“No power in the universe can undo death. Not even this amplifier, or there would be far fewer graves on the slopes of Olympus Mons. So we grieve, because we have to. And then what do we do?”
Kiera Alexander sniffed, dabbing at her eyes with a sleeve as she looked down at him.
“We put on the uniform and we go to work?” she echoed back at him.
“Exactly. Today, ‘work’ for you is school,” he told her. “You may be the Mage-Queen of Mars now, which means your classroom days are unfortunately done, but your tutors are still scheduled to meet with you in an hour.”
She snorted a pathetic attempt at a laugh, but her smile was genuine. Washed and weak, but genuine.
“Thank you.”
“I am your Regent, Kiera,” he reminded her. “That makes me your guardian, your sword, your shoulder to cry on. I’m not your father, but you’ve asked me to stand in his place. That means I’m here for you, both to listen and to tell you when you’re wrong.
“And these tears?” He produced a pack of tissue from inside his jacket. He’d have to replace them—Kiera wasn’t the only one grieving—but this was definitely a use for them.
“These tears aren’t wrong. Lashing out with magic is, my Queen. Mostly because I’m the only person in the Mountain who can take it. Understand me?”
“Yes, Damien.” She blew her nose and looked back up at the silver orb above them.
“Should I be leaving the amplifier to you for the next few years?” she asked.
“No,” he told her after a few seconds’ thought. “The next few days, perhaps, but you’ll need to build your key. We can’t be dependent on one person to defend Mars.”
11
“The biggest thing on our plate after the war is the Constitution,” Gregory told Damien an hour later. “There are probably a few hundred million minor things I’ll only remember to bring you up to speed on as we hit them, just because there’s so much going on.”
“Desmond was keeping me briefed on those negotiations, mostly because I was in the middle of the disaster that started it,” Damien noted. He even managed not to look at his hands as he mentioned that, too.
The Belt Liberation Front had been nobodies, a spacegoing angry supremacist militia. An unknown player—they had two names for them, “Kay” and “Nemesis,” but neither had proven useful in tracking them down—had provided the BLF with a stockpile of weapons enabling them to attack the neutral and mostly unarmed Council Station.
Saving the Station and its seventeen thousand inhabitants and guests had cost Damien his hands and two Runes of Power. Even after two years of living with the handicap, Damien wouldn’t have made a different choice.
“That’s good. Saves me some time,” Gregory replied with a chuckle while carefully not looking at the Regent’s hands.
“It’s been two years, Malcolm,” Damien said dryly. “I’m okay with people looking at my hands.”
The Chancellor snorted.
“Fair, sorry. It’s easy to be overly conscious of it.”
“I’m fine with what happened, Malcolm, and the price I paid for it,” Damien noted. “Today, we need to get work done. Hell, I’m not even sure where I’m supposed to be working out of. My old office, I guess, at least to start.”
It wasn’t much of a space, but it would give him somewhere to send people.
“You know where you’re supposed to be working out of,” Malcolm Gregory replied. “But nobody, especially me, is expecting you to take over Desmond’s office right away.”
Damien winced.
“No, that’s going to take a bit,” he admitted. “Day at a time, I guess. What’s on today’s agenda?”
“Well, first you and I have about an hour to go over things together,” the Chancellor told him. “Then we have a meeting with the funeral organizer, which is going to be uncomfortable for everyone. Your lunch engagement is with Councilors Granger and Ayodele at noon and runs for ninety minutes.”
“Alone?” Damien asked.
“You’ll have the Guard,” Gregory said drily. “I have my own meetings.”
“I’ll deal. I also need some time to sort out something for my old detail,” Damien said as that reminded him. “Feels weird to abandon them for the Royal Guard so casually. I need to do something to recognize their service.”
“Food, drinks, money, words,” Gregory recited. “That’s in increasing order of value, in my experience. Tell them you appreciate them and that’s worth the most, but money and paid meals always go down smoothly as well.”
