Crown of Empire

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  The shouting continued. He put his head in his hands. Why was all this happening? Because he had been born the son of the High Secretary. It suddenly occurred to him that it wouldn’t matter if it were someone else, if he were a different person—as long as he wore the body of the son of the High Secretary, he would be a target. Nothing personal.

  And suddenly, all the lack of personal involvement struck him. There was nothing personal about this attack, or about his life. He hung with Dov Sclerida and that crowd, or they with him, really, because he was the High Secretary’s son, not because he was a person. No girl had ever taken an interest in him, only in the heir to the Secretariat. Nothing he had ever done, or which had been done for him, no conversation, nothing of his life had any meaning or value outside of his existence as the High Secretary’s heir.

  “Splendid,” he said to himself. “I don’t even want the damned chair.”

  But he did want some kind of life, so he’d better get moving before someone came to get him. Once again he raised his head slowly out of the tank.

  And once again gunfire ripped through the air around him. This time, though, there was answering fire. He turned to see an open patrol car, carrying a pair of Cernians, rake light cannon fire across the warehouse doorway. The humans fell, Lomax included, and the aircar slid inside the warehouse. Wiley watched as the two guards jumped out of the aircar and started to cross to his tank. Clearly, they intended to rescue what they thought was a Cernian comrade. He heard their shouts of anger as they surveyed the carnage—dead Cernians everywhere.

  “Betrayal!” he heard them howl, before the last remnants of the gas caught them and rendered them mute.

  Wiley looked around. His tank was dead. The only options he had were to walk—not an appealing choice—or to go back into the warehouse and take the patrol car. Shuddering, he climbed out of the tank and ran for the service ladder.

  When he re-entered the loading bay, the sight made his stomach turn. All this, because the High Secretary had an heir. And because he was that heir, he had to endure, to see it, to know it was for him. Swallowing hard, he turned away and took the patrol car.

  Speeding around the complex, he looked for the seam, barely visible, where the two screens of the e-mag shield met. Passing it, he zipped around another quarter of the shield. There, halfway between the seams, should be a generator. He hoped it wasn’t buried too deeply. He opened fire with half of the patrol car’s arsenal. After a few seconds, there was the sound of shattering syncrete and sparks jumped from his target area. Then the shield flickered and went down. Wiley turned and sped away.

  Chapter 13

  Ver gave Jessine one quick fierce kiss before pushing her toward the co-pilot’s seat. Taking the pilot’s seat himself, he pulled the aircar out of its hover.

  “How are you?” he demanded. “Injuries?”

  Jessine shook her head, dazed by the sudden sense of safety. “Bruises. Nothing broken, I think. How did you find me? How goes the—war?” she asked.

  Ver took one hand from the controls to lift Jessine’s cameo on a fingertip. “There’s a tracer in this,” he said, his eyes on his flying.

  “But what if I hadn’t worn it today!” Jessine gasped.

  The Kona Tatsu chief shrugged. “If you hadn’t worn the gift I’d asked you always to wear . . .” he said without emotion. “That would have been your decision, wouldn’t it?”

  Jessine realized then, as she had never fully appreciated before, that while Damien Ver wasn’t as cold as others thought him, her lover was as implacable as lava welling from the heart of a volcano. His will was a force of nature.

  “As for the ‘war,’ ” he continued mildly, “it won’t get that far. In fact, the situation is under control and very close to over.” He pushed the aircar higher. Jessine thought its response was sluggish.

  She raised an eyebrow. “The Navy is attacking an alien rights group in a high official’s residence, the Palace is under attack by Cernians, the High Secretary is dead, and the situation is under control?”

  “It’s not the Navy, it’s only Logistics branch under Sclerida and Logistics is being overcome. The Cernians in the Palace are dead, and . . . well, we still don’t know precisely where the heir is. But, yes, the situation is under control.

  “We do know that the Haiken Maru are out of the game. There was an explosion and the shield went down at their main complex and we were able to clean up there.”

