Crown of Empire

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “When you talk sense, sir,” said Garring, and with a diffident shrug, reached forward and shoved Wiley down onto the hard surface of the platform. “You lie real still. You know how to do this. Use that breathing trick.” He lay across Wiley, resting on his elbows on the ground and training his weapon on the lifeboat.

  The rest of the Guard piled on, each of them taking a position that allowed them to shoot.

  Before all the Guard were in position, the Navy Logistics men were firing. The last two Guards on the protective pile were wounded before they could brace themselves.

  “Fire at will!” shouted Admiral Sclerida.

  Never in the most terrifying nightmares of his youth had Wiley imagined anything as horrendous as this. He lay under a mound of men and women. Bullets, slugs, pellets and beams hammered them, and they shrieked and jerked and shuddered and died, their blood and other things running down, stinking and hot.

  He thought he saw Garring’s hand, three of the fingers gone and the two remaining with grey matter clinging to them. Wiley was beyond weeping or raging. As his brave Guard were cut to pieces on top of him, he felt their weight on his soul.

  Without being aware of it, he lapsed into shock.

  Chapter 16

  “Which way?” Jessine asked Ver. She was driving now, allowing Ver to concentrate on the communications console.

  He had activated the holographic display and was busy searching for new information.

  “Take a right, Jessine.” He straightened up. “There. I thought so.”

  “Thought what?” she prompted. She was holding the aircar on course, but having trouble with the sluggish steering. It would take a while to get used to it, she told herself.

  “Admiral Sclerida has indeed come out of his cave. Look at that!” He indicated the destroyer drifting in miniature over the display. “He isn’t giving up easily, is he?”

  “Who isn’t?” demanded Jessine as she tried to catch a glimpse of the display while she drove.

  “Admiral Sclerida has left his fortress in a newly accepted destroyer, the Edward Teach. He’s heading for the Secretarial Palace, I think. He’s headed for the city, in any case.” He rubbed at the back of his neck, unwilling to admit he was growing tired.

  A light flashed on the driver’s instruments. “Something coming up behind. Aircar. One,” she added as the information was flashed to her. “Protectorate.”

  “Keep moving,” said Ver steadily, working with his console to change the holographic display.

  “But if—” she protested.

  “Keep moving. I’ll take care of things.” He was almost ready to bring in a new signal when the speakers of the aircar burst into life.

  “Aircar ahead. Aircar ahead. Pull over and hover. Pull over and hover.” A Protectorate beacon was flashing on the sides of their pursuer.

  “Reduce speed by half,” said Ver, and reached over to pull a small concealed lever.

  “What’s that?” Jessine asked, and then saw on her instrument panel that the Kona Tatsu flashes had been illuminated along with the emergency tabs.

  The aircar behind them veered off, putting considerable distance between themselves and Ver’s aircar. “Sorry, Kona Tatsu,” the speakers said for the retreating Protectorate officers.

  “Carry on,” Ver said to Jessine as he reached down and secured the lever.

  “Very nicely done,” said Jessine in approval as she increased their speed once more.

  On the display the razed buildings of Haiken Maru Central held Ver’s attention as he strove to discover how extensive the damage actually was.

  “Another Protectorate aircar coming,” said Jessine, and reached for the lever Ver had pulled. She maneuvered the heavy vehicle into a slow glide to permit the Protectorate aircar to read the identification, then resumed her speed and course.

  “Very good,” Ver told her.

  “Thank you,” she responded.

  “I like the way you do this.”

  The Haiken Maru ruin vanished from the display and a new one appeared, one where men in improvised uniforms stormed the Biological Substances Authority, halfway across the city from the Secretarial Palace. Most of them had little more than hand weapons and escape harnesses, but they went at the task with spirited determination, cheering when any one of their number made progress against the formidable bulk of the building.

  They went along in silence for several minutes, Jessine concentrating on driving, Ver on the holographs. Then she gathered up her courage and asked, “Damien? You don’t have to tell me, but I want to know. I really do want to know.”

