House of Jackals

by Todd M. Moreno

"What?" Lenalt asked in mock surprise. "The service-spore speaks? Would you rather I do something else with you, Boy?"

  "I don’t care what you do, you slig-slurping slice of shit."

  "Wow, that was a mouthful."

  "All I care is what I’ll do to you when I join up next fall—"

  "You’re going to join House Possór’s armed services?"

  "Sure ‘am," the youth replied. "And then I’m going to shoot every one of you rebel—"

  The youth stopped as Depré pulled his lasgun from its holster.

  "I wonder," Depré said, gesturing with his lasgun. "Did you tell poor Renic any of this?"

  The youth only stared.

  "Did you?" Depré pressed.

  "Who’s Renic?" asked the boy.

  "I guess it doesn’t matter," Depré concluded, aiming his lasgun at the boy’s chest. "Had I known you were like this however, it certainly would have saved us all some time."

  The youth’s eyes bulged as Depré calmly pulled the trigger.

  Released from the grip of the two rebels at his side, the boy’s body dropped to the ground. Depré looked each of the other rebels in the eyes. "Who is to say how many lives have just been saved by simply removing this would-be Possór instrument of death?"

  "But Lenalt," one began, "he was only a—"

  "Save it," Depré growled. "You both sealed his fate when you brought him to me and let him see my face."

  The two rebels stiffened.

  "Lenalt," said someone to his right. "Everything is loaded."

  "Let’s get out of here then," Depré said, glancing one last time at the two rebels who had brought the youth before continuing to his transport.

  Lenalt Depré slipped into his chair without further word. He had achieved his objective, and without the help of the insufferable Colonel Steuben. Lenalt lifted an eyebrow as the transport sped him away from the scene. Now it was time for the next part of his plan.

  ___

  IV

  Derrick circled wordlessly as he studied his opponent.

  Though his schedule had grown hectic, Derrick had known better than to offer more than a token protest to Tillic's call for one of their practice sessions. It would have only made his "lesson" in the Palace gymnasium more difficult. Besides, secretly, he was glad for a break from all the work that was being heaved upon him as regent.

  "I don't give a pig's pike what Henely whines," Tillic had said, even though it was Advisor Biam who assigned Derrick most of his workload. "Your father charged me to keep you fit and ready, so in this, I'm the one packing the bigger load. Henely’s stuff can wait."

  Derrick grinned as he feinted with his arm before striking out with his left foot. Tillic parried the blow and countered with an upward thrust of his fist. Derrick narrowly evaded the punch and quickly disengaged.

  The circling resumed as sweat began to show through Derrick’s clothes and headband.

  Anson Possór, nephew to the Count-Grandee, looked on from his seat against the wall with unabashed amusement. "Come on, Tillic!" the boy called, his blond head shifting with the sparring action. At the beginning of the match, Derrick's ten-year-old cousin had been cheering for him. "Tillic, boot his butt! You are not that old...I mean, for a tree!"

  Despite himself, Derrick let a small laugh escape him. Tillic instantly attacked. The blows came in rapid succession, and it took all that Derrick had to block them.

  “Runty imp!” Derrick grunted, disentangling himself as he refocused his concentration.

  Tillic continued his assault and backed Derrick into a corner.

  "Yeah!" Anson yelled, his face beaming with rompish enthusiasm. "That is what we want to see: More rough stuff!"

  Derrick stepped back and spun in a bid to regain the initiative. Anson resumed his shouts of encouragement and distraction as the contest intensified. Absorbing the lesser punches and kicks that they did not fully block, both competitors tried to maneuver into position to deliver more powerful ones of their own. Tillic arrived there first.

  With one blow to the side of the jaw, followed by a spinning backward kick to the flank, Derrick was sent down across the matted practice floor. The round was over.

  "Snake schnouters, Tillic!" Anson cried as he jumped to his feet and walked toward them. "I said boot his butt, not hand him his head."

  Derrick bemoaned his aches and cursed his assailant's tactics as Anson approached. Tillic stood nearby, catching his breath.

