EMPIRE: Investigation

by Richard F. Weyand

  They ate alone, not knowing any of Dunham’s closest personal staff. As they sat over coffee, one man approached.

  “Governor Turley, Mr. Gulliver. I am Steven Dillard, His Majesty’s Personal Secretary. I was advised you arrived this afternoon. Welcome to Imperial City.”

  “Hello, Mr. Dillard. It’s nice to meet you.”

  “And you, Ma’am. His Majesty asked me to schedule a meeting with you. I thought to give you tomorrow to relax and reset your clocks. As today is Wednesday, would Friday work for you for a meeting with the Emperor?”

  “Yes, Mr. Dillard. That would be fine.”

  “Very well. I’ll send you a meeting notice. We’ll see you then.”

  After dinner, they sat out on the balcony with a bottle of white wine they had requested and been given by the cafeteria bartender. They watched the lights come on in Imperial City, the massive skyscrapers of the central city, miles away, lighting the night.

  “It’s magical,” Turley said.

  “Yes, it is. You know, it’s getting late already, but I’m not tired yet. What would you say to a quick bang in the Imperial Palace, my dear?”

  “I wouldn’t think of it,” she said, shaking her head. After a pause, she continued with a sly smile. “Now a nice, slow bang I would welcome.”

  “I live to serve.”

  Turley laughed.

  In the three months since everything blew up on Dalnimir, Turley’s hair had grown an inch and a half. Of course, it had grown in as her natural blond, while the black-hair dye job had faded. She simply hadn’t had time on Dalnimir to do anything about it, and she didn’t trust the hairdressers on ship. Now, though, she saw in the Residence Wing guide there was a salon for staff in the Imperial Palace. After the stunning meal Wednesday night, she figured the Palace hairdressers would probably be of the same caliber.

  They had an opening for her, so Turley spent a couple of hours in the chair after lunch Thursday. They dyed her hair to match her natural color, trimmed it a bit, and encouraged the natural wave. She also had a manicure while she was there. She felt much more put-together when she returned to the apartment mid-afternoon.

  “So do we bring the issue up with His Majesty or not?” Turley asked that evening after another stupendous dinner.

  “I think we have to. How could we not?”

  “I think I agree with you. Oh, this isn’t going to be pleasant.”

  “We’ll just have to see how it goes.”

  How do you tell the Emperor of one and a third quadrillion human beings you can’t work for him anymore?

  They had not answered that fundamental question when they presented themselves to the receptionist in the elevator lobby of the upper of two Imperial Office floors, two floors below their apartment. They met Major Parnell there, who was meeting with the Emperor at the same time. All three were shown through a pair of glass doors into a hallway, then through an outer office to an inner office beyond. Steven Dillard stood up behind his desk as they were shown in.

  “Ah. Governor Turley, Major Parnell, Mr. Gulliver. Please have a seat.”

  Dillard waved to three visitor chairs, and, after he shook everyone’s hand, they sat.

  “You have all been in His Majesty’s presence before, at least in VR, so I’ll just give the briefest of refreshers. His Majesty in his office looks much the same as His Majesty in VR, dressed in a business suit. His office is much like this one. You should address him as Your Majesty the first time you are invited to say anything, and simply Sire after that. You may sit when told to, but if His Majesty stands, you should stand. Oh, and His Majesty does not shake hands. Any questions? No? Very well. We have just a moment yet. Is everything satisfactory with the apartment, Governor Turley?”

  “Oh, yes. It’s wonderful. Thank you.”

  “Housekeeping does a tremendous job. If you have any needs, simply let them know.”

  “We will.”

  Dillard nodded, then got up from his desk. He signaled them to stand and waved them to follow him to a side door of his office. He opened the door and waved them through.

  “Governor Turley, Major Parnell, and Mr. Gulliver, Sire.”

  Dunham did not stand as they entered. He waved to three guest chairs before his desk.

  “Be seated.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” Turley, as the senior, said for all three.

  Turley had met with the Emperor a number of times in VR, but this was different. He was actually, physically right there. She wondered that she had been allowed into his presence with both her forearm rigs, which she had worn continuously since the trip to Dalnimir months before. Then she realized the two Imperial Guardsmen standing watch in the corners of the Emperor’s office were also armed, and she was Imperial Guard, after all.

  For Dunham’s part, he had met Major Parnell before, of course, when the then-Lieutenant had been invited to the Imperial Guard. As all new Imperial Guard officers, he had taken his turns standing watch, to learn the Guard’s duties from the ground up.

  Turley, in MDUs with the gold fourragère of the Imperial Guard, looked much like her VR avatar. Gulliver also looked like his avatar, in a normal, if understated, business suit. He looked as though, if he dialed his presence down one more notch, he would disappear altogether.

