by Jim Rudnick
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Tanner marched as only a Royal—a Barony Royal—could through the palace doors and inside the public access point that he’d walked into time and time again. As a Royal, he had no EliteGuard to act as his guide—though truthfully, behind him about twenty paces, he was followed by his own security detail.
He was anxious about this meeting with the Baroness, as the topic today was Gia. He had no idea as to what the medical team had found up on the Barony Hospital Ship, but a private message from Maddie had said only good luck. Probably couldn’t send more than that and not run afoul of the Barony security forces, he thought.
He went around the massive table made from one section of a tree trunk that must have been at least thirty feet across. This time, the enormous vase, which had been on that table for years, was floating above the table by a foot or two. He slowed to take a better look. As he dipped his head to peer under the vase as best as he could, he realized that the bottom of the vase was on a copper plate.
He grinned. “Looks like the Baroness likes to use the newfound anti-grav for even palace decor,” he said to himself.
After three more minutes of walking, he eventually found himself at the only open door in the great stateroom, and he entered the parlor off its right side.
In the room, he made his way over to the side table and helped himself to an iced tea. There was even fresh mint, which he usually had to request.
He sat on a loveseat and took a swig from his glass, as the Baroness entered from behind a wall hanging off to his left.
He was surprised, but his wife entered the room right behind her, and she half-smiled at him as she came over to sit beside him.
The Baroness was in all shades of what he’d have called yellow. Better not mention her yellow outfit. Most likely, I’ll hear that her blouse is chartreuse and the leggings are avocado and spring bud, he thought and snickered internally. Anyways, more important points for me to ponder.
Helena was already there and had come in with the Baroness. He’d not been told, which was highly unusual. Hmm … makes a man—a husband—wonder.
“Lord Scott—the medical reports are in from our Hospital Ship,” the Baroness said, her voice soft.
He nodded.
“And she has been found sane. Compos mentis, they say in the courts. So, it’s time for her to stand trial for her crimes, Tanner,” she said even more quietly.
He looked at Helena, but there was no hint of anything there for him. He looked back at the Baroness. “Ma’am—was there not also a full diagnosis of what state her mind was in at the time of the … the time of … at the wedding,” he said, his voice catching only twice.
The Baroness waved it off. “Yes, but not worth even thinking on—the doctors said she was delusional, but that does not help at all. She will stand trial, and she will be found guilty. No one can doubt that—least of all you,” she said, her voice now strong and almost strident.
“But Ma’am—those are mitigating circumstances, they’re called. I know. I checked and her attorney will use them to try to get her the lightest sentence possible. Something that I’m in favor of, Ma’am.” There. He’d said it. He had waffled on this now for months, but the die had been cast.
The Baroness pulled back somewhat in surprise, he thought, before she answered him. “It matters not what the defense will argue. I am the Baroness, and the courts will decide as I see fit. And I am sorry to say but to deliver the Barony from all further loss of reputation, we will need to find her guilty—she is guilty, Lord Scott, just look down at your own chest if you doubt me. Once found guilty, there is no other sentence for murder—two murders, in fact, both capital offenses—than death. It’s what lies ahead for her.
“And I might add that we will make both the Issians on Eons and the Duchy d’Avigdor as happy as can be for taking on the role of executioner of the assassin who killed their own heads of state. While they have some standing here, they’ve left it to us …” she finished off.
He was numb. There had never been any talk of death for Gia. There had never been any talk of any kind of a sentence either. It was supposed to be up to him to decide this—Gia was his sister, after all.
Yet now, it had been decided. Gia was to die.
And beside him, her nails on one hand clenched into his thigh, his wife sat quietly. She wanted him to say nothing, which he understood from her vice-like grip on his thigh.
He wanted to stand and tell the Baroness that this would not happen her way. Why she’d chosen to ensure that Gia was to die was beyond him. He grimaced back at her, as he realized it was beyond his level of Royalty to make any different type of choice.
He nodded to the Baroness and sipped from his iced tea once more, shredding the whole sprig of mint in seconds. He knew there was one card that could yet be played … one that might change much in the RIM Confederacy.
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He sat at the table on the balcony again. Instead of iced tea, the drink in front of him was a glass of the best Quaran chardonnay there is—or was, as the glass was now empty.
He still felt that he was immune to any kind of effects of alcohol, but he enjoyed the taste of the wine. It was oaky and had hints of a sort of buttery flavor—yet it had a toffee flavor to it too that he loved.
But he would feel none of the positives or negatives from drinking alcohol. He could drink wine with anyone and be as cold sober after many, many bottles as he was before he had one sip, but as usual, the person across from him was not sober.
Helena sat just staring at him with no glass in front of her. She had taken a sip out of his glass twice, but that was all. If she had drank as many glasses as Tanner had, she would be having a hard time staying upright in her seat about now.
He looked up at the full swing of the galaxy of stars overhead and then back down at her. “Yes, let’s do it,” he said in answer to the question that she had asked more than ten minutes ago.
He had played with the question. He had looked at it now for almost eleven months, with no answer. He had had countless sleepless nights and felt awful the next day from the lack of sleep. He had avoided the question now for almost a year. And today, he had decided what he wanted to do.