“I’ll talk to Romanov,” Damien decided. “Do I have time for that?”
“You’ve got about an hour after lunch allocated for you getting familiar with the information and messaging systems of the Mountain and a first glance at your new inbox,” the Chancellor told him. “I can tell you right now, you need an aide and a secretary.”
“I need Christoffsen,” the Regent said. “The Professor managed most of the political side for me for a year. He’s on his way, I hope, though I have no idea when he’ll make it.”
He’d sent a message when he left Legatus, but only Legatus and Mars had Links so far. If there was an answer or an update, it was probably in that inbox Gregory had mentioned.
“I stand by the secretary suggestion,” Gregory told him. “Unfortunately, Zheng Yaling was on the shuttle with Desmond or I’d suggest her.”
Damien sighed.
“Have your people put together a list and I’ll try and take a look in that window,” he told the other man. “I’m guessing we’re busy after that?”
“We’re booked for the rest of the day with the Councilor from Alpha Centauri,” Gregory agreed. “It’s a friendly horse-trading session, but Newton isn’t a loyalist the way Granger is. With a Constitution finally in play, he’s more on our side than I would have expected back when he was kangaroo-trialing you, but we are trying to get the Core to come up with the cash for another sixty warships, six of them dreadnoughts.”
The cherry the Protectorate was going to get out of formalizing the Council into an interstellar assembly was money. With the member worlds formally recognizing the Mountain’s rights to certain taxes and tariffs, Mars would be able to fund the newly expanded Navy without requiring the special funding arrangements that supported the Protectorate’s operations now.
“And we’re having dinner with him, too?” Damien asked. “I assume we’ll include Kiera in that?”
“I hadn’t planned for it, but we can,” Gregory allowed. “I’m…unsure how much to involve her in everything.”
“As much as we practically can,” the Regent replied. “Three years, Malcolm. In three years, I want to go retire on a beach on Sherwood and trust that the Mage-Queen I shepherded can run the Protectorate.”
Because he certainly wasn’t sure he could run the Protectorate for those three years!
“I’ll make sure she’s on the list and that her Guards know,” Gregory agreed. “It’s going to be a transition. None of it’s going to be fun.”
“No. But it’s all necessary.” Damien sighed. “Speaking of necessary, where are we on the investigation?”
He didn’t specify which investigation. He didn’t need to.
“All evidence is still pointing to accident, with some hints of potential lack of due diligence on the part of the maintenance staff,” Gregory told him. He didn’t even look at any notes. “We have the staff currently in protective custody.”
“I want to be looped in,” Damien said grimly. “We’ve already impaneled an inquiry, yes?”
“Yes, we were fortunate enough to have a special prosecutor from Tau Ceti arrive the day after the accident,” the Chancellor told him. “Mylene Vemulakonda was supposed to be here for a conference on forensic data analysis and she’s one of Tau Ceti’s top cops. We snatched her up and put her in charge of the inquiry to make sure we had a fully neutral party heading it up.”
“Then I want her to loop me in,” Damien repeated. “I have my own s
uspicions about this, and I don’t want to let it slide as an accident without going over every scrap of data.”
“Damien, the shuttle’s pieces were scattered across several hundred square kilometers,” Gregory said. “There’s only so much that can be done. No one shot at them and the security system doesn’t show anyone unexpected in the maintenance bay. There’s no sign of foul play. Accidents happen sometimes. Even if we hate it.”
Damien forced a thin smile.
“I know,” he conceded. “But I want full access. I wasn’t on Mars any more than Vemulakonda was.”
“But you do have a conflict of interest,” the Chancellor pointed out. “So do I. I can’t see any rational person seeing the loss of a friend and a King as worth the slight advancement we got out of his death, but it’s something we have to consider. The inquiry must be handled by a neutral party.”
“I don’t want to handle the inquiry, Malcolm. I just want to be in the loop.”