  "You know, Der," Anson half-whispered, crouching next to his cousin. "Respecting your elders does not mean that you have to let Tillic beat you up every single time you fight.”

  "Get away from me, you traitorous game gremlin!" Derrick flung his hand out blindly at Anson, who giggled as he moved out of the way. Derrick remained on the floor, sluggishly bracing himself on his elbow before calling out to his vanquisher. "That hurt, Tillic!"

  "Next time we'll use couch cushions," the guard commander replied dryly.

  "Are we done then?" Derrick asked, his head swayed as his eyes remained closed.

  Tillic regarded Derrick sternly. Derrick’s growing Palace responsibilities were common knowledge. Whether the guard commander liked it or not, Derrick's training time had to be cut back. Even for the Possór heir, a day was only so long.

  "Yeah, alright," Tillic answered, nudging Derrick in the ribs with his foot. "Ya big baby."

  "Good!" Derrick sat up, blinked his eyes and smiled broadly.

  "You recover quickly," Tillic remarked, knowing that Derrick had likely dulled the pain with the Mental Disciplines from the start, and was completely faking his professed suffering.

  "But what about weapons practice?" Anson asked with mock alarm, as if an omission of criminal proportions was about to be made. He returned Derrick’s low growl with a fast smile which the guard commander was not meant to see.

  "Well, despite the fact Derrick foolishly left his chambers this morning unarmed—”

  “Foolishly and recklessly,” Anson added, his gray eyes sternly fixed on Derrick.

  “I have graciously decided,” Tillic continued, careful to keep his face and voice stern, “that we won't use any weapons today."

  Anson groaned his disappointment, but it was short-lived. "Tillic surprised you with training practice," he said, turning to Derrick. “That is very ba-ad.”

  "One should always be ready for attack," Tillic said. “Always.” The older man shot a critical glance at his pupil.

  "Excuse me," Derrick said wearily, standing and walking away in false irritation. From the side, he saw Tillic and Anson exchange knowing smiles.

  "With weapons or without, you must be able to handle yourself in any situation. And not fall on your kicked butt." The old guard commander sniffed pointedly.

  Removing the band from his forehead and wiping his face, Derrick sat back down on the floor to commence his stretching exercises. Although he made a show of ignoring them both, Derrick watched as Anson walked up to Tillic.

  "Why do you two never fight using the Disciplines, Tillic?"

  Despite his intention not to be drawn into their conversation, Derrick's head perked up as he looked at the old guard commander.

  Anson’s inquisitiveness was genuine, but his voice indicated that he knew this to be a delicate subject. The Holy Church discouraged the practice of certain Mental Disciplines, though it taught them to select initiates. Among these more advanced skills were psychic attack and defense abilities, ones which the Holy Church refused to publicly acknowledge.

  "Derrick has a separate instructor in that area,” said Tillic, “one more knowledgeable in the psychic sciences than I am."

  "I asked my teacher why I needed to know about arms and hand-to-hand combat when I was already studying the Disciplines," Anson began. "He said it was sometimes best to hide my full abilities from my enemies until I truly needed them." The boy hesitated. "But why not just blow them away with a mental blast?"

  Derrick's eyebrows lifted.

  "A killing blow can
escalate matters unnecessarily," Tillic replied, "or attract unwanted attention. Sometimes it is better to take a few punches if you want avoid even greater harm."

  Anson regarded the old guard commander thoughtfully.

  "Oh Til-LIC!" Derrick called, playfully tilting his head toward the observation area.

  Standing above them behind a large plate of plasteel was the Palace housekeeper, Marcea Curreck. Having been spotted, the woman moved back from the window in a reflex response. Like many people charged with administering noble residences, Curreck had spent several years in House Possór Internal Security, also known as HOPIS.

  "Whoa," said Anson, mirroring Derrick’s conspiratorial grin. "Is that Tillic's latest?"

  "Who can keep track?" Derrick asked, knowing that the guard commander had been singularly calling on Mistress Curreck for some time. "The groundskeeper reports that the mysterious floral-nappings have recently decreased though. Perhaps less maids and maidens have been receiving flowers these days."

