Shades of Empire (ThreeCon)

by Carmen Webster Buxton

  “Yes.” Thaddeus came straight to the point. “Where am I bunking? No one seems to know.”

  Maddy looked amused. “They’re probably too terrified to ask me where to put you. I’ve been a proper bitch the last few days.”

  So she knew herself well enough to say that. Interesting. “Have you?”

  “Definitely. I always get that way when I’m dumped.”

  “I didn’t dump you,” Thaddeus said patiently. “I’m a ThreeCon agent, and you were keeping me a prisoner. I escaped.”

  She gave him a sour smile. “Yeah.”

  “We can discuss it later. Where can I put my stuff?”

  She tilted her chair back, and her smile got even more sour. “We’ve got a logistical problem here, Thad. There are now eight women aboard, counting me. Six of them share cabins, with Soulange having your old double cubby to herself. Nadya Inshahn—your replacement, by the way—took Soulange’s place in Carmela’s cubby.

  “Niels has his own cabin but the other twenty-eight guys are all paired off. The only empty bunk is in Soulange’s cubby, and if you go near her, you’re dead meat.”

  Thaddeus reviewed the options. He had hoped she would offer him the use of her cabin but she didn’t seem eager to do it. “This Nadya person could bunk with Soulange. Carmela’s never in her own bed, anyway.”

  Maddy shook her head. “Not a good idea. Carmela and Niels seem to have everything worked out nicely—so long as she has her own place to go back to when she needs it. If I take away that cushion, they may wind up hating each other, and I’ll lose one or the other of them. I can’t afford that right now. I’m already breaking in a new astrogator.”

  Thaddeus didn’t say so, but he agreed with her assessment of Niels and Carmela’s relationship. “So, what’s the answer?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “Same deal as before, except I’ll promise to leave the door to the cell unlocked if you chose the brig instead of here.”

  In spite of his relief at the offer, he pondered a moment before he spoke. The conflict between his duty to ThreeCon and his feelings for her was just as complex as it had always been. “I may need to make some private calls from time to time, but I can go to the brig when I need to be alone.”

  “Fine.” Her tone was light, as if she were hiding a deeper feeling. “Why don’t you leave your stuff and go get some coffee in the mess? I’ve got work to do now, and we’ll be leaving any minute.”

  The deck beneath their feet gave a slight shudder, and there was the faint perception of motion.

  “I think I’ll do that.” Thaddeus shoved his bag into a corner cupboard. “I get a little sick moving at docking speed with nothing in my stomach.”

  He hesitated, not sure if he should go straight for the door or make some gesture of affection first. Madeline solved his problem by getting up from her chair, walking straight towards him, and putting her arms around his neck.

  He kissed her almost from reflex, and then let it deepen into something stronger. Maddy let out a sigh of appreciation when it ended.

  “Be sure to check out Inshahn’s calculations, will you?” she said. “Once Carmela gets us out of this system, we’ll all be in her hands, and I’d feel better if I knew you’d looked over her charts.”

  “If she knows what she’s doing,” Thaddeus said, “she’ll resent it like hell. I would.”

  “Too bad. This is her first job as sole astrogator, and I’d just as soon not die a fiery death coming out of fold too near a damned white dwarf because you were too considerate to hurt her feelings.”

  “All right, all right. I’ll do it. At least it’ll give me something to do.”

  She smiled and turned back to her desk. “I think I can keep you busy,” she said briskly. “Or at any rate, I can make you too tired to be bored.”

  Thaddeus smiled back. “I’ll look forward to it.”

  She made a vague gesture with her hand and didn’t look up as he left the cabin.

  • • •

  Based on advice from Alexander, the rebels had planned their assault for the late afternoon, on a day that Alexander had selected for his own reasons. Using a bread delivery as cover required that the attack come during the daytime, and Alexander knew that the last half hour before shift change was when the guards would most likely slack their vigilance. In addition, the palace servants who cleaned the rooms would be finished for the day, and only those personal servants and kitchen staff who worked into the evening would still be in the main part of the house. The cooks and their helpers would be occupied in the kitchens and the dining rooms, and the other servants weren’t likely to be roaming the halls. If there was a good time to try such a mad venture, this was it.

