The Thirteenth Man

by J. L. Doty

  She didn’t look his way.

  “Your son will never inherit the ducal seat. For should Arthur, my legitimate heir, die before his time, regardless of the circumstances, and whether you’re implicated or not, your death, and that of your son, will be long, slow, and agonizing. Do we understand one another?”

  She hesitated, then nodded . . .

  The knock on the door brought Cesare out of his reverie. That had been so long ago, the bargain they’d struck. Charlie and Arthur had been but children, and he, Cesare, had still been young and vital. Three sons, Arthur, then Charlie, then Theode. Arthur, son of the first duchess, whom Cesare had even loved, in a way. Arthur was bookish, intelligent, noble, kind, a diplomat by nature, a politician by instinct; he’d inherit the ducal seat and would carry the responsibility well. Theode, son of the second duchess, had turned out to be no less a viper than his mother, self-­indulgent, spoiled, calculating. And Charlie, born between Arthur and Theode of the only woman Cesare had ever truly loved. Charlie, condemned by a bargain struck more than twenty years ago to a life between lives, more than a commoner, but less than a nobleman’s son. Charlie was what Cesare had made of him: the warrior, trained to stand at Arthur’s right hand, the man who would enforce Arthur’s policies when the diplomacy of politics would not suffice. Cesare wondered if Charlie was truly a warrior by nature, or if the boy had merely followed the path laid out before him.

  Again, a knock on the door brought Cesare back to the moment. He hadn’t meant to keep Charlie waiting.

  The computer acknowledged Charlie’s knock. “You may enter.”

  He took an instant to adjust his tunic, to make sure all was right and proper before entering the duke’s presence, then pushed the door open and stepped into the duke’s study. The computer closed the door behind him. Charlie immediately bowed. “Your Grace, you wished to see me?”

  “Stand up, Charlie. Let me look at you. And relax.”

  Charlie straightened and saw the duke clearly for the first time, seated behind a large desk. He looked tired and old, but he smiled and said, “You’re starting to look like the old Charlie, though I noticed a slight limp.”

  Charlie grinned back at him. “Add, Ell, and Roacka beat up on me almost daily, when they’re not trying to force-­feed me.”

  Cesare stood and came around the desk. “It seems to be doing you some good.” He patted Charlie on the shoulder, led him toward two large, comfortable chairs in the corner.

  “Ya, but I’m not about to admit that to them.”

  “Of course not. Sit down.” Cesare pointed him to one of the chairs, and without asking his preference, turned to a small bar and splashed whiskey on ice in two glasses. It was a ritual Charlie had forgotten, and seeing it for the first time in years reminded him that he was truly home. “They tell me you still have nightmares.”

  Charlie shrugged as Cesare handed him one of the glasses. “And they tell me the nightmares are natural, and they’ll pass with time.”

  Cesare sat in the other chair. “And they tell me you won’t accept any of the standard therapies for such difficulties. You know they could end the nightmares with a few hours of treatment, end them once and for all.”

  Charlie shook his head. “Yes I know. But neural probe therapy will also destroy some of the associated memories. And I don’t want that.”

  “Are those memories so good?”

  “Of course not.” Charlie sipped at his drink; it burned his throat wonderfully. “But they’re part of what I am, and I don’t want to lose that. I know that sounds trite, or maybe just stupid . . .”

  Cesare nodded thoughtfully and considered his drink for a moment. “Do you know that all the men who came back with you, once they heard you refused the neuronics, have also refused them? And they’ve asked to serve under you. Even those sworn to other noblemen have requested release from their oaths.”

  “I don’t have a command.”

  “That can be changed in an instant.”

  “I don’t want a command.”

  Cesare finished his drink and stood to fix another. Like the first drink, this one was small, just a splash over ice, more a ritual than a drink. While he stood at the bar with his back to Charlie he said, “I need a strong military presence behind the ducal seat. Once again Lucius is playing at emperor, demanding levies from the Nine, and if he gets them he’ll start something . . . possibly another war.”

  Charlie asked, “Another war with the Syndonese?”

