The Thirteenth Man

by J. L. Doty

  Talcott was a short, slightly plump little man. “My guard contingent is not inconsiderable.”

  “Nor mine,” Silas said.

  “But your guard contingents are not marines in powered combat armor and heavy combat kit. And having such, close at hand, rather than a thirty-­minute high-­G drop away, might make all the difference in the world.”

  Silas shook his head. “His Majesty will never allow us to maintain armed troops on the premises.”

  Charlie looked pointedly at Talcott, then Silas. “You both know Roacka?”

  Both men nodded.

  “I suggest you talk to him.”

  Talcott’s eyes narrowed and Silas nodded again.

  Charlie realized then that he’d have to bring Major Pelletier in on this. He’d been reluctant to do so because he didn’t know the head of Cesare’s household guard well, but had no choice now. He resolved to brief the man immediately.

  “Furthermore,” he said, “should some difficulty arise, I suggest we act in unison. And the only way to accomplish that is to have only one commanding officer.” He smiled. “And that should be me.”

  Add cut high with her saber. Charlie ducked beneath her blade, saw an opening, charged in and buried his shoulder in her solar plexus. A woof escaped her lips as he lifted her off her feet and dropped her on her back on the floor, his shoulder still buried in her abdomen. But he’d forgotten her knee, which managed to find its way into his groin, and as he landed on top of her he took as much injury as he dealt. They rolled away from each other, both of them groaning and gasping for breath.

  “Well done, little brother,” Ell cried. “A tie. That’s the best you’ve ever done against her.”

  Charlie had progressed to the point where he was besting Ell one out of every three or four matches, which was just not acceptable as far as Add was concerned. So Add, the best of the three, had personally taken over his instruction with a certain amount of derision directed at poor Ell. Add was not a pleasant taskmaster, as his groin would attest.

  Ell flicked a switch on her control and Charlie relaxed as his sparring suit killed the pain feed. Ell stood over Add. “Sister,” she said as Add continued to gasp for air. “Are you in pain? Charlie’s such a poor student, he couldn’t have hurt you.”

  Add’s reply was “Harruuggghhh.”

  “What did you say, darling sister? I didn’t quite understand you.”

  “Hurrpain gurrfeed.”

  “What’s that? Oh, pain feed. I didn’t realize it was still on. I thought you didn’t need such things against poor opponents such as Charlie or me. Let me see.” Ell looked carefully at the control. “Which button is yours?” She considered the box carefully as Add continued to groan, then finally pressed a switch. Add let out a sigh, then relaxed and lay still on the floor. As Charlie climbed to his feet Ell looked his way and winked, then grinned evilly.

  “I’m still waiting for that dance, spacer.”

  Charlie turned about and found Del behind him, that playful look in her eye. They both knew it wouldn’t be politic for him to dance with her at any of the events they’d recently attended. So they limited themselves to this simple little game. “The last time I attended a dance,” Charlie said, “I didn’t see you there. There was this rather haughty princess, and she did look quite like you. But her name was Delilah, not Del. Let me tell you, though, if this spacer is ever at a real dance, and there’s a girl named Del there, then he’ll most certainly collect the dance she owes him.”

  “And tell me, spacer, what’s a real dance?”

  “Loud,” Charlie said with a wink, “noisy, and no waltzes.”

  “Delilah.” Dieter appeared at Del’s shoulder. He looked at Charlie and the two breeds with obvious distaste. “What are you doing here?” he asked Del.

  “Just watching.”

  Dieter looked at the saber in Charlie’s hand, then held out his own hand. “May I?”

  Charlie handed it to him hilt first. Dieter took it and looked at it carefully. “Are you an expert in antique weapons, Cass?”

  “Hardly an expert, Your Lordship.”

  Dieter stepped back, tested the balance of the blade, swung once at an imaginary opponent, and demonstrated a textbook lunge. He clearly knew what he was doing.

  “Obviously,” Charlie said, “you also practice with antiques.”

