“Which guards?” Strand asked sharply.
“Shane and Tarl, inner guardsmen as I’ve said. I did not inquire about the prisoner.”
“So, we have several mysteries,” Strand said. “We have a mystery shuttle with a mystery crew landing on the surface. I doubt Shane and Tarl did this on their own.”
“That would be unthinkable,” the Elder-Advisor said. “The inner guardsmen are fiercely loyal to the Emperor. They would not act apart from his will.”
“I submit these two most certainly did,” Strand said.
“I would need proof of this,” the Elder-Advisor said.
“Hold on to your thought, most learned Elder-Advisor,” Strand said. “Consider that while Shane and Tarl were taking their prisoner to the shuttle that Artaxerxes Par received a message from the Emperor. Other captains received messages from the Emperor. Tell me. Why was the Emperor sending these messages while a mystery shuttle landed on the Library Planet? How do we know any of these messages was real?”
The Elder-Advisor stroked his beard, shaking his head.
Strand glanced sharply at Ural.
Ural got the point. “We must ask the Emperor,” he said. “We must set the record straight.”
Strand pointed at Ural. “For once, I agree with him, and you all know how seldom that happens.”
“…Yes,” Samos said slowly. “That sounds like good advice. But we can’t all go to see the Emperor.”
“Then let the captains, chief advisors, Ural and me check on the Emperor,” Strand said.
Artaxerxes’s nostrils flared. “This is confusing and strange. But I will follow the consensus. Yes, because of the mystery shuttle, I agree.”
-54-
As Ural marched down the corridors with the others— he and Strand being the only ones unarmed—he would have liked to interrogate the Methuselah Man. Strand seemed to know what was going on.
Or he gives the appearance of knowing, Ural realized. Is that one of his powers? Or does the evil dwarf actually have a clue? Is he part of the deception? How can I possibly trust him? Though he did keep Artaxerxes from having me murdered.
Ural noticed several of the captains whispering together. No doubt, they made plans as they discussed contingences. One of the advisors did likewise with the Elder-Advisor. Artaxerxes whispered to Samos. The white-haired, stocky dominant of Thetis listened carefully.
Might Artaxerxes have really murdered the Emperor? Even though Ural had accused the man of it—mostly in order to sow doubt—such a murder seemed unlikely, and yet, that would match much of what had happened. There was turmoil in the flotilla, and that turmoil could erupt into bloodshed at any moment.
Ural frowned. Who had left in the shuttle to go down to the winter world? He would dearly like to know. Who was missing from the captains and advisors? No one was the answer. Who did that leave then as a possibility? That was the bizarre thing. It didn’t leave anyone he knew of as a reasonable suspect.
Perhaps there was an unknown player in this game.
The group reached the first set of guards at a large hatch in an equally large corridor.
“Turn back,” the group leader guard said. “The Emperor ordered us to admit no one into his personal section of the ship.”
Artaxerxes stepped up, by the action claiming leadership. “We have reason to suspect foul play. We’re worried for the Emperor’s safety.”
“Impossible,” the group leader said. “No one has passed to enter this way.”
“To enter? Then who left?” asked Strand.
“Eh?” asked the group leader.
“You heard me,” Strand said. “You said no one entered. Who departed?”
The group leader frowned. “A trio left over an hour ago.”
“Who?” Strand demanded.
“Shane and Tarl of the inner guards, and a hooded prisoner,” the group leader said.
“Was that all?”
The group leader frowned more deeply. “I just told you—”
“No other people?” asked Strand, interrupting.
“People?” asked the group leader.
“Women, perhaps,” said Strand.
“Oh,” the group leader said, “come to think of it, there was a harem girl, but I wouldn’t know which one.”
“Thank you,” Strand said with evident satisfaction, as if confirming a theory.
Artaxerxes glanced back at Strand. “Why could this harem girl possibly matter?”
Strand shrugged.
“What do you know, Methuselah Man?” Artaxerxes demanded.
“Considerably more than you, I should think,” Strand replied.