  Cesare turned back to Charlie, holding a fresh drink. “No, I don’t think President Goutain wants open war. The last one cost him dearly, and he and his Syndonese sycophants have carefully avoided any saber-­rattling. Our dear king has something up his sleeve regarding Aagerbanne and the independent states. I don’t yet know what, but Arthur should have more information when we get back to Farlight.”

  Charlie said, “And once again you’re the primary opposition to Lucius’s posturing.”

  Cesare smiled and shrugged. “Guilty.”

  “If you resist him, he might accuse you of treason.”

  Cesare paced back and forth across the small room. “Treason is a relative term. If House de Maris is weak, then I’m guilty of treason, and will probably lose my head. If we’re moderately strong, then I’m merely an obstinate advisor to the king, and I must eventually capitulate to his desires. If we’re truly strong, then I’m the king’s most trusted counselor, whose advice he will certainly heed. In any case, Lucius has exhausted his own treasury, so at the moment he’s quite weak.”

  “And what are we?”

  Cesare stopped pacing and faced Charlie squarely. “Before your return, we were strong. Now, we’re very strong.”

  “I can’t see how two thousand men changes things. It’s ships that make a difference.”

  Cesare nodded his agreement. “And the men that fight them. I have ships aplenty, and I have experienced crews for them, and with your two thousand—­all experienced fighting men—­we are stronger. But they’re not the key, Charlie. You are.”

  “Me? Why me?”

  Cesare sipped at his drink. “Lucius glorified your deeds rather unashamedly, after we thought you dead. I’m sure that had you lived, he wouldn’t have gone to such excess. But he did, and here you are, returned from the dead with a reputation that I can put to use against him. I should add, this puts you at some risk. Know then that I intend to use you.”

  Charlie bowed his head and said, “You have but to command.”

  “But to be very strong, Charlie, I need more than your obedience. I need your active support, I need your counsel, and I need your understanding of the men who may need to fight for us.”

  Charlie had only one question. “Do you intend to make war?”

  Cesare looked him in the eyes and spoke plainly. “No. I seek to stop Lucius from wasting another two million men on his petty ambitions at empire. And to stop him I need you. But I warn you, war may be a means to that end.”

  Charlie stood, put his drink down, dropped to one knee, took the duke’s hand, and kissed the ring on his finger. “As I said before, you have but to command, my liege.”

  CHAPTER 3

  FARLIGHT

  “Now, that’s much better,” Add shouted.

  Charlie bent down, picked up Ell’s saber and handed it back to her, hilt first. She was having a bad day, and he was having a good one, so they were almost evenly matched. She had killed him twice, but he’d managed to kill her in the third match, and disarm her now in the fourth.

  Charlie backed out of the ring. “That’s enough for today. I have orders to be at the main airlock when we dock.” He started peeling off the sparring suit.

  Ell flipped the saber to her twin sister, who caught it casually. “You still have a ways to go. But at least now we can let you out on your own, knowing you have half a chance of keeping yourself alive ag
ainst an assassin.”

  Add, always the more critical of the two, mumbled, “Half a chance is pushing it a bit, sister. I wouldn’t give him more than one in three.”

  Charlie tossed the sparring suit to Ell, left the two of them in the gym, and hurried to his cabin. He showered, shaved, put on a freshly pressed uniform, shoved a small palm gun into the holster hidden beneath his left armpit, and stuffed a plast knife into the sheath in his right boot. “Remember,” Roacka and the twins had reminded him, “a body scanner will catch a power knife or the palm gun, but a plain old plast blade has a good chance of passing unnoticed.”

  At the airlock Cesare acknowledged him with only a nod and a gruff “Commander.” There would be no first names or familiarity in front of others, though when Charlie took a position behind and to the left of the old duke, Cesare said, “Stand at my right hand, Commander.”

