Thorn held a scanner against Roland’s head for a long moment, then moved it down his chest, over the groin and down between his legs. “The procedure is nearly complete,” he assured the young prince. “And the rest of it won’t hurt at all.”
“Good,” Roland said. “Can I sit up now?”
“Just a few more moments,” Thorn said. “Let me recover the nanites first.”
Belinda used her implants to call a maid and order a glass of orange juice for the prince as Thorn removed the nanomachines, then the sensors he had affixed to Roland’s body. The prince really didn't know how lucky he was, she considered. On the Slaughterhouse, the medical examinations were much more intrusive – and the process for inserting Pathfinder implants better left forgotten. Some recruits never woke up after the procedure, or so she had been told. It was quite possible that they’d been streamlined into units that the rest of the Corps didn't know existed.
“All done,” Thorn said, cheerfully snapping a glove. “You can sit up now.”
“And drink this,” Belinda said, passing Roland the glass of orange juice. “You may feel somewhat dehydrated.”
Roland sipped it quickly, surprisingly.
“I’ll process the results now,” Thorn said. He’d been warned that everything he needed to do would have to be done inside the Summer Palace. The complete medical records for the prince could not be allowed to become public. “I should have a breakdown for you in an hour.”
“Good,” Belinda said. She took the glass back from Roland and placed it on a table for the maid to recover later. “Come on, Your Highness. You need a nap after that tiring experience.”
Roland gave her a sharp look, probably suspecting – correctly – that he was being mocked, then stood up and followed her out of the medical centre. A handful of staff outside bowed low as soon as they saw him and remained that way until he had walked past them, something that made Belinda feel an eerie chill running down the back of her neck. What sort of person would Roland become if everyone prostrated themselves in front of him? She looked at the prince’s back and suspected that she knew the answer.
His quarters had been cleaned by the maids in their absence, following orders that Belinda had given to them personally. The alcoholic drinks and drugged snacks had been removed and replaced by fresh juice and healthier energy snacks. Roland would no doubt complain about Slaughterhouse Chocolate – as the Marines called the energy bar – but he’d learn to like it. After all, the new recruits learned to like it too. The maids had also vacuumed the floor, scrubbed the walls and filtered the air. It no longer stank of drugged smoke.
It can't be good for anyone breathing in that muck, she thought, as she watched Roland carefully. Would he even notice? Her own augmentations filtered out the smoke, but others wouldn't be so lucky. Even Roland wasn't immune to long-term exposure. We need to move him to a chamber with proper air circulation ...
Roland yawned as soon as Belinda closed the door. “You’re right,” he said, as he walked over to the bedroom. “I do need a nap. Would you care to join me?”
Belinda was only surprised that it had taken him so long to make the pass – and that it wasn’t particularly crude. But she couldn't go to bed with him, even if she had wanted to. If she was to do anything for him, she had to be his tutor as well as his bodyguard – and sex would destroy that relationship. And besides, she simply didn't find Roland attractive.
“No,” she said, firmly. “You need to actually sleep.”
“But you could at least tuck me in,” Roland whined, mischievously. “I’m only sixteen ...”
“But mentally three,” Belinda said. She followed him into the bedroom and watched without surprise as he threw himself on the bed without bothering to undress. That was something else that would have to be cured, given time. Roland definitely needed an etiquette tutor if he was to start hosting dinners after his coronation. “Close your eyes and go to sleep.”
She’d watched over her younger brother when she’d had trouble sleeping and, in some ways, Roland reminded her of her brother. But then, Grey had learned to take care of himself rapidly, just like the rest of her family. Farming, hunting, shooting, even basic education ... they’d learned it from their father. Roland had never had a real father figure in his life.
Roland tossed and turned for several minutes before finally falling asleep. Belinda listened carefully to his breathing until she was convinced that he would remain sleeping for several hours – she’d had to crawl through occupied bedrooms in the past, back before Han – and then stood up, walking soundlessly out of the room. The Prince’s suite was completely soundproof, she’d discovered while reviewing the files. She carefully closed the door behind her, ordered the local processor to inform her if there were any problems, then started to walk back down towards the medical centre. Thorn was waiting for her there.
“The good news,” he said, as soon as the door was locked and a counter-surveillance field was in place, “is that there isn't any permanent damage. The bad news is that he will have to work hard to reinvigorate his body.”
Belinda sat down. “Give me the basics,” she said. She’d learned more about battlefield medicine than she’d ever wanted to know, but Roland’s condition was more subtle than bullet wounds and lost limbs. “What is happening to him?”
“His bloodline was genetically enhanced from very early on,” Thorn said. “That was far from uncommon in the early days of the Empire; everyone who could afford it spliced basic improvements into their DNA, particularly the improved disease resistance that saved countless lives on various colony worlds. Much of the early work was hackwork by our standards, but it proved remarkably stable. And what didn’t prove stable was easily handled by later geneticists.”
Belinda nodded. Genetic engineering tended to cause unintended consequences that manifested several generations down the line, no matter how much care was put into developing the procedure. There were always surprises when modified DNA interacted with unmodified DNA or DNA that had been modified in a different way. But most issues could be nipped in the bud before they caused real problems – or so she had been assured. Some planets were still suffering from unintended consequences that had gone too far to be stopped easily.
