Imperial Guard

by Joseph O'Day

  10

  Daniel Mizpala moved reluctantly down the spacious, richly adorned hallway. “I’m getting too old for this,” he muttered to himself. But the null-grav telestrip continued to propel him relentlessly toward his destination.

  He was not alone. One bodyguard stood on the telestrip three paces in front. Another stood behind, facing the way they had come. Two other bodyguards accompanied the chancellor on his right and left, but they had to trot, the telestrip being too narrow for three.

  The old gentleman carried several small weapons concealed in various places beneath his outer clothing and on top of the lightweight but highly efficient body armor he had never learned to enjoy wearing. He was on his way to another governmental advisory meeting with the Emperor, and his nemesis, Kepec Mogul, was certain to be in attendance. He needed all the protection modern technology afforded.

  A laser pistol was secure in a holster attached to the left chest of his armor. A lethally charged swagger stick clung upright to the middle of his back, the handle within easy reach behind his neck. A snub-nosed, armor piercing, projectile rifle was strapped inside his left leg. And a thirty-centimeter stiletto was tucked in a sheath inside his right boot.

  His body armor was the best money could buy. It was made of biochemically produced Orb Weaver spider silk, which was stronger that steel but extremely lightweight and flexible. A reflective composition had been added that effectively scattered the beam of handheld lasers. The Biorb itself displaced the impact of most projectile weapons and, being flexible, could cover the arms and legs as well as the torso. Even so, it was antisocial to cover the head, so Mizpala was aware that his defensive precautions were far from foolproof. But it would be worse than foolish to neglect them altogether.

  Mizpala was of average height. His aging body was still well-proportioned and agile, but it stooped under the weight of armament and years of governmental intrigue with Kepec Mogul. His deep-set eyes, once fiery and full of righteous idealism, showed the strain of the contest and the many years of hope deferred. But his bushy brows and sweptback gray hair still betrayed a cunning and forethought nurtured and toughened in the crucible of political experience.

  His mind wandered to the dreams he had had as a young man. Dreams of reforming the government to serve the common man rather than the powerful elite. Dreams of universal human rights. Dreams of making a difference in the corridors of power, amid webs of deceit and schemes of treachery.

  How naive I’ve been! he admonished himself. Rather than being able to pursue those dreams, his whole life had been consumed in simply holding back the night, trying to survive, attempting to halt the cultural slide into total barbarism. His dreams seemed as far away as ever.

  He shook his head sharply in private rebuke. Surely I’ve made some progress, he thought. Surely I’ve begun to lay a foundation. And, after all, today’s meeting might see a significant breakthrough. Over the years Mizpala had learned to deny his optimism and minimize his expectations. Yet, as the telestrip moved him closer to his destination, he could not help but feel a little hopeful.

  Today’s agenda featured the criminal activities of the Imperial Guard. The Guard was a standing force of elite troops specially designed to look after the Emperor’s interests and safety. Assassination attempts were commonplace, and military coups were a constant threat. The primary responsibility of the Imperial Guard was to protect its ward. They also existed to enforce the Emperor’s will on the people and even the nobility.

  The problem was that they had grown too powerful and had begun to enforce their will, rather than the Emperor’s, on the people. Many were enforcing their own laws and growing rich because of it. Some ran protection rackets. Others dealt in illegal drugs or ran prostitution rings. Still others profited from black market activities. Henry the Strong was becoming concerned.

  The Imperial Guard had become the most hated and feared group in the Empire. As far as Henry was concerned, the fear they engendered paid dividends—to a point. It was the hate that concerned him. A popular uprising would be inexpedient at best, disastrous at worst.

  Mizpala had long argued and jockeyed for a reform movement within the Guard. Today he might gain the Emperor’s ear, but he would have to bend all his cunning to accomplish the task. The bleak reality was that, as long as people such as the Moguls were able to so strongly influence the Emperor, the foundation for reform that Mizpala had laid would never be built upon and may, perhaps, be destroyed altogether.