  Winston appeared magically at Charlie’s right. “Are you ready for this, Charles?” Winston, Paul, Cesare, and Charlie had discussed “this” carefully. Upon return to Traxis, Cesare could bypass normal entry procedures. They could take up a restricted orbit close to Traxis, and an armed gunboat would shuttle the duke and his entourage down to the ducal estates at Farlight, all under the watchful and protective guns of Defender, Cesare’s flagship. But with the announcement of Charlie’s resurrection, Winston felt that the duke should make a public appearance with Charlie at his side. So, like so many other ships, they’d docked at Traxis Prime, the main station orbiting Traxis. And while they’d certainly get VIP treatment, Winston had made sure that certain members of the media knew where to wait if they wanted to be the first to shove a microphone into someone’s face.

  “Ya,” Charlie answered. “I’m about as ready as I can be.”

  While docking booms clanged through the hull, Charlie tried to imagine what awaited him. So many times he’d thought to never see home again. He’d believed he’d die nameless on some unknown planet, though after a time the dying part hadn’t bothered him so much as the nameless part had. But now a piece of him was afraid to be there when the airlock opened, afraid to step through and find that everything had changed. Paul, standing behind Charlie, seemed to sense his unease, though he misinterpreted it. “Don’t worry, Charlie. It’ll be easy. Remember to nod politely, and keep any answers you give benign and meaningless.”

  Meaningless answers, he thought. Sounds like a contradiction in terms.

  The hatch cycled open without warning. Add stepped through it before it completed cycling, followed by four of Cesare’s personal guard. Ell remained just on this side listening to her implants. After a few seconds Charlie saw her subvocalize a response to Add, then she nodded to the duke, while to Charlie she signed in handspeak, This will be no fun, little brother.

  The hatch opened onto a private dock maintained for VIPs, and containing Winston’s carefully selected group of media hypes. As Cesare’s retinue marched through them they rifled questions at him. Cesare responded with practiced ease to questions about Lucius, himself, and the returned prisoners. Charlie was happy to be ignored and beginning to hope he might be overlooked completely, then one of the hypes stepped in front of him, blocking his path and forcing him to come to a halt—­clearly something not in Winston’s prearranged script. “Lieutenant Commander Cass,” the hype demanded. “Do you intend to support the king in his negotiations with Aagerbanne?”

  Never answer a dangerous question, Winston had warned him. But try to avoid, “No comment.” If you don’t like the question, then think of a question you do want to answer, and answer it.

  “I’ve always been a loyal subject of the crown,” Charlie said.

  One of the guards politely edged the hype out of Charlie’s way, and Winston got the retinue going again. But the hype persisted, “Even if it means war, Commander?”

  Another hype shouted, “Even if it means alliance with the Republic of Syndon?”

  Charlie halted, turned on them, tried to look displeased, and suddenly everything came to a stop as the hypes waited for him to say something newsworthy. Alliance with Syndon, he thought. Where did that come from? With the dukes withholding levies, Lucius just might be that desperate. Charlie mentally clamped down on what he really wanted to say. “I’ve always supported my king. Do you question my loyalty?”

  “Of course not,” the hype said, unruffled by Charlie’s counter. “But our viewers are wondering . . .”

  Winston quickly turned Charlie around, started the retinue up again, and with the hypes firing questions at their backs they passed into a VIP lounge where a door slammed shut behind them. Cesare kept moving, though he looked over his shoulder at Charlie and commented, “Well done, Commander.”

  The hypes’ questions had brought on a cold, sinking feeling in Charlie’s gut. “What did they mean, Your Grace, by alliance with the Syndonese?”

  Cesare frowned, turned away from Charlie, and commented over his shoulder, “Don’t worry about it, Charlie. We’ll discuss it later.”

  As they boarded a shuttle for the trip down to the planet’s surface, the sinking feeling deepened.

  We sure as hell will discuss it later, Charlie thought.

  Once their shuttle settled onto the ducal estates at Farlight, Charlie headed straight for Arthur’s study. Charlie found him with three of his assistants, all leaning over some sort of designs on Arthur’s desk; they were in the midst of a rather heated discussion. They didn’t notice Charlie as he slipped into the study, and it wasn’t until he cleared his throat that Arthur turned around, looked at him, and froze in midsentence. A big grin spread across his face. “Come back from the dead, eh?”