Lean Artaxerxes scowled, twisting his facial scars, and he tensed, perhaps to rush Strand and cuff him good and hard.
Deciding to stick by his ally-under-distress, Ural moved subtly nearer the Methuselah Man, determined to protect him from the other.
Artaxerxes’s eyes narrowed. He turned to the group leader. “Take us to the Emperor at once. There are mysteries afoot. Why else do you think the flotilla captains and advisors are here to seek the Emperor’s wisdom?”
The group leader picked up a hand unit, speaking into it. He waited and listened to an answer. He looked up, “The Emperor is asleep, leaving orders that no one is to disturb him.”
“Fool!” Artaxerxes said. “Can’t you see that’s a ruse put into place by others? The Emperor needs our help. It’s obvious there has been foul play.”
“Artaxerxes Par is correct,” Strand said in a compelling voice. “Will you stand on protocol?” he asked the group leader, “leaving the Emperor to die alone in his chambers?”
The group leader scowled, nodding slowly. “I will agree to let you pass, but on one condition only. You must all put aside your weapons. In this part of the ship, only the Emperor’s royal guards go armed.”
“There’s no time for that,” Artaxerxes said.
The group leader drew his blaster. The other two guards did likewise. “That’s my condition,” the group leader said.
“Fine,” Stocky Samos said. “It’s reasonable.” He unbuckled his blaster belt, letting it drop to the floor.
Several other captains did likewise.
Artaxerxes Par exhaled angrily, and unbuckled his blaster belt. The advisors were the last to do so.
The throng, with the guards at the head, hurried down the corridors, picking up seven more guardsmen along the way. Finally, they reached the royal quarters, the senior group leader guard banging on it for admittance because it was locked.
The hatch did not open.
The senior group leader, an older man with gray flecks in his hair, took out a device, examining it. Finally, he motioned to the other royal guardsmen. They drew their blasters, aiming them at the captains and advisors. Then the senior group leader manipulated the device. The hatch opened. The senior group leader and several guards rushed within, followed by the star-cruiser captains, Ural and Strand and then more guards with ready blasters.
The senior group leader halted with a gasp of horror. In seconds, the others saw what he did and were equally horrified.
The Emperor was sprawled at the foot of his cot, one side of his chest gone, with blood and gore pooled on the floor and soaked up by a rug. His eyes were glazed and staring.
“The Emperor is dead,” Artaxerxes Par said. “Someone has murdered him.”
Laughter began, mocking laughter.
The packed throng turned to stare at Methuselah Man Strand. He was shaking his head and laughing in his mocking way.
“How dare you laugh,” Artaxerxes snarled. “Did you engineer the Emperor’s death?”
With a seeming effort of will, Strand choked off his laughter. He continued to shake his head, however.
“What’s wrong with you?” Artaxerxes demanded.
“Wrong with me?” asked Strand, with humor in his voice. “It’s what’s wrong with all of you, that you’re all so easily duped. Can’t you see that isn’t the Emperor, but a droid body
?”
“You’re mad.” Artaxerxes glanced at the corpse and then back at Strand. “What’s a droid body?”
“That is, you simpleton,” Strand said, pointing. “I finally see what has happened. It was cleverly done, and it might have worked if you didn’t have me around.”
“Make sense, you vile dwarf,” Artaxerxes shouted.
“Move aside,” Strand said, as he headed toward the bloody corpse.
“No,” Samos said, grabbing the Methuselah Man by the shoulders. “You won’t desecrate the Emperor’s corpse.”
“Let him go,” Ural told Samos.
“Don’t listen to him,” Artaxerxes said. “The Emperor gave me orders to kill Golden Ural. I plan to see that through. Give me your blaster,” he told a guard.
“Belay that order,” Strand said commandingly. “The Emperor never gave such an order.”
“I saw the Emperor on a comm screen,” Artaxerxes said. “He personally told me to eliminate his traitorous cousin.”
“If the Emperor did tell you that,” Strand said, “it only means that he was already a prisoner.”
“A prisoner?” shouted the Elder-Advisor. “He’s dead. There’s the Emperor.”