  The small entourage turned a corner in the hallway. Imperial Guardsmen lined each wall of the approach to the Consultation Chamber. As a last line of defense, a single combat droid held station on either side of the imitation oak doors that slid aside with quiet efficiency as the party drew near.

  The six-sided chamber was brightly lit. Six-sided imitation oak tables were arranged in a semicircle, focusing attention on a similar table sitting on a raised platform at the far end of the room. Glancing to the right, Mizpala noticed that Mogul’s party was already seated. Prompt as usual, thought Mizpala.

  He turned to the left and seated himself at his customary table on the right hand of the Emperor. The bodyguards formed a semicircle behind their lord. Henry was not due for another ten minutes. Time for some last-minute strategy, Mizpala thought as he straightened his notes.

  *

  According to royal prerogative, the Emperor entered the chamber last. No one else was allowed into the room after his appearance. Besides himself and Mogul, the first and second ministers respectively, three other heads of state were, or soon would be, in attendance.

  Eric Schmidt was already present. A steady, albeit unimaginative, economics counselor, he was eloquent, self-centered, and obese—not necessarily in that order. His multiple chins hung below protruding, pouty lips, and cunning eyes were hidden behind half-closed lids. Schmidt cared nothing for the poor, starving, or disadvantaged. He considered his economic policies to be successful as long as the privileged continued to amass wealth and the populace managed to eke out an existence. He had proven a persistent opponent to Mizpala’s reform agenda. But today the First Minister hoped for his support in this debate.

  Monod Akard, not yet present, was a Mogul ally. The labor counselor had fluffy red hair and a prominently receding hairline. Schmidt’s nose was his most noticeable feature. It formed the point of an imaginary arrow that began at his receding forehead and ended at his receding chin. His soft, freckled face made him appear harmless and unassuming, but he could prove a most formidable adversary, which he often was to Mizpala. He exuded an aura of superiority and condescension and never took defeat kindly.

  Also not yet present was Maxwell Papias, social counselor. He was strikingly bald, even though medical treatment existed for every cause of hair loss. He considered it a distinguishing characteristic and wore his lack of hair with an air of smugness. His smooth, shiny head and his unusually tall stature combined to make him a truly imposing presence.

  Mogul sat with arms crossed, gazing steadily at his opponent with narrowed eyes. His broad, smooth, and flat, nondescript face betrayed his Asian origins. His high forehead was accented by sweptback, jet-black hair tied in a tail behind his head. Mizpala knew that he did not like the recent turn of events. All his reassurances to the contrary, his Emperor continued to nurture a growing apprehension about the Imperial Guard. Mizpala ignored him and continued rehashing his political strategy.

  *

  Mogul was ambitious. It was his goal to accrue power, money, and influence within the Empire and one day to sit on the throne. He shifted his gaze to the dais. The throne was genuine burnished oak, inlaid with jewels, topped by scarlet cushions made comfortably soft by the constant influx of warmed air circulating throughout its interior. Again he imagined himself taking his deserved seat there.

  But Kepec Mogul was a patient man. If not in his lifetime, perhaps that goal would be achieved for one of his sons. The corruption and disarray of the Imperial Guard was one means to that end. He co
uld not allow Mizpala to convince the Emperor that he must adopt a comprehensive program of reform.

  He looked back at his bitter enemy with contempt. So soft, so humanitarian, so self-righteous! Mogul’s hatred for Mizpala was deep. Sometimes it consumed him.

  Five times he had plotted Mizpala’s death, only to be foiled in each attempt. Of course, Mogul thought with a chuckle, I could terminate Mizpala at any time. With his left hand he gently and lovingly stroked the high-powered projectile gun strapped to the inside of his thigh. But it would be counter-productive to be too obvious about it. Mizpala’s death had to appear to be an accident or as a result of natural causes. Or it had to be incontrovertibly the work of someone totally unrelated to Mogul. Nothing could cast suspicion upon the Mogul family in any way, or his murder would be in vain.