“I’ll make sure she knows,” Gregory said with a sigh. “Right now, though, we have a laundry list of mid-sized crises to go through.
“Shall we get started?”
12
The funeral planning meeting was just as bad as Damien had feared—and he’d been expecting it to be bad. He managed to get through the as-clinical-as-possible discussions of ceremonies, memorials, seating priority and choreography without breaking down into tears.
He didn’t make it much past that, dodging out of the meeting room and finding a corner to sob for a few moments in privacy. By the time he had managed to clear his eyes with an awkward combination of magic and tissue, three armored Royal Guard had formed a solid wall barring anyone from seeing their boss cry.
“Thank you,” he told them once he’d regained some more composure. “I haven’t caught your names yet; I apologize.”
“We just swapped off while you were in the meeting, anyway,” a familiar voice emerged from the center set of armor as Romanov turned around and opened his helmet. “My armor wasn’t ready before that.”
Damien was silent for a second, completely surprised by the presence of his old bodyguard. Unless he was mistaken, though…
“It still isn’t, most likely,” he told Romanov carefully, playing for mental balance and checking to see there was no one else around. “The runes have to be tailored to you as well, and there’s only two people on the planet who can do that.”
“Other than that, the armor is ready,” Romanov conceded. “General Spader wanted me transferred over and taking command of your detail as quickly as possible.”
Damien was silent for a moment, considering the three Guards escorting him.
“I owe the General a vote of thanks, then,” he admitted. “I hadn’t even thought of asking to have you transferred over, but it’s reassuring to have you at my back, Romanov. I did ask all of your names, though.”
“Christine Holgersen,” the Guard on the left introduced herself.
“Misaki Suzuki,” the other Mage added. “We’re your Team Bravo.”
“You have four teams,” Romanov clarified. “Including me, nine Royal Guards assigned to your safety. I know how hard keeping you safe is, my Lord, but it’ll take me time to find enough Guards to watch your back.”
“Are there enough?” Damien demurred. “I assume you have my schedule as well.”
“We’re heading to a private dining room on level ninety-three,” Romanov replied. “That’s in the Family section of the Mountain and only about five minutes from here with your elevator priority.
“Well, then, we should get going, shouldn’t we?” Damien asked. “Thank you, Denis. I appreciate you sticking with me.”
“The rest of the detail is heading back to the Service and the Corps,” Romanov told him. “They’ll be fine.”
“That’s true enough,” the Regent allowed as he followed the Guards into the elevator. “I’m supposed to pick a secretary shortly. Not sure how long that will take, but I’ll need you to organize a thank-you dinner or something before they get scattered.”
He snorted.
“And I’ll need to find out who organizes payroll around here. A cash bonus is the least I can do after the time you lot spent dodging bullets with me.”
“It was our job, my lord, but I’ll set it up,” Romanov promised. He checked a system on his arm. “There is one thing you need to know, off the record,” he said quietly.
“Romanov?”
“General Spader runs Olympus Mons Defense Command. All of it,” the new-fledged Royal Guard told him. “Including the people who maintain the Mage-King’s shuttles. A message percolated its way up to her from Chief Sasithorn Wattana. She’s the team head for that maintenance department.”
“She’s under house arrest, right? What does she want?” Damien asked. He didn’t ask why it was relevant to him. He assumed Spader and Romanov had a reason.
“Someone to hear her out, Spader thinks,” Romanov told him. “The inquiry interviewed her and now she’s sitting in her quarters stewing. Spader was here when it happened. She’s under the inquiry’s eye and pretty limited in what she can do that comes anywhere near the investigation.
“You weren’t here and you’re the Lord Regent.” The armored shoulders shrugged.
“I don’t know if it’s worth it, sir, but you’re about the only person who could talk to Wattana without being at risk of damaging the investigation.”
A chime noted that they were approaching the elevator stop and Damien nodded slowly.
