by Ben Bova
Glenney nodded, adding, "Volatile chemicals could have been secreted in a chambered version, with a tiny valve to intermix the chambers at the right time. The gold itself would have provided excellent shielding. This one, of course, is empty."
"Who were they, and what threat did they pose to the Planetary Council?"
"Uncertain at this time, Sire. However, there is a chance that this group, in itself, posed little or no threat to the Council whatever."
"Meaning?"
"Sire, I suspect they were part of a considerably larger, well-organized effort that felt my people were getting a little too close to uncovering them. I think they set this group up purposely, as decoys, hoping we'd assume they constituted the bulk of their threat and would curtail our investigation. I doubt these five were even aware they'd been set up."
The Emperor considered this last. "Whoever was behind them, sacrificed them."
"Yes, Sire."
" 'He who is willing to die for his cause thinks nothing of killing you for his cause.' Do you know who said that?"
"Sire?"
"A twentieth-century writer of plays." The Emperor shook his head at the irony. "What it means is that you are dealing with a group of people who will stop at nothing to achieve their goals. Remember that. Give the investigation of this group your highest priority."
Glenney nodded in agreement.
"Is your next report lengthy?" Glenney nodded again and the Emperor sighed tiredly. "Very well." He closed his eyes for the few moments it took for the images and information to flow into his mind.
The Emperor took a deep breath and straightened in his powerchair when the download had finished. "She has been extremely busy, has she not?" he finally asked.
"Yes, Sire," Glenney replied, visibly relieved that the Emperor had regained his strength. "Unfortunately we have been unable to determine the exact nature of her discussion with the Ambassador, or her motives in meeting with him, any more than we know why she chose to call on Dr. Montgarde a few hours ago."
The Emperor smiled and raised an eyebrow to the security agent. "The first should not be too difficult to guess: She is obviously looking for an alliance of some type between her House and the Sarpan, although to what end we can only guess—I trust that you will make finding the answer to that question another of your priorities. However, I agree with you that her motives for calling on the Doctor, at present, are unclear."
"I'm certain we could find out more by having her detained," Glenney suggested. "For a civilian, even one with a House as high-ranking as hers, to directly meet with an official representative of the Sarpan without the advance knowledge of the Court—"
"It is unnecessary to quote Imperial law to me," the Emperor snapped. Reaching up, he rubbed his temples with thin, fragile fingertips but made no attempt to apologize before continuing. "Do not detain her. Instead, keep her under a closer watch until you have a better idea as to her motives." He received an urgent, silent query from Brendan and immediately regretted letting the stress of the last several days get the better of him. He exhaled in a wheezing sigh and, even as the medical systems built into his chair started working at a higher rate, gave a silent command to admit his aide.
The door slid open, and the young medical technician walked briskly into the room, although he carefully avoided allowing his features to show anything that might signify undue alarm on his part for the Emperor's condition. Putting duty to the Emperor first, he addressed the aging ruler directly, completely oblivious to the fact that the security man who had jumped instantly to his feet upon his entrance was only now relaxing his defensive posture.
"Sire, your readings are at levels that cannot safely be sustained." He knelt at the Emperor's side and examined the readouts of the chair itself to confirm the information he'd obviously received moments earlier from his implants. Rising, he added respectfully, but firmly, "I must insist that this meeting be concluded or postponed."
The Emperor studied Brendan for a moment and determined that his concern was sincere, but that he was no longer overly worried—a quick check with the computer showed that the young man had mentally canceled the medical emergency code that had brought him to his private study in the first place.
He took another deep breath, then another, and began to feel his strength slowly returning as the efforts of the powerchair's systems became effective. "Perhaps you're right," the Emperor admitted. I am so tired.
"I'll wait in the anteroom." Brendan stepped politely back, reserving any further medical discussion until the Emperor had dismissed his guest, and left the room.
The Emperor returned his attention to the agent. "It is time, Marc, that my son be advised of your findings concerning his former wife. Please see to it that he receives the report I just reviewed, and that he is kept up to date on anything else you may uncover regarding her activities."
The man's eyes grew wide. "Sire?"
"Do not question me on this," he said. He narrowed his eyes and looked squarely at the man. "Thank you for your report." He lifted a hand to emphasize that the meeting had ended and started to pivot the chair around, but stopped when he realized that although the man was now on his feet, Glenney had made no move to leave the chamber.
"Sire…"
For a moment, the Emperor thought the man was about to ask him to reconsider his request to inform Javas, but Glenney's face—normally unreadable—told him otherwise. "Yes? There is something else?"
Glenney reached into a coat pocket and produced a data stick, rolling it nervously in his fingers as he spoke. "There is an addendum to my report," he began, the barest hint of apology in his voice, "concerning another of Mistress Valtane's meetings, that is not yet in the main system. Because of what it contains, I…" He hesitated and licked lips gone suddenly dry. "I wished to present it for your personal review before entering it into the main files." He placed the stick in the Emperor's outstretched hand, a look of relief plain on his features to be free of the thing.