Helena had opened up the conversation just an hour ago after the meeting with the Baroness had ended and they’d returned to their own area of the palace..
Death. Gia was to die. Not on my watch, he thought. Gia is my last living relative—and I owe it to Nora to try to save her at least.
Helena had spoken about what might happen to them both. She had, he’d suddenly realized, decided that he, her husband, was worth more than the inheritance of the Barony—at least in public. Privately, she had said her blood would guarantee that when the current Baroness died, she would inherit same.
Or so she believed, she had admitted with a shrug. Until then, she would be his wife—the Duchess of d’Avigdor by title.
He smiled at her and kissed her fully on the lips. She kissed him back but squirmed away from his grasp and grinned at him. “Well, Duke, please, let’s get the planning working, shall we, before we celebrate?”
He shook his head at her. “Figures, being a duke is going to be about as much fun as being a lord is—was, perhaps better put” he said.
She nodded and clicked the tablet in front of her to make some notes. “Right,” she said, “first, we’ll need a constitutional expert—that Professor Boven, right?”
He nodded and the planning went on for more than an hour.
“And lastly, the Agenda. Do we notify Chairman Gramsci via the RIM Confederacy Council clerk that we want to be on the Agenda?” she asked.
“No, let’s leave that for me—I’ll arrange it via Admiral McQueen,” he said and smiled.
Time to call in a chit or two … he thought.
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She was surprised by the EYES ONLY from Lord Scott, but then she smiled to herself.
Knowing what someone right in front of you was thinking was one thin
g. When that person was light years away, it took more than innate talent. It took experience, and she knew that it would come one day.
She nodded to her aide, whose name she had forgotten. She focused and the name Adele filled her mind, and she smiled. This is easy across a room, but when light years away from the person? One day, it will be just as easy for me, she thought.
She waited, and on the close wall, the screen suddenly went full white and then dissolved into the Barony icon of the twin crowns on the red and blue shield. Moments later, Lord Scott appeared, and sitting beside him was his wife Helena, the Lady St. August.
The Master Adept bowed her head and then smiled as she began to speak. “Lord Scott and Lady St. August, what a nice surprise,” she said.
They smiled back and both spoke at once. “Master Adept—” Then they looked at each other, and the Lady smiled and dipped her chin to her husband for him to continue.
“Master, we come to you with a proposition—in fact, one that we see as a true win-win for both Eons and the Duchy d’Avigdor,” he began.
Odd, she thought, that he didn’t mention the Barony but instead the duchy … more to this than meets the eye.
“Ma’am,” he said, “this is about the future of my sister—Gia Scott, the woman who we all know shot and killed both your own predecessor, the then Master Adept, and the Duke d’Avigdor. She has been judged to be sane by the Barony Hospital Ship and returned to Neres City to the courts. There will be a trial; at which time, she will be found guilty and sentenced to death,” he said, his voice almost bleak.
The Master Adept nodded. She had expected this, and that it was news to Lord Scott was a bit surprising. She let that sit for a moment and then asked softly, “And why would this be of interest to Eons—and to me?”
“Ma’am, I am not going to allow that to happen. I intend to stop that, by forcing the Barony to turn over my sister to me, and I will take charge of her future—not her death,” he said.
The Master Adept sat back on her couch and smiled at the man in front of her on the screen.
“But that might be a tough thing to accomplish, for a lord—seeing as the Barony is led by a full Baroness, who we were told welcomes the death penalty for the assassin. We were asked if we would allow the Barony to handle the prosecution of the prisoner, and we agreed to that, as did, we understand, the Duchy d’Avigdor—well, their provisional leader, the Ambassador, did as well,” he said and nodded.
She noted that Helena grabbed him by the arm, slowing him down perhaps—she couldn’t tell. And then her mind leapt for the answer, and she knew what he was about to say.
He looked away for a second and then back at her. “I am the Option Number Two, Ma’am, for the Duchy d’Avigdor and their future. I am going to accept the duke’s gift and take the title of the new Duke d’Avigdor—and I am asking that when I do, that you—on behalf of all Issians and Eons—follow my lead when, on behalf of the duchy, I ask for the Barony to turn over the prisoner for us to handle her prosecution. It is a point of law that as no Barony citizen was injured by the crime, that they will need to turn over the prisoner to the aggrieved parties—the duchy in this case, Ma’am,” he said.
He’d had legal help with that conundrum, she realized, and he was right, she thought. She was floored but knew that under these new circumstances, she would be more than glad to help the new duke attain the future of his sister. By doing so, she would forever have a favor she could call upon from the man.
And as she nodded and said pleasantries during their goodbyes, she couldn’t help but think what this might mean to the RIM Confederacy—and what a new power like Duke Scott might bring to the RIM too.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The admiral entered the RIM Confederacy Council chamber and noted that his pre-meeting changes to the room had been received and acted upon. Outside in the long hallway, he’d just walked by eight Juno Provost guards, stationed along the hall, who were armed and standing on picket duty. If asked, they were to simply say that it was a local Juno holiday, which it was some kind of a commemorative ex-ruler’s birthday, he thought, and he was grateful for that. At the doorway to the actual chamber stood two more Provost guards. He knew these two personally, and he had chosen them after much deliberation. They were loyal and able to follow orders no matter what the orders were. He was glad such men still existed in the guard—and yet a part of him wondered at the much younger group of guards who’d ask questions before pulling the trigger on order. He shrugged. Not his business today.