“You have my schedule,” he told the Guard. “I’ll see her tonight. No matter what that does to my sleep allowance, all right?”
“I am yours to command, my Lord Regent.”
The dining room Damien finally arrived at was guarded by a pair of Secret Service Agents. They didn’t have the armor or magic of the Royal Guards, but the decorative-seeming carbines they held at port arms were insanely expensive overpowered weapons capable of penetrating exosuit combat armor.
If anyone other than the Secret Service paid the price tag that came with those guns, Damien had never heard of it. Both of the Councilors he was meeting would have their own bodyguards, but in the Mountain, only the Royal Guard and OMDC were allowed serious weaponry.
Romanov held up a hand and one of the Guard stepped through the door ahead of them. A moment later, the officer lowered his hand.
“Room is clear. The Councilors’ bodyguards are in a waiting room next door.” Romanov looked down at Damien. “Everything should be safe and we should be aware if anything goes wrong, but you have a panic button on your PC.”
“I know,” Damien told him. “This is overkill, you know that, right?”
“You’re the Lord Regent of Mars,” his bodyguard said levelly. “There is no overkill protecting you. It’s our job.”
He exhaled a long sigh.
“Then I guess I should go do mine. Thank you, Denis.”
With a final nod to the Royal Guard and the Secret Service, Damien stepped into the space. It was larger than he expected for a meal for three people. It wasn’t immense, but it was large enough that there could have been half a dozen tables.
Instead, there was one round table, covered in a plain black tablecloth and laid out for three people. Both of his guests were already waiting for him, rising to greet him with small formal bows.
It was the bows that really drove it home. They were signs of respect, yes…but they were also formalities that were required. The two men in the room were known to him and had been allies, if not exactly friends, in the past.
But today they were his guests and his subordinates. The Councilors, men who spoke for entire star systems, were there as guests and subjects greeting their temporary monarch.
Damien Montgomery the Hand had been ranked higher in the Protectorate’s chain of authority, but his area of responsibility had been very different.
Damien Montgomery the Lord Regent was the man they were there to negotiate with, the ally they needed to shape
the future of the Protectorate.
He swallowed down his nerves and returned the bows with a firm nod.
“Councilor Ayodele, Councilor Granger,” he greeted them. “I’d shake your hands, but you both know how mine are.”
“And how they were injured,” Farai Ayodele responded. Ayodele was a shaven-headed black man from North Africa who spoke for Earth. He was also the Mage who’d saved Damien’s life after he’d nearly killed himself saving Council Station.
“Believe me, my Lord Regent, none of us who were in that room that day will ever forget,” Suresh Granger told him. The Councilor for Tau Ceti spoke with a faintly French-sounding accent. The old man’s hair was more white than brown now, and his skin was only pale in comparison to Ayodele’s pitch-black skin.
“I did my duty, nothing more,” Damien told them. “Please, sit down. I have no idea what the menu is, but I have faith in the Mountain’s culinary staff.”
That got him chuckles from both men. Someone was paying attention, too, as two young men in traditional waiters’ suits emerged from a side door with trays the moment they were seated.
“My understanding from Chancellor Gregory is that Councilor Ayodele requested this meeting,” Damien told them. “I’m at your disposal for roughly the next ninety minutes, but I presume you realize that I won’t commit to anything without taking it away to think about and probably discuss with Gregory and others.
“My first day on the job is not the time to sell planets for magic beans, I don’t think.”
“It’s fortunate I left my magic beans in England, then,” Ayodele replied. “Councilor Granger and I represent what’s usually referred to as the Loyalist faction in the Council, the group that was working with His Majesty to fulfill his objectives, first for the Council and now for the Constitution.
“With His Majesty’s death, we are at something of loose ends,” the Councilor concluded. “To be frank, Lord Montgomery, we don’t know what your objectives are. We only know you as the man who saved our lives.
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