  Alexander and seven other rebel soldiers wedged themselves into the back of the ground transport. Alexander wore a guardsman’s uniform. Each of the others wore a brown workman’s coverall with a white baker’s smock over it. Several dozen loaves of bread were stacked between Alexander and the door. As the transport rumbled through the streets of Montmartre, Alexander felt his mouth going dryer every second, while perversely, his palms seemed incredibly damp.

  The plan called for them to be admitted through the outer perimeter of the palace grounds with the false identification that Duchess had provided. The cargo compartment of the transport had been specially shielded and should be able to pass the scanners at the gate. After that, Alexander would have to get them into the palace proper. Their weapons were all fastened underneath what looked liked ordinary baker’s trays but were in fact shielding devices that would prevent the scanners that operated at every door of the imperial residence from detecting either the weapons or the explosives they had also brought with them.

  The vehicle stopped for the checkpoint at the gate, and Alexander held his breath. There was the usual pause as the guard flipped Lu’s identification under the cipher decoder and waited for verification that it was authentic. Alexander knew exactly what the man was doing, as he had done it many times himself. He counted silently, knowing it shouldn’t take more than five seconds for the machine to provide verification—unless there was a problem.

  “Okay,” a bored voice said. Alexander thought he recognized it as belonging to a man named Petrov. “Be sure to park right near the kitchen door, and don’t go wandering off or you’ll get your ass shot off.”

  It was Petrov. Alexander let out a breath in relief as Lu put the transport in gear and it began to move again. After less than a minute it came to a halt.

  The other men began pulling trays from the built-in racks.

  “Napier!” Lu called sharply from the driver’s seat. “You’re up!”

  Alexander moved to the front of the transport and looked out the windows at the compound. Everything looked familiar, and yet, in an eerie sort of way, it was as if he had never seen the place before. A few figures in black walked up the path to the brothel, but he didn’t see anyone within close range.

  Lu handed him a weapon, a standard Corps-issued energy pistol, similar in principal to the one that had wounded Thad when Gobeh went berserk on the Queen Bee, but more deadly because it took less time to agitate its target to a fatal degree. Alexander clipped it onto the magnetic holster on his belt. Like the pistol, the uniform he wore was completely authentic. Alexander hadn’t asked what had happened to the man who had worn them originally. He had breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that the name on the nameplate was Dreyfuss, as he knew no one by that name. Luckily, the Emperor’s desire to see his Own Corps lined up as a nice even line meant that all his guardsmen were more or less the same size. Even the boots fit.

  Alexander slipped from the transport and strolled nonchalantly toward the kitchen entrance. He prayed that nothing had changed at the palace, either in the layout of the rooms or in the routine of the Corps.

  Alexander stepped up to the locked door and paused, turning his head just slightly to the right in a practiced motion. A beam of light shone from a small portal on his right side, just
at his eye level. The light picked out the pattern of the holograph, deciphering the seal. The door beeped twice, discreetly, as it identified Alexander as a guardsman, someone who was authorized to enter carrying weapons. Alexander stepped forward, letting his left side droop a little and lurching as if he were having trouble walking. He and the rebels had rehearsed the next step for the last three days, stacking packing cartons in the back of the bakery to delineate the doorway, the corridor, and the pantry behind it. Alexander hoped his memory of this particular space was accurate; he had never paid much attention to it.

  The private in the security station looked up at him in surprise. “Hey, what the hell are you doing coming in this way?”

  Alexander almost sighed from relief when he recognized the man as someone he knew only slightly. He gave the private the happiest smile he could manage through the layers of thermaplex and makeup the rebels had applied to his face. “Can’t let the sarge see me,” he said, slurring his speech into a cheerful drawl as he braced himself by leaning against the wall. “Had a few drinks. You know how it is.”

