Veritas Morte: A Science Fiction Novella

by Michael Kingswood

  In his memory, Lucien had never seen his father laid low like this, or in any way even close to this. He had always been erect, strong, stern but fair, and, very occasionally, warm. But always strong.

  But now…

  Lucien sniffed and wiped the beginning of tears from his eyes, then gave himself a shake and drew himself upright. The despair he felt at seeing his father thus--a mirror of what he felt not so long ago at his mother’s loss--would not serve him, or the Empire, now. He pushed that feeling down, letting it simmer into anger.

  Anger, he could focus. Anger, he could use.

  The door slid open behind him and slow, measured footsteps announced another person’s entrance. Lucien did not have to look to know it was Abernathy; he would know the old man’s gait anywhere.

  “The tea was poisoned, wasn’t it?” Lucien asked, quietly.

  Abernathy stopped to Lucien’s right and crossed his arms over his chest. As usual, he wore his formal teacher’s robes, grey and blue, trimmed in silver-white, over a body that was still heavily muscled for all it had started to go plump about the middle. From the corner of his eye, Lucien saw him nod.

  He knew--without having to ask, he knew what had happened--but he didn’t want to believe it. Part of him wanted to think her incapable of such an act, the boyish part that saw through the lens of attraction first and foremost. He drew a deep breath before speaking again, and as he did so he felt that part of him crumble away, perhaps forever.

  The pain of that struck almost as hard as seeing his father as he was.

  “That bitch did this,” he growled, forcing the new pain away and willing his simmering anger to become a bonfire that would sear away all of his heartache. “I want her thrown in irons, Abernathy. Her and all her people.” He rounded on his Chief of Staff and jabbed an index finger at him. “And Morsy. Morsy was plotting with her. Take him as well.” He racked his brain for a second, then added. “And the servants. I want them all put to the question until they confess. Spare no techniques. I want them singing before dinner!”

  Abernathy turned his round face toward Lucien and frowned. It was the frown of disapproval that Lucien had come to know so well when he had not gotten his lessons correct, and it made his ire rise all the higher.

  “What?” he demanded. “Speak, man!”

  Abernathy scratched at his beard, nearly full-grey now, as was the thinning hair atop his head, and shook his head. “My Prince, you cannot take Princess Ophelia into custody.”

  “The hell I can’t! She -“

  “Do you have any proof to back up your accusations?”

  That took the wind out of his sails, and Lucien was forced to shake his head in the negative. All he had was her demeanor right before the alert, and the blend of tea that had been missing from the Empire for years. But he knew--knew--he was correct. Ophelia had tried to kill his father, and… His blood went cold as he remembered the servant trying to get him to drink the tea, the look of chagrin on his face when Lucien refused.

  She had tried to kill him as well.

  “Without proof, there is nothing you can do. She is Princess of the Capestrani Republic and an official envoy from their court to ours. She, her aids, her bodyguard--her entire entourage--are exempt from arrest and detention by diplomatic treaty. You know this. If you violate their status, it would be tantamount to an act of war.”

  “So what? We could crush Capestra in a month.”

  Abernathy pursed his lips at the obvious exaggeration, then shook his head in disapproval again. “And then what? If you break diplomatic ties with Capestra and then crush them, as you say, what message would that send? There are no less than a dozen client systems all around the perimeter of the Empire who would see such an act and wonder whether their treaties with us will be honored any longer. To say nothing of newly-annexed worlds such as Heaven’s Gate, where, I remind you, your sister lives. That one act could destabilize the entire Empire and uproot your father’s life’s work, to say nothing of the effect it would have on your sister.” He narrowed his eyes. “Is that what you want?”

  The anger that burned so brightly a moment ago flickered and waned, turning instead to frustration. Abernathy was right, of course, but… He shook his head in denial. “Of course not. But she can’t get away with this!”