“Unhand me,” Strand told Samos. “Let me show you the truth.”
Confused and obviously troubled, Samos of Thetis glanced at Ural. Ural nodded, and the stocky soldier from Thetis released the Methuselah Man.
“No,” Artaxerxes said. “We must—”
“Shut up and learn,” Strand said, as he approached the corpse. “I know each of you want to use this moment to take charge in the Emperor’s place. But it’s likely the Emperor is still alive, prisoner to our enemy. If you make your move for power now, Artaxerxes Par, you’ll either fail or start a civil war on the Throne World.”
A grim silence filled the chamber. It was possible the Methuselah Man’s words had gotten them all thinking about power and power politics.
“Knife,” Strand said, who stood before the corpse. “I need a knife. You, guard, give me yours.”
The guard began drawing his knife before he turned and looked to the senior group leader.
“Go ahead,” the senior group leader said. “Let’s see if Strand knows anything or not.”
“There you go,” Strand said, accepting the knife hilt-first. He sidestepped the pooled blood and reached the corpse’s head. He hacked at the head, hacked again and sawed. “This droid substance is tougher than you would believe.” Finally, however, Strand peeled back what should have been skull bone. It was more plastic and maneuverable than bone, though. He yanked, sawed and revealed what looked like a circuit board underneath the skull.
“It’s an android!” Artaxerxes shouted.
“Of a kind, but not exactly,” Strand said. “It’s what I called it before, a droid body. It was made for this express purpose: as a ruse, a diversion.”
“How do you know any of this?” Ural asked.
“Oh, ho, we have a clever one among us, do we?” Strand asked. “I was wondering if any of you was going to get around to asking that. I used these in the past. More to the point, Lisa Meyers is extremely fond of using them.”
“You’re saying Meyers is here?” asked Artaxerxes.
“Must you continue to play the dolt?” asked Strand. “Of course she isn’t here. Clearly, though, one of her spies is.”
“Who?” asked Artaxerxes.
Strand held up an index finger. “That’s what we must determine next. I imagine the spy flew the shuttle to the surface, and I imagine the spy has kidnaped the Emperor.”
“How do you know that?” demanded Artaxerxes.
“Because I listened to the group leader earlier,” Strand said. “The inner guardsmen Shane and Tarl escorted a captive, a hooded prisoner, along with a harem girl. My guess is the prisoner was the drugged Emperor: a future hostage for our good behavior.”
“Who gave me orders to kill Ural?” asked Artaxerxes.
“I’m thinking that thing did the ordering before they ‘killed’ it,” Strand said, pointing at the droid body.
“Then…?” asked Artaxerxes.
“This was engineered to buy the spy time,” Strand said.
“Do you know who Meyers sent as a spy?” Ural asked.
Strand pursed his lips as his eyes narrowed. “I think we’re going to find out soon enough. I know many of you distrust me, but I do have a suggestion. The captains should return to their star cruisers so we can act decisively and so our enemy cannot destroy the leadership at one blow.”
“We need a temporary leader,” Artaxerxes said. “I’m up to it.”
“No, you’re not,” Strand said. “You’re already thinking about taking over for the Emperor. You’re too ambitious, and the enemy has already badly fooled you once by telling you what you wanted to hear.”
“Let Ural guide us from the Shapur,” Samos said. “He won the Battle of Gomez System, and he’s the Emperor’s cousin. Whom did the Emperor send to the derelict vessel? Golden Ural.”
“You’re siding with the Methuselah Man?” Artaxerxes asked in outrage.
“We’re far from home,” Samos said. “We only have six star cruisers. We need unity. If the Emperor dies, we can jockey for power then. Until that happens, I believe we should work together against Methuselah Woman Lisa Meyers. We know Ural has handled power and gladly stepped aside before, when the Emperor decreed it so.”
Artaxerxes Par stared hard at Samos. At last, the scarred dominant grunted. “I’m for unity, and I’ll agree if Ural takes back his horrific charge against me earlier.”
