by J. L. Doty
York slammed awake, sat up in bed, started to tear at the dressings on his chest.
“Wait,” he shouted, forced his hands away from the dressings, medical dressings. They were real. It wasn’t a dream.
He took in his surroundings. He was in a private cabin in sickbay. He closed his eyes—Cinesstar was silent, deathly so, lacking even the hum of her engines.
He eased slowly off the bed, was grateful that he hurt in every joint. He should hurt, that was right, and his knees were a bit weak. That too was right, but everything about Cinesstar was wrong. He needed a weapon, searched around painfully, though quietly, through cabinets and drawers, until he found some sort of plast, medical instrument that was heavy enough to serve as a club. He found disposable jump-suits sealed in sterile packages in a drawer. It took some effort to pull one on, but he managed. As he moved he felt stronger, and that heartened him, though he was constantly glad that he hurt everywhere, because that was as it should be.
A marine guard was stationed outside the door to the corridor, but York didn’t recognize him. He stumbled clumsily to one knee in front of York, and before he could do anything else York clubbed him in the back of the head and he slumped to the deck, not completely out but badly dazed. Before he recovered York took his sidearm, then staggered toward the lift.
As the lift cycled open someone behind him shouted, “Wait.”
York stepped into the lift, spun and raised the gun. A young med-tech froze in the middle of the corridor in York’s sights. York knew he should kill him, buy more time, but the kid was so scared he just couldn’t do it. The lift doors cycled shut, freeing them both of the need to decide what to do.
A skeleton crew of three techs manned Cinesstar’s bridge, none of whom York recognized. He waved the gun at them. “Get out. Now.” They left quickly.
The lighting was dim, cut way back to conserve power. York eased his way around the instrument clusters, dropped down at the nav console.
Cinesstar was in a parking orbit around Luna, englobed by four destroyers. No sign of the Kinathin armada, no fighting going on anywhere, and home Fleet had been dispersed. Then York looked at the clock on the console and he was stunned to realize he’d been out for eight days.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Alsa Yan said calmly. She sat down at the console next to him, slapped a portable monitor on his chest where it stuck. “That marine you clubbed has a nice concussion. You should still be in bed. You weren’t supposed to wake up for another hour or two, but then your system’s so screwed up it’ll be months before I can predict any timing on you.”
She stared at the monitor for a bit. “You’re doing all right.”
“I hurt all over.”
“Well you should. No more artificial regrowth for you, no more speed healing, no more clonal implants. At least not for a while. We’re going to get you well the old-fashioned way.”
“How is he?” York looked up. Edvard stood over them both.
Alsa jumped to her feet, performed a rather clumsy bow. “Your Majesty.”
“Please, Doctor Yan,” Edvard said, waving a hand at York. “I think our patient is more important than court etiquette. Continue. Please continue.”
Alsa leaned over York, took one more look at the monitor on his chest. “I think he just might be all right, though I don’t like surprises like this.”
York demanded, “Will someone tell me what’s going on?”
Alsa pulled the monitor off York’s chest. “I’m through here. If you’ll excuse me,” she bowed again. “I’ll leave you two to talk.”
After she was gone the emperor sat down in her place. He and York stared at one another for a long moment, then Edvard asked, “Do you know who your mother was?”
York nodded.
“And your father?”
York nodded again.
“I’ve never had a brother before,” Edvard said. “Not even a half brother. And mother wishes you didn’t exist at all. And by the way, she’s tried to correct that already, though the assassin she hired didn’t get far, and your marines weren’t kind to him. I’ve told her not to do it again, and she promised not to, but she only keeps promises that suit her, and I don’t think this suits her. We’ll just have to keep a close eye on the situation.”
He paused for a moment to consider his words. “You know our father never really loved my mother. She’s not a lovable person, and it was just a marriage of state. He loved me as his son, loved me dearly—I never doubted that, but it was your mother he loved as a wife. And when she was killed the life seemed to go out of him. He was never the same after that.”
“Where’s my crew?” York asked.
Edvard looked at him carefully. “A lot of them have been sent to hospital sector on Luna Prime. There were an amazing number of them wounded. The rest are still on this ship, though she’s not in very good shape either. We’d like to start repairing her, but we can’t do much of anything until we get your permission.”