  “And she will not.” Abernathy raised his index finger for emphasis. “If she was actually responsible. We cannot know that yet, not for sure. Once we have evidence, you can present it to her father and the Capestrani Senate, and demand her formal extradition. Formal, proper, above-board. Be above reproach of the law at all times, my Prince. Otherwise you undermine yourself and the Empire.”

  Lucien ground his teeth, but again he had to admit Abernathy was correct. But just because he couldn’t touch Ophelia didn’t mean he was without recourse. And maybe there was another way. “In that case, I fear for her safety, given recent events. Post guards around her quarters at all times, Abernathy. No one is to go in or out without approval and only after being searched.”

  Abernathy’s eyes twinkled. “Yes, it would be a shame if anything were to happen to her. Cannot be too careful with a poisoner in our midst. I’ll see to it.”

  “And the others?”

  Abernathy nodded slowly. “It is already being taken care of.”

  That was something at least. Part of Lucien’s frustration faded. Part of it.

  Abernathy drew himself up and adjusted his robes, then looked Lucien up and down slowly. “You have a pent-up look about you, my Prince. Shall we go to the gymnasium? A few rounds in the ring would do you some good.”

  That sounded very appealing, actually. But recreation--even strenuous as the ring would be--did not seem like the proper thing to be doing right then. He shook his head. “No. I must…”

  Must what? It was not as though he had any part to play personally in the investigation. The Head of Security would see to it, and Lucien was self-aware enough to know he would just get in the man’s way if he tried to participate.

  All the same, he could not go. Not now.

  Abernathy seemed to understand. He smiled gently and, reaching out, gave Lucien’s shoulder a soft squeeze. Then he turned and headed for the door, leaving the Prince alone with his stricken father.

  “What have you discovered?”

  Torrance Hamberly, the flagship’s Head of Security, stood half a head shorter than Lucien. He was lean, and moved in a quick, jerky manner that reminded the Prince of a little bird. But he was thorough and had a keen mind, or so the Emperor had said once. Lucien had never worked with him to know one way or another. Now, though, in addition to the uniform of a Master Chief Master-At-Arms he wore an expression of consternation on his face.

  “Not as much as I would like, your Highness,” Hamberly replied in a direct, no-nonsense tone. “The servant in question does not appear anywhere in the ship’s alpha roster. I took his image from the Situation Room’s data recorders and ran it through the database personally. He is not a member of the crew, or of the Imperial staff.”

  Lucien felt his eyes widening, and he looked aside at Abernathy, then at Admiral Corrigan. “How is this possible?”

  Both men looked as flummoxed as Lucien felt. Abernathy merely shook his head. The Admiral’s mouth hung open in surprised shock.

  The three sat in the Imperial Briefing room, along with the other General and Flag officers in the Imperial entourage and Minister Ymmersen. Lord Morsy, of course, was noticeably absent. Hamberly gave his report from the head of the table near the briefing screen, which was dark, for once.

  “I surmise,” Hamberly went on, “that the perpetrator inserted himself into the database to gain access to the ship, and then deleted all records before he carried out the deed.” Lucien began to speak, but the Master Chief raised a hand and answered his question before he could give it voice. “I have forensic data technicians scrubbing the database now. It is highly unlikely that he could have done this without leaving some traces. My team is very good,
your Highness. If there is evidence there, they will find it.”

  “But you still have not found the man himself,” Abernathy said. It was a statement of fact, not a question.

  “No.” Hamberly shook his head. “But the Captain has ordered the ship locked down. No one or nothing will depart, or be transmitted off ship, without being cleared through my office first.” He managed a confident smile. “He is still here,” he said with assurance, “and we will find him.”

  “But it will take time. This is a big ship to search,” Lucien said, trying not to let his frustration at the investigation’s pace--far too slow for his liking, though in fairness less than a day had passed since the attack--show. “What of Lord Morsy?”

  “He remains in our holding area.” Hamberly cleared his throat, suddenly looking uncomfortable. “But to this point I can find no reason to link him to this act.” And why do you insist I continue to hold him, he didn’t say.

  He didn’t need to say it.

  “He was in Ophelia’s quarters, and looked almost scared when he saw me there as well. Why?”

