The Galactic Empress' Bodyguard

by Ben Harrington

  She sunk to her knees.

  “Your Majesty?” asked Deo’ta entering the room and immediately rushing to her side. “Your Majesty, what’s wrong?”

  She choked on her fear, shook her head like she could wake from this nightmare. “Torsten left,” she said. “He’s gone. I have nowhere left to run, Deo’ta.” An idea shot into her head, and she grabbed his arms: “Your guards! From the capital! They arrived?”

  Deo’ta nodded. “They did, your Majesty. They have set up a secure perimeter and taken over security. They will evacuate you from Kgego as soon as your speech is done.”

  She frowned. “After... but Torsten won’t wait until—”

  “They assure me your safety is guaranteed, your Majesty.”

  She was feeling the panic rise again. She stood, candlestick heavy in her hand, checked the exits like a cornered animal. “No,” she said. “No, it’s not safe. We have to go. Cancel the speech—”

  “But the speech is so powerful, your Majesty...”

  She grabbed him by the collar, jerked him close. “And it’s useless if I’m dead.”

  His eyes turned up, met hers. “Not necessarily.”

  Her breath left her. She stumbled back, watching him stand a little taller, shoulders a little wider, grin a little deeper.

  “Deo’ta... you... you and Torsten...?”

  He laughed, bitterly. “Oh, gods no. I wouldn’t serve that fool in a thousand years. I much prefer you, to be honest. You have your father’s spark. I wish everyone could see what I see, but alas...”

  She held up the candlestick, ready to strike. “You tried to have me killed! The snipers in the palace... those were you...”

  “Oh, no, your Majesty. Those were genuine. You inspired a level of malevolence that I find quite shocking, honestly. For whatever reason, the people hate you. And, you see, that is why all this became necessary.”

  She didn’t let her guard down, but felt herself losing whatever edge she had. “All what? I don’t... Deo’ta, I don’t understand...”

  He sighed the sigh of a patient father, answering the questions of a very young child. “Your Majesty, you cannot be saved. That so many assassins have made it so close to you already, is a grave statement all on its own. One day, someone’s shot will land, and you will be dead, and the Empire must move on.”

  He held up two hands. “One brother, a gambler and a cheat. Thankfully, he disqualified himself through half-baked treason.” He closed the fist, looked the other. “But Torsten... if he ascended after you, the damage his greed would cause...” He shook his head. “We have all worked too long and too hard to see it undone like this.”

  The Empress’ mind raced, assembling fragments of betrayal into a different picture than she’d expected. It made her sick: “The bomb in the escape pod. Torsten knew about it because you told him. You planted it there!”

  He smiled. “The attack on the yacht was my first foray into assassination. Despite my best efforts, the plan failed. I swore to do better next time. A cleaner target, a more meaningful moment.”

  “Why Kgego? Why now?”

  “Your brother’s corruption is most potent on Kgego. There is evidence of his wrongdoing, which he has made no secret he wants destroyed. Bombing government offices is a sloppy way to keep a secret, but I’m afraid it’s all he is capable of. But it creates a narrative where one could believe he was driven to murder his own sister.”

  “Then why recruit Colton? Why make your own job harder?”

  He laughed an icy laugh. “I admit, I underestimated Captain Shaw’s abilities. But he was never meant to succeed, your Majesty. He was meant to fail without consequence. Imagine the fall-out if the bodyguard responsible for the death of the Empress had been from one of the major houses of council. The instability would have torn us even further apart. No, better the blame be levelled at a planet no one would miss.”

  Upstairs, in the amphitheater, the crowd was getting louder, and a fanfare began to play. Deo’ta listened, smiled. “That’s your cue,” he said.

  “So what happens next?” she asked. “You kill me, and—”

  “You go up as planned, but instead of your prepared remarks, you tell the galaxy you have learned how treacherous your brother is. How he has broken all the laws the Empire holds dear, and murdered hundreds in a desperate bid to keep it secret. But you have the evidence, and you will use it to—”

  “And that’s when it happens,” she said, grim.

