It was still early morning and the parade was not scheduled to start for hours, yet.
Somewhere in the palace, we would find Ramaker. Between us and the palace were hundreds of people.
My steps faltered as I saw the number of people in the park already. Then I relaxed as I realized that most of them were busy raking and picking up leaf litter.
“Imperial Shield,” Juliyana murmured, coming up level with me. “Supervising.”
“Maintenance cadre,” I said back. “There are Rangers moving around the palace. I can see them from here. We’re not out of place. We were checking the perimeter per orders, if we’re asked.”
We weren’t asked. We moved down the length of the lawn, the fountains playing on our left, moving around the workers and nodding at the Shield guards.
Many people worked diligently to clean and tidy this side of the palace. I had to assume there was triple the amount on the other side, where the Emperor’s gaze, and those of his family and friends, would fall.
A stretch of hard, smooth medium separated the grass from the palace itself. Rangers and Imperial Shield—house guard cadre, by their collar crests—crisscrossed the hardscape, their boots tapping softly on the gleaming surface. On either side, wide tunnels, which were almost domes of their own in size, led to the domes beyond. I was vaguely familiar with the layout of the city from my few visits here. “Administration district to the right,” I said to Juliyana in a conversational tone. “The Lionheart district to the left, where everyone the Emperor wants close by lives.”
Each tunnel had checkpoints in them, where wrists were scanned. Anyone without a security level high enough was turned back at those points. Forcefully, if necessary.
All the perimeters were guarded by the Imperial Shield, but Noam had been certain he could mask our illicit entry. So far, no alarms had sounded. No groups of armed Imperial Shield personnel were running toward us.
Juliyana had fallen into the long-legged, hip swinging stride and upright carriage that marked the Ranger cadres who worked in deep space and in high gee conditions. I presumed it was the uniform that had imparted the habit of bearing herself upright. Technically, she was still an active Ranger. It wasn’t all that long ago she had been reporting for duty, standing at attention for role calls and duty rosters.
Then I realized that I was walking just as she was.
We looked like authentic Rangers. Was that why no one spared us a second glance?
With a deep breath I turned into the tunnel that ran straight into the center of the palace and the public assembly and meeting rooms there. In the middle of all the public areas was the famous central diorama, displaying the artifacts of an empire, with its multi-hued dome shedding rainbows across a floor of burnished coral.
“Here we go,” I breathed to Juliyana as we moved down the wide corridor to the security gates.
23
The Imperial Shield guards manning the security gates were busy scanning the few early members of the public who had arrived for the day. Noam had educated us on the intricate and detailed arrangements for the birthday honors. There would be a dozen parties inside the palace tonight, all of them feasts with dozens of courses, music, dancing and glittering guests wearing a small colony’s annual revenue in jewels and the latest fashion.
Some of the people waiting to go through the security gate carried boxes and garment bags, baggage and accessories, which were all screened and prodded carefully. That explained the delay even this early in the morning.
Juliyana and I joined the end of the line and waited our turn. My heart picked up pace.
The media would also be in attendance at the parties and around the palace—a very select group of representative journalists and reporters who were screened down to the DNA before being granted one of the few media passes to the events inside the palace. Media were processed through a separate gate, for which I was grateful. Media hounds remembered faces and mine had been plastered across the empire.
The guards were too busy processing people to look at our faces. We wore the peaked caps of a Ranger formal uniform, which shaded our faces, and if they noticed us at all, it was as Rangers, not as individuals.
The day was only going to get busier for them. It was human nature they would relax and go through the motions now. Besides, no perimeter alarms had been raised, no alerts had gone out. It was inconceivable to them that anyone who shouldn’t be able to reach this far into the palace could possibly do so. The Imperial Shield had a near-perfect reputation for protecting the Emperor.
I leaned toward Juliyana and began a nonsense conversation about a book I was reading and the family reaction to the last null-grav game. Juliyana picked up on it and gave me shit about a team she plucked from the roster and used as my favorite. I knew nothing about null-grav games, but she was a fan. I let her carry the burden of the conversation. Noam had not been able to learn for certain what security measures were used at this gate, but it was not inconceivable they would have microphones dotted on the approach to the gate, to listen into conversations. It would look odd if we just stood there with clenched jaws.
So we chatted about nothing. I learned inside a minute that the team Juliyana had given me as my favorite was having a disastrous year. Of course. I grinned openly when she gave me another ribbing about their lack of hopes.
We stepped up to the gate as the last person was let through. I nodded—Imperial Shield and Rangers do not salute each other. In the Shield’s opinion, Rangers are a lesser breed.
Only I had a Colonel’s pips and a combat shield on my collar. That earned me a grudging amount of respect.
I held out my wrist and clenched every muscle in my arm to stop my hand from shaking as they scanned the wrist. I turned my chin in Juliyana’s direction. She stood next to me, her wrist being scanned by the guard on the other side of the gate. “Bet you a hundred they win next week.”
Juliyana rolled her eyes. “It’s your money, sir. It’ll be mine by Sunday, though.”
“What game?” the guard said, his interest picking up.