  Hamberly spread his hands. “He won’t answer specifics, just that it was business of a sensitive nature and not his to share.”

  “Discretion,” Abernathy said quietly, “is a key trait for a man in his position, my Prince.”

  “That is one thing,” Hamberly replied, “and to be commended. But when it impedes an investigation like this, it becomes…less than helpful. Still,” he went on with greater energy and in his earlier tone of assurance, “I can find no evidence that he was involved.” He paused for a heartbeat, then added, “Aside from your suspicion, your Highness.”

  Lucien frowned, indecision causing him to remain silent for a long moment. It really was only circumstance that made him suspect Morsy. Hamberly was right; there was no evidence that he was involved. And yet…

  “Of course,” Abernathy said, interrupting Lucien’s thoughts, “you don’t have evidence of anyone’s involvement, save this false servant, true? Morsy is hardly unique in that sense.”

  Hamberly gave a little nod, conceding the point.

  Abernathy turned his gaze fully upon Lucien, his brow furrowed. “Might as well arrest the lot of us then, your Highness.”

  “Be careful of your tone, Abernathy.”

  The old man just looked at him, and after a moment Lucien looked away, abashed. “You’re correct, of course.” He drew a breath. “Master Chief, release Lord Morsy. But I want his every movement monitored, do you understand?”

  Hamberly came to attention, clicking his heels together, and nodded. “At once, your Highness.” His eyes flickered around the room for a second. “If there are no other questions, I shall get back to my duties.”

  Silence was the only response for a second as Lucien looked around. No one seemed inclined to say anything else, so he nodded. “Keep us apprised, Master Chief.”

  Hamberly nodded again, then turned and left the room, bobbing up and down slightly as he walked.

  Just like a bird.

  As the door slid shut behind Hamberly, Lucien turned back to his father’s--his, now that his father was incapacitated--advisors. “Admiral, how go the fleet deployments?”

  Admiral Corrigan blinked, looking surprised at the change of subject. “Ah,” he cleared his throat. “Not yet begun, your Highness. The Emperor - “

  Irritation threatened to turn into fury. “I believe his orders were clear, Admiral.” And those orders had been given hours ago! How dare Corrigan not act! Lucien drew another breath to calm himself, then turned a level gaze on each man in the room in turn. “Gentlemen, we are going to act in accordance with my fath - with the Emperor’s stated wishes. Admiral, I want the deployment orders sent as soon as we adjourn from here, and I want a plan for the counterattack in Neonovus and the subsequent revised campaign for Corellis before the day is out.”

  Admiral Corrigan opened his mouth to reply, but apparently thought better of it; he simply nodded acquiescence. All around the room, the other commanders glanced at each other, and Lucien could see their thought processes shifting. Did they all think he was a coward, to fall back where his father refused to?

  “After that, begin planning for Capestra.”

  Eyes widened all around the room. Abernathy cleared his throat. “Your Highness, we discussed this. There is no -“

  “Yes, yes. We have no proof of Ophelia’s involvement, and thus no causus belli to press. Nevertheless, I do not believe for a heartbeat she was not involved. And if she was her father certainly gave the order. Evidence will come, and when it does, I want us ready to act.”

  Again, silence was the only reply. Lucien could see most did not agree with his assessment, or with his desired course of action. But agreement was not a prerequisite for obedience.

  “That is all, gentlemen.”

  The men stood and began filing out of the room, Admiral Corrigan in the lead. He had a suddenly-harried look about him, and no wonder. In fairness, Lucien considered that he had just given the Admiral an immense tasking with a very short deadline. But that’s why the man had such a large staff, and why his salary--to say nothing of the lands the Emperor had granted him over the years for his service--drew such a bite from the Imperial budget.

  Abernathy followed the military men out. For a moment he looked as though he were going to linger, but he merely squared his shoulders and left briskly, Minister Ymmersen in tow.

