K.A.T. Antiques (Fall of the Alliance Book 11), page 1
K. A. T. Antiques
Pam Uphoff
Copyright 2023 Pamela Uphoff
All Rights Reserved
ISBN
978-1-939746-92-4
Cover Design
By P. A. McWhorter
Elements from MidjourneyAI
This is a work of fiction.
All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional.
Any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Christmas Eve 3737
Chapter One
Too Late, Unless . . .
Chapter Two
Traeger House
Chapter Three
Home sweet Home
Chapter Four
The Cops
Chapter Five
Antiques and Everything Else
Chapter Six
Lady Nina Traeger Glaser
Chapter Seven
Drunken Revelry
Chapter Eight
Footwork
Chapter Nine
Kicked out
Chapter Ten
The Interior Decorator
Chapter Eleven
Funeral Rites
Chapter Twelve
Right out in Public
Chapter Thirteen
Family Planning
Chapter Fourteen
A Few Last Details
Bonus Scene One
Bonus Scene Two
Bonus Scene Three
Bonus Scene Four
Excerpt from an Upcoming Release
Other Titles by Pam Uphoff
Prologue
Christmas Eve 3737
“It’s beautiful!!!!” The young lady was literally bouncing as they set the little table down.
Her older husband beamed.
Karl Artimi Traeger ran the polishing rag over the top while Max and Felix trotted off for the chairs. The boys’ father, Karl’s uncle, handed papers over to the Lord. “Providence, sales contracts, DNA and tree ring reports. Home World Mahogany, the wood dates from 2257.”
Uncle Niklas received the final payment. The old Lord handed the three of them tips, and the butler showed them out.
The company truck had a big stylized leopard on it and K.A.T. Antiques on both sides. Worth every mark, not showing up in a rented truck. It had been his first large purchase, since his dad had given him permission to buy the shop.
Niklas, his dad’s half-brother, and his Executive Secretary took the wheel. “A year and a half and you’ll be eighteen, fully licensed, and can drive the truck yourself.”
Karl nodded. “Now if my clients would just stop looking relieved when I drag you along and they think that there’s an actual adult in charge . . .”
“Time will cure that too.” He glanced at the boys. “Well . . . we’d best be getting back. Like it or not, Karl has to be there for the big dinner.”
Max snorted. “Makes me glad to be an Exec’s bastard. Umm, not meaning to be offensive Dad . . .”
No, you’re not really glad. You’re almost seventeen and then you’ll have to be chipped. Hopefully my Dad will spring for an Exec chip for you, but . . .
Karl wrenched his thoughts away from the horror of the near future to focus on the horror of the next eight days. “Oh boy. A festive Christmas Eve Feast! With my entire horrible family in town for the rest of the week.
“Then peace and quiet for eleven and a half months! I am so looking forward to it.”
Chapter One
Too Late, Unless . . .
Friday, June 15, 3738
Karl wept silently in the dark room beside his father’s corpse.
The computer screen was the only light as he very carefully and very thoroughly removed all traces of his business from his father’s records.
He applied to be presented, and found an early spot at a center across town. Moved his dad’s hand to the scanner for confirmation. Then the form giving his uncle, Niklas Gerolf Traeger authority to present him. Another handprint. Sent . . . got the acknowledgement.
Opened a file and transferred the forms to his personal file. . . changed the date, the 15 to a 14 . . . closed the file.
Then he just left his dad there.
He went upstairs, and woke Niklas.
“There’s something I need you to do that isn’t strictly honest.”
His dad’s younger half-brother . . . his Exec . . . smiled, wryly. “And would your father dislike what we’re about to do?”
“No. I’m very sure he’d approve, but don’t disturb him. Put on your best suit and let’s go.”
He nodded, so Karl bolted for his bedroom and pulled on his presentation suit. Thin tight white sleeveless shirt, loose white pants, white sports shoes. He took a change of clothes with him.
Niklas’s eyes widened. Then his lips thinned and he led the way to the garage.
They took Karl’s car, a sporty little thing with an undersized engine. That he didn’t yet have a license to drive. A quick trip across town at this hour. They were early, waited half an hour before the staff unlocked the door.
“You are my Uncle Niklas, here because your brother is very ill, and wanted me Presented before he died.”
Niklas nodded, pale, but he knew better than to ask. What you don’t know, you don’t have to lie about.
Karl headed up the steps.
He coated the Exec with an electromagnetic shield, blocking anything from his chip, but letting his medium glow show. From the lack of reaction from the receptionist, he’d not been alerted to a man with an Exec chip doing something . . . irregular. Karl stuck his hand on the handprint plate, the guy nodded.
“Karl Artimi Traeger. Your Presentation will start in five minutes. Please wait in the room there until you are summoned. Your uncle will walk out with you and announce you, then leave the arena. You, sir, may wait in the booth provided.”
Karl thanked him and walked over to the waiting room. Just a plain room with benches on two sides, doors opposite each other on the other two.