  “Yes,” Dieter said, reversing the blade and returning it to Charlie. “It sharpens the reflexes, the timing.” He looked at Charlie carefully, his eyes narrowing. “Perhaps you and I, sometime, might test our skills.”

  Charlie had a strong suspicion he wouldn’t want such a match to happen. If Dieter killed him he’d merely have to apologize to Cesare. But if Charlie so much as pricked the skin of the heir to the de Satarna ducal seat, they could hang him. “Perhaps, Your Lordship.”

  “Come, Delilah,” Dieter said, taking her arm and turning to leave, allowing her no choice in the matter. “I’ve been meaning to have a chat with you.”

  Del went along complacently. But as they stepped out of the room she looked over her shoulder and winked at Charlie.

  When they were gone Add said, “I think that someday you may have to kill him, little brother.”

  CHAPTER 7

  MYSTERIOUS VISITORS

  Charlie had not had the opportunity to bring Pelletier in on his schemes, so he’d asked Roacka to brief the major. The two men were waiting for him as he climbed the ladder to the gunboat’s personnel hatch. In the small cabin near the cockpit there was no sign of the fifty odd marines slumbering in their combat armor in the cargo bay. Roacka wasted no time getting down to business. “Darmczek’s ships are almost in position,” Roacka said. “They’re not having any trouble remaining hidden behind false identities. The traffic density in this system is so high, traffic control doesn’t have a chance to look closely at anyone. And besides, no one could broadcast proper identity codes without access to classified ciphers.”

  “So,” Charlie asked, “why am I here?”

  Roacka grinned. “Darmczek’s almost as paranoid as you. Drifting into position slowly like they are, his ­people got a lot of time on their hands. So he’s got them checking out all the ships in Turnlee nearspace, starting with those in the immediate vicinity of Turnlee, and expanding outward. They’re taking a close look at each ship, correlating identity and make with emissions—­a quarter-­million-­ton destroyer emits a lot more noise than a quarter-­million-­ton freighter. And guess what . . .”

  “I think you’re going to tell me.”

  Roacka put on that evil grin of his. “Someone else is playing the same game we are.”

  “One of the other Nine?”

  “It would have to be. Or Lucius himself. No one else could provide proper identity codes.”

  “So we know about them, but do they know about us?” Charlie asked.

  “Could be, but not likely. Darmczek’s ships are running with a lot of nonessential systems shut down, basically matching their emission signatures to their fake identities. Our friends out there aren’t doing the same, so we can assume they haven’t caught on yet.”

  Pelletier asked, “If it comes to a fight, how do we stand?”

  Roacka looked smug. “By their emission signatures, looks to be four heavy cruisers and possibly one troop transport. With the element of surprise they could take the system. And forewarned as we are, with our flagship and those of Sig, Band, Rierma, and Faggan all working together, we’d still be outgunned, but could hold our own for a while. Those flagships just don’t carry the firepower to stand up to a heavy cruiser. But add in Charlie’s flotilla, and a little surprise of our own. As long as there’re no reinforcements, we’ve got ’em reasonably outgunned.”

  “Band and Faggan are in this, too?” Charlie asked.

  Roacka answered him. “After you dropped those rather unsubtle hints to T
alcott and Silas, they approached me. And less than a day later it was Esterhower and Corbin, Faggan and Band’s guard captains. All four of them now have shuttles on the ground filled with marines, and everyone’s ready to take orders from you if the shit goes down.”

  Pelletier said, “Commander, I gotta say I’m a lot happier taking orders from a paranoid son-­of-­a-­bitch like you, being a paranoid son-­of-­a-­bitch myself.”

  The man looked pleased, and that made Charlie nervous. This thing was getting out of hand. “Let’s not overreact. My paranoia seems to have become rather contagious. If I’m wrong, and they find out what we’ve done here . . . I’ve broken the king’s law, violating Turnlee nearspace, stationing armed troops on the grounds of the palace without his permission. So let’s not let anyone jump the gun.”