“My permission?”
Edvard looked at York carefully. “The empire has been split into a lot of factions. There are those who support me, those who support the senate, those who support the church, those who support you, those who support the old status-quo—though they are, by and large, a rather small minority—the list is endless. Interestingly enough, though, in every faction there are a lot of people who will support you, as long as you don’t make a grab for power. Though, to be honest, you probably could take the throne if you wanted to. It wouldn’t be much of a throne if you did, and you’d have a difficult time holding it together . . .”
Clearly Edvard needed some response from York. “I told you once I don’t want your throne. I wouldn’t know how to be a good emperor if I did.”
“I thought you’d say that. In fact, that’s the reason you’re the one man in the empire who can pull together a coalition large enough to hold the empire together. There are a lot of people in almost every faction who believe you’re driven by higher motives than the rest of us. It’s ironic; as long as you don’t make a grab for power, you are, at this moment, and probably for some time to come, the single most powerful person in the empire. Even the Kinathins support you. They’re ready to join us against the Directorate if the Directorate doesn’t hold up its end of the treaty.”
“The treaty was signed then?”
Edvard nodded. “Oh yes. Unanimously, on both sides, though there is some question as to its legality. But such questions will dissipate with time. And then there are a lot of details to work out and we need your help. We need the Kinathins, and they’ll negotiate only with you.”
“Where are the Kinathins?” York demanded.
“They’ve removed the armada from sovereign imperial space, though they left behind three cruisers, Add’kas’adanna and Ard’dha’sit as ambassadors.” Edvard frowned for a moment, and chuckled.
“What’s so funny?”
“Ard’dha’sit! Who would have ever believed he’d toss Ninda into that air-lock with Abraxa?” Edvard shook his head and grinned. “We’re going to have to be careful how we write the history books. We can’t have it recorded that the old Duke de Maris was executed by the new.”
York didn’t like that. “What do you mean by that?”
Edvard suddenly looked quite guilty. “The situation is much too delicate to have it wholly dependent upon a mere captain, and one whose promotion was never approved by either me or the Admiralty Council. And you’re going to have to represent the empire in negotiations with the Directorate and the Kinathins, and you’ll need the appropriate rank and position to—”
York interrupted him. “Get to the fucking point.”
Edvard grimaced. “You’re not going to be happy with me, Admiral, but Abraxa had no heir, and his properties were originally in our family anyway until they were taken illegally—”
“Damn it,” York shouted. “What the fuck do you mean by Admiral?”
Edvard took another breath. “By roy
al edict, and with unanimous approval of both the imperial senate and the Admiralty Council—I should add that both were concerned that if they didn’t approve it, they’d join Ninda and Abraxa breathing vacuum—we’ve ceded all of Abraxa’s properties and titles to you. I regret to inform you that you are now His Grace, York, Duke de Maris, Admiral of the Fleet Ballinov.”
Edvard let that hang while York came to the slow realization he could do nothing about it. “You’ve trapped me, you know. I don’t want this, don’t even know how to do it.”
York closed his eyes, rubbed his temples, and thankfully Edvard didn’t break the silence. A thought came to York. “A moment ago you said you couldn’t do anything with this ship without my permission. What did you mean by that?”
Edvard grinned at him. “Your people are rather protective of you, and distrustful of the rest of us. They won’t let us take you off this ship, won’t even let us repair her. We can bring in supplies, and your people will do the repairs, but until you say otherwise we can’t move one way or the other.”
York couldn’t help chuckling. “Good for them.”
“I don’t think you realize,” Edvard said, “how close we came to having the empire destroyed. After the treaty was signed everyone wanted to speak with you, especially your subordinates, who wanted you to give them orders. But then we found you were close to death, and many officers like Captain Tzecharra thought it due to foul play. We came close to a free-for-all civil war. But commander Jakobee put Doctor Yan on a system-wide broadcast, and after she explained the situation calmer heads prevailed. For all intents and purposes a small coalition of your subordinate officers is running this empire right now.”
York couldn’t help but laugh and shake his head.
“We have to hold this empire together, Admiral, in a delicate peace. And to do that we have to move forward, and we can’t do so until you pull out the stops. By the way, Miss Votak has been asking about you. You two were close, weren’t you?”