  "Are you telling me that Sir Romance here is too cheap to buy—?"

  "That's enough you two," Tillic said, gathering up his things.

  "You know, Tillic," Derrick said with forced seriousness, "maybe Anson's right. Weapons practice is important—"

  "Nice try," said Tillic. "I'll remember your concern though at your next lesson."

  "You have done it now, Der," Anson whispered, eying the gruff guard commander as he left. “Your next practice should be good.”

  ---

  Taniell Kamarin burst into the meeting like a windstorm. As she took her station at the head of the center table, those trailing after her split off and settled in other parts of the room.

  "We were talking about current finances, Taniell," one man said, retaking his seat after having opened the meeting in her absence.

  "That's fine," Kamarin replied, not bothering to apologize for being late, "but I have a few announcements."

  Like the rest of people in the room, Steuben noted the rebel leader's upbeat mood. At first it struck him as curious, given what Kamarin had done at their last meeting. Soon what had seemed odd became baffling. Everyone was proceeding as if nothing had happened.

  "As I told you last time," Kamarin began, "the Assembly has a new unnamed ally willing to underwrite some of our operations. Together they've made plans to exploit Seffan's trial."

  That's not exactly what you said last time, Steuben thought, his interest piqued.

  "This new funding source is opportune, as we have a plan of our own." A murmur passed through the gathering as Kamarin gestured toward Depré, who had entered with her.

  "It's one I've developed over the past two months since Seffan’s trial was announced," Depré began, "and the Assembly has already approved its budget." The red-haired rebel paused, smiling and resuming only after several others asked him to tell them the plan. "To take over the Chancellery building in Galleston," he finally answered, his head held with a confident tilt.

  The reply was met with silence. Direct rule of crown lands like the Galleston barony lay with Seffan, who could appoint or dismiss a governor-general at will. An incident in Galleston would thus leave him with no liegeman to hide behind if any government action led to bloodshed. The sin would be on his head alone. But Galleston also had historical significance.

  Along with being the site of past social uprisings, it was in the outlands of Galleston where the armies of Akiel of Carran surrendered. The defeat of Torran Possór’s chief rival was what heralded House Possór’s ascension to the planetary throne. To the people of Legan, Galleston was a place of transitions. But it was also a place where Seffan knew that he could not appear vulnerable.

  "You're not serious," Annika Lerle said, frozen in her chair. "That would not be a site of victorious emergence, but of senseless martyrdom. We can't possibly hold a city that big."

  "Not without more guns," someone added with a chuckle, nudging a companion sitting next to him and glancing at Depré.

  Steuben turned toward the man with narrowed eyes. The Colonel had thought him to be friends with the man Kamarin had killed at the last meeting. Instead of resentment and anger however, all the man flung at her favorite was muffled laughter and cheap sarcasm.

  Taniell was right to shoot that pus-louse, Steuben thought, trying to make sense of what he was witnessing. But why do the idiot's former lackeys remain silent? Didn't anyone like him?

  "Other cells will hold similar demonstrations, to cover our operation," Kamarin said, smiling at Annika as she cut in. "And by timing this with rallies across the planet, people will see our strength as a true Movement. It will be the spark to rouse our supporters. People will hear our message for social-economic change. Seffan will hear it too. And as for guns," the rebel leader's glance swept the room, "we now possess what we need, thanks to Lenalt."

  Lenalt Depré enjoyed the reaction to her statement, although with the excitement, the Colonel also heard the grumbles of those who felt that this news should have been given earlier.

  "Remember," said Depré easily, as if delivery on his promises was standard practice, "we're not taking over the whole city. Not yet anyway." He grinned, only to see that few shared his enthusiasm. "Still," he charged forward, "even with the arms, you’re hesitant? Didn't you once say that all we need to do is to show people the way—to rally them? Aren't you tired of waiting for the Count-Grandee's next move? It's time we seize the initiative!"

