She pulled Judah along while his mind was still untangling her words. The only way Marya Kuznyetza could ever become tsaritsa would be if her father were tsar and she succeeded him. And her father was so far down on the list of succession that the only way he could become tsar would be to take the throne by force. Which he was certainly planning to do.
Marya definitely knows about the uprising, he realized. She’s counting on it to make her tsaritsa some day.
Marya stopped at a very large cage labeled “stone-cats.” The floor was covered with short grass, and the back wall was a pile of boulders to look like the side of a mountain. There was a door in the rocks that might be an entrance to a cave. The cage was currently empty.
“The stone-cats are the most ferocious hunters on Kyrby. They’re deadly and merciless.”
“I don’t see anything,” Judah said. “They must be sleeping or something.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll see them. Just keep watching.”
After a few uneventful minutes, a rectangular section of the cage floor sank down like an elevator. A few moments later it rose again, carrying an animal that looked like a cross between a goat and a small antelope. It looked around itself, not knowing what to make of its new surroundings, and bleated plaintively.
Marya gripped Judah’s arm tightly. “Here it comes,” she whispered.
The cave door slid silently open, and Judah could see some slight motion in the darkness behind it. The prey caught the scent of the stone-cats, and its bleats became shrieks of terror. It bounded furiously around the cage, looking for some way out, but the bars were just a little too close together for it to escape.
The stone-cats emerged at an almost leisurely pace, one behind the other. They stood taller than Judah’s head at their shoulders, and had yellow fur mottled with gray spots. Their yellow eyes gleamed with animal ferocity. And they separated as they came through the door, one going left, one going right. The prey, realizing it could not escape, tried to stay in the middle, an equal distance from each.
“This is a hunting pair,” Marya said, her voice tinged with excitement. “They work as a team. One swipes at the prey, who instinctively jumps away to avoid it—and jumps right into the grasp of the other. Watch their coordination.”
Judah could feel his revulsion growing, but he didn’t turn away. The stone-cat on the left lumbered slightly closer, then quickly swiped at the prey with a strong blow and sharp claws.
The hapless creature leaped away, only to find itself running straight into the swinging claw of the other predator. The scream of pain only served to excite the stone-cats—and Marya—even more. Razor claws raked the poor victim over and over until it could no longer make a noise. The two killers pushed the lifeless body back and forth across the ground a couple of times until the cage floor was generously smeared with blood. Then they began dividing the body between them.
Judah could finally watch no more and turned away from the repulsive sight. But he saw Marya’s eyes fixed intently on the scene, her face positively glowing with excitement. For a moment Judah couldn’t decide which was more horrible—the creatures eating their kill or the woman who so delighted in watching them.
Then he thought of Marya’s aspirations to be tsaritsa. The stone-cats killed for food; Marya watched for sport. He must not allow this monster to rise to the imperial throne!
CHAPTER 7
Death of a Tsar
In a third floor bedroom suite, in a sturdy mahogany bed with a plush red velvet canopy and fine silk sheets, Tsar Vasiliy II lay dying.
The most powerful man in the galaxy had lain here dying for the past five years since his stroke, in a deep coma from which his doctors were certain he would never awake. Those same doctors were uncertain how long he might remain this way; he could lie dying in his coma for the next fifteen minutes or fifteen years. Meanwhile his grandniece Natalia grew up to assume the throne. and the rest of the Empire held its breath.
The curtains were drawn and the room was in perpetual twilight. In older times the room would have been crammed with heavy, awkward machinery, but progress had simplified the devices enormously. Now instruments monitored heart, breathing and brain wave activity wirelessly, and sounded alarms if any deviation from the optimum should occur. The instruments were so accurate and so sensitive that no one actually needed to be in the room to know the tsar’s condition. Teams of skilled professionals waited devotedly in the adjoining rooms, ready to step in at a moment’s notice if the slightest thing went wrong. The bed itself administered nutrients and medications to the tsar’s still body, and removed what wastes there were. Periodically attendants would enter to change the sheets, bathe the body, and move it around a bit to prevent bed sores. Other than that, nothing disturbed the tsar’s unconscious form.