  He nodded, like it gave him no pleasure. “Damning timing. A bit on-the-nose, but effective nonetheless.” He took hold of the candlestick in her hand, tried to take it from her, but found she wouldn’t let it go.

  He put a hand on her shoulder, and it sent a chill through her body. “The Empress is dead, her brother the killer. His assets would be seized by the Empire pending his execution. And with no clear heirs to choose from...”

  “The council takes over?” she gasped. “You’d trust the council over me?”

  He shook his head. “No, my dear. The council trusts me over you. And when you’re gone, and Torsten’s riches are made available to the treasury, we will begin a new era of prosperity in the galaxy. A rebirth, made possible by your sacrifice.”

  Her body trembled with fear and fury. “My sacrifice?”

  He let go of the candlestick, knelt down at her feet — his head so easy to bash in, it was comical — and picked up her cloak. Then he stepped around behind her, hanging it over her shoulders and, with delicate motions, fastened it again.

  “The guards are all under my control. The exits are sealed. The shuttle I sent to fetch Captain Shaw just exploded on the outskirts of the city — your brother’s doing, of course. You have no friends left, Ilina. There is nowhere to run. If you try, do remember I have control of your brother’s Imperial Cruiser, along with its mass driver. I can obliterate any hole you try hiding in.”

  He touched her cheek, lightly, and smiled. “All you need to do now is to serve your Empire with the greatest act of courage in generations.”

  He took the candlestick from her, set it on the table, and looked her right in the eyes. “It’s time for you to die a hero.”

  39

  The sun was setting as she emerged from the staircase, out into the open. The fanfare ended on cue, leaving the entire amphitheater so silent, it was like she was standing in deep space. Every eye was on her, every camera too. By the time her foot finally reached the platform, people furthest from the stage were standing on their seats, trying to see, creating a kind of white noise of shuffles and grunts.

  She was five feet from the center of the stage; a circle of lighter stone was embedded there, showing her where to stand. Like a bullseye.

  She shuffled along to the spot, high shoes making it a delicate process, but kept her chin high, her eyes locked on the horizon — blinding though it was.

  There, standing in the middle of the stage, with a hundred thousand spectators looking on — billions more around the Empire — the galactic Empress opened her mouth to speak... and the universe hushed.

  And yet...

  No words came. A panic was welling up inside her, making her heart race and her neurons fire like mad until it took every last ounce of her being not to scream and run for cover.

  There were so many eyes on her. So many people watching, and so far away they looked like grains of sand piled atop one another to make a formless wave on the verge of cresting and drowning her.

  Was there a sniper out there? Two? Or more?

  Was there a bomb under the stage? Would it come from above?

  Would she see it before it happened, or would her life just suddenly stop without warning, like a blink that never ended?

  Would they feel guilt at having done this deed? Were they loyal to the cause, to Deo’ta’s bloody-minded view of the world? Or were they mercenaries, fulfilling a c
ontract no matter what the task might be?

  Would she see it coming?

  Would she feel it?

  When would it end?

  “My fellow citizens,” she said, voice loud and firm without permission. “I greet you most warmly, and with great affection.” She was on autopilot now, her mind regurgitating words and phrases she’d rehearsed since childhood. Get to the end. The wait was what hurt, the end was release.

  “I have come here, to Kgego, to address the the strife which has plagued our Empire since my ascension, three weeks ago. Kgego is not the root of our troubles, but it is a symptom of them. Of the dangers we face if we grow complacent, and forget ourselves.”

  A low murmur from the crowd. Neither agreement nor rejection, but a definite reaction. Her father never would have admitted weakness — not even on a societal scale — and the difference has clearly struck a nerve.

  “And to that end...” she said, and paused. Paused for too long, because there was only one way this speech could go now, and where it ended was where she ended, and there was no way to turn back anymore.