  The tracking screen bleeped. Jessine looked over to see four dots appear, indicating ships in pursuit. An instant later, the screen had identified the pursuers as Haiken Maru.

  “Damien,” she said, gesturing at the screen. “Has anyone told the Haiken Maru that they’re out of the game?”

  Ver glanced at the screen. “Fools. They’ve got to know they’ve lost. Their primary puppet is dead and ninety-six percent of their top staff are under arrest.”

  “Ninety-six percent?” Jessine wasn’t sure if she was shocked or not.

  Ver nodded. “We’ll get the others. It’s just a matter of time.”

  Jessine nodded, watching the blips on the screen. They were definitely in pursuit, and gaining. “Who killed Lomax?”

  “Unclear as yet. There were a lot of messily dead Cernians on the scene. Maybe their contract expired. In any case, that’s one faction down. Sclerida’s men have lost a number of battles to loyal Naval forces. He’s not going to win.”

  The blips for the four aircars behind them kept growing closer on the rear screen. She indicated their pursuers. “I thought you said that things are under control.”

  “I did,” he said. “And they are.”

  “Uh-huh,” said Jessine with a significant glance toward the rear.

  “I meant it,” Ver said with determination. “But the matter isn’t ended yet, and there might be a few more difficulties before this is over.”

  “A few more difficulties like being shot out of the sky,” she said bluntly.

  “That would be one,” he agreed. “And I don’t want that to happen.” He saw the communications scanner come alight and he studied the jumble displayed there, his AID automatically translating the code. “Until a few hours ago, very few people knew what was actually going on. There’s been an emergency block on news, and the military reports are often misleading. Our biggest trouble is confusion. I’ve been relying on the Kona Tatsu agents in the military services to help rectify this.”

  “And support the Kona Tatsu position,” said Jessine.

  “Naturally; that’s their job,” said Ver without apology. He shoved a lever to increase the strength of their shields.

  Two seconds later a pair of missiles swept by, deflected just in time. Two seconds after that the warheads burst in Horizon Park, setting a stretch of conifer forest ablaze. Ver banked the aircar toward one of the small support villages at the edge of Horizon Park. “I’m scanning these places for Rainbow Dawn transmitters. They’re going to need to be isolated.”

  Jessine could not keep from shuddering. “Rainbow Dawn,” she repeated.

  “Kitchley got away with it for several years, but once they became really active, he should have known we’d find him out.” He dropped a little lower over the village, watching the display on the right side of the control panel. “Using his own estate was a foolish thing to do. He should have realized that would give him away.”

  “Kitchley?” Jessine said indignantly. “He was never their leader. Kitchley was killed by Rainbow Dawn. I saw them do it. The one in charge is Ereley. He told me about what they were trying to do.” She felt a twinge of grief for her Daphnean friend who had been so loyal to her, and had been murdered for his loyalty.

  “What are you saying?” Ver demanded as he checked the screens in front of him. “It wasn’t Kitchley? You mean he was set up?”

  “Yes,” said Jessine. “Absolutely. He was the Rainbow Dawn sacrificial goat. If they get any power in a few months they’ll probably convey an official martyrdom on Kitchley. Ereley is .
. . or was the head. He’s made arrangements with Governor Windsor and Anson Merikur to change the government, with Rainbow Dawn providing the support.”

  “Instead of the Kona Tatsu?” Ver asked with a wicked chuckle.

  “Instead of Haiken Maru, I suspect,” she corrected him, stretching as much as the harness would allow to try to ease the hurt in her muscles. She was going to need a long massage and half a dozen therapy baths before she would be free of the ache.

  Ver nodded. “Or a combination of the two. For all their claims of equality, it’s apparent that Rainbow Dawn has several classes of equality in their reform schemes.” He swung the aircar to port, feeling it wallow as it responded.

  “Is this vehicle going to make it?” Jessine asked.

  “I think so,” he answered cautiously. “It will get us back to the Secretarial Palace.”

  She blanched. “Why would we want to go back there?”