  The tone of her voice alerted him. “Know what?” He watched her closely. “What is it, Jessine?”

  “Did you—the Kona Tatsu—kill Cowper?” Her question ended on a gasp, as if she expected anger from him.

  His answer was flat “No.”

  She took a deep breath. “Do you know who did?”

  “Yes.” He froze the hologram, suspending a Protectorate squad rounding up a load of truculent Marines. “Kitchley killed the High Secretary.”

  Jessine stared at him in shock. “What do you mean, Kitchley? That’s impossible.”

  “Keep your eyes on your instruments,” he advised. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know, but be careful with the aircar.” There was real concern in his voice and a sadness in his eyes that was almost as unexpected as his revelation.

  She nodded and returned her eyes to the screen and the instruments. “All right,” she said, amazed at how calm she sounded. “Why do you say it was Kitchley? He was the most loyal man—Daphnean—on the Palace staff.”

  “Precisely. But his loyalty was to the Pact, not to the Secretariat, or to Cowper Bouriere. Kitchley was worried about the Pact. He saw the High Secretary in danger, with the Pact slipping more and more into the hands of the Haiken Maru, and Admiral Sclerida trying for a military coup. No matter how many times he was warned, or who warned him, Bouriere refused to see the danger. He refused to take action against Sclerida, claiming it was unwarranted. The High Secretary was convinced it would diminish as time went on, that interfering would only force the issue.”

  “And it was working, wasn’t it?” Jessine asked, her voice a little desperate. She thought of the many occasions when Cowper had promoted that idea—leave well enough alone—to high-ranking visitors and off-planet delegations. He had said he did not want the Pact to look like an oppressor or a conquering army, but a reasonable coalition of dedicated peoples working together.

  “No. Kitchley was right. Admiral Sclerida was about to launch his coup. That is a fact and we can document it. And he had enough of the Treasury Guard on his side to have let him carry it off.” He paused as another update flashed on his console.

  The holographic display now showed a skirmisher headed for the Palace. There was a flicker and then a squad of Navy, Marines and Cernians piled out of a huge ground transport at the foot of one of the towers. All were armed and ready for action.

  “According to the latest reports, Tira is back at the Palace,” said Ver. “Interesting.”

  “What makes you say that Admiral Sclerida was about to launch a coup?” Jessine demanded.

  Ver gave her an amused and distant look; without his affection for her to soften his expression it would have been terrifying. “It’s the Kona Tatsu’s job to know such things. That’s what we do.”

  Jessine could not argue that. “All right. But I still don’t understand why Kitchley would kill Cowper.”

  “To prevent the coup. Without a major crisis to disrupt his plans, Admiral Sclerida would have moved to take over within the month. And Kitchley had his own ideas. He was going to hand over power to Admiral Merikur. He thought he could keep the bureaucracy running well enough then. He figured if he did that, he’d have some control over the Secretariat.” Ver frowned at the holographic display. “There are still too many armed assault boats in Logistics’ hands.” He studied the figures running on the display beneath the view of severa
l air fields overflown by Kona Tatsu reconnaissance satellites. As he watched, a dozen assault boats rose into the air, set in a diamond formation and headed off at high speed.

  Ver switched the communications bank on. “Check display feed. What ships are those and where are they going? I want an answer in two minutes. Contact by code.” He shut the bank off at once.

  “Why not leave it open?” Jessine asked.

  “I don’t want anyone homing on the signal. Right now only a few Kona Tatsu know where I am. I don’t want to change that.”

  “I just can’t believe that Kitchley would do something like . . . like kill the High Secretary.”

  “You may not believe it, but he did it,” said Ver bluntly. “He had created a strong position for himself in the bureaucracy and did not want to give it up. And he was aware of the dissatisfaction in the client planets. He wanted to change that, and thought that he could, given the chance. He was a patriot—he thought. He thought the bureaucracy could make everything right. He was wrong.”