  “Don’t worry about my ­people, Commander,” Pelletier said. “And I’ve had a long talk with Esterhower, Talcott, Corbin, and Silas. They won’t screw up either.”

  Roacka had a 3-­D situation summary on one of the shuttle’s screens—­some serious firepower coming in surreptitiously. Could be benign, and then again not. “Contact Darmczek and tell him to have his ships tweak their positioning. Make sure there’s one lined up on each of the intruders, at reasonably close range. I want the ability to put a large warhead into each of them, without warning, should the need arise.”

  Roacka grinned. “Sucker punch, eh lad?”

  “Ya, sucker punch it is. Tell Darmczek that if they start shooting first, he’s to use his own discretion and proceed as he sees fit, but only if they start shooting first. And I want him to go as long as he can without playing his hand. If something really bad happens, we have the element of surprise. Let’s take maximum advantage of that. But move cautiously. It could be just one of the other Nine bringing a little insurance along, doing no less than us. So let’s not get trigger-­happy.”

  Charlie ran his fingers through his hair. If this turned into a screw-­up and somebody jumped the gun, they’d hang him for sure.

  “Here, lad,” Roacka said. “The major here’s come up with something for you.”

  Pelletier handed Charlie an odd looking little gun. “Roacka says you know how to handle antiques. That’s no antique, but it’s modeled on the principal of antique firearms. It’s a chemical-­powered slug thrower. Pull the trigger and an explosive charge ejects a slug at high velocity. On impact, the slug expands and fragments, causing quite a bit of damage. Be ready for it to kick like hell and make a lot of noise. It’s small and easily concealed, but don’t let that fool you; it’ll drop a grown man. It probably won’t punch through powered armor, but it may have enough impact to make an armored opponent hesitate. No energy sources, no circuitry, all elements but the chemical explosive made of hardened organic materials, so they won’t show up on any scanner. Barring a hand search, you can even pass the security around the king. You’ve got eight shots then throw it away. We don’t have a lot of these, so we’re issuing them only to key personnel, and the guards immediately responsible for the safety of Rierma, Sig, Band, Faggan, and Cesare.”

  Next he handed Charlie a small flat card. “It looks like a small personal recorder for keeping notes and reminders, and it’ll function to a limited extent as one. You can also use it to communicate with the combat command computer on this shuttle. But if someone were to do something sneaky, like jamming communications in your vicinity, its battery is too limited to punch a signal through any serious electronic countermeasures, and a power source large enough to do so would trigger every alarm in the palace. But this puppy has a special chemical charge in it that won’t show up on any scanning or search equipment. It’s keyed to your voiceprint. Press the record switch and speak the word ‘scramble’ into it three times, then drop it, because it’s going to get too hot to hold. The chemical charge burns hard and fast, producing enough power for a few seconds to punch a signal through almost any ECM or scrambling, at least enough to get through to this shuttle. The shuttle will relay the signal to Taggart and the other ships. When you activate it that’s a signal to us that whatever is going to happen has started, and it’ll also tell us where you are if we need to send a hard-­target extraction team after you. We’re giving these to all key personnel too.”

  Charlie looked at the device and turned it over in his hand. “Can you modify this?”

  “To some limited extent, yes.”

  “Good. Then I want it to activate on two types of signals. If I say ‘scramble’ three times, then the shit’s hitting the fan and I want those armed marines protecting the dukes and their heirs, and Darmczek goes on full alert. But if I say ‘sucker punch’ three times, proceed just like the ‘scramble’ signal and send in the marines, but also, Darmczek is to take out those bogies without warning or delay. He is to immediately put a big warhead into each of them. Can you modify it like that?”

  Pelletier nodded. “Not a problem, Commander.”

  Roacka said to Pelletier, “I told you he ain’t as dumb as he looks.”

  Delilah looked like a goddess that night, dressed in a floor length gown and petticoat styled from another era. She stopped in front of Charlie in a swirl of skirts and lace. “I see you’re on my dance card for the next dance, Commander.”

