by Rhonda Mason
“Sir,” Malkor finally said, nodding in deference to his rank.
Parrel motioned for him to sit. “Nice work this morning, Agent Rua, with Triumph and Victory. I read a summary of the transcript. No idea how you managed a full reconciliation between those two, but then, you always were my best.”
Were. Past tense.
Now he was an IDC agent who had used the power of the organization for his own ends. He had betrayed his commander’s trust and damaged the integrity of an organization they both proudly served. And worst of all, Parrel knew it. Knew it, and had yet to do anything about it.
“Thank you, sir.” He settled stiffly into a chair.
“I’m glad you asked for a meeting—we need to talk about your new octet member.”
“Excuse me?”
Parrel’s neutral expression gave nothing away. “You’re down a team member since Agent Nuagyn’s betrayal.” Janeen—Agent Nuagyn—was responsible for Isonde’s current near-death state and the kidnapping of Kayla’s youngest brother. To say she betrayed him was putting it mildly. “I’m putting together a list of candidates.”
“I don’t feel that we need another team member at this time.” Malkor couldn’t possibly risk the agents in his octet by bringing a stranger on board. They were all embroiled in the schemes over the Game, data lifted from Dolan’s complink, Kayla’s true identity… he couldn’t trust anyone else. Not now that he knew Dolan had a network of corrupt IDC agents and officers running a shadow organization within the IDC.
It was hard enough trusting Parrel, who could still ruin him if he chose to.
Parrel arched a brow. “You don’t feel that a seven-person octet needs an eighth? Is that because you want to continue running your octet as your own little autonomous band of agents?” Malkor winced inwardly as the words hit home. “A new agent, someone not on board with your plans, might throw a spanner in the drive, hmm?”
Precisely. How did one explain that without sounding like he’d gone rogue?
“With what we’ve learned about divisions within the IDC,” Malkor said, “I don’t rightly feel I could trust another agent at this time.” As far as question-dodging went, it was at least truthful. “You had been compiling your own evidence on a secret cabal even before we secured Dolan’s files linking his activity to several IDC agents and members of the imperial army. Who knows how deep the corruption runs?”
If Janeen, whom he’d trusted implicitly, could betray them, who else would?
“There are still agents and commanders I trust,” Parrel said. Malkor shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Did he only imagine the rebuke in Parrel’s tone? “Quit squirming, Rua, of course I mean you.” Malkor would have felt better if he hadn’t added, “To a point.”
“Thank you, sir.” It was probably more than he deserved. Suddenly the need to explain, to defend his actions, rose. “About the Game…” About the Game, what? I’m sorry I did it? Not likely. I’d do it again tomorrow? Probably. It was the right thing to do? How could he be sure, after all that had happened?
“Do you think I don’t get it?” Parrel asked. “From day one I’ve known you’d make a great IDC agent. You had it in your eyes, that dedication, that driving need to do what was best not only for the empire itself, but its people. You have that look in your eyes still. I don’t agree with your actions, but I can’t disagree with your motives.
“You were not the only one—and certainly not the only IDC agent—trying to affect the outcome of the Game. You were only the best at it.”
“Will you turn me in?” Malkor finally asked straight out. Tension over Malkor’s choices had lurked between them these last few weeks, unaddressed.
Parrel snorted. “Don’t be an idiot. More harm than good would come of revealing Isonde’s treachery and the IDC’s role in it at this point.” He shook his head. “I hope she’s as good as you think she is, because we’re stuck with her.”
Not exactly a ringing endorsement. And while the news gave Malkor some relief, he wondered if Parrel had other reasons for keeping the Empress Game deception a secret. He certainly had Malkor solidly in his pocket, now.
Stars. When had he become so distrustful?
“Time to make the most of this political situation you’ve gotten us into,” Parrel said. “Do you have influence over her?”
Parrel knew Isonde was still paralyzed—he’d been instrumental in “coaxing” the formula for the possible cure out of Janeen—so he could only mean Kayla.
