn’t recall her name, rolled him onto his back and redid his belt from the chaos he’d made of the attempt to remove it. Taavi’s breath came shallow, and the room wavered around him, but he didn’t lose consciousness.

A chain jingled at the bedside. Taavi envisioned this as some sexual game gone too far for his liking. She’d need to be punished for this once he recovered.

But as the nameless wife knelt over him, displaying her body out of reach of Taavi’s leaden limbs, he realized that the chain was too light and delicate for restraint. She slipped a necklace over her nude form, and the pendant that dangled just above her breasts kept his attention utterly.

An ankh.

Almighty Ra looks down not from one sun but from all.

No…

The doors to his private chambers slid open, and the woman glided off the bed in an instant. Your majesty, I have done as you require.

Father’s voice was gruff, with nothing but contempt for Taavi. Bring him. He is beyond my help now.

Rough hands loaded Taavi onto a repulsor stretcher. Despite his limp muscles, he was strapped down tight. He watched the ceilings of his own beachside palace whisk past as he was towed through a side door.

I have mosaics…

He’d been coming to the beachside palace for at least five years, on and off, and had never noticed the ceiling artwork before.

The sunlight stung his eyes as they hauled him outside. Head strapped firmly to the stretcher, he couldn’t turn aside, and the glare made one of his eyes water.

A hand slapped him across the face, all the harder for being unable to turn with the blow. No son of mine shall show coward’s tears!

Taavi tried to protest, but his tongue was swollen and limp. He grunted instead.

Another slap. "Have some dignity!"

There was a ship waiting. It wasn’t one of father’s. King Darius would have owned nothing so drab and rusty. The men guiding him set Taavi down, and the stretcher locked to the floor. Hydraulics signaled the loading ramp was closing.

King Darius glared down, carefully positioned for Taavi to see him. The disgraces end today.

Taavi panicked. But limp and tingling, unable to move or speak, what could he possibly do?

They left him alone.

Time drifted past in darkness without even the courtesy of an overhead light to let him scan his surroundings. Not that it would have helped.

Feeling returned slowly and with it both the cramped muscles and wet trousers he’d been blissfully unaware of during his capture and transport. The straps dug into his flesh. Regaining sensation hadn’t loosed his bindings. His hands and legs had gone numb from lack of circulation.

A metallic thump from the hull heralded their landing.

The door, just outside Taavi’s field of vision, opened. One of father’s guards opened the loading ramp.

Taking him on either side, two of them unlatched the stretcher from the floor and reactivated the repulsors. Taavi bobbed to waist height of his couriers.

Where is King Darius? he croaked, mouth dry from alcohol and lack of beverage service on the flight.

Neither of the guards answered him.

I am Taavi, Ninth Prince of Kalimos! You will not ignore me.

They ignored him anyway.

Taavi watched ceilings once again. This time, as he was towed down the shuttle’s ramp, he emerged into a larger vessel. It looked cold, unwelcoming… military. The corridors beyond the shuttle bay were lit by banks of identical glow panels. They were softer on the eyes than sunlight but between the intermittent panels and the bobbing ride—not to mention the brandy still in his system—Taavi shut his eyes against oncoming nausea.

They took him in a lift.

More corridors.

How large was this ship? He’d been through shopping malls smaller.

The trek ended in a room with a domed ceiling adorned with a holographic tactical map of the galaxy. Before he could examine it in any detail, the guards released him from the straps.

Painful, buzzing sensation returned to his unresponsive hands and legs as the guards hauled him upright, resigned to supporting his weight.

Father stood before a panoramic window. But despite the certainty that they hadn’t been gone long enough to leave orbit of Kalimos IV, there was no view of the planet King Darius ruled.

They stared out at the sun Kalimos.

It burned yellow at the heart of the system. The glare of it forced Taavi to turn his head aside.

An unfamiliar hand, belonging to neither of the guards, forced his chin up and faced him forward. Look upon the glory of Ra!

Taavi recognized the voice. He’d never met Pharaoh Ramesses XIII in person, but his voice had been on so many planetwide broadcasts these past few years that no Kalimosian would misplace it. Old Earth gentile and with the air of a man who treated every spoken word as divine law, the pharaoh was not one accustomed to even token disobedience.

Taavi shut his eyes.

"Look!"

This time, the pharaoh’s words spoke directly to the muscles in Taavi’s eyelids. He didn’t open his eyes; they opened themselves. He didn’t look aside; his eyes stared forward, past the tanned cheek of the pharaoh and out into the void, where the star watched him.

Tears welled in Taavi’s eyes from the brightness.

Why have you brought me here? he asked weakly.

"You fool! King Darius scolded. Did you think we were so stupid? Did you think yourself clever?"

The pharaoh’s voice was smooth, lacking the bile and outrage of the king’s. Since the Caledonia incident, we’ve increased our monitoring of your activities. We know everything.

Everything? Taavi echoed, still unable to tear his eyes away from the star as spots swam in his vision.