I’ve had the best martial arts training money can buy. Plenty of fights at school.
Dad trained my mentalist abilities from the first hint of Power showing up. Only a little early, but very strong.
No. It’s not the fighting that worries me. It’s the killing.
It’s time to turn the emotions off. Feel later.
He had barely sat before the other door opened. “Karl Artimi Traeger.”
They, like everyone in the Alliance, had seen this played out in movies a hundred times. The tunnel to the Arena. Bow to the Judges.
“May I present my nephew Karl Artimi Traeger.”
“He’s rather young. Where is his father?”
“His father, my brother, is very ill, and wanted his only son presented before he died.”
A frown. “The challenge may proceed.”
They both bowed and Niklas walked away. Karl turned to face the opponent’s door, bringing up a rather showy shield, partly to hide that he was still covering Niklas as he walked away. The gate shut behind him, and the door opened.
A cyborg trotted out, wearing a black version of Karl’s outfit. He spotted Karl, and with bared teeth, charged.
Well coordinated. The other kind of brain sick. Manic.
The low push knocked a foot out from under the Cyborg; he staggered and Karl stepped in to aid his contact with the ground with a physical shove. The Cyborg bounced back at high speed and Karl deflected a couple of punches, faded back and turned to take a kick on his thigh, tossed a spin Impression, and jumped in with a kick, got in a couple of punches. He let the spin go and blocked a punch, caught an ankle as the Cyborg kicked again . . . that was enough. A mental punch between the eyes and the Cyborg was down, a nasty little death flash.
He turned and spotted the judges, bowed.
They nodded approval. “Congratulations Lord Karl Artimi Traeger. You have passed your challenge.”
He bowed again, and turned to leave . . . as two Inquisitors walked in, breathing as if they’d been running a moment before. Definitely short notice.
The one on the left held out a flat box and opened it.
The one on the right pulled out a medallion on a red ribbon. Took a deep breath. “Congratulations, 6 Traeger.”
Karl bowed his head, the Inquisitor dropped the red ribbon around his neck. He straightened, then bowed deeply. They turned and walked away. Karl followed at a respectful distance.
Ignored the little tractor rolling in from the side to collect the body.
Not yet. Hold the emotions just a little longer.
Ignored a faint grumble from one of the inquisitors about the early scramble . . .
The other one snorted. “Let’s stop for breakfast.”
At which point his stomach rebelled and he fought to control it until the inquisitors were out of sight, and Niklas was rushing down to hug him and he was crying . . . managed to get outside before he heaved up bile and stomach acid.
“Here. Sit. Sit right here and I’ll go get the car.”
Excellent idea. Karl huddled on the bench.
I killed a man. Cyborg . . . still a man. His death flash weaker than Father’s, that had woken me from a restless sleep.
Dad’s dead.
Dad was old, tired, getting weaker, his heart so bad . . . he’d planned on Presenting me on my seventeenth birthday. Three weeks from now.
“It’s all right, Dad. We fixed it up. Go in peace.” He kept it to a whisper and got up as Niklas drove up. He shoved the seat well back, took off the shirt and wiped his face, put on the casual shirt he’d brought, the pants, socks, dark shoes . . . ribbon folded, rolled around the medallion, and slipped into his pants pocket.
“Let’s get home. If anyone cares where we’ve been . . . I was going to try to catch a girlfriend before school started, and show her the medallion I got yesterday . . . lost my nerve, turned around and came home.”
Niklas nodded.
He knows why I did this.
Chapter Two
Traeger House
June 15, 3738
Captain Mishka Nix eyed Traeger House as it came into sight. He’d seen it before, driving by. Set well back on mostly natural grounds, facing west, it had no particular architectural merit.
A long rectangle with three rows of moderately large windows. Hip roof pierced by three chimneys—so less than a thousand years old. A big cubic construction stuck on the front, gable roof peaking below the third row of windows. Added on later.
His usual Cyborg partner, Three, driving, turned in an ungated drive that curved a couple of times for no obvious reason. Old trees, long gone.
Impatient shifting from the back seat. Lieutenant Rogov is from a working class family. This may well be his first encounter with the Elite and the Privileged. Hopefully no hysterics. Although grief beats the hell out of glee.
The drive passed a cut off to a large garage behind a screen of trees and bushes. Then the main drive curved in front of the mansion. The ambulance, no lights, was well past the big glassed in entrance at the front of the add-on. Three parked a couple of car lengths behind the ambulance and they all got out.
A big door of solid carved oak opened as they approached. A butler, perfectly turned out . . . red-eyed, distressed.
“If you’d come this way, sirs . . .” a broad hall, twenty feet to a four way intersection. Straight ahead, paneled wall on the right, stairs up on the left. The ceiling open to all three floors. Beyond the stairs, another cross hall, then twenty feet to a double glass door to the outside.
The building is actually pretty narrow. About half the size I’d imagined.
The butler led them off to the left, past a dozen widely spaced, closed doors, to the ambulance driver lounging against the wall, three women in the ubiquitous servants’ garb hovering beyond. Black dresses with white aprons.