“However, he really has been pushing his body too far,” Thorn continued. “Any unenhanced person who had drunk as much alcohol as him would be dead by now, probably of liver failure. That doesn't include the drugs, which would probably have had a similar effect – overall, he’s damn lucky to have had such limited side-effects. Right now, my very strong advice would be to prevent him from drinking alcohol or taking any more drugs at all, even for ... medical purposes.”
Belinda narrowed her eyes. “Medical purposes?”
“I found traces of Long Pole and Never End in his bloodstream,” Thorn said. “He overdosed on them too.”
“Crap,” Belinda said. “Who prescribed them for him?”
“His medical files are poorly maintained,” Thorn said. “I intend to have a few words with the doctors here, but for the moment I just don’t know.”
Belinda cursed out loud, drawing up words she’d learned from the Drill Instructors who’d berated her and the other recruits on her first day. Long Pole and Never End were both designed to prolong and increase orgasm in men; as such, they were immensely popular, but also heavily restricted. Using them too often could produce nasty side effects, even assuming that the medicine had been produced properly. Earth’s productive facilities, she had been warned, had developed the habit of cutting corners where possible. God alone knew what was in some of the vials that were handed out to Earth’s citizens. Even the Grand Senators had to be careful – or import their medical supplies from off-world.
“But he did make a pass at me,” she said, finally. “Erectile dysfunction doesn't seem to be one of his problems.”
“It will be, if he keeps abusing the drugs,” Thorn told her, bluntly. “And it is quite possible that they will have affected
his fertility. He may not be able to have children, at least not naturally. That ... will cause him problems when he is crowned Emperor.”
“Yeah,” Belinda said. “It will.”
There was no reason why the Empress – whoever she ended up being – couldn't transfer her child from her womb to an artificial birthing matrix, or even having the child conceived without ever having to have sex with the Emperor ... apart from tradition. The Crown Prince had always been grown in his mother’s womb. It was tradition and could therefore not be gainsaid by mere mortals. Belinda suspected that many of the upper-class girls who might have been considered suitable candidates for becoming Empress would become reluctant to marry Roland if they realised that they would be expected to carry their child to term personally. After all, that was what lower-class women did.
And what would happen if the Emperor was impotent? Science could provide a solution, but would it be accepted by the Empire? Tradition was important, particularly when not adhering to tradition would give the Grand Senate an excuse to refuse to recognise the new son as Crown Prince. Had any other Emperors been impotent? Belinda couldn't remember, but suspected that the records would never have admitted the truth. The Royal Family wouldn't want anything to occur that called the legitimacy of their children into question.
“Apart from that, most of his muscles have decayed to some extent,” Thorn said. “Thankfully, his enhancements prevented it from becoming too dangerous, but he will require a long program of physical exercise to get him back into an acceptable state of health. Right now, he gets tired easily and has problems concentrating on anything for more than a few minutes. Notice how quick he was to demand to be allowed to sit up.”
Belinda sighed. “What about his state of mind?”
“Spoilt brat,” Thorn said, shortly. “I’m surprised you needed me to tell you that.”
He shrugged. “We generally find that Boot Camp sorts the men out from the boys,” he added, as Belinda scowled at him. “But in the Prince’s case, expelling him from the camp isn't an option. There isn’t another heir, is there?”
Belinda shook her head. The Empire had run into problems when there were two competing princes who both wanted to be crowned Emperor. Eventually, the Royal Family had stopped having sons after the Crown Prince was born, although as women were not eligible for the throne there was no shortage of royal daughters – and their descendents. Right now, she had no idea who had the best claim to the throne after Roland – and the blood claim would probably be overridden by the Grand Senate when it chose the next candidate. It made her head hurt just thinking of it.
“Overall, give him firm treatment and see how he responses,” Thorn advised. “If there’s something worth saving inside, he should respond well to common sense and discipline. If it’s too late to save him from the effects of his mistreatment, you might want to consider deserting and fleeing to the Rim.”
Belinda snorted, rudely.
“Health-wise, make sure he eats properly and gets plenty of exercise,” he continued. “You can probably encourage him to go onto the playing courts if you tried; most young men are intensely competitive if they think they can win. You’ll have to step down a level or two, but don’t just let him win.”
“True,” Belinda said. If she couldn't beat Roland at any physical game, all of her expensive augmentation would have been thoroughly wasted. But Thorn was right. Roland would learn nothing from her steamrolling him into the ground every time they played tennis or badminton. She’d have to hold back without making it obvious that she was holding back. “Anything else?”
“I’d recommend him having physical examinations at least once a month,” Thorn said. “I don’t think that he’s physically addicted to anything, but his system may have built up a need for the drugs anyway. If he shows anything more than very basic withdrawal symptoms, call me at once and make sure the guards know to let me through the perimeter at once.”
“I’d prefer to keep you here,” Belinda admitted.
“A fate worse than death,” Thorn countered. “Although I do want to have a few words with the doctors here ... and perhaps meet them out back with a baseball bat. Call themselves doctors? Ha!”