  “I seldom have the opportunity to do this personally, and it pleases me that this time, at least, I can. For the excellent manner in which the three of you handled the crisis on Dalnimir, you are each being awarded the Gratitude of the Throne.”

  Dillard entered from his office, the communicating door to which he had left open, with three black-velvet presentation cases. He set them down on the corner of Dunham’s desk, then took the top one, opened it, and turned it toward the three. In the case were two copies of the same award, a large one on a ribbon and a small one suitable for wearing on a lapel or uniform. The award itself was a gold laurel wreath, similar to that on the Imperial flag, and reminiscent of the gold laurel wreath of the Imperial crown itself.

  “This honor can only be awarded by the Throne,” Dunham said. “It is very rare, given only when someone’s actions on behalf of the Empire come to the personal attention of the Emperor, and those actions are so above and beyond the ordinary as to deserve commendation.”

  Dillard closed the presentation box he held and handed it to Turley. He handed another to Parnell, and the third to Gulliver. Then, without a word, he withdrew to his office and closed the communicating door behind him.

  “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

  “Thank you, Governor Turley. Major Parnell. Mr. Gulliver. Sometimes I must ask someone to do the impossible. Not knowing any better, they do it anyway. As you three.”

  “Sire, on that point–“ Turley began, but Dunham held up a restraining hand.

  “Hold that thought, Governor Turley. Major Parnell, you are dismissed.”

  “Yes, Sire.”

  Parnell stood and left the room by the main entrance through the outer office and into the hallway, the door behind them. Dunham made a hand signal to the Imperial Guardsmen standing watch in his office, and they also left by the outer office door.

  “Guard,” Dunham said to the ceiling.

  “Yes, Sire,” the voice came from an overhead speaker.

  “Suspend audio monitoring for thirty minutes.”

  “Yes, Sire.”

  Dunham looked at a panel near the hallway door until a small red light started blinking.

  “Now, Governor Turley, we are alone and unmonitored. You may now speak about Section Six.”

  “Yes, Sire. Thank you, sire. What I was going to say was we don’t think we can work for Section Six anymore. For one thing, I am infamous now, and will remain so for a very long time. My picture has repeatedly been in all the newsfeeds in the galaxy. I can hardly do undercover work, no matter what sort of disguise I might wear.

  “And secondly, we came very close to losing each other on Dalnimir, Paul and I. We’ve become too emotionally involved with each other t
o be effective at this sort of thing. A second thought, a hesitation. We’re actually more in danger now than we would be if we weren’t so emotionally bonded.”

  “I see, Governor Turley, and I understand.”

  Turley relaxed. She hadn’t wanted to argue the point with the Emperor.

  “So it’s a stroke of good luck I have another opening for you two.”

  “You do, Sire?”

  “Yes, Governor Turley. Gerry Conner has informed me of his intention to retire. I need a new head of Section Six.”

  “Head of Section Six? You mean George Connolly?”

  “I thought his name was Gary Collins,” Gulliver said.

  Dunham laughed.

  “No, his actual name is Gerry Conner. At least, I think it is. He has told me it’s time to retire. One of the difficulties with being the head of Section Six is that nobody knows you are, and you can’t tell anybody. There’s no personal support from one’s familiars. It wears on people over time. It wore on him. It wore on Dominick Ashton before him.

  “So I think the perfect solution is to name the two of you to head Section Six together. You have each other to lean on, and strategize with – in addition to myself, Milady Empress, and the Co-Consul, of course.”

  “I hardly know what to say, Sire.”

  “Well, you two should think about it and let me know. Figure out how it could work. We can talk about it more later.”

  In VR, Dunham sent a quick note to Peters – ‘Gulliver, Turley, picnic tomorrow?’ – and got a quick answer. ‘Sure!’

  “I tell you what, Governor Turley. The two of you sleep on it tonight, and then join Milady Empress and I for a picnic in the Imperial Gardens tomorrow and we can talk more. Would that be all right?”

  “Yes, Sire. Of course.”

  “Very well. Until then, Governor Turley, Mr. Gulliver.”

  Dunham touched an icon on a panel set into his desk, and Dillard appeared at the side door. He waved them into his office and closed the side door behind him. Once in his office, before showing them out, he spoke to them.

  “His Majesty just sent me a quick note you will be joining him and Milady Empress for a picnic lunch in the Imperial Gardens tomorrow.”

  “Yes, that’s right, Mr. Dillard.”

  “Very well. They lunch at noon. Dress is picnic casual. You should simply go up to the top Imperial Residence floor at about ten to twelve. The guard will direct you to the escalator.”

  “All right.”

  “Oh, and in the Imperial Residence and the Imperial Gardens, everyone is on a first-name basis. His Majesty and Milady Empress will call you Ann and Paul.”

  “And what do we call them?”