For a second Malkor couldn’t answer. Did he have any influence over Kayla? Or was she one starship short of doing exactly what she wanted: leaving him and this whole mess behind to search for her brothers?
“She and I have similar goals,” he finally said. No matter what else, they were united by their desire to free Ordoch from imperial occupation. That much he could count on.
Parrel snorted again. “What about Isonde? Once she recovers, can you influence her?”
No one influenced Isonde. You either agreed and rode her bow wake, or disagreed and got trapped in the undertow. “That’s slightly less certain.”
It was a surreal moment, discussing whether or not they could influence someone on the Council of Seven. Parrel would never have considered such an action previously. Then again, they’d never been in this situation before.
“Once she recovers,” Malkor said. When she recovers. She has to. “You’ll find Isonde’s policies in line with our own interests. She’ll be a strong ally in our fight to rid the IDC of corruption, and we couldn’t ask for a better champion regarding the withdrawal of the imperial army from Wyrd Space.”
Parrel raised a brow. “I never said that we should withdraw from Ordoch.”
Malkor met his gaze steadily, on sure footing now. “No, sir, you never said it.” He waited him out. It was another moment or two before Parrel nodded to concede the point.
“I’ve actually come about a more immediate matter,” Malkor said.
“Something more immediate than the current TNV hysteria, the political reorganization brought on by the Game, and the Protectorate Planets taking advantage of both to start their own war?”
When put like that… “It’s on something of a shorter timetable.”
“Spit it out, Rua, I’ve got zero patience for mysteries.” Parrel drummed his fingers on the desktop, rattling the pile of datapads waiting for his attention.
Malkor told him about Bredard, the blackmail and the one-week deadline—now short one day.
“Damnit, Rua! You’re more trouble than three of Hanson’s octets combined.”
Which was generous, considering the bomb Malkor was about to drop on him. “He wants Dolan’s data.”
Parrel’s frown conveyed his answer even before he spoke. “The personnel files Dolan had on the corrupt agents? He can’t have it. That’s internal IDC business.” He wasn’t likely to budge on that, either. Parrel loved the IDC and believed too strongly in the good the IDC could do to reveal the corruption within its ranks to the public. “He’d ruin us with it.”
“Not to mention the councilors, imperial military personnel and aides that Dolan had under his thumb. Bredard could bring down a large section of the empire’s elite with that data.”
“Anything else you haven’t told me? Did your octet gather any other data in the raid on Dolan’s facility, something I need to worry about?”
“No sir,” Malkor lied. Information on the mind-control experiments and the Influencer was too dangerous. Malkor couldn’t trust the information to anyone else, not even Parrel.
His commander stared at him, a stare that had broken many an agent over the years. The waiting, the patience… Malkor kept his peace—barely.
Parrel finally pushed back from the desk, his chair groaning from the strain on its joints. “So let’s talk plans.”
They spent the next half hour debating how to gain leverage on Bredard. If he was in on Dolan’s schemes, then he was high enough in the new power structure Dolan had been building
to have some influence. Still low enough, however, to be sent like a thug to threaten Kayla for the information. The person pulling the strings wouldn’t have gone themselves. That meant Bredard had a handler, someone in a greater position of power, someone with more to lose. Find a way to pressure that person and they’d bring Bredard to heel.
A lull hit. Their plans to stymie Bredard were getting nowhere. Parrel drew breath, then hesitated, debating something. Something big, if Malkor’s stalwart commander wavered over sharing it.
Malkor wasn’t sure he wanted to hear it.
“Senior Commander Jersain Vega is dirty,” Parrel said. Regret flashed across his face. “That’s who Agent Nuagyn compiled reports for.”
Holy shit.
“You’re certain?”
“Would I have said something, otherwise?”
What a disaster. Senior Commander Vega outranked Parrel, despite being younger. In the constellation of IDC power-players she ranked near the top, a few promotions short of leading the whole show. With the influence she already wielded…
“Shit.”