Now, on this particular day, the flow of oxygen through the respirator began to diminish imperceptibly. The drop was so minor that an outside observer would never notice it. Even when the decrease reached levels that should have triggered the monitors, they mysteriously did not sound any alarm. As far as attendants watching the instruments were concerned, all was normal.
Gradually the tsar’s breathing became more labored as the body struggled to replenish its oxygen, but microphones throughout the room somehow failed to record the wheezes, gasps and coughs.
The respirator slowed its pumping until it came to a complete stop. The tsar’s body, unable to breathe fully on its own, thrashed about weakly in its bed. Tsar Vasiliy convulsed once, twice, three times and then was still. Life had fled that frail body.
On its own, the respirator started up again, and its instruments continued to show it was operating perfectly. For the next half hour the observers believed everything was normal. Then suddenly all hell broke loose. Lights flashed and bells rang. Doctors and nurses sprinted into the room in well-orchestrated chaos. The tsar’s body was suddenly surrounded by people making heroic attempts to save the ruler’s life.
But they soon had to acknowledge they had failed. Despite the best doctors and medical equipment in the Empire, Tsar Vasiliy II was dead. And the path of the Empire was changed forever.
* * *
The Argosy floated peacefully down onto Languor Field without incident, and the landing crew bustled around busily to make sure all was secure. None of them wanted anything unfortunate to happen to the imperial yacht while it was on their watch.
Inside the vessel, the passengers were eager to debark, anxious to leave the plush prison they’d been cooped up in for nearly a week. Graf Federico, the local ruler, would be their host for the next nine days while the Velikaya Knyaghinya toured the world’s wonders and met some of its special people. Most of the itinerary had been set weeks in advance and triple-checked by ISIS and Natalia’s personal security teams for the maximum safety and the minimum chance of surprises. When she was a tourist herself, Eva reveled in surprises and welcomed the unexpected. As a bodyguard, however, she was just as glad the excursions had been made as bland and boring as possible.
When the Velikaya Knyaghinya finally made it all the way through the passenger tube to the terminal, a welcoming committee had already gathered there to greet her. Graf Federico himself was there, along with his wife and two of his four children. So, of course, were the inevitable news crews to record every public detail of this unprecedented visit.
Eva and the Velikaya Knyaghinya had each dealt with reporters on many occasions, and knew exactly how to behave. They kept themselves aloof and focused on what they were doing, ignoring the cameras and the questions being constantly shouted out by the ravenous media. Lien-Hua stayed reasonably together as well, but the Three Shicksehs seemed overwhelmed. They smiled and posed for the cameras, pushing one another out of the way to be as close to Natalia as possible. They seemed convinced, somehow, that the cameras and the interest were all for them, and would have embarrassed themselves accordingly if they’d been capable of embarrassment.
Federico and his wife were all smiles, but t
he smiles didn’t reach as high as their eyes, which remained diplomatically cool. The graf made the obligatory speech welcoming Natalia to Languor, saying all door were open to her and that he was privileged to throw a banquet tonight in her honor at his palace. Even though she was young, Natalia knew how to deliver an equally platitudinous speech thanking the graf for his many years of loyal service to the crown and saying she was quite eager to tour Languor and meet her subjects.
Speeches completed, the parties climbed into a long line of limousines for the drive to Federico’s estate. Col. Groenwald took the opportunity to tell the freiliny to stay extra close to the Velikaya Knyaghinya during their stay here. Two nights ago there had been a separatist riot in the local town, which authorities had let run its course. Last night, a second riot had been brutally squashed by local militsia and oprichniki. Everyone was on edge, not knowing what would happen tonight with the Velikaya Knyaghinya actually present, but everyone had to be prepared for anything.
