Wrath and Retribution

Preface-2

How that fool could be caught so tragically unaware, at such a critical time in their planning could only be explained by the strong proof of the amber drink he kept draining and replacing above his plate. That he could allow something as simple as too much drink to cause total failure after so many years was positively infuriating!

Flying through the grand entrance and passing the adjoining automated security check point, to his private office, that shared the west wall with the master bed room, the only bedroom, again, another unrewarding compromise in a life full of pointless compromises, first to his father, then to that piece of sanctimonious s**t Phyllip, then with that fruitless i***t who insisted on sharing his bed. If he had not had to consider 'her' decorating ideas in the master plan he would have occupied the whole western wall with his office.

Years of patience ruined because that bumbling old fool couldn't look around himself, couldn't see beyond his own nose, and worst of all sent his personal attack dog to clean up the mess that he had made.

The biometric thumb scanner, key pad and voice recognition lock on his lower left desk drawer pinged happily in its annoying consistency, that his codes had been recognized. As irritating as opening all those locks was, the security manager had made the valid points that anyone could key a security code once it was known, and anyone could hold his thumb to the pad, even when he was unconscious. However, no one could record his voice and not have the picked out by the top line voice scanner's software. The device could also measure voice stress patterns associated with him being forced to open the lock under duress. Combining all three was virtually impenetrable security. Coupled with the series of high-explosive anti-tank mines, quietly pilfered from his time in the empire's Military corporations and secretly hidden in the wall behind the desk that would shred any intruder who failed to open the secure drawer correctly, not to mention instantly atomize the contents of the drawer. Thanks to his multiple layers of overlapping and progressively more lethal security, this drawer was one of the most secure repositories on the planet, and probably the universe.

Scooping his three comm units out, and onto the desk top, he pulled the travel authorization identities, plus the fifteen roles of twenty-five ten thousand credit denomination gold coins. The neatly folded black handbag at the back of the drawer slapped onto the desk under his angrily swung palm. The coins and identities went into the bag first. The three comms, which his tiny and cleverly written security worm had erased from the system over a decade before making them completely invisible to all authorities, found their ways into various pockets.

As the head of the planetary intelligence services his insertion of that protocol had gone unnoticed. Then he changed the security settings to avoid it during scans, a common intelligence procedure for his normal intelligence duties, which had gone undetected also. The clever little program made his three comms invisible to the system, and 'disappeared' any communications any one of them had with outside sources. Those communications would not even show up on the receiving comm's records, the receiving comms would have records of the message but not its origin. His personal comm slipped into his right front pocket. His 'records' comm was filled to capacity with his under the table financial records and never connected to anything. He slipped that one into his left front pocket. The terabytes of data, records, dealings, and web of scams stored in that device would have been enough to convict him and see him hung a thousand times over. The 'emergency' comm, he dropped unceremoniously into the small carry bag.

None of the remaining tools or records in the safe was so valuable that they couldn't be replaced, reproduced or were incriminating in the least. He kept duplicates of all his legitimate records on his 'records' comm and maintained the strictest firewall between his normal activities and his clandestine ones. In fact, he would never need a single record that remained on the desk. He would probably never need them again, at least not with substantial headaches and unwarranted irritation.

Kazimir didn't even bother closing the empty secure drawer. There was nothing left in there worth securing. The only things there were classified files from his nominal employment and benign personal financial records.

Storming out of his office the automatic door slipped silently open before him; automatically anticipating the swift speed of his movement, it calculated opening time well in advance and opened early so he didn't have to break stride. That convenience was of course beneath notice.

The annoying little redhead was standing in front of him, at the threshold, with another one of her stupid looks on her face.

Grinding to a halt for the first time since leaving his desk in the Citadel less than an hour ago, he snapped, "What?!"

She stuttered and stammered meekly, only infuriating Kazimir more, "Kazimir, you know I don't ask about your business ... ever, but what is going on? You never come home ... ever ... until late, and I never ask ... but ..."

He barked, "Get to the point woman!"

She pinched her eyes closed in another of her annoying idiosyncrasies while he watched her suck in her lip and bit it softly. She finally spoke after a brief pause, "... But you left less than an hour ago. Is something wrong?"

"Yes! b****y well everything is wrong! Now get out of my way!" He pushed past Diantha's shoulder hard enough to turn her sideways with a thump as he struck her. He snapped over his shoulder irritably, "Pack. We are leaving."

Following Kazimir through the foyer and across the central living area to the bedroom, Diantha asked confused, "Leaving? Why would we do that?"

"Because we have to that's why!"

Her irritatingly calm nattering questions were really starting to piss him off, "Kazimir ... what has happened?"