  The Emperor was no fool. He knew about the power plays among his advisors and the other nobility. Any hint of intrigue or rebellion could mean instant destruction. So, as usual, I am reduced to verbal persuasion and petty disputation, he mulled with disgust.

  *

  Mogul’s musings were interrupted by a stirring at the entrance. Papias and Akard had arrived within the last few minutes. The two combat droids now glided into the room and took up their positions. The doors slid shut for the last time. The lights dimmed slightly, except for those that lighted the dais—they increased in brightness. A concealed door behind the throne slid aside. A small, floating droid glided in. It moved in a programmed geometric pattern as its instruments checked for explosives or suspicious foreign objects. Satisfied that all was as it should be, it returned the way it had come.

  Next, twelve Imperial Guardsmen moved silently and efficiently into the room, moving to either side, surveying the chamber as they did so. This was the “Royal Dozen,” a select group of the best and most loyal fighting men in the Empire. They drew to attention, and Henry the Strong, Emperor of All Known Worlds, strode into the room. His advisors rose and bowed their heads as he took his seat. “You may be seated,” he announced as he made himself comfortable.

  A semi-circular, transparent shield rose between himself and his advisors. It had the unusual properties of being projectile proof yet it allowed sound to travel through it freely. Looking around the room, Henry began: “We’ve asked you here today to advise us as to how to solve the prolonged crisis regarding the Imperial Guard. A certain amount of graft and corruption is to be expected in any military organization, but now the situation has become critical. What have you to suggest?”

  Mogul and Mizpala, along with Monod Akard were on their feet at once, bowing and seeking audience with exclamations of “Your Excellency!” Henry pointed to Akard. “We will hear from Counselor Akard first.” The adversaries resumed their seats, Mogul with a face of smug satisfaction, Mizpala with a grimace.

  “Your Excellency,” Akard began, pointing his spear face at the Emperor, “it is beyond dispute that corruption exists within the ranks of the Imperial Guard. So your Excellency, as usual, is correct—some sort of action is definitely mandated.”

  So far so good, thought Mizpala. But I can’t believe Akard is anything but Mogul’s stooge. Let’s see what drivel he has to entertain us with.

  “But I caution against too radical a solution. I am sure you will agree that the judicious and considered approach will prove the safest and most effective course. Consequently, I recommend arresting one or two of the worst offenders and making an example of them. This will give pause to the others when they think of engaging in illegal activities. Meanwhile, we can take the time to carefully study the feasibility of new, even stronger regulations and how best to enforce them.”

  Mizpala folded his hands and pressed his fingers against his chin. Of course! The Band-Aid solution! he scoffed inwardly.

  “Thank you, Counselor Akard,” Henry said, nodding. “I suspect, however,” as he turned toward Mizpala, “that Minister Mizpala has another opinion?”

  “Indeed, I have, your Excellency,” Mizpala said, rising to his feet. “Such halfway measures as suggested by Counselor Akard, and undoubtedly supported by Minister Mogul, would be a vain exercise of minuscule proportions.”

  Mogul started forward at the mention of his name. He had not expected Mizpala to be so forward and candid, and he certainly did not appreciate being spoken for.

  “Such solutions really accomplish nothing. They merely give the illusion of having done something to solve the problem when, really, they have done almost nothing at all. Please consider for a moment a course of action that would get at the root of the problem and eventually rid us of the reign of terror being propagated by many of these so-called Imperial Guardsmen.

  “Some of them are, in fact, not Imperial Guardsmen at all. They wear the uniform as a means to guarding their own self-interests, not his Majesty”—Mizpala bowed toward Henry—”and as an excuse for breaking the law, present company excepted, of course,” Mizpala added as he swept his hand respectfully toward the Royal Dozen.