  "But Galleston—a crown barony?" the man asked. "The Count-Grandee will...why not just storm the main gatehouse at Pablen Palace?"

  That's something at least, Steuben thought, hearing the bite in the man's voice. Guarded whispers came in from various parts of the room. Maybe the rest are like him—biding their time, until the right moment to advance their own position at the expense of someone else.

  "For a crown barony," another man replied, pushing himself from the wall with an upturned foot, "Galleston's not very fortified. With House Security focused on the trial, visiting dignitaries, and the larger rallies in other cities," he continued, entering the light of the table, "a minor ‘rabble revival’ won't be important enough for much of a response." He did not acknowledge Kamarin’s approving nod. "What I want to know," he said, facing Depré, "is why we should instigate an uprising there, now?"

  Depré was about to speak but was halted by a wave of the other man's hand.

  "Don’t insult me with propaganda. Tell me specifically what we'll gain by your plan."

  Depré glanced at Kamarin and smiled, unbothered by the man's tone or question. Steuben reached for his glass, whirling its contents before taking a small drink. He would have expected the iracund beanpole to throw a tantrum at being challenged so pointedly.

  "Computer access," Depré replied. If surprise first silenced the room, incomprehension did so now. "Let me explain," the rebel went on, relishing the chance to lecture his companions.

  Lenalt and Kamarin are running a script, Steuben realized. But why bother? Why not just come out with everything directly?

  "For bureaucratic efficiency and system security," Depré began, "most government data can be requested and downloaded to authorized computer systems without the operator having direct access. Now, Galleston’s governor-general once commanded the Third Fleet, and is still consulted by friends in the Admiralty. If he wanted to review inventories, logistical reports or battle strategies, he could have an aide ask for copies of the relevant files to be sent to his personal computer system. Even if that same low-level aide doesn't have the clearance to view these materials."

  "You have an operative within the Chancellery who can do this." The man's comment was not a question.

  "It's already been done," Kamarin replied, "though the governor-general doesn't know it."

  "But won't Internal Security—?"

  "The information remains untouched within the governor's personal system," Kamarin continued. "So long as it stays that way, the hounds at HOPIS won't be concerned."

  Depr�
�, now standing next to her, straightened himself haughtily, wordlessly daring anyone to voice the next question.

  Steuben noted the change in demeanor of the man who had challenged Depré. He wasn't just now swayed by the merits of their plan, he thought. There are still a lot of issues to resolve. Glancing at Kamarin and Depré again, the Colonel smiled inwardly. They used him as a plant, and have probably already started the operation. Steuben knew it would be difficult to get either of them to admit to taking action without telling the others. Kamarin was not that bold, even with the support of her partner. Idly, Steuben speculated on the extent of their partnership.

  "How will you retrieve the files?" Steuben asked, suddenly uncomfortable with the rebels obtaining that kind of information without him. If they could obtain such data, his excuse of having a limited security clearance would look suspicious.

  "When we take control of the Chancellery, Colonel." Depré smiled smugly, as if Steuben had tripped an invisible wire.

  Yes, this is the type of plan they wanted from me. As the Colonel reconstructed the young rebel’s possible plans, Depré put a hand on the table to steady his tall, lean frame. He had the kind of hands which Steuben would expect to find on an accountant.

  Having formulated the probable scenarios in his mind, the Colonel sat back in his chair and relaxed the muscles of his face to the point of non-expression.

  "Since there is no way for your mole to hack into the system without the cooperation of the governor-general—and I know Admiral Neider, and he will not cooperate—you must have found a way to access his personal computer’s remote-archives." The Colonel looked directly at Depré while gauging the reactions of the room's other occupants from the corners of his eyes.

  "To put it simply, yes." Depré's eyebrows furrowed as his jaw slackened. Catching himself, the rebel hid his disappointment under a mask of calm. He had been saving that information for later. "Why don't you tell us more about it?"

  "It's your plan, Lenalt," the Colonel replied, sensing another trap. "I may provide some insights, but why waste time correcting the finer points when you can just explain it all to us?"