  She took a long breath, and began the last sentence of her life:

  “And to that end, I submit to you evidence of the treacherous and illegal corruption of my brother, Prince Torsten, against the—”

  “Long live the Empire!” shouted a man from her left, and she turned in slow motion, watching this odd, nondescript Kgegan in bright a bright purple tunic, leaping up at the stage with a pistol in his hand. The manic look in his eyes seemed just as terrified as she felt, so she only felt pity when he got into position, took his aim, and—

  —burst into a puff of flaming ash.

  The Empress was so shocked, she barely noticed the second man coming at her until she heard him scream: “Long live Prince Torsten!” — before getting blasted out of existence as well.

  The audience still hadn’t come to terms with what they were seeing, which is why it was so shocking when a mechanical dragonfly careened out of the sunset, tumbling along the stage before coming to a very rough stop. And when the dragonfly stood up—

  “Colton!” shouted the Empress, and ran to him. He smiled, then whipped out his gun and fired straight at her!

  Straight past her, that is, hitting two more assailants before they even made it onto the stage.

  “So here’s the thing,” he said, snapping the harness to the suit off himself. “I know you fired me, but I would like to appeal that decision.”

  Another would-be assassin leapt up, only to be knocked down, hard, Colton grabbed the Empress around the waist, pulled her close — and the Empire collectively gasped — and gave her a devilish grin.

  “I’m really dedicated to my work,” he said.

  “Could you be dedicated to an escape plan, as well?”

  He laughed, lifted the Empress back a little ways further, because a fraction of a second later, the middle of the stage exploded, revealing the tunnels below.

  “As you command,” he said, and pulled her into the tunnels just as other blasts rocked the stonework around them.

  * * *

  Piro and Ugero took fire before they even got into the Palace of Justice compound. Imperial soldiers were hidden among the rubble, firing so many wild shots that it was impossible to stay in the air. They crash-landed behind a toppled statue of the Kgegan god of justice, dropping their dragonflies and powering up their weapons.

  “I guess my idea was too obvious,” Piro said with a laugh, as a shot blasted the rock near him.

  “Come to Sirra-zo City, visit bunker,” said Ugero. “Very touristy.”

  Piro switched his guns to automatic. “Oh, I’m no tourist. This is my town.”

  He came around the corner faster than the shooters expected, and moved more quickly than they could adapt. One of them let loose a broad blast, which gave away their position, and made them easy targets.

  Two others waited until Piro had taken cover again, which might’ve been a good strategy, except for Ugero waiting for them to do it, and taking them out with ease. The other four ran for their lives — one, so sloppily that he slipped on the rubble and fell down a steep embankment, breaking his neck in the process.

  Piro slung his rifle over his shoulder, powered up his two pistols, and nodded to his comrade. “If they close the bunker before we get there, it’s over.”

  Ugero dialled his blaster up to 11. “Why did the Earth-man get the easy job?”

  * * *

  Colton and the Empress skidded to a stop at the sight of a dozen Imperial soldiers trying to get their bearings after the explosion on the stage. The Empress reflexively pulled back, but Colton didn’t budge.

  He gave them a whistle: “Hands up if you’re loyal to the Empress!” he shouted.

  Four of them weren’t loyal. They went down fast. The others scrambled to escape, keeping their hands above their heads the whole way.

  Colton smiled, turned to the Empress to say something witty or clever or just plain stupid, and she kissed him. Wrapped her arms around and kissed him like he was the only thing that made her live, as opposed to the only thing that kept her alive.

  “We’re still not really safe,” he said.

  “I know. I couldn’t wait.”

  “I mean, I’m not complaining, but—”

  “Empress!” came a voice from down the hall, and they turned to see Deo’ta there, eyes wide like he was caught, and he didn’t know how to react. “And Captain Shaw! Thank goodness you’re here!”