Ural calculated fast. “I spoke hastily earlier. I have…I’m still investigating Oran’s murder.”
“I never killed Oran or had anything to do with it,” Artaxerxes said. “And because I wish for unity, I accept your apology.”
Ural almost shot back that he hadn’t given an apology. He decided this wasn’t the moment to argue about it, though.
“We must send shuttles down to the planet,” the Elder-Advisor said.
“Not so fast,” Strand said. “First, we must discover the Emperor’s whereabouts and status. I’m certain he’s on the landed shuttle or with the traitors, those the spy found among us.”
“Who is the spy?” Artaxerxes asked. “You must know.”
“Asking me more than once won’t change my original answer,” Strand said. “Captains, I suggest you hurry to your star cruisers. Guards, if you like, you can assemble a recuse team. Golden Ural, I think you should hurry to the bridge and call the landed shuttle.”
Ural eyed the cunning dwarf, wondering if Strand was secretly working with the spy. Who was the spy? Whom had Lisa Meyers sent against them—if Strand was correct about her? He was eager to find out and relieved that he’d escaped a sentence of death.
-55-
By the time Ural sat in the captain’s chair on the main bridge of the Shapur, he had a good idea about the identity of the spy. He wondered if Strand did as well. Unfortunately, the two of them hadn’t had time to discuss it privately.
The Elder-Advisor stood on one side of the captain’s chair and Methuselah Man Strand on the other. Several inner-chamber royal guardsmen lined the back area of the bridge, standing between the various stations.
“I suggest you wait to call the shuttle until all the captains are on their ships,” Strand told Ural.
“The Emperor’s person is critical,” the Elder-Advisor said. “You must call at once.”
“That sounds good for the record,” Strand said. “Is your suggestion the best course, however?”
“Do you think the flotilla is more important than the Emperor?” the Elder-Advisor asked.
“Obviously the flotilla is more important,” Strand said. “Or do you hold the Emperor’s person as more important than the fate of the Empire? And before you answer, remember that it won’t please the Emperor if you sound like an ass-licker—unless that’s what you are and want everyone to know.”
The Elder-Adviso
r did not answer, but he did peer at Strand in a shrewd and thoughtful manner.
“You have something to say?” asked Strand.
“I’m wondering about your part in all this,” the Elder-Advisor said. “Are you the spy’s secret confederate, working from the inside?”
“Samos of Thetis has reported that he’s back on the Paralos,” the communications officer said.
“He’s the last one,” Ural said. “It’s time. Hail the shuttle landed on the planet.”
“Sir,” the comm officer said shortly. “Javed Kir of the Cambyses is replying from the shuttle.”
The Cambyses was the name of Artaxerxes’s star cruiser. Javed Kir belonged to Artaxerxes’s household, and he was one of the names in Ural’s leather-bound notebook, the name he’d underlined the other day as a possible suspect for murdering Oran.
Ural hid his surprise, saying, “Put him on the main screen.”
The screen wavered and Javed Kir appeared, obviously sitting in the shuttle’s control cabin. Javed was golden-skinned and lean like most of those born on the Throne World. There was something disturbingly odd about his eyes, dark orbs with a hypnotic taint to them.
“Golden Ural,” Javed said in an emotionless voice. “This is a surprise.”
Ural nodded inwardly. Perhaps this was why the man had looked at him with fearful eyes the other day. It hadn’t had anything to do with Oran’s murder, but the man’s traitorous intent.
“Why have you taken a shuttle down to the Library Planet?” Ural asked.
“You’re supposed to be dead,” Javed said, maintaining his emotionless and inflectionless manner.
“I’m not dead,” Ural said. “I’m ready to order a missile strike, though, one at the landed shuttle. Are you ready to die, Javed Kir?”
The man blinked slowly, saying, “The Emperor ordered you slain. You should be dead.”
“The Emperor is dead,” Ural said.
Once more, Javed Kir blinked slowly, and his mouth twisted into a demented smile completely at odds with his emotionless voice. “No, the Emperor is very much alive.”
The Lost Secret Page 30