The Emperor slipped the data stick into a matching slot in the arm of the powerchair and stiffened as the images flowed into his mind. He felt a wave of cold wash over him as he watched Rihana Valtane conversing in a private dining booth of one of Armelin City's finest restaurants. She had altered the color of her hair, and her clothing was entirely out of character, although the thin disguise was probably intended more to avoid unwanted public attention to herself than Imperial scrutiny. Her dinner companion, on the other hand, had made no attempt to alter his appearance. The visual quality of the surveillance report was clear enough to easily detect the amount of wine in their glasses, but the conversation between the two was inaudible. An audio blocker had obviously been used in the table's vicinity. He mentally speeded the download, noting the time, date and other particulars of the meeting.
"Their lips were visible through most of what I just saw," he said to Glenney. "Have you made an attempt to have a computer reconstruction made of their discussion?"
"No, Sire. As I said, I thought this was important enough to give to you before I did anything with it."
"Thank you for bringing this to me first." He turned the chair away from Glenney. "You are dismissed."
Glenney took a step forward. "Shall I enter this with the other file?"
"That won't be necessary," he lied. He used as much will-power as he could summon to control not only his bio-readouts but his emotions as well. "I've already done so."
The Emperor didn't bother to rotate the chair, but the sound of the door sliding shut, followed by a stillness returning to the room, confirmed that Glenney had gone. He dimmed the lights to a more comfortable level and looked at the bracelet, still in his hand, and marveled at the way it reflected even in the weak light. A phoenix, he mused. Life, rising from death. He waited, lost in thought. Less than a minute passed, however, before he heard the door slide open again. He didn't need to turn to identify the newcomer; other than Prince Javas, only his immediate medical aide could enter his study without th
e Emperor personally admitting him.
"Please have a seat, Brendan," he began, a lightness in his voice belying what he actually felt. He glided the chair around to face the aide finally, adding, "I gather you wish to reprimand me for repeatedly ignoring your medical orders of late."
The man raised an eyebrow and smiled, as he always did when reminding the Emperor of his medical needs. "It appears that my reprimands are taken too lightly, sometimes. However, I trust that once this business of the Hundred Worlds Council is concluded this afternoon you'll finally be willing to accept the medical order I gave you when we arrived, and the one you've ignored the longest: Rest after a long voyage."
The Emperor allowed a smile to form on his lips for the first time since Glenney had come to see him. "Perhaps so. Perhaps so." He stared into the young man's eyes and concentrated, giving a complicated command that caused the study's viewscreen to spring to life, replaying the visual portion of Glenney's report on the data stick still inserted into the chair arm.
Brendan's face drained of all color as he watched the replay, saw clearly Rihana Valtane talking to him at the restaurant. His eyes darted from the Emperor to the screen, then back again several times. He watched himself fidgeting in the replayed scene, and he saw that he had glanced around several times in fear that he'd be spotted talking to her. He began shaking as he watched, sweat rolled down his brow and his body quivered in spasms even though he sat rigidly upright in the chair.
The bright images cast a flickering reflection on Brendan's face and white tunic in the dimmed room, adding a grotesque enhancement to his obvious fear and discomfort. The Emperor took no pleasure in it.
The replay stopped as abruptly as it had begun, and the lights slowly increased in intensity. Except for the sound of Brendan's rapid breathing, and the minute rustling of the man's clothes as he shook visibly under the Emperor's gaze, the room was silent. The Emperor remained where he was and regarded his aide steadily, saying nothing, asking nothing of him. He carefully, continuously monitored the aide's readouts, despite the drain the effort caused him, and waited.
"There is a debt between our Houses," Brendan offered at last, his voice trembling. "She… A representative of her House called on me, insisted that I meet with her. I couldn't refuse."
"We know." The Emperor lowered his voice to a whisper. "What did she want?"
Brendan tried to reply, but each time he opened his mouth to speak he reconsidered what he was about to say and attempted to start over. His brow furrowed in puzzlement and his words came in sobs when he finally got control of himself enough to form a coherent answer. "I don't know! She… I…" He sat upright once more, averting the Emperor's gaze, and tried desperately to regain his composure.
You're telling me the truth, he thought as he monitored several vital telltales in Brendan's readouts. The Emperor steepled his hands before him and waited for Brendan to continue.
"I… I had made up my mind, long before I was to meet with her, to refuse whatever request she made. The debt between Houses is centuries old, and I intended to deny it." He looked up again, his face flush with a mixture of shame and confusion. "I made an oath of loyalty to you, Sire, and have lived by that oath. I intended to invalidate the debt, but she made no request!"
"Think carefully," the Emperor said. He spoke slowly, keeping his words firm, but at the same time letting the controlled power of his voice encourage the distraught young man to speak freely. "What did she say? What did you discuss?"
"Nothing of consequence, Sire, I swear!" His breathing had slowed, and he spoke more calmly now, but he shook his head in frustration as he searched his memory. "It seemed almost, for lack of a better description, like a… a family reunion. She asked only about my welfare: Were my duties demanding? Did I need anything? Had the change in location of the Imperial Court put a greater burden on me? Things of that sort."