Inside the chamber, it was as it always was, still getting some minor attention from the chef de mission on the table arrangements, measuring for those “must be exactly equal” dimensions for things like desk pads and water glasses.
As usual, McQueen ignored same, went to his spot behind the empty chairman’s seat, and dropped his meeting items, folders, and tablet down on his desk up one tier from the chamber floor. He turned then to look around and wondered if this was what he’d still be seeing in a couple of hours—a room with no appearance of any aftermath of what would be one of the most uproarious meetings ever on the RIM.
Off to his left on the enormous horseshoe-shaped table, a couple techies were making small updates and changes to the water seats the DenKoss members would be using. The perches for the Djarreer members were still missing, and as he looked at the doorway, the perches for their use came in on a dolly, handled by more techies. Against the far wall, a tiny telltale red point of light above the doorway to one of the alcoves showed him the chamber AI was up and running fine. He’d made the requests as only the admiral of the RIM Confederacy Navy could, and he had gotten some extra security thresholds input into the room’s AI. While they were probably never going to be used, it was still a possibility that some members might become angry during the upcoming meeting, and he wanted to be ready for that too.
He looked over to his right and noted that the chair the ambassador would be seated in, representing the Duchy d’Avigdor, was as properly positioned as all the rest of the realms around the table.
He grunted and said to himself, “Fine for now.” “But for the meeting to come, maybe not so fine.”
He went out to the hallway to await his guests. He’d asked them to come early, and they were arriving now. He smiled and made introductions. He led his three guests into the chamber and nodded as they all commented about how big and beautiful the room was with its massive table and the raised tiers that ran around the outside of same. The chief justice of the Duchy Supreme Court shared that she had been here once before, as a part of a school trip, but she had no real memory of the size and solemn nature of the room.
As they walked around the table, the constitutional expert, Professor Bowen from Carnarvon University in Veloka said, “As always, rooms like this need to be big, spacious, and above all, highly held in regard by the citizenry that it served.”
“Dunno if served might be the verb to use in this case,” Admiral Higgins, the third of McQueen’s guests, said, as they walked up and mounted the few steps to take their seats as guests behind Admiral McQueen’s seat.
As the fleet admiral for the Barony Navy, Admiral Higgins was seated in the guest area behind the seat—or close to the area where the Baroness would sit later—so he was not far away from where he should be seated.
Admiral McQueen spoke to the three of them about the upcoming meeting and the Agenda as well as what to expect. He was more than honest, and the only reaction to his little speech was the chief justice letting out a small gasp.
Each of his three guests had agreed to be there to perform their duties, and all had sworn to him that they’d kept their upcoming presence at the meeting a hidden part of their schedules back at home. And all had kept their word as well as successfully kept their plans secret, as the RIM Navy intel had been unable to find any kind of waffling by any of the three of them or even a hint of a whisper that either of the three would be in Juno on this day.
He nodded to them and smil
ed. “Remember, we’re here today—the four of us—to make sure the RIM Confederacy Constitution is followed to the letter of the law. History will record what happens here at a later date—but today, we just do our jobs.”
All three heads in front of him nodded, and he nodded back to them.
In the next half hour, RIM Confederacy members rolled in, and other than the normal slopping of some water onto the floor over in the DenKoss seating area, all was as it should have been. McQueen leaned on his desk. He nodded and said his hellos to various members as they arrived, and he smiled at the Duchy d’Avigdor ambassador who came over directly to where he was standing.
“May I ask, Chief Justice, why you’re here today and why I wasn’t told you’d be coming? Perhaps we could have shared a ship …” Ambassador Bedre said as he stood before the tier of seats.
“Yes, Ambassador, I took the Council up on their standing offer to attend a Council meeting in person—and I thought it apropos that it be one with our own ambassador sitting in the Duchy d’Avigdor realm seat,” she said back nicely.
The ambassador didn’t blush, but her polite compliment still reached him, and he nodded and made small talk to her for a full minute more before going back to his seat at the big table.
McQueen thought that had gone well, and just as he had that thought, the Baroness strode into the Council chamber, making her way to her chair just in front of him, and she stopped when she saw her Barony Navy fleet admiral.
“Admiral Higgins, how nice to have you here. May I inquire as to what the occasion is? Surely the Juno holiday is not enough to warrant any kind of notice to a navy man,” she said.
He smiled at her. “No, Ma’am, just visiting with Admiral McQueen, and we’re going to be working on navy matters across the RIM later today—so I thought I’d take in a Council meeting too,” he said.
As she nodded and left them to take her seat, McQueen thought the admiral hadn’t been totally incorrect, and he smiled at him as he took his seat as the Council clerk rose.