“Krakens versus Star Busters,” Juliyana told him. She laughed. “The Colonel actually thinks the Krakens can win.”
The guard whistled, laughing.
The guard waiting for my ID to pop up on his pad smiled, his gaze down. Only then did he notice the shriver in my holster. He took a large step back. “You’re armed!”
My breath checked. I think my metabolism actually halted for a second. Then I pulled myself together. “Check my credentials, Sergeant,” I said, with the bored voice of a colonel sure of her status.
“Sid,” the other guard said softly, and held out his pad.
Sid glanced at the pad, then studied it closely. He lifted his own. He looked up at me, across to Juliyana, who still wore a small smile, as if her amusement over the Krakens was slow to fade.
Then he shook his head. “Well, I’ve never seen one of these, although I’ve heard of ‘em. Sorry, Colonel. Please pass through.” He stepped out of the way. “Lieutenant,” he added as Juliyana stepped through behind me, for we had upgraded her to her old rank.
“Sergeant,” Juliyana acknowledged. “Don’t work too hard, huh?”
“Never,” he shot back.
She laughed and caught up with me.
“You’re a natural at this,” I told her with a voice low enough that the guards rapidly falling behind us wouldn’t hear.
“I’m fucking terrified,” she murmured back. “I had to talk or I would have vomited.”
The passage ramped upward at a gentle angle, then opened into the diorama.
I had to admit, it was impressive. As the heart of the Carinad Empire, it was an adequate statement. Gleaming surfaces, rich details, a blend of pleasing colors and textures. Artwork and museum pieces from Terran antiquity revolved on plinths circling the perimeter of the diorama, each plinth with a molecular barrier holding an inert zero atmosphere around the precious objects to preserve them—and to keep sticky ha
nds off them.
Civilians strolled from plinth to plinth, reading the inscriptions and marveling, while uniformed Shield and Rangers crossed the circle, heading for the many doors and passages that led from the diorama.
“Noam, you did well,” I said softly.
“Thank you,” Noam replied in my ear. “Now Lyth and I must work together. Pick a passage on the sunward side of the palace. We will guide you from there.”
“Copy.” Juliyana and I headed for the sun-side of the diorama and paused to admire a piece of dried-out something or other. I didn’t read the inscription. Then we moved onto the next, then, with a casual glance around for observers, we angled away from the circle of plinths and moved toward a corridor that opened off the diorama and ran deeper into that side of the palace.
On the four occasions I had attended meetings or functions in the palace, the rooms had always been on the other side of the diorama from this one. The public function rooms did have freely available floor plans, including this wing of the palace, but the rest of the building was a blank. Noam and Lyth between them would build a floor plan as we moved about, for the nanobots would report to Lyth on walls and structures, passively scanning as we moved.
From that basic plan, and Noam’s raiding of staff rosters and other domestic documentation for the palace, the two of them would extrapolate the location of the private apartments. Plus we had another unexpected source of information.
“One of the cleaning companies has the sole task of cleaning the Emperor’s private study,” Noam had told us, while we were prepping for this. “Three people, the same three people, escorted there and monitored, then escorted back. The private study will be on the perimeter of the apartments, where members of the public and high-ranking Shield officers can meet with the Emperor when requested, without passing through the apartments, or forcing the Emperor to move out into the public rooms. We will build a model of the palace as you move and guide you to where we think the study is.”
“And what if the Emperor isn’t in his study?” Juliyana had asked. “We’ll be there around breakfast time—he might be eating with his family.”
“On the day of his birthday honors?” Dalton said and shook his head. “Ramaker is the most powerful man in the empire. There will be a steady stream of politicians and heads of state—corporate and ball-bound—all with gifts to honor his birthday and favors to curry. He’ll be in his study, trust me. Probably in his formal uniform, too.”
I nodded. “Good. Then we’ll look for people streaming through the corridors.”
“They won’t be lining up,” Dalton said, sounding alarmed. “Waiting in line is for grunts. Each guest will wait in a sitting room and be escorted to the study when it’s their turn.”
I looked at him suspiciously. “How do you know so much about what happens in the Emperor’s private apartment on his birthday?”
Dalton grew wary. I could see it in his eyes.
“I imagine he had a personal moment with the Emperor the morning he was given his Decoration for Service to the Empire,” Noam said. “That is the normal procedure.”
Everyone looked at Dalton then.
“That was over a hundred years ago.” Dalton changed the subject with a snarly attitude and sharp questions. We were too busy to get back to it later.
I thought about that discussion as we traversed the first corridor into the depths of the palace private wing. I knew Dalton would be standing over Noam and Lyth’s shoulders right now, dredging up what he could from his memory and adding it to their map building.
We began by walking up a set of stone steps that Noam directed us to. At the top was a security door with a notice about no entry, biohazards ahead, and the pukish green exploding icon that tended to make people veer away without question.
As we climbed to the top of the steps, the door gave a soft click. I turned the handle and it opened.
“You’re stepping into the Imperial apartments, now,” Lyth said, his voice soft in our ears.
We stepped through the door and let it shut silently behind us.