  The other man looked disgusted. “Don’t ask me to lie for you. I’m not taking any chances.” And then he gave Alexander a closer look. “Who are you, anyway?” he said, peering through the security panel in an attempt to read the name tag on Alexander’s uniform.

  “Tell you what,” Alexander said in a conspiratorial tone, “I’ll tell you my name if you tell me yours.” He grinned, then groaned and clutched his middle. “Oh, my stomach!” He put one hand over his mouth.

  The private let out an expletive and popped out from behind the panel. “Dammit, don’t you throw up here!”

  Alexander leaned close and threw his arm across the other man’s shoulders. “Help me get to the head,” he said with a groan.

  “Shit, no,” the man said. “I can’t leave my post.”

  Alexander suddenly clamped his hand on the private’s neck and then rammed the other man’s face up against the wall. Before the private could recover, Alexander pulled his pistol from its holster and fired quickly, one shot to the back. He dragged the private’s still twitching body through the pantry and stuffed him into a store room. With luck, no one would find him for hours.

  Alexander raced back to the outside door and opened it. The rebel team was climbing the steps, each of them carrying a tray of bread.

  Alexander took a quick glance into the pantry. A woman walked past the open doorway at the far end of it. She was walking rapidly and carrying a food carton, so he assumed she must be on her way to the kitchen. She never even looked his way. Alexander realized he had been holding his breath. He made himself breathe normally.

  “Dump the bread there,” he ordered, indicating the pantry shelves, “and let’s get moving!”

  They all abandoned their baked goods, and each man pulled a weapon from beneath his tray. Lu holstered his and looked to Alexander.

  “Which way?”

  Alexander shook his head. “Where’s my stuff?”

  Lu summoned Alfred Jurreau, the youngest man in the group.

  “Give him the bag, Alfie,” he ordered.

  Alfred pulled a bundle from under his smock and handed it to Alexander.

  “The hypo’s inside,” Lu said. “The money’s in the skimmer, with the ID, just like we promised. Now, which way?”

  Alexander tucked the tightly-rolled bag under his arm and started forward at a run. They all followed without question; they knew as well as he did that they didn’t have much time.

  Alexander led the way through several turns as they ran through the corridors. They didn’t encounter anyone for the first few minutes, but then they rounded a corner and came face to face with a liveried servant carrying a tray of wine glasses.

  He stared at them in horror, and Lu shot him down where he stood.

  “He wasn’t armed!” Alexander said.

  Lu shrugged. “I don’t have time for scruples.”

  Alexander realized they didn’t have time to argue, either. In frantic haste, they dragged the body into a niche, propped him into a window seat, pulled the drape across him, and then resumed their exploration.

  In the next corridor they weren’t so lucky. They almost literally ran into two guardsmen, and one of them had quick enough reflexes to get his weapon out and fire. He wounded Alfred, but Lu and another man killed both him and the other guardsman, apparently before they could set off any alarms.

  “How much farther?” Lu demanded.

  “Two more corridors,” Alexander said, “and down the hallway.”

  There was nowhere immediately available to hide the guardsmen’s bodies, so they left them where they had fallen and kept going.

  Alexander still expected alarms to sound any second, but they crossed the two intersections without further hindrance, and then he pulled them back at the next turning.

  “Now,” Alexander said to Lu, “to the right, down at the end of the hall on the right-hand side is the Emperor’s suite. There are always at least two guardsmen outside his door and sometimes more. Remember, I told you at this time of day he usually takes a bath and soaks in the tub for a while, sometimes with one of his women, sometimes alone.”

  Lu nodded intently. “Vestibule, sitting room, bedroom on the right with bathroom and dressing room on the left,” he repeated.

  Alexander nodded confirmation and then jerked his head in the other direction as he stuffed his bundle inside his tunic. “That way is the women’s quarters. This is where I leave you.”