Ripping clothing out of the closet and slamming them into a travel bag, "My careless i***t father is what happened." Throwing an empty travel bag back into her face from the closet, Kazimir snapped again, "Go pack."

"Why do we have to leave because of your father?"

Kazimir's blood boiled anew, with his head down in the closet, as he ripped shoes off the shelves and shoved them into the bag. He snapped, "Because we weren't at the dinner last night and what that moron did, in full view of the whole planet, on vid recording for all posterity, is what."

She asked stupidly, "Is he in trouble, Kazimir?"

Kazimir didn't even want to entertain the stupidity, "Diantha! Stop asking these infernal questions and pack something! He is not in trouble. He is dead! We are in trouble! Now pack!" Turning back to his pants and undergarments the soft 'plop' of the bag on the thick carpet was almost inaudible over the chaos he was unfolding in the closet.

He turned to face the irritating insubordinate b***h, with white knuckles in fists. Diantha mumbled meekly into his fury, "No, Kazimir. You mean 'you' are in trouble ..." The terrified woman stumbled two steps backwards, "I have done nothing, for the seven years of our union, but remain faithful and true to my husband, this world and our corporate empire ... What is it you have done that you'd think we would need to flee, Kazimir?"

Stepping forward, hunched in rage, Kazimir swept the bag into his left hand as he walked over it. He thrust it so hard into her breast that her hands reflexively closed over it to protect herself, not to grab the bag, as he intended. "We are or will be shortly, accused of corruption, murder, treason and attempted regicide. Now pack!"

Turning from the stunned mute woman, he covered only one step, before he heard her squeak, "No."

Turning back to the ridiculous fool, "What!"

"I said 'no', Kazimir ... I am not packing ... I am not leaving." Gaining speed, confidence, and moral conviction, the little b***h began to defy him more stridently, "No, Kazimir. I have done nothing wrong; I will not flee like some sticky fingered petty criminal from the scene of a shopping kiosk heist."

Looming over the much smaller woman he rasped, quoting her, "Like 'some petty criminal' is it? You are my wife, we are legally one person, and you will obey me. I am the rightful Lord of this Empire. You will do as I say immediately!"

Her wide terrified green eyes shone bright with fear and something else ... loathing, "No. Treason, Murder and Regicide are individual crimes." The bag hit the floor at his feet again, "I knew nothing of your designs and will tell Lord Phyllip under oath-questioning before a tribunal of the Peers of the Hegemony. I will stand gladly for the truth, willingly telling all I know."

Diantha felt her knees buckle, before she felt her wind escape or the pain from the punch her husband landed in her midsection.

Not finished, Kazimir's rage boiled over his shredded control. His left hand slipped harshly into her hair while his right cracked a sharp slap across her face. He had never hit this woman before. But after so many years of frustration it was nice to finally share his true feelings. Before now there had been no need to mark up his showpiece wife, he usually reserved this particular skill for the random w****s his underlings had found for him over the decades. They were easy enough to drop off the towers and into the mists, where the impact and scavengers would devour the remains, before anyone who cared found them, when he was done with their broken bodies. It was harder to do that with a known society lady who would be missed; too many irritating questions would be asked.

Hauling back and unleashing his hand again and again, his rings ripped into her face. The blood poured and splattered around the room and onto him as she gasped for air and struggled to breathe through the crushing blows to her face all the while trying to sort the wind that was knocked out by the first punch.

Disgusted with the piece of meat he was holding, Kazimir opened his left hand and it fell boneless to the floor, still breathing. But then he noticed his clean white shirt had the b***h's blood on the front and sleeves.

Even more pissed off now that the worthless female had fouled his shirt, in addition to her puerile resistance and insubordination, his lips recoiled in disgust. The fetal curled, unconscious woman's mouth fell opened gaping and motionless as her dazed eyes and gashed swelling face blotted and distorted from her pristine silken lines to ... something else.

Disgusted at the display Kazimir's right foot kicked her so hard in the jaw, her caught tongue clipped in a b****y mess, her teeth shattered, and her jaw bone snapped. The blow was so violent and traumatic that it even cracking her skull where the bones met.

Ripping the ruined shirt off without bothering with the buttons, he wiped his face and hands with its inside while walking into the bathroom to clean up, and strip off the rest of his clothes.

By the time he finished his shower he felt much better. He felt clean and crisp. He was ready to start the day anew.

The useless unworthy w***e was sprawled in a spreading puddle of her own blood, as she lay on her back. Mouth filing with fluids and swelling shut. Her long red hair spilled in every direction, now matted to the floor and drenched in blood and urine. The worthless piece had fouled herself while he had showered.

Kazimir laughed and dropped the towel, on her face, as she lay unconscious and dying on her back. He stepped into the closet to get changed.