The Emperor listened as he described their conversation, then nodded in understanding when Brendan had finished. He leaned on an elbow, absently pulling at his thinning white beard as he considered the implications of what he'd heard.
"You were used," he said flatly. "Your talk, her questions, seemed innocent enough; and on the surface, I suppose, they were. But I'm just as convinced that her people observed you constantly."
"Sire, I don't—"
"Your every word, your every action and mannerism, was analyzed as you spoke; probably by the very people who advised her what carefully rehearsed questions to ask of you. She wanted information, Brendan. On how close you are to me. On the current state of my health. On anything to do with my relationship with you or anyone else with whom I interact. And you unknowingly gave it to them."
Brendan sat wide-eyed, his mouth slightly open in shock at the revelation.
The Emperor sighed and shook his head slowly. "The fault was not yours, it was mine." It was mine, he repeated silently, for underestimating the bitch.
Brendan sank into the chair, overwhelmed with remorse. "Sire, I deeply regret my role in this…" Gone was the light banter the Emperor had enjoyed; gone was the assured way the young man had handled his duties these many years while at the same time allowing the Emperor to retain his dignity. Gone, too, was that which the Emperor would miss most: the closeness he'd been able to share with a person who had become more of a companion than a subject.
"This can be remedied," the Emperor said, shaking Brendan from his depression. "But it will require a sacrifice on your part."
"Anything, Sire!" His face beamed with the thought that he still might serve his ruler.
The Emperor watched the change in the man's demeanor at the thought of somehow making amends. "I shall not ask for your agreement in this, for I have already made my decision as to your part in it. Before this day is out you will become the center of Imperial attention; you will be asked many questions by many people." He watched Brendan's reaction, weighed it against the look of puzzlement and foreboding in his eyes. "Say nothing of this discussion. Nothing. Do you understand?"
The young man nodded slowly, uncertainly.
"Say nothing," he repeated. "Answer none of their questions."
"Yes, Sire." Brendan's head hung nearly to his chest, his voice catching in his throat as he added: "I understand, but… I am not sure I understand why."
The Emperor glided the powerchair close enough to Brendan that he could have touched him, and held out the bracelet, its shiny surface catching the light almost hypnotically. "Take this," he said. "Its purpose will be explained later." The medical aide obediently slipped the bracelet into a pocket. "Tell me: Would you give up your life for your Emperor?"
The man's eyes widened, but he didn't hesitate in answering. "Yes, Sire. I swore an oath to serve you when I agreed to the implants before leaving Corinth. I would not take back that oath now."
"That is good," the Emperor replied, his voice at once kindly and foreboding. "That is good. Because when this day ends, your life will truly be over."
He glanced at the data stick in its slot and issued a silent one-word command:
Erase.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Prince Javas stood, alone for the moment, at one side of the stage. Everyone else—Imperial staff, aides, ranking members of the Court, and those taking part in the presentation itself—buzzed incessantly all around him.
At the opposite side of the cavernous area were several groups of people. He easily recognized Bomeer and his retinue, and even in the dim lighting could plainly detect the scowl on the man's face. Nearby, Supreme Commander Fain gave last-minute orders to some of his people. By one of the rear entrances, Adela stood with the members of her lab team. As he watched, each of the scientists spoke to her briefly, shaking her hand or giving her a quick hug, before she turned and passed through the security check. He realized the necessity of the security efforts, of course, but still felt uneasy watching her being subjected to them and looked away. He caught sight of Glenney, walking vigilantly among them all, glancing first here, then
there, apparently satisfied mat his security measures were in place. A wave of nervousness swept over him.
Only an hour earlier he had felt excited, anxious, and had enjoyed the rush of last-minute anticipation that the years of groundwork for his father's project were at last to be replaced by the actual work of the project itself. But the mood of several key people around him—as well as the constant, impatient murmuring of the representatives of the Hundred Worlds Planetary Council filling the auditorium—had affected him greatly in these last moments before the presentation. The raw edge of anxiety in the air had infected him, for the worse, and now he felt simple, common nervousness.
He didn't like the feeling.
The backstage area of the auditorium was enormous, nearly as large as the seating area itself, and Javas felt dwarfed by the massive velvet curtains, open now while last-minute details were being attended to. He stared above him at the flies, noting that Glenney's handpicked men remained at their positions in the catwalks among the hoisted and secured pieces of scenery and theater lighting equipment. He smiled at the intricacies of what went on backstage, things normally invisible to a theater patron but nonetheless essential to a smooth production. Just like life, he mused.
Javas stepped around the curtain and glanced at the front of the stage, as he had nearly a hundred times already, and confirmed once more that the shielding was in place at the edge of the proscenium. It would remain, until the start of the proceedings, on an opaque setting. The crowd that shifted in anticipation on the other side of the shield could not see the dimly lighted stage area behind it, but the bright lighting in the house itself enabled Javas to see occasional movement of the audience on the other side. The silhouette of a dozen armed Imperial guards just on the other side of the shielding, their backs to him as they scanned the crowd, did little to ease his tension just now.