  “I propose what I suspect Counselor Akard would classify as a ‘radical solution.’ But the situation has become critical—as his Majesty well knows—and firm, swift action is required. I recommend that we let the Imperial Guard police themselves. Let his Majesty hand-select a special force within the Imperial Guard, as he does his own personal bodyguard.” Again Mizpala indicated the Royal Dozen.

  “Let his Majesty empower them with police authority. Let them have as their primary task to weed out those individuals who are disgracing his Excellency’s name by breaking his laws and oppressing the people in his name—but without his gracious consent. Let them be responsible only to the Emperor and under his direct supervision.”

  Henry looked pensive. “You make a provocative suggestion, Minister Mizpala.”

  Mogul was getting nervous. He could stand it no longer. Standing abruptly, he called out, “Your Excellency!”

  Henry turned and said, “Very well, Mogul, what words of wisdom do you have for us?”

  “Your Excellency, Minister Mizpala’s idea may appear attractive at first glance, but his plan contains some serious flaws. Would it not be dangerous to decimate the veteran ranks of the Imperial Guard by arrest and execution, replacing them with a large influx of new recruits—inexperienced, untested, and perhaps unstable? Also, would it not be a waste of some of our finest soldiers to incarcerate them or execute them for indiscretions they may be persuaded to relinquish? Surely gradual change is the wisest course to follow.”

  “Minister Mizpala?” the Emperor solicited.

  “I find it interesting that Minister Mogul prognosticates a decimation of the Imperial Guard under my plan. This is as much a confession of the seriousness and widespread nature of the problem as a straightforward statement. But I would concede one point: a gradual reformation would be wise, but only if the current widespread corruption is fiercely and stubbornly pursued until this cancer is completely cut out.

  “As regards punishment, I do not suggest, as Minister Mogul assumes, that we waste our best soldiers by imprisoning them or executing them for their crimes. Let us be expedient about this and, at the same time, make the punishment fit the crime. Since these individuals revel in a sense of impunity and invulnerability and delight in cruelty and oppression, let their punishment, if convicted, be this: demote them to noncommissioned status in the regular army and place them in the front lines of combat. In short, strip them of their power and their invulnerability and give them a chance to die gloriously for their Emperor in combat.”

  The Emperor reflected a moment. “You may all be seated,” he said. He pursed his lips and thought. Finally he said, “Minister Mizpala, I think your plan merits some serious thought and further discussion. I will send a message as to when and where I wish to meet with you to work out the details. I will give you a month to flesh out your plans before I call for you.”

  Henry the Strong rose from the throne. The nobles present also rose in respect and bowed their heads. Half of the Imperial Guard disappea
red through the royal entrance ahead of the Emperor and the rest followed as Henry made his way out of the room.

  Mizpala, with his four guards, headed quickly for the other exit, which was now open. But Mogul cut him off. The four bodyguards quickly and efficiently formed a semicircle of protection between Mizpala and Mogul.

  “If you think you’ve won, Mizpala,” Mogul rasped between clenched teeth, “think again! This battle isn’t over yet!” The Second Minister whirled away and stalked out of the room.

  Mizpala stood motionless in the entrance, gazing at the receding back of his adversary.

  “Minister Mizpala.” Startled, Mizpala turned toward the speaker. It was Schmidt.

  “Uh, yes, Counselor Schmidt, what can I do for you?”

  “Ah,” he intoned knowingly, “I think that it is what I can do for you.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Of course, you do,” he replied, looking around and lowering his voice. “You know as well as I that Mogul will do everything within his power to keep you from your appointment with the Emperor.” The counselor paused. “You and I, Mizpala, have had many differences over the years, but I do not wish to see Mogul grab more power than he already has. Your continued existence is vital to the balance of power I desire to see maintained. Therefore, I am offering you my services . . . just this once. I have some leverage with Minister Mogul that will cause him to think twice about bringing any harm to your person. Shall I use it?” Schmidt squinted one eye and looked sharply at the minister.

  Mizpala was shocked. “I’m surprised you’re offering to do this, Schmidt. But—yes—I will take all the help you’re willing to offer. Thank you.”