  Charlie shrugged. “I could say the same about you.”

  “Yes,” Arthur said. “I heard about that, you idiot.”

  Arthur sprinted across the room, gripped Charlie in a bear hug, and lifted him off his feet. “Damn, Charlie! I couldn’t have wished for more.” Arthur was taller and bigger than Charlie, though not as athletic, and he swung Charlie around once before putting him down. He held Charlie at arm’s length and looked him up and down. Charlie saw the big brother he had thought dead. He was a little older than Charlie remembered, with a few added pounds around his waistline . . . and had never looked better. “It’s good to have you back,” Arthur said. “We need you now more than ever.”

  Charlie frowned. “I’ve been getting dire little hints like that, but no one has bothered to enlighten me as to why. Would you care to?”

  Arthur looked over his shoulder at his assistants, nodded at the designs on his desk. “If you don’t mind, we can continue this later.”

  They all replied with an “Of course, Your Lordship.” They gathered up the designs and disappeared quickly. Arthur closed the door behind them. “Computer,” he called over his shoulder as he strode back to his desk. “Full privacy and surveillance scan, no recording, no monitoring.”

  “All entrances are sealed,” the computer replied. “Surveillance scan verifies a monitor free environment within the confines of your study. Vocal monitoring will be disabled upon your verification. You’ll have to reactivate manually when you’re finished, Your Lordship. Please verify.”

  “Verified,” Arthur said.

  “Confirmed,” the computer replied.

  He turned to Charlie. “Okay, Charlie. We can talk. There’ll be no record kept.”

  “That bad?”

  Arthur shrugged. “We’re going to discuss the Realm’s dirty laundry. And some of what we say might be construed as treason.”

  That bad, Charlie thought.

  Arthur began with a question. “What do you know of the situation with Aagerbanne?”

  This time it was Charlie who shrugged. He had heard bits and pieces on the trip back from the prisoner exchange, but not much. “Lucius is negotiating for unlimited access to the Aagerbanni port facilities on Aagerbanne Prime, which would give us access t
o all the trade routes into the independent states. But there’s been some sort of snag.”

  Arthur sat down behind his desk. “On the surface, you’ve got the gist of it. But the Aagerbanni Cabinet Minister for Trade thinks the crown might take the position that, since Aagerbanne was originally colonized with funds from the royal treasury, it’s a candidate for annexation as a Crown State Holding.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Charlie said. “Aagerbanne has been an independent state for more than five centuries.”

  “Yes,” Arthur said. “But once it’s done, and crown troops are occupying Aagerbanni nearspace . . .” Arthur finished with a shrug.

  “Lucius is insane,” Charlie said.

  “No,” Arthur said. “Foolish, yes. Idiotic, maybe. But this is calculated. The Syndonese war badly depleted the royal treasury. If he pulls it off, it would be a financial windfall. So Lucius’s real game is to push the negotiations into stalemate, feed appropriate amounts of misinformation to the media, and when the time is right, forcibly annex Aagerbanne.”

  Charlie shook his head, couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “He might get away with it. Even with advance warning Aagerbanne can field only a few hundred thousand troops and maybe a dozen warships. What about the independent states?”

  “They’re moving carefully,” Arthur said. “Finalsa and Allison’s Cluster have signed a mutual defense alliance with Aagerbanne. Toellan and Istanna are arming themselves now, and the other states are simply watching the situation nervously. If Lucius—­”

  The computer interrupted him. “Your Lordship. Forgive me for interrupting, but Lord Theode is demanding admittance.”

  Arthur sighed. Charlie grinned and asked, “How is Twerp?”

  “Unchanged. And please don’t call him that to his face. It’ll only start a fight, and he’ll go whining to his mother.”

  “And the Lady Gaida?”

  “The witch-­bitch is also unchanged. Oh, Charlie!” Arthur laughed. “I haven’t called her that since you got killed.”

  “Again, Your Lordship, I apologize for interrupting, but since my monitoring systems are deactivated at the moment, if you have replied to my earlier request, I am unaware of it and cannot respond to vocal instructions.”