  The holographic display suddenly changed and two tiny high-altitude platforms appeared there, engaging each other in heavy fire. The Logistics platform was firing plasma bolts and the Protectorate platform was using laser cannons. They were carving one another apart.

  Jessine glanced at Ver, then back at the controls. “Could the Kona Tatsu take over? Could you have staged a counter-coup against Sclerida?”

  He could not see the glitter of her eyes. “Probably, but it would have been very costly.”

  “And this is an easier way?” She kept her eyes straight ahead. “Marry the widow and you become High Secretary? Is that the plan?”

  “Marry the widow is, but not the rest,” he said carefully. “I have no wish to be High Secretary. None. I never did.” He paused. The two tiny platforms continued to lob destruction at each other. “I wouldn’t mind advising one; I’ll go that far. The Pact needs some serious reworking or it will come apart. I don’t want to stand by and watch it unravel if I can help stop it.”

  “Of course,” she said in patent disbelief.

  “Yes,” he insisted with such conviction that she began to believe him. “I am not qualified for the job and I don’t want it. But,” he added in a gentler voice, “I do want to marry the High Secretary’s widow.” Before she could think of something to say, he went on. “It wasn’t possible before, and I didn’t think about it. Now it is possible and it’s something I want, if you want me.”

  Jessine was flustered. “What do you expect me to say?” She mistimed a turn around an abandoned mining building and the aircar rocked as she steadied it.

  “I’m trying not to expect anything.” He smiled at her. “Think about it, though, will you, Jessine?”

  “Ver, this is Command Central. Ships in question are Navy and are under Protectorate supervision. Repeat, under Protectorate supervision. They have been dispatched to the Haiken Maru polar complex.”

  “Good enough. Thanks,” said Ver.

  They were over the city at last, and Jessine had to give her full attention to driving. She had the Kona Tatsu identification on once again. Try as she would she could not keep from thinking about everything Ver had said.

  “Reports are that there is still fighting at the Palace,” Ver informed her as his communications bank came to life again. “That could be a problem if we land inside the walls. We ought to consider—”

  “Why did you come after me, then, if you don’t want to be High Secretary?” she blurted out, surprising herself almost more than she surprised him.

  “Because I love you,” he said. “I couldn’t bear to see you killed. You are the one thing I’m not willing to lose.” With an effort he made himself more professional. “The Kona Tatsu men at Horizon Park were all . . . occupied. I couldn’t divert any of them to protect you.” He bit his lower lip.

  A little later, as they rushed above the chaos of the streets, Jessine said, “I love you too, Damien.” As she spoke the words she realized she had never told him before.

  “We’ve got company,” Ver said, his holographic display showing three Navy assault boats closing on them from sidestreets.

  “What do you want me to do?” Jessine asked, all business again.

  “Keep going. Make sure the shields are on full.” He coded in for more information but received very little.

  The communications bank relayed a message. “Admiral Sclerida has arrived at the Secretarial Palace. The Edward Teach makes direct attack inadvisable.”

  “I should think so,” said Ver, giving a critical look to the holographic representation of the formidable destroyer.

  “Then what should we do?” Jessine asked, for the Palace was dead ahead of them and they were coming up on the walls fast. “Land? What?”

  “Reduce speed,” said Ver, and looked toward the windows.

  The Edward Teach hung over the Palace like a baleful cloud, dark, enormous and threatening.

  “This could be difficult,” he said to Jessine as the aircar diminished its speed.

  From the sidestreets, the three Navy assault boats appeared, moving quickly to box them in.

  Jessine flashed the Kona Tatsu identification but the assault boats did not move off.

  “What’s this all about?” she asked of the air. “Damien—”

  Two short blasts of heavy fire cut across their bow.

  “What the—!” Jessine burst out, slowing the aircar still more.

  A third shot would have plowed into the nose of their craft but the shielding held while the vehicle bucked and slithered against the impact.

  Another shot was fired, this one a hypervelocity missile aimed directly at the power packs.