  “Because that’s where we have the command bunkers and where the most communication equipment is. Right now communication is the most important weapon we possess. That’s why we’re winning and the others are losing.”

  “Including Admiral Sclerida?” Jessine inquired with false sweetness.

  “Jessine, I’ve said so. If we can keep his forces in confusion, he will continue to lose.” He leveled off again, and checked the proximity of their pursuers. “That’s the focus of what the Kona Tatsu is doing with the Navy right now.”

  “But he might still pull it off,” said Jessine.

  “He might,” Ver allowed. “If he is able to capture and keep either you or Tira. If either of you were forced to marry him, or Tira was forced to marry Dov, his claim to the succession would be upheld.” He frowned at the latest coded display. “Scratch that last option,” he said as his implant translated the latest information.

  “What is it?” Jessine asked.

  “We’ve just found the wreckage of a Logistics vessel in the city. It’s full of dead Navy personnel and Dov Sclerida.” He watched the display. “We have genescan confirmation. Dov Sclerida is dead.” He shook his head. “Poor kid. He didn’t deserve—”

  “He didn’t deserve any of his life. Admiral Sclerida only wanted lads so he’d have pawns for the game,” Jessine said cynically. “I remember one got away from him.”

  “The Chaney lad. His mother saw to that, sensible woman that she was,” said Ver with evident approval. “I’ve never met him, but his files are very satisfactory.”

  He tried another maneuver, straining the ship’s power to the maximum.

  “It isn’t over yet, though?” remarked Jessine. The four dots were closing more rapidly.

  “Not yet,” he said. “But it’s closer to being over than most people know. The Haiken Maru is out of the game permanently. Logistics has two moves until checkmate.”

  “But those two moves could change things. If Sclerida captures either Tira or me.” She shivered suddenly.

  “Captures and keeps. From what I’ve seen yesterday and today, that’s not easy to do.” His smile was warm, suffused with pride for her. “You’re not the ornament Sclerida thinks you are.”

  “He thinks all women are ornaments,” said Jessine contemptuously.

  “And half the boys in the world as well,” added Ver. He stared at the next coded information. “No sign of Tira yet. None of the Kona Tatsu in Logistics cover have heard anything about her. There was a rumor she was at Sclerida’s residence, but that’s—”

  “Absurd,” said Jessine. “How would she get there and if she did get there, how could Sclerida not announce it?”

  “Exactly. And there’s an unsubstantiated report that Admiral Sclerida has left there himself, which I doubt he would do if he had Tira.” He looked at the side screens and cursed.

  “We’re being boxed in,” said Jessine.

  “It’s insane, doing this,” said Ver, adding under his breath, “There’s no point in Haiken Maru trying something this foolish now.”

  Over their hailer came clipped instructions to hover and leave the aircar, with the assurances they would not be harmed if they obeyed promptly.

  “They’re going to regret this,” said Ver as he slowed his aircar while he looked for a clear space to set down.

  “Oh, don’t,” said Jessine, at last disheartened and weary. “Let’s get it over with.”

  “This really is for the best, darling,” said Ver.

  He informed the four Haiken Maru cars of the site he had selected. “There’s enough room for you to land, two on either side,” he added through gritted teeth.

  “Acceptable,” came the response.

  “You’d better land. We’ll have to hover; there’s some trouble with the drive fans or stabilizers. Something isn’t right with the gyroscopes.” He paused

  “We saw you were having trouble,” said one of the leaders.

  “Tough luck.”

  The four Haiken Maru aircars touched down, two on either side of Ver’s aircar.

  “Fortunes of war,” said Ver; and turned to Jessine. “I’m going to lower the equipment ramp. Make sure you raise your hands when you go down it.”

  “Can’t we self-destruct?” she asked, trying to laugh but unable to hide her serious intent.

  “Stand here, and I’ll set the scanner to show them we’re surrendering.” He activated the hailer. “We’ll be coming out with hands raised. There is an electronic record now of our surrender, here and at Kona Tatsu command.” He winked at her, and added softly. “Now they can’t claim any resistance or accidental injury.”