Then we walked up stairs and down stairs—Noam insisted we avoid the drop shafts and chain pods for they were a natural bottle neck. We wandered corridors and turned corners, opened doors that would open to us and glanced inside to classify the rooms.
“Pretend you are lost, which will explain the random directions, if anyone should find you there,” Noam had said.
“Come on, Noam. Someone will find us there inside three nanoseconds,” Juliyana protested. “It’s the Imperial apartments!”
“I think you’ll be surprised,” Dalton said. “They’re spacious. And only five members of the family live there now, with a very small number of staff who will all be focused upon the preparations for the ball, the feast and the parade.”
And damn if he wasn’t right. The corridors were deserted.
After only five minutes of wandering, Noam said to us, “We believe with a high degree of confidence that we now know where the study is. Go back the way you just came and turn right at the next intersection.”
The suit gave me an encouraging tap on the back as I turned around. Juliyana caught up with me.
“Take your hand off your gun,” I murmured to her. “Because that doesn’t look suspicious at all.”
She dropped her hand and flexed it as she walked, as if she longed to feel the butt against her palm. Her jaw was tight.
Noam directed us through turns, then into a wider corridor. “We’re near the diorama and one flight up,” I murmured to Juliyana. “The edge of the private apartments,” I added.
Juliyana nodded, her throat working.
Our steps slowed.
There was a pair of doors ahead, inlaid with flourishes and gilt.
“The door on your right,” Lyth said.
“On the right?” There was a plain door without markings, colored in the same shade as the walls, to blend in.
“Trust me, it’s the door on the right,” Dalton’s voice came through strong with confidence.
I took the shriver from the holster, but didn’t arm it, as I moved down to the nondescript door. I put my finger on the arming button and looked at Juliyana.
She had her gun out, too, and one of her favorite little knives in her left hand. She nodded.
“Whenever you’re ready, Noam,” I murmured.
The door clicked open, the keyplate flashing briefly green. It wavered a centimeter or two inwards.
That would warn anyone inside. There was no time to hesitate. I pushed through, Juliyana right on my heels.
Three long paces into the room, quartering with the gun up, looking for exit points, enemies, environmentals that could be a hazard.
Large antique desk with nothing on it but a decorative screen emitter made to look like an old pen set from the days when they used styluses.
Two windows, both armored, with the distinct blurring in the glasseen that said they’d never break. Door to my left, that Juliyana would cover. Shelves with knickknacks, busts, holograph frames with family images.
Thick, muffling rugs on the floor.
Man in the corner by the other door, his back to us. He looked like he was pouring himself a coffee from a flask sitting upon a tray with cups and cream—no plebian printer maw for this man.
He turned, stirring the small cup. Two meters, plus. Regal tunic with braid and buttons, medals and ribbons. Red hair, long nose, slender build from years of not lifting anything heavy.
Ramaker III, first and possibly last of his dynasty.
He considered us, showing no surprise. “Hello, Danny,” he said, his voice warm. “You took your time.”
24
“Check the other door, what’s behind it,” I told Juliyana when I found my voice once more.
She edged around the room, her gun on Ramaker, and sidled to the door. With a quick movement, she opened the door, twisted and looked into the room beyond. I guessed it was the room the ostentatious double doors opened upon
. It was another waiting room.
Juliyana spun and pointed her gun into the other room. I kept mine on Ramaker. “Don’t try anything silly,” I advised him.
“Of course not.” His voice was as rich and cultured as it was on the media, although I’m not sure why that surprised me. He seemed less substantial in person. Smaller.
He sipped his coffee.
Juliyana waved her gun. “You. In here.”
Soft steps. A woman appeared in the doorway, with Juliyana’s gun trained on her back. The woman neared the point of rejuvenation, with dark hair shot with gray, and thick brows. She wore gala finery, the type of elaborate day gowns women standing near the Emperor tended to wear when he appeared in public. She didn’t seem afraid of us. She swept over to stand beside Ramaker.
He calmly handed her a cup and poured coffee into it.
“This is Elizabeth Crnčević,” the Emperor said. “She is a psychoanalyst. A very good one. She has also been waiting for you. You may feel free to put down your weapons, Danny, Juliyana. The house guards are outside the room, now, but they will not enter unless I tell them to, or if they hear a gun fire. We will be uninterrupted for as long as this takes.”
I had the queasy sensation that Ramaker was taking control of the conversation, which was not a good thing. “I have questions to ask, Ramaker. About my son, Noam Andela. Does that name mean anything to you?”
“Yes, it does,” Ramaker replied. “I knew Noam as well as I know you. You don’t remember any of that, of course.”
I glanced at Juliyana. She was frowning, but the gun was steady. Her glance shifted to me for a split second, then back to checking the woman, the Emperor, the door, one after another.
Ramaker put his cup on the cupboard where the flask sat. “If you will indulge me for a moment, there is something I want to show you. May I move over to the desk and turn on the emitter?”
I had come here searching for answers. The more he talked, the more answers I would get. I could ask questions to guide him to where I wanted the conversation to go, as long as I encouraged him to talk in the first place. I nodded.
Hammer and Crucible Page 25