  Colton lowered his gun, but the Empress shook her head emphatically: “No,” she said. “It’s him! He’s behind this!”

  “What? What about Torsten?”

  * * *

  Torsten shook with fear as the guards formed a shield around him. Outside the bunker, blasters fired and men died, and no one would tell him what was going on.

  “Why aren’t the doors closing?” he squealed. “Close the damn doors!”

  The soldier at the console shook his head in frustration. “I’m sorry, my lord. The systems seem to be scrambled by—”

  The soldier’s head was blown clear off his body, which wavered for a second before falling next to Torsten. He shrieked, ducked back around the corner as the other brave souls meant to protect him were cut down with merciless efficiency.

  He heard the crunch of feet on pebbles. The hum of a plasma core.

  “We can hear you,” called Piro.

  “Smell you, too,” added Ugero.

  “Toss your weapons and we’ll let you live,” said Piro. “We’re not here for trouble.”

  Torsten let out a shaky breath, steeled himself for what came next... but then noticed a pair of blasters on the ground next to him. And that, unfortunately, sparked an idea.

  * * *

  “What about the allium and the corruption and the bombings?” Colton asked the world in general, because nothing was making sense anymore.

  “Indeed, Captain,” Deo’ta said smoothly. “Prince Torsten has been playing us all for fools. We must—”

  “No!” shouted the Empress. “It was Deo’ta! It was all Deo’ta! Stop him, Colton! Please!”

  Well that settled that. Colton raised the gun, striding down the hall with fury in his gut.

  Deo’ta staggered backward: “Captain, I urge you to reconsider—”

  “Still sure about this?” he called back to the Empress.

  “Yes! Kill him!”

  Colton nodded gravely and, just as he got within point-blank range of Deo’ta, pulled the trigger—

  Nothing happened. The gun didn’t fire. He tried again, then checked the clip — but of course there was no clip — and when he looked back up, Deo’ta was pointing a gun of his own.

  “It knows who its master is,” he snarled. “Do you?”

  Colton gestured over his shoulder. “Ye
ah, and she told me to kill you.”

  Deo’ta grinned. “I’d like to see you—”

  Colton’s left hand shoved the gun aside, and his right landed a savage blow to Deo’ta face. The reedy alien stumbled back, trying to regain his balance and get off a shot, but Colton tossed the weapon aside and kicked so hard, Deo’ta landed straight on his shoulder with a crunch.

  “OK. You saw me try.”

  He glanced back at the Empress, gave her a wink. “I have no idea what’s going on anymore, but so far it’s a lot of—”

  “Colton! Look out!” screamed the Empress, and he turned to see Deo’ta, still on the ground, slam a small metal orb on the floor, and BOOM! A shockwave blasted him ten feet through the air!

  * * *

  The blaster skidded across the floor, and two hands peeked into the open. But when Piro saw who it was, his expression changed from confidence to shock.

  “By the gods...” he gasped. “You...”

  “I surrender,” said Torsten, hands trembling as he looked from Piro to Ugero. “I surrender. Please, you have to protect me. I’ve been framed—”

  Ugero let out a booming laugh, snorted. “Prince and comedian. Rare find.”

  Piro stepped forward, gun aimed right at Torsten’s chest. “You bankrupted this planet,” he said. “You killed innocent people—”

  “No, I—”

  “Silence!” shouted Piro. “You killed my people. You don’t get to make excuses for that. I won’t hear excuses for that.”

  Torsten’s head bowed. In guilt or submission, it was hard to tell. But the message was clear: he was done. He was finally done.

  “Prince Torsten,” Piro said with an edge of fury still in his voice. “I am placing you under arrest for corruption of the public purpose, obstruction of justice, murder and terrorism, and—”

  Piro was so wrapped up in his speech, he didn’t even notice Torsten reaching to his back. By the time the action registered, the gun was already aimed, and all there was left to do was freeze in horror as the blast burst out and—