The door opposite was wide-open to a well lit office. A very large office, with a big—probably antique—desk with the red gleam of mahogany. A big padded chair, arms, high back, tilted back just a bit, the man lounging there was wrinkled and old, and quite dead.
The medic, ignoring the body and examining the book cases, turned back and walked over. “The deceased has been identified as Lord Volker Karl Traeger, 2 Traeger. Aged one hundred and ninety-five. He had been dead for three to four hours when I examined him, the small muscles were well along in rigor, the large muscles just beginning to stiffen. There was no sign of violence, but the hand position is unusual, and may have been manipulated after death but before rigor set in, accelerating rigor in the hand.”
Rogov’s eyes brightened as he looked from the right hand—splayed out flat—to the palm reader sitting beside the computer on the desk.
“Indeed. It looks like someone discovered him hours ago, and used the computer for his own purposes. The question is, did he find 2 Traeger before or after he died.” Mishka looked at the medic. “Have you moved him at all?”
“No. I was careful not to move the chair at all, as the man was clearly dead beyond any possible revival. I touched the face to determine how far rigor mortis was along, the hand when I saw the odd position, and the thigh to test large muscle rigor.”
“Excellent.” He looked around as the butler reappeared.
“Senior Inquisitor Mitya Rostenov is here sir, and would speak to you if you are not overly busy.”
Mishka raised his brows. “Certainly.” He eyed the Red Robe as he stepped in, stopped to eye the corpse and sighed.
“I should not have intruded. I live two houses away, and I’m a friend of Volker’s. I am not here in an official capacity.” He glanced around. “Karl isn’t here? Or Niklas?” A faint crease between his brows.
The butler answered, “They’re both out, sir. They often run errands or whatever before his lordship wakes.”
“I have just arrived myself.” Mishka kept his voice pleasant. “Who are Karl and Niklas?”
“Karl is Volker’s son, just short of his seventeenth birthday, Niklas is his Exec.”
The butler nodded. “Karl just has a learner’s permit. So Niklas . . .”
“No chauffeur?” Rogov asked.
“No sir, Eighty-eight died last winter, and well,” The butler nodded apologetically to the body. “His Lordship didn’t get out much. Mostly just for medical tests.” The man’s pocket dinged. “Excuse me, more people are coming.”
Mishka nodded to Rogov. “Probably labs and a few more cops. Possibly the coroner. Go see. Post a cop out on the driveway to chase away spectators.”
The coroner walked in first. Took one glance. “Yep. He’s dead.” But he stepped up with a portable scanner. “Room temperature is seventy-four, body temperature and gradient, skin to core, on a skinny old man . . . he died close on to four hours ago.” A glance at his watch. “Four thirty this morning, give or take half an hour.”
The lab team poked his head around the corner.
The Medic held out a pad. The Coroner signed. “Official time of death 8:35 June 15, 3738.”
Rogov frowned. “Not four thirty?”
“Nope. No one’s officially dead until a licensed Physician signs. And I can only report the time I determined he was dead.” He nodded to the medic. “You can leave now. File it. Nix, I’ll talk to his physician, check his records, the lab boys will send the results, and I’ll send you my opinion.” He told the Lab tech what he wanted from the body—blood, skin, and hair samples and what to test them for.
They focused on the computer and the palm print reader, did a quick sweep around, and were out to start their tests.
The coroner tossed a curious glance at the senior inquisitor. “Mitya? Problem?”
“Neighbor, friend, nosy.”
“Naughty.” A wave and he was gone.
“And I should leave as well.” The Senior Inquisitor looked around at the sound of running feet.
A boy, five-ten, perhaps, feet that still needed to be grown into. Muscled up enough to show he was working out regularly, but if anything a little underweight. Light brown hair, blue eyes. Stopping dead to stare at his father.
“Oh.”
Chapter Three
Home sweet Home
Friday, June 15, 3738
There were three police cars, an ambulance, and two other cars in front of Traeger House. All at the south entrance.
Niklas pulled up behind the last car and Karl threw himself out.
“What happened?”
A stern but compassionate expression on the Police Cyborg’s face.
“Dad?”
“And you are, sir?”
“Karl . . . Lord Karl Traeger.”
The cop stepped aside and Karl strode past, trotted, started running. The door swung open before he got there; Ivan looked like he was trying to not cry. “He’s in his office, sir.”
He ran . . . stopped at the door. Dad was still sitting there. His color . . .
Karl took a deep shaky breath. “Oh.”
A cleared throat. He blinked around, registering the four men standing there. Two strangers in suits, a Cyborg in a police uniform, and an old friend of father’s wearing his usual red robe.
Mitya, Senior Inquisitor Mitya Rostenov, reached to grip his shoulder. “Karl. He went peacefully and quickly.”
Karl wiped watering eyes. “He . . . always said he wanted to die in bed . . . I guess the office is just as good.”