York started. “Maggie? She’s alive?”
“Very much so, and doing quite well, actually better than you. She was able to take a lot of the treatments we can’t yet give you. We—”
York was on his feet. “Can we go see her?”
Edvard stood. “Of course. But your people won’t let you off this ship without a rather sizable, armed escort.”
Edvard leaned over the console, touched a switch. A speaker answered him, “Ready room, Palevi here.”
“Sergeant,” Edvard said. “Admiral Ballinov will be leaving shortly to see Miss Votak in hospital sector, Luna Prime. I assume you’ll want to escort him.”
“Who?” Palevi demanded, obviously unaware he was speaking to the emperor.
“Admiral Ballinov,” Edvard repeated.
“Like I said, who the hell is that?”
“Sergeant,” York said. “It’s me.”
“Cap’em, that you?”
“Yes, Sergeant, it’s me. We’re going to see Miss Votak, and I’ll need an escort.”
“Damn, it’s good to hear you, sir. We’re ready when you are. Uh, by the way, sir, they’re gonna make me an officer, a cap’em. It ain’t right, me bein’ an officer. Can you do something about that?”
“We’ll talk about it later,” York said. “For now, we’ll be down shortly.”
“Aye, aye, sir. Palevi out.”
York looked at the emperor. “If I have to be a fucking admiral, then he has to be a fucking officer.”
Edvard laughed and shook his head.
York motioned to the lift. “After you, Your Majesty.”
The emperor nodded, turned toward the lift and wove his way through the instrument clusters. York let him go until he was out of sight, then whispered into his implants, “Computer. Confirm access Three Charlie Two Niner One Niner Alpha.”
Access Three Charlie Two Niner One Niner Alpha confirmed at access ring-zero.
York nodded slowly and grinned a little.
“Are you coming, Admiral?”
He turned toward the lift. “Yes, Your Majesty, I’m coming.”
THE END
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
J. L. Doty was trained, with a Ph.D. in Electrical Engineering. His specialty has always been laser science and laser physics. He spent all his working life in various facets of the laser industry including a number of years in research and development, even working briefly on laser weapons in the early '80's. For the last twenty-five years, he has been writing fiction in stolen hours on the weekend, or on long flights overseas.
When writing science fiction, Jim is sometimes hindered by his deep knowledge of laser physics, and for that reason you'll never see a laser weapon of any type in his science fiction books. In fact, you can visit his website to read his rant on laser weapons, and how they are almost always badly misused in science fiction. You don't have to be an engineer or physicist to understand it, and you might find the information on lasers of interest.
Jim lives with his wife and their three cats in Northern California where they are horribly spoiled by the weather.
Visit the author's website at http://www.jldoty.com
Table of Contents
Chapter 1: Interference
Chapter 2: Long Ago
Chapter 3: Confrontation
Chapter 4: Assault
Chapter 5: Hunted
Chapter 6: Dreams
Chapter 7: Remembrance
Chapter 8: Condemned
Chapter 9: Damned
Chapter 10: Old Friends
Chapter 11: Desperation
Chapter12: Reality Lost
Chapter 13: Mistakes
Chapter 14: Illusion
Chapter 15: Choices
Chapter 16: Abandoned
Chapter 17: Escape
Chapter 18: Murderous Need
Chapter 19: Another Choice
Chapter 20: More Choices
Chapter 21: Old Memories
Chapter 22: Gunner’s Blood
Chapter 23: Betrayal Upon Betrayal
Chapter 24: Aagerbanne
Chapter 25: Sarasan
Chapter 26: Tank Dreams
Chapter 27: The First Treason
Chapter 28: Chaos
Chapter 29: Again Treason
Chapter 30: Treason Upon Treason
Chapter 31: Andyne-Borregga
Chapter 32: Homecoming
Chapter 33: Honor Abandoned
Chapter 34: More Illusions
Chapter 35: The Fruits of Betrayal
Chapter 36: Party Time
Chapter 37: Return
Chapter 38: Prisoner No More
Chapter 39: Bait
Chapter 40: Payback Time
Chapter 41: Loyalties Shift
Chapter 42: One Big Party
Chapter 43: The Final Treason
Epilogue: Options