Ramesses XIII swept toward the door. Taavi heard the rustle of linen fabrics and a jangle of loose jewelry. Bring him.

It was only when the two guards holding him up dragged him around and broke his line of sight to the star that Taavi was able to blink and stare through watery eyes at his true ruler. Ramesses XIII was the very picture of an ancient Egyptian monarch. The cult guards flanking the door were eyndar attired in like garb, each bearing a spear. They fell into step to guard their pharaoh from behind.

Taavi’s feet dragged on the floor as they led him toward a row of escape pods. Most were already missing. One hatch lay open, and Taavi’s captors ducked through, shoving his head down to avoid banging it.

The pod was tiny, maybe large enough for four escapees. But this pod had been modified. A metallic frame had been welded roughly into place, shaped vaguely like a starfish. The chin and headrest gave away its intent.

The guards shoved and wrangled Taavi despite his feeble struggles. Each time a strap tightened, he was less able to resist. By the time they finished, every added strap was merely one less muscle he could flex. He faced out the escape pod’s tiny window, positioned so that he had a view of the sun. Fortunately, he could still squeeze shut his eyes.

What are you doing with me? Taavi asked, dreading the answer.

I’m being rid of you, King Darius bellowed. It’s high time we— but the king cut himself short. A second of silence passed.

You are being given a chance for redemption. The pharaoh’s voice was silky, sultry, enticing. A chance to swear your renewed loyalty to Ra. To beg his forgiveness. To find salvation in his glory. Open your eyes.

His traitorous eyes opened. The sun loomed ahead of him.

Taavi heard the groan of a metal hinge a second before the escape pod hatch sealed shut behind him.

He tried with all his might to shut his eyes against the searing brilliance of the star but to no avail.

With a jolt, the escape pod launched.

Taavi found himself hurtling toward the heart of Kalimos on a course that would feed him to the star as an offering to Ra.

"It is not too late, the pharaoh’s voice came through the pod’s speakers. Pray, and perhaps Ra will be merciful."

Taavi held his tongue.

This was a trick. King Darius would never allow Ramesses XIII and his cult to murder a son of his own blood.

"We are not listening, the speaker said. Only Almighty Ra can hear you now."

Another trick. Of course, they were listening.

You won’t do it! Father, you can’t let this madman take your children. He will eat our planet and toss the core like a rotted fruit when he is done.

No response.

They were testing him. Perhaps humility was in order. The litany of Ra tugged at Taavi’s tongue. How cheap were words when a fiery orb was preparing him as a meal?

I pledge to obey without question. I will follow the teachings of Ra, forsaking all other loyalties. Almighty Ra looks down not from one sun but from all!

There was no response from either pharaoh or king.

Sweat beaded all over Taavi’s body as the heat from the sun grew.

He raised his voice. I pledge to obey without question. I will follow the teachings of Ra, forsaking all other loyalties. Almighty Ra looks down not from one sun but from all!

Still nothing.

One last time, he swore to himself as the heat grew until the touch of the metal frame burned against his skin. I pledge to obey without question. I will follow the teachings of Ra, forsaking all other loyalties. Almighty Ra looks down not from one sun but from all!

He stared into the eye of Ra.

Taavi could barely think. He was trapped in an oven with no escape. He’d never see the star’s corona engulf him. He’d perish of heat stroke long before that. Ramesses XIII had doomed him. King Darius had chosen Ra over his own son.

Ahura, guardian of my ancestors since before the stars became our playground, hear my prayer. Take my soul to meet Zarathustra. Pity the poor fool Taavi for his doubts and his cowardice.

Whether the ancient deity took pity on Prince Taavi of Kalimos IV, he did not save the man’s life. The sun, Kalimos, incinerated the escape pod offering.

Ra was merciless.

Alone on a side table, Esper’s datapad blinked.

The Empty Nest floated lazily in the astral, neither shallow enough to risk casual encounters with interstellar traffic nor deep enough that they were out of range of astral relays. No hint of purple tinged the flat gray of interdimensional space.

Tiffany was first to take note of the device. She looked down at her hand of cards, disliked what she saw there, and tossed them facedown into the middle of the table. I fold. As she pushed her chair back with a scrape, she shot her opponents a warning glare. And I counted those chips.

The chips were, in this instance, thin wafers of salted potato. The Lonestars had won the last of the hardcoin aboard the ship days ago. Now, it was just the two owners of the Empty Nest, Wesley, Kubu, and Tiffany playing for snacks.

Frankly, it sucked the fun out of the game.

That didn’t mean Tiffany was willing to lose her chips while she turned her back.

The datapad might have been Esper’s, but bless her heart, that girl knew nothing about data security. Tiffany tapped in the wizard’s birthday, and the screen unlocked.

NEW MESSAGE.

No shit, there’s a new message. That’s why you were blinking.

Tiffany caught herself before scolding the device aloud. The others might think she’d gone crazy—wizard crazy.

She opened the comm.

The Eye of Ra has arrived in orbit. For how long, I cannot say. Be quick. For the souls of my people,