Surprisingly, Eva wasn’t overly worried about simple riots. Natalia would be spending her entire visit staying in palaces and noble homes, places that riots seldom touched. The official ISIS team was prepared to handle those contingencies. A bigger worry would be treachery from within the local dvoryane, perhaps an assassination attempt. But it was unlikely that any of the local dvoryane would stick their necks out that far. The whole plan was being disguised far more subtly than that, so Eva was on the lookout for far more subtle dangers.
The banquet that night was the sort of affair Eva’d only read about in books. The huge dining hall was crammed with as many of Languor’s dvoryane as it could handle, and the food was … well, fit for a tsar. Course after course was served by an army of courtiers, highlighting many different regional foods and recipes from all over Languor. Eva made up her mind to be born a Velikaya Knyaghinya in her next life.
That night was uneventful, and the next morning the entourage was flown halfway across the continent to a big industrial city, where the local kuptsy had chosen, for reasons known only to themselves, to give the Velikaya Knyaghinya a tour of a water reclamation plant. Eva was sure Natalia would be as bored with this as she was with math, but the fourteen-year-old had been raised with the proper sense of noblesse oblige. This was something important to the subjects she would one day rule, and so it had to be important to her as well. Never once did the young girl’s face display the slightest impatience, and she asked her guides intelligent questions about the processes they showed her. This, in turn, made her hosts beam with pride that the future tsaritsa showed an interest in their affairs.
As a sort of star herself, though not of the Velikaya Knyaghinya’s magnitude, Eva had been on a few similar tours, and knew how to display polite interest. The other freiliny, however, were bored silly and took few pains to hide their feelings. Fortunately, no one paid them the slightest bit of attention.
They spent the night at the estate of a local boyarin. And again they dined so sumptuously that Eva started worrying that she might gain too much weight on this assignment to resume her dancing career. Normally she would work off the large meals with plenty of sex and plenty of exercise, but she had neither the time nor the opportunity for either.
The third day was mostly a repeat of the second, with an early morning flight to another continent, a visit to a dairy farm and sightseeing at some spectacular mountain scenery, followed by yet another banquet from an obsequious host.
After dinner it was Eva’s duty to prepare the Velikaya Knyaghinya’s wardrobe for the next day. She was in the closet when Natalia and Col. Groenwald came into the bedroom. Proper behavior for a freilina would have been to announce her presence and leave the room. Instead, Eva buried herself more deeply in the closet. After all, she reasoned, it’s a spy’s job to eavesdrop.
“Now, what’s this about?” Natalia asked the colonel.
“I’m afraid I have the sad duty to report that your great-uncle, Tsar Vasiliy, is dead. As of this moment, you are now tsaritsa.” As he said that, he went down on one knee in homage.
There was a very long silence, well over a minute. Eva couldn’t see the girl’s face from where she was hiding—but she remembered the deep sadness she’d seen in those eyes when she first met her. How much sadder, and how much more fearful, would they be now?
When Natalia did speak, her voice was slightly shaky. “How did it happen?”
“Much as we always feared, Your High … Your Majesty. He passed quietly in his sleep. He never recovered.”
Eva could hear a rustle as the new tsaritsa sat down in a chair. “Has there been any public announcement?”
“I don’t know. I was notified quietly, but it will be impossible to keep this news secret for very long.”
“What’s our next step, then?”
“The Sovyet Knyazey will undoubtedly request we return to Earth immediately to ensure security. I’ve already got my aides making arrangements to fly us back to Languor City as soon as you’re ready.”
“Thank you, colonel. I’d like to be alone for just a few minutes, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course, Your Majesty,” he said, and Eva could hear the door close behind him.
She heard the young girl walk over and suddenly fling herself on the bed, and then began sobbing. Eva’s heart almost broke as she listened to Natalia’s sobs. She wanted nothing more than to run out of the closet and put her arms around the girl and comfort her. But she couldn’t do that. Natalia would be mortified to learn that some comparative stranger had witnessed her outburst, and Eva would have some uncomfortable questions to answer.