  “It’s not responding,” Jessine shouted to Ver.

  “We’re going down,” he said, and reached out for her hand.

  Chapter 17

  Tira was half-dressed as she sat on the end of the rumpled bed. She was reloading her Samtoepoe A7mark923 while Chaney toweled himself dry. “Tell me,” she said conversationally, “do you think any of us will make it through this?”

  “You mean the coup attempt?” He wrapped the towel around his waist and began to gather up his scattered clothes.

  “Yes. By this time tomorrow, are we going to be dead?” She satisfied herself that the pistol was ready to fire and put it back in her tattered reticule.

  “I hope not,” said Chaney seriously.

  She nodded. “But there’s still a chance it could happen, isn’t there?”

  He was about to dismiss her fears when there was a roaring explosion and the main door of the suite gave way. The sound of breaking glastic and falling debris silenced both of them.

  “Surrender! Come out with your hands empty and up!” shouted a rough voice from the entrance to the suite.

  Tira had pulled on a loose jacket and was fastening it. She glanced at Chaney and saw that he was tugging on his trousers.

  A second burst of fire, which seemed to be intended to demoralize more than harm, racketed through the suite.

  “Tira Bouriere! You are to surrender at once!” the rough voice commanded.

  Chaney frowned and shook his head. “Keep down,” he mouthed to Tira, and moved swiftly toward the door, keeping out of sight.

  “If you do not come out, we will open fire again!” the voice informed them.

  Tira pulled on her most rugged shoes, hunkering down on the floor to close them.

  Chaney gestured to her to move back from her position so that she would have the corner of the armoire for additional protection. He showed his most heartening smile and then inched nearer the door.

  “You are ordered to surrender immediately to Admiral Sclerida.”

  Both Chaney and Tira winced. They could hear Cousin Helga shriek in dismay.

  There was a rush of men in the outer room as they converged on the other bedroom.

  “Tira Bouriere, you are officially detained by Admiral Sclerida. If you do not surrender yourself at once, we will be forced to
open fire.” There was bravado in the rough voice now that he had found his quarry.

  Chaney scooted backward, keeping low to the floor. As he reached Tira, he said very quietly, “Is Cousin Helga going to be all right in there?”

  “The closet is shielded. If she gets inside they’ll need more than Kanovskys to get her out. And she knows enough to use the closet.” She patted her reticule and the Samtoepoe inside. “This could come in handy.”

  “My guns are out there,” Chaney said unhappily. “I don’t think I can reach them.”

  “Not to worry,” said Tira with false insouciance. “There are a few toys in here, under the floor of the armoire. There should be two Meinhausers, and they ought to be loaded.”

  The noise at Cousin Helga’s door redoubled as the Navy soldiers started to use the butts of their guns against it.

  “They’re heavier than your Samtoepoe,” said Chaney in approval as the pounding on the other bedroom door grew louder. “Why doesn’t it break?”

  “All the interior doors have monocrystalline boron mesh in them. It’ll be a while before they knock it down,” she said, rummaging at the bottom of the armoire for the release. As she swung back the hidden door, she added, “And there’s air packs, too. What do you think?”

  “Better safe than sorry,” Chaney said, reaching for the breathing unit before he grabbed the Meinhauser. “You better take the other. Save the Samtoepoe for a rainy day.” He put his hand to his ears. “Poor Cousin Helga.”

  “If she’s in the closet, she’s fine,” said Tira as she pulled out the Meinhauser and then the airpack. “We’d better get busy.”

  “You’re right,” said Chaney. “We’ve got one chance for surprise, and after that we’re going to need protection. So don’t get too far away from this door. Make sure you have cover. And don’t try to be heroic. This isn’t the time.”

  “Yes, sir, Lieutenant Chaney, sir.” She gave him a mock salute before she slipped on the breathing mask.

  He motioned her to keep low, then slid back toward the door. He indicated that Tira should stay behind him and aim for the backs of the Navy soldiers’ legs.