“Have fun,” Belinda said. She could understand the doctors being reluctant to take responsibility for Roland’s welfare, not least because of all the drugs and alcohol, but it was their damn job. “If you have any other suggestions, feel free to send them to me.”
“Watch your back,” Thorn advised. “I have a feeling that you’ve put quite a few noses out of joint already.”
Belinda shrugged and stood up. “Send me a copy of your complete report,” she ordered, finally. “And make sure that no other copies leave the building.”
“Then don’t give it to the Civil Guard,” Thorn said. “If you do, we might as well upload it to the datanet and save time.”
Shaking her head, Belinda left the medical centre and walked back to the Prince’s suite, letting herself into the main room. A quick glance through the security sensors in the bedroom revealed that Roland was still asleep, although he had moved since she’d left. Sleeping so irregularly wasn't good for anyone, she reminded herself, even though she’d slept irregularly when she'd been on active duty.
Silly girl, she thought she heard Doug said. You ARE on active duty and don’t you forget it.
Sitting down in the chair, Belinda closed her eyes and started to access the security network, checking it out section by section. It seemed to have been programmed to keep out anyone without the proper codes, but it didn't take her long to find a handful of unlocked nodes, allowing someone to slip inside. Carelessness ... or malice? There was no way to know. At least there didn't seem to be any outside connections at all, even to the planetary datanet. An intruder would have to be inside the palace before he could use the unlocked nodes.
They’ll have to be closed, she thought, and made a mental note to have the Civil Guard see to it. And then to check it herself, just in case. Hicks might decide to be obstructive. Again.
Accessing the housekeeping part of the network, she started to issue orders. By the time Roland woke up, she would be ready for him. He wouldn't know what had hit him until it was too late to object.
I’ll make a man of you yet, she thought, and settled down to rest.
Chapter Nine
Such a development should not have been surprising. Running for election on Earth was expensive. Corporations had the cash to buy prospective candidates - and, to a very large extent, controlled the media in the Core Worlds. Over hundreds of years, the political and corporate class merged together, creating a power and patronage bloc that was impossible to unseat legally. Independent candidates were mocked, pressured and had their private lives torn apart and used as ammunition. Those who were selected by the machine were cosseted and propelled into office. The true surprise is that a handful of independents did succeed in being elected.
-Professor Leo Caesius, The End of Empire
Roland woke up four hours after going to sleep, his fancy suit looking crumpled and worn after he’d slept in it. Belinda, alerted by the security sensors, was at his bedside before he was fully awake. If he believed that she’d been there all the time, so much the better.
“What ... what time is it?”
“Four o’clock in the afternoon,” Belinda said, patiently. “The maids have already prepared your lunch.”
“I must have overslept,” Roland said.
Belinda snorted in amusement and helped him to his feet, then followed him out of the bedroom into the dining room. Four sealed containers had been placed in front of the sole chair, which Belinda opened as Roland sat down. It had taken some arguing to convince the cooks to produce an extremely healthy as well as tasty meal, but she'd finally succeeded by threatening to bring in cooks from the Boot Camp on Mars. Boot Camp cooks had a reputation for having the hardest MOS in the Empire. It must be; no one had ever passed the test at the end. Or so the Marines joked.
&n
bsp; “Oh,” Roland said. “What is it?”
“Food,” Belinda said, dryly. The smell was better than she’d expected, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten for hours herself. Her augmentation could keep her going for days without food and drink, but that was never a very pleasant experience. “And an energy drink to build up your strength.”
“You know you’re going to hate it when they won't tell you what it is,” Roland grumbled, as he lifted his fork and picked up some of the rice. “I thought the chefs knew what I liked to eat.”
“And I told them to cook what you needed to eat,” Belinda said, bluntly. Honestly, it was like talking to a five-year-old kid. “Besides, you should try it before you throw it back in disgust.”
She watched in some amusement as Roland took a bite – and then started shovelling it into his mouth as quickly as possible. The food was not only tasty, but laced with appetite enhancers to encourage the eaters to take as much as possible. She’d learned at Boot Camp that you could eat more food and like it – even if you normally hated it – as long as you were hungry enough. The food was also laced with supplements to help his body repair itself.
“More juice,” he grumbled, as he opened the sealed bottle. “What happened to the glasses?”
“I had no idea when you were going to wake up,” Belinda said. “So I ordered” – she stressed the word deliberately – “the cooks to prepare the meal and then leave it here for you to wake. And the juice is good for you too.”
“I need a drink,” Roland said. He meant alcohol. “I really need a drink.”
“You don’t need alcohol at all,” Belinda said, flatly. “Your health is not in a good state right now.”
Roland glared at her. “And you know this because?”
Belinda ticked off points on her fingers as she spoke. “First, you’re about twenty to thirty percent underweight for your size and age, which is worrying,” she said. “Second, you have been damaging your internal organs through excessive alcohol and drug use. Third, you have developed eating habits that have been utterly unhealthy for you. Fourth ...”
The Empire's Corps: Book 03 - When The Bough Breaks Page 8