  A lie, though not one that anyone could call her on. A dangerous folly, to dance with her in front of the eyes of the entire court—­not dangerous for her, but for him—­though clearly she didn’t fully understand that.

  And, at the moment, not dangerous enough for him to resist this opportunity.

  He bowed properly. “Your Highness.”

  As the band started a waltz he took her hand, put his other hand oh-­so-­chastely on her waist just above the curve of her hips, and swirled her out onto the dance floor.

  “You’re tense, Commander.”

  “Am I dancing with Delilah or Del?”

  “For you, I think I’m always Del. Does that make me brazen?”

  “I have a suspicion that you’re far more brazen than anyone here realizes. Perhaps even more than I realize.”

  It was a lively waltz and she threw her head back and laughed as he twirled her about. She looked over his shoulder, and he saw her smother a chuckle. “Oh, Dieter is going to be so disappointed in me—­the brazen princess dancing with the penniless bastard. He presumes so much. But then I’ll probably end up marrying him . . . for the good of the Realm.”

  They both understood the realities of noble birth, and it was at times like these Charlie was thankful he had never been acknowledged by Cesare. She’d marry Dieter, for the good of the Realm, and if he found someone he could love, and she was common born, or at least not high in the ranks of the nobility, then Cesare would arrange everything for Charlie. But beneath the pretense, he and Del both knew they’d never have that dance.

  The waltz came to an end. She stepped away from him, smiled, then stepped back in close and her eyebrows narrowed seriously. “Beware of my father,” she whispered. “He is a fool. A kindly fool, a fool I love dearly, but still a fool, and he’s planning something sneaky.”

  She stepped away from him and smiled once more. The entire hall seemed to have come to an uneasy pause. It took Charlie a moment to realize that as long as Del stood in the middle of the dance floor without an appropriate partner—­and Charlie was not an appropriate partner—­the music would not again start.

  Martino suddenly appeared at her elbow, drink in hand. “Flaunting propriety, are we, my dear sister? Well, good, flaunt away. At least you have the balls to do so. I applaud you.”

  Queen Adan appeared out of the crowd, a strikingly beautiful woman, frowning her disapproval at Charlie. She stepped between him and Delilah with her back to Charlie as if he weren’t there. “Come, my dear. I have someone I want you to meet.” She hustled Delilah away.

  The music started up again. Martino swayed a bit from side to side. “I suggest, Commander,�
� he slurred, “that we leave the dance floor. Otherwise, we shall be forced to dance with one another. And while I might find the scandal a bit enjoyable, it will only put your life in more danger.”

  Perhaps Martino, though ever the drunk, was a bit more shrewd than Charlie had thought.

  CHAPTER 8

  THE BETRAYER BETRAYED

  The palace was rife with rumors that Lucius’s negotiations with Aagerbanne had stalemated. Arthur was of the opinion that Lucius had not negotiated in good faith, and had purposefully brought the discussions to an impasse. There would be an announcement the following day in high court, and Charlie went to bed that night not sure what to expect.

  He rose early to prepare for high court. Winston had advised him of the appropriate time to appear: after most of the other commoners were in place, but prior to the arrival of any serious nobility. Charlie put on his best dress uniform—­not formal, formal wasn’t appropriate for the business of court—­but still his best. Then, with his personal guard in tow, he headed for the throne room.

  Walking with his guard, Charlie was lost in thought considering the dangerous ramifications of the Aagerbanne situation, when Del accosted him, grabbed his arm, and without ceremony pulled him through a door hidden behind some drapes. His guards followed.

  They were in a corridor used by servants, though at that moment it was empty. “Wait here,” she said to his guards, then pulled him just far enough down the corridor so they could speak privately. His guards reacted to the princess pulling him into a private conversation with chuckles and grins.

  “I have to warn you,” Del said breathlessly. “I don’t know exactly what my father is planning, but it has something to do with the Syndonese. I think he’s actually negotiating with Goutain, not just Tantin.”