“Exactly.”
It had to hurt. Parrel had trained Vega when she became a commander. They’d worked side by side for years.
“Do you think Bredard’s reporting directly to her?” Malkor asked.
“Not sure. That’s where Dolan’s blackmail personnel files come in.”
“I haven’t had more than a second to glance at those,” Malkor said. He had too many other crises to deal with.
“Why don’t you leave that to me? I have a trio of junior agents I’ve trained myself that I trust. They’ve been combing through the files and sending me briefs.” Parrel flicked a finger in the direction of the stack of datapads.
Malkor arched a brow at the mention of junior agents. “Anyone I know?”
“Nah, fresh blood.” He waved a hand, closing discussion on that topic.
If Parrel vouched for them, Malkor would trust them. “I’ll go through what I have of Janeen’s files, the ones she’d been preparing for Senior Commander Vega. If Bredard’s handler is an IDC agent, Janeen might have something on them.” Malkor stood to leave, feeling more in control of the situation than he had since Kayla had been attacked. “If it turns out we’re looking for a councilor, I’ll bring in, uh, ‘Isonde’s’ help.”
Parrel’s gaze narrowed at the name. “Your involvement with her schemes had better be over now that she’s won the Game, Rua. You’re still an IDC senior agent—see that you remember that.”
* * *
Across town, the hover car carrying Kayla to the Sovereign Council seat sank to the curb directly in front of the sprawling front steps of the building. A crowd awaited them, and she noticed with unease that the number of people waiting outside had multiplied since yesterday.
Media, fans, and politicos met her everywhere she went as Isonde. Isonde was powerful in her own right as the Princess of Piran and one of the councilors representing Piran on the Sovereign Council. Even more so now, as the soon-to-be Empress-Apparent. It was also no surprise to have people gathered at the council seat during an emergency council session. Today’s crowd had a mobbish feel to it, though, that put her on edge. There was a frantic energy, and for once she was thankful not to be the one on bodyguard duty.
Fear of the TNV was evident everywhere, as many in the crowd wore filtration masks and gloves of the tightest possible mesh weave and avoided contact with anyone else.
That won’t save you.
The breathing filter and fine mesh might stop the TNV from penetrating at those two inlets, but unless you were covered head-to-toe in protective gear, the nanobots would find a way to burrow into the skin. Typical clothing fabric wasn’t woven tightly enough to prevent TNV access to the skin, and in either case, the nanobots could cling to the surface of the protective gear and make their move once the gear was taken off.
Not to mention, with an actual outbreak confirmed on Wei-lu-Wei, any and all protective gear should be redirected there, not used to soothe fears on Falanar.
Rawn popped open his door and got out. He scanned the crowd, which was more or less contained beyond the double set of handrails leading up the steps, then gave it a second look before he let her exit the car. The questions hit her as soon as the sunlight did.
“How long have you know about the TNV infestation on Wei-lu-Wei?”
“Are they going to blockade the entire planet?”
“Is it true the Wyrds provided Prince Trebulan with the TNV in order to attack Falanar?”
“Do you think the Wyrds are responsible for the nanovirus on Wei-lu-Wei?”
The vid of yesterday’s council session had been broadcast to the public once the session closed, as was imperial law. Raorin had been correct, news of the TNV plague on Wei-lu-Wei came out during the session, and the revelation had dominated the news vids ever since.
She ignored all the questions, including the ones on how long her wedding to Prince Ardin would be put off, and entered the council seat. Kayla hadn’t played a large part in Ordoch’s politics and the enormity of the entire imperial situation was daunting. Having people question her on imperial policy when she didn’t know the right answers herself only worked to remind her of her inexperience.
I could really use your help right now, Isonde.