  “If you say so,” she told him listlessly.

  “Don’t worry, Jessine,” he said seriously. “It’s going to be all right.”

  “Oh, yes. I’ll be forced to marry Admiral Sclerida or Governor Merikur and you’ll be banished or killed. It couldn’t be better.” She raised her hand once, then lowered it. “We might as well get this over with.”

  “Yes,” he said.

  They started toward the loading ramp, Jessine behind Ver. To her the open hatch loomed like the grave.

  Then it seemed Ver tripped; at least he stumbled a little and reached out to one of the seats to steady himself.

  There was a sudden rush. Ver turned at once and flung himself on Jessine throwing her backward and covering her with his body.

  The air around them rocked and thrummed and all four of the Haiken Maru aircars flew to bits in a welter of spectacular flames. The disintegrated bits spattered against the hull of Ver’s aircar; the rest was vaporized and vanished in a broad wash of chemical brilliance.

  Ver propped himself on his elbows and beamed at her as he smoothed the splendid tangle of hair back from her face. “Short-range missiles,” he said. “I installed two of them where the auxiliary drive fans usually are. Just in case.”

  Chapter 14

  In the living room of Tira’s suite, the floor was still unswept and the furniture in ruins, but between Cousin Helga and Tira, Tira’s bedroom was now reasonably neat. The bed was made and Cousin Helga was setting about the tedious task of finding out how much of Tira’s wardrobe was still useable.

  Chaney had elected to stay in the rubble of the living room and repair the communications panel. If he was lucky, his AID would be able to ferret out some information on the overall situation. “But I haven’t been able to break into Naval Logistics records,” he admitted to Tira.

  “Maybe they’ve dumped all the information,” said Tira. She and Helga were starting in on the mess that was the living room. “If they have, then—”

  “Oh, they haven’t,” said Chaney with certainty. “They’ve squirreled it away somewhere, in triple-locked and twice-blind files. But not all of the Navy files are gone. Only Logistics. Sclerida doesn’t have every card,” he concluded with satisfaction. He punched up an action report.

  Looking over his shoulder at the dancing holograms, Tira raised an eyebrow. The quality of the images was dreadful and the action was jerky and skittering, people moving about t
he display as if escaping from a battalion of holographic fleas.

  Cousin Helga was wrestling with the end of one of the long, bargelike sofas that had been mangled when Tira’s apartments were invaded. Everything began to grow dim in the fading afternoon light. She looked over her shoulder at Tira, sighing. “I wish I could find a better way to do this. But it wouldn’t be correct to ask the staff to do it—if there are any left in the building—and it wouldn’t be wise to use servobots, because their activities would register on various of the Palace terminals and that might lead to our discovery in a way we would not quite like. Still—” She pushed with all the weight of her slight form against the sofa; it failed to budge.

  “We could burn it up,” Tira suggested, considering the sofa.

  “And the emergency services would come,” said Cousin Helga. “And who knows who they would report to, or what they would say.”

  “A problem,” Tira agreed. She stretched and tossed her head.

  “If I weren’t so tired, I’d think better. Tira, darling, I’m tired, too. I think I’ll just pop into my room and try to compose myself,” said Helga. Tira nodded distractedly, then slapped her forehead. “What have I been thinking of?” she asked the air and hurried back to Chaney. “Have you tried to tap into the emergency services communications? We might get a better picture of—”

  “Who is where,” Chaney finished for her. “And it would tell them we’re here. You know that locator technique they use, don’t you?”

  “But if there are a lot of calls, we might have a long time before we have to hide or switch off or . . . whatever we’d have to do,” she ended lamely.

  “Don’t tell me. I realize that they could find us easily, and they would know we’ve been here. Either they’d think it was looters, in which case they’d lock us in a Security holding cell, or they’d think I’d come back, in which case they’d put us in a Navy holding cell.” Her hands slapped against her thighs, sending two small clouds of dust into the air.