  Lu smiled, his eyes agleam. “If you make it, tell them we died well.”

  “I will,” Alexander said.

  He waited while they all murmured a few words to each other, some farewells, some wishes for luck. They pulled off their smocks so that they presented a more military appearance in their brown coveralls. When they were ready, they gave a fanatic shriek and launched themselves down the hallway towards the Emperor’s door; at the same moment, Alexander ran in the opposite direction.

  Behind him, he heard the whine of energy weapons and screams of pain and rage. There was an abrupt, strangled cry and a thud, but Alexander didn’t look back. He ran as fast as he could and turned the corner at a dead run. He let his fear show on his face as he suddenly came upon the narrow doorway that led to the women’s quarters.

  The two men on duty jumped to their feet as Alexander came running up to them. He knew them both, had gone drinking with one of them on occasion, but they didn’t seem to recognize him, as they simply stared at him in surprise. Suddenly, from overhead claxons blared as alarms went off in every room.

  “Quickly!” Alexander screamed, doubling over as if he were hurt. “Quickly! Assassins are trying to kill the Emperor! We need more men!”

  He leaned against the wall, breathing hard and waited to see what they would do.

  The two of them stood at their post for a second, torn by indecision.

  “Please,” Alexander gasped, “please help! There were twenty of them at least.”

  He sank down onto the floor clutching his stomach and finally the two men began to move down the corridor. Alexander let them get five meters away, and then he shot them from behind.

  He jumped to his feet and ran through the doorway. He knew the way very well, having been obliged on numerous occasions to fetch whichever woman had caught the Emperor’s fancy.

  He came out in one of the courtyards, but there was no one in sight. Alexander heard screams and running footsteps, and he realized the claxons that were still resounding must have alarmed the occupants of the women’s quarters—the servants as well as the concubines. He forced a few doors open, but found no one, and he was beginning to worry that they would all hide themselves so well that he would never even know if Celia was there or not, when he caught sight of someone walking calmly in the corridor.

  She stopped when she saw him.

  “What is it?” she demanded. “What’s happening?”

  He was quite sure he had never seen her be
fore. Of medium height, with light brown hair and brown eyes, she wore a long graceful gown of some silky red material. Gold bracelets adorned her arms, and delicate ruby drops hung from her ear lobes. She could be a new favorite of the Emperor. He liked them young, and this woman couldn’t be more than twenty or so. On the other hand, she lacked the lush beauty he favored so often, being neither voluptuous in form nor head-turningly magnificent in face. Alexander took her by the arm in an intense grip and dragged her into a nearby sitting room.

  “Do you know a woman named Celia?” he demanded. “Her name is Celia Mjoseth and she came here almost two years ago from the Aquitaine.”

  She looked up at him with her eyes going wide in surprise. “I know about her. She’s dead.”

  Alexander felt as if the ground had rocked under his feet. After all this, Thad had been right. Celia was dead.

  “How did she die?” he demanded, tightening his grip even more.

  “She killed herself.”

  Alexander stood, breathing deeply and wondering what to do. He could try to reach the others and die as they would doubtless die, in an attempt to kill Emperor Lothar. Or he could try to get out and go back—back to where?

  “I’m sorry,” the woman was saying. “It was very sad.”

  He looked down at her and released his grip on her arm, then pulled the bundle out of his tunic and let it drop to the floor. He wouldn’t need it now.

  “Go hide yourself,” he said. “There are assassins in the palace trying to kill the Emperor. If they aren’t killed outright, they might come here.”

  She looked down at the bundle and then up at him. “Were you going to take Celia away?”

  He stared at her, suddenly aware of her complete lack of fear. “Yes.”

  “Will you take me instead?”

  He was almost shocked. “You want to leave here?”

  She nodded. “More than anything in this world.”

  He didn’t doubt her. The look in her eyes told him it was the truth. After all, if he couldn’t help Celia, why shouldn’t he help another of the du Plessis’ victims?