Or Malkor’s. She could really go for having him at her side right now. His unwavering confidence always settled her, and his smile, the one that said, “You and me? No one stands a chance against us,” would be perfect at this moment. She sighed on her way down the corridor. Why did things have to be so complicated between them?
She put that thought in a box and shoved it on a mental shelf beside concern for her brothers and the expectation of being revealed as a fraud at any moment. Worries for another time.
Rawn left her at the door to the council chambers and went to wait wherever it was bodyguards waited during session. Luckily, both council seats had been inspected and declared TNV-free, so none of the councilors had to worry about protective gear.
As Kayla entered at the back of the yawning chamber, the mantle of Isonde settled over her with eerie ease. She was the princess, and these councilors were her peers. The split-personality was becoming second nature to her in a way that would have been more disturbing if she didn’t need Isonde’s persona so much—Ordoch’s freedom depended on it.
The square chamber was quadruple-story height and decorated in an antique imperial style that she admired for its artistry and gravitas. It made her feel small and transitory, a minor player in a rich history that had seen and would yet see orators of greater importance than her.
Deep, arched recesses running along the two side walls held many-paned windows that rose from the floor to third-story height. They were wider than the length of a hover car and light poured through them. The windows were topped with star-shaped cutouts filled with birefringence gel, through which the sunlight sparked rainbow fire. The arches themselves were each carved from a single piece of green stone, and worked over with a spiraling star motif.
A media gallery was embedded in the third story of the chamber’s front wall, above and behind where the adjudicator sat. The huge stone archway that fronted the gallery had the same carved star pattern and rose gracefully toward the ceiling. The true masterpiece of the room, however, was the ceiling itself. Reliefs of the most notable moments from the founding of the empire, worked in the traditional indigo and jade palette of the empire, sprawled across the expanse. The Final Surrender of Wei-lu-Wei, the Signing of the Great Accord and the Launching of the Intrepid were all represented and intricately wrought in plaster sculptures. Gold and silver filigree ran through it all, adding opulence to an already astounding work of art. Chandeliers dripping plascrystals hung at regular intervals, lighting the curved rows of desks on the floor that held the councilors.
Archon Raorin lifted a hand in greeting from his place across the room, and she nodded in response as she took her seat among the councilors
from Isonde’s home planet, Piran.
From her hover chair in the Piranian section, Kayla faced the adjudicator’s desk and the empty media gallery head-on. In the idealist opening days of the empire, media had been allowed to watch the proceedings of the Sovereign Council live. As things grew more strained with the addition of each Protectorate Planet, that access had been pulled, journalists replaced by the cams that recorded the session to be broadcast—and potentially edited—later.
Kayla made polite chit-chat with the Piranian councilor beside her. Raorin had warned Kayla that the councilor had known Isonde for years, and meeting him had been a worry for Kayla. Thankfully, Raorin was correct in his estimation that the councilor considered Isonde too young for the post, and Isonde considered him too conservative to be of any use to her, so they rarely spoke. Kayla made it a point to use him as a silent buffer between her and the other Piranian councilors, who would certainly know Isonde better.
Pockets of councilors around the room were debating or agreeing with each other when the adjudicator called the session to order. It took more than one electronic chime for everyone to finally settle into their seats. Tension thrummed through the room, and styluses scribbled furiously across the datapads embedded into the desktops as councilors continued their conversations silently.
The adjudicator consulted her list. “Councilor Araújo will speak first.”
The lights from the chandeliers dimmed and a circular platform rose from the center of the room, the holotiles of its floor illuminated in a soft blue glow. Araújo activated his comm at his desk, and a three-dimensional hologram of him appeared above the platform. The hologram was pre-designed; every councilor had one programmed into the council’s databank. Araújo’s hologram wore the ceremonial garb of his prelateship—a profusion of gauzy citron fabric wrapped about his torso, over his shoulders, down his arms until it covered his hands, and around his legs in a tight skirt that would make walking challenging. He spoke from his desk and the hologram said the words, allowing every councilor to see and hear him clearly.