She was afraid she might be stuck in the closet a long time, but after ten minutes of hard crying Natalia sniffed back her tears and went into the adjoining bathroom to wash away all trace of her emotions. This gave Eva a chance to slip discreetly out of the room unnoticed.
Outside, everything was controlled chaos. The order to pack up had been given, and everyone was scrambling about wildly trying to decide what must be taken and what could be abandoned. Eva went directly to the rooms she shared with the other freiliny. As a performer with a traveling troupe she had packing down to a simple science, and was ready to go in just a couple of minutes. She offered to help the other ladies, but they shooed her away, so she went out to see what else she could do.
Just a few minutes later, Natalia called for her entourage to assemble so she could address them together. She appeared before them in black mourning clothes, which were always part of her wardrobe. Her bearing was rigid, her face composed; there was no trace of the crying teenager of just a few minutes earlier. This was what her entire life had been leading up to, and as much as a teenage girl could she looked every bit the tsaritsa.
“Some of you may have guessed by our rapid change of plans that something dramatic has happened. I’m sad to report that my great-uncle, Tsar Vasiliy, has died, and I am being called back to Earth to become tsaritsa. In what moments you can spare in the next hectic few hours, please say a prayer for the tsar’s soul, and another for the safety of the Empire during this period of sadness. I want to thank you all for the loyal service you have given me in the past, and I hope I can count on your continued excellent work in the troubled times that lie ahead. Da zdravstvuyet Imperiya!”
“Da zdravstvuyet Imperiya!” echoed the people in the room. A few people added on their own, “Da zdravstvuyet tsaritsa!” Natalia pretended not to hear that.
As the new tsaritsa started back to her room, Eva fell into step behind her. Natalia looked back quizzically, and Eva said, “I’m a very good packer, Your Majesty.” Natalia simply nodded and continued silently on.
They packed the tsaritsa’s room in silenced, Eva handling the clothes in a blur of efficiency and Natalia packing the jewelry, which the freiliny had never been allowed to touch. The young girl moved slowly and fastidiously, as though in a dream, showing not a trace of the emotions Eva knew must be boiling inside her.
In short order they were ready to depar
t. A fleet of huvvers had been summoned to whisk them the thousands of kilometers back to Languor Field and the waiting Argosy. Eva wasn’t in the tsaritsa’s huvver, but her thoughts were never far away from the young ruler’s side.
During the four-hour flight through the dark night they monitored the news from the ground. As they’d all expected, word of the tsar’s death was already spreading throughout the Empire—and as Eva, at least, had feared, news was filtering in about riots spreading right here on Languor. This was the trigger, she thought. Kuznyetz and his tovarishchi certainly wasted no time getting the game going. I wonder if they had a hand in the tsar’s death as well.
It was easy to spot Languor Field as they approached. Any major spaceport was well-lit at any hour, but this one was also circled by a ring of fires set by the rioters. The regular spaceport security force was being overwhelmed—and Graf Federico’s militsia were nowhere to be seen. Col. Groenwald was certain to have called for their assistance; the fact they weren’t here by now was an indictment of Federico’s complicity in the plot.
As their huvvers came down by the terminal, Eva could see the Argosy standing out on the field by itself, away from all other ships. She knew instantly what the real danger was, and knew she had to prevent it. As the passengers left the huvvers and poured rapidly into the terminal, she looked wildly around for Col. Groenwald to warn him of the danger.
All was chaos as people scrambled to get into the passenger tubes and handlers rushed to get all the baggage loaded. Eva spotted Col. Groenwald in the middle of the floor, trying to direct traffic and keep his men focused. She struggled through the crowd and eventually reached his side.
“Don’t put the tsaritsa on the ship!” she told him, having to yell to make herself heard above the crowd’s roar. “It’s a trap!”
Tsar Wars: Agents of ISIS, Book 1 Page 8