  “Bobby and Amanda.”

  Turley just stared at him.

  “This is getting more and more surreal. A medal, a promotion, and now on a first-name basis with the Emperor?”

  “I suspect that’s more for him than anything,” Gulliver said. “Psychological. He can’t ever leave the building. But he needs some place where he’s just a plain Joe. Or Bobby, in this case.”

  “Still. And this job–“

  “No specifics,” Gulliver cautioned, and made a waving motion indicating the ceiling and possible audio pickups.

  “Understood. But do you think it could work?”

  “I think so. I’m still processing it.”

  The next day, at ten to twelve, they took the elevator up to the upper floor of the Imperial Residence. Gulliver didn’t have that control for the elevator in VR, but, as Imperial Guard, Turley did. They exited the elevator into an elevator lobby with double doors on either side. Those on the right had a pair of Imperial Guardsmen standing watch, and, as Gulliver and Turley exited the elevator, one of the Guardsmen opened one of the doors.

  They walked through into a long hallway. A guard well down the hallway stood waiting.

  “Nice digs,” Turley muttered to Gulliver.

  “And he never gets to leave.”

  “Forget I said anything.”

  They walked down to the Guardsman, who directed them through an open side door. There was a single escalator there. The Guardsman pushed a button on the railing, and the escalator started up. They rode it up to debouch into a glass enclosure, and stepped out into acres of gardens on the roof of the Imperial Palace.

  “OK, it really is Wonderland,” Turley said.

  The Guardsman directed them down a path and let them go. They wandered down the path until they came to a picnic table on the edge of a meadow, bright with summer flowers. Dunham and Peters were fussing with getting the food ready. She saw them first.

  “Paul, Ann. Hi! I’m Amanda.”

  Dunham looked up and came around the table.

  “And, of course, you know my husband, Bobby.”

  For as surreal as it was, Dunham and Peters were expert at making people feel at ease, and Gulliver and Turley soon relaxed

  “This is the exact spot where Bobby and I met, fifty-two years ago,” Peters said. “There used to be a bench here, but we replaced it with a picnic table.”

  “Amanda was dancing out in the meadow, Ann. Right out there. She was a vision,” Dunham said.

  “I have to admit, Bobby. Using your first names really threw me at first,” Turley said.

  “It’s for my sanity,” Dunham said. “Imposed by Suzanne Saaret over fifty years ago. We’ve never changed the rules.”

  “That makes sense to me,” Gulliver said. “Sometimes you just have to be who you are.”

  “Exactly,” Dunham said. “And you two will have the same problem. You shouldn’t use your real names for business, just as neither Ashton nor Conner did. Oh, and mentioning Suzanne Saaret reminds me. You should stop in and see the Co-Consul while you’re here. I don’t know if you saw the news during your trip, but Mr. Hawker has retired. Sanford Hayes is the new Co-Consul, so you already know each other.”

  “Speaking of names,” Peters said, “it occurs to me the two of you need not even disclose there are two of you. Come up with some avatars you can both use, and use various names.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” Gulliver said.

  “Any kind of misdirection you can use,” Dunham said. “And find a secure location and keep it secret. There is no reason to ever let anyone know where you are. Including me. You could even move around, if you were willing to travel separately. As long as only one of you is in hyperspace at a time, the other can run the shop.”

  “I haven’t even given any thought to where we might locate,” Turley said.

  Turley turned to Gulliver and he was lost in thought, his eyes focused far away. He started, then, and turned to Turley.

  “I actually know the place,” he said.

  “You do?”

  “Yes. There’s someone who owes me a favor.”

  He saw comprehension dawn on her as her eyes widened.

  Reunion

  The big armored limousine crossed the bridge to the island estate of Il Refugio, on the colony planet Verano. The bridge crossed the chasm formed by the cliffs along the beach and the large rocky island, a half-mile square and topping out at five hundred feet above the sea.

  The limousine pulled up to the main entrance of the house. The shotgun got out and opened the door for his passengers. Paul Gulliver and Ann Turley got out of the car and walked up the steps to where Marie Louise Bouchard waited. Gulliver carried a box about the size of a shoebox.

  “Welcome! Welcome to Verano,” Bouchard said.

  Bouchard gave them each a hug, as if they were old friends, long lost. They had communicated quite a bit in VR over the last two months.

  “I stopped in at a little shop on Alexa and got you a little something, Marie.”

  Gulliver handed her the box.

  “And what would this be, Paul?”

  “A forearm rig, for the other arm, and a half dozen little cameras. Ann can show you how to achieve three-hundred-sixty-degree vision. With that and two guns? Well, you have to see it to belie
ve it.”

  “How clever. Thank you very much. Now come along in. The staff can get all your things over to the guest house.”

  She led them on into the house.

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