  The Diplomat paused at the doorway, seemingly torn for a second. Then he turned back around to face Lucien and allowed the door to slide shut behind himself. He looked beyond troubled. If Lucien didn’t know better, he would say Ymmersen was nearly in a panic.

  “You Highness, I’m not sure this course is wise. The deployments your father ordered are - “

  “What he ordered.”

  Ymmersen gave a quick shake of his head. “Issued in the heat of the moment, before he had time to think them through. Admiral Corrigan’s objections had merit. If your father had the time to consider them he would certainly have veered from his first instincts. He was always one to temper his impulses with facts and realities.”

  Was? The word sparked Lucien’s ire all over again. “He is.”

  Ymmersen inclined his head, conceding the point. “I implore you to reconsider, your Highness. This sort of action could - “

  “Enough! I will hear no more of this, Minister Ymmersen.”

  He sighed in resignation, but if anything the harried look on his face became deeper.

  “Was there something else?”

  “I hesitate to bring it up in light of your opinion of her, your Highness, but…”

  “What?”

  “Princess Ophelia has expressed chagrin at the restrictions on her movements and has asked to see you at your earliest convenience.”

  Lucien snorted. “She cannot object to our concern for her safety. Tell her - “

  “If I may, your Highness, it is not the restrictions themselves, but the manner in which they were put in place. Guards merely appeared from one moment to the next, with little explanation given.”

  “Well, that would be your job.”

  Ymmersen nodded. “I smoothed it over the best I could. But nonetheless, she desires to meet with you.” He paused, then added, “She was quite insistent about it.”

  “I’ll bet she was. I have no interest in seeing her.”

  “Whatever your suspicions, your Highness, she remains an official envoy. If you - “

  Abernathy’s argument all over again, and all the more annoying for how correct it remained. Lucien threw his hands up. “Fine, fine. I’ll receive her after lunch, in my father’s dining room.”

  Ymmersen smiled then, with relief? Or perhaps it was just pleasure at finally getting something of his way. “As you say, your Highness. I will pass the word to her.”

  He turned and swept from the room, and Lucien found his stomach tightening up anxiously. He both wanted to see Ophelia again and detested the entire thought
of it. And much as he tried to, he could not get the former feeling to go away.

  Ophelia’s dress was black this time, trimmed in grey at the seams and hem, with little swirling designs along the bottom half of her sleeves and below the knees. The jewels at her wrists, throat, and ears were all cloudy-white. Her hair, naturally, was different as well, this time merely going from black to silver-grey to match with her gown. As she floated--as always, the word walk did not do her justice--into the dining room and made a small curtsy of greeting, Lucien was struck yet again by her beauty and poise.

  It was hard to remain angry at such a woman as she, but he found he could manage.

  “Princess,” he said in as smooth and calm a tone as he could. “It is good to see you well.”

  She smiled ever so slightly, but it faded quickly, replaced by a look of…compassion? That couldn’t be right. “Lucien,” she said, and took a step toward him. “I’m so sorry about what happened to your father.” She reached out a hand to him, her fingertips lingering enticingly in the space between them. It would be so easy to take her hand, let his suspicion and anger toward her fade, and just…be…with her, for a while.

  Instead, he pulled out a chair and half-turned it toward her, the way a gentleman is supposed to. “Thank you,” he said. “Will you sit? I have servants preparing tea. More of that Earl Grey you gave to my father, since you seem to like it so much.”

  She hesitated for just a heartbeat and Lucien thought he saw a sudden flash of fear in her eyes, but just as quickly as it came it was gone. She let her hand drop and accepted the seat with a nod of thanks.

  But that brief flash was enough. He was sure now. Got you, you little snake.

  “I wish I’d known you gave Ymmersen a crate of the stuff when you arrived,” he said as he took the chair across the great mahogany table from her. “I feel a great fool, being caught by surprise in your chambers.” He rapped his knuckles against the wood of the table, and the servants’ entrance opened. A slight fellow in white-and-purple hurried through, depositing a cup before him and then Ophelia and filling both from a teapot that he left on the table between them when he withdrew from the room.