Shades of Empire (ThreeCon)

by Carmen Webster Buxton

  He bent down and collected the deceptively ordinary-looking bag that Ostrov had provided him and shook it out. He retrieved the hypospray from the bottom of it, then arranged the folds of the bag carefully to ensure that the anti-grav pad was in place.

  “Step on this,” he ordered.

  She complied with alacrity, and he straightened up and stared into her eyes.

  “You can’t be awake for this to work,” he said.

  She nodded again. “All right.”

  He placed the hypo on the side of her neck. “This won’t hurt,” he said, and he pressed the switch.

  She didn’t even have time to acknowledge his reassurance. Her knees buckled, and she began to sink to the floor. Alexander caught her, pulling the folds of the bag up around her and closing the neck carefully, so that he was sure that she could breathe. Then he kicked the anti-grav pad to activate it, and the bag and its human contents floated up through the air until the bottom was level with his waist.

  Alexander pulled it behind him as he ran to the door. The corridor was empty. He began to run again, but this time he felt as if he had a real goal.

  He reached the turning for the second courtyard and paused. He heard the noise of running footsteps nearby, but he couldn’t tell who it was. He ducked into a bedroom and found it deserted. In a moment, the footsteps passed hurriedly, accompanied by the sound of women’s voices.

  Alexander was about to leave the room when he noticed a jeweled coffer sitting on the table. It wasn’t large, about the same size as his fist, so he picked it up and shoved it into his pocket, and then he continued on his way, checking the corridor first before he stepped into it.

  He hurried along, avoiding another group of women—most of whom he recognized as servants—by ducking behind some drapes. Finally, he came to the room for which he had been searching. He walked to the wall, opened the door to a large chute, and then very gently pushed his bundle through it.

  He listened, but didn’t hear any noise; he smiled with satisfaction and then turned for the door.

  It opened before he could get to it.

  An officer stood there, a lieutenant. Alexander knew him, but he didn’t think the man would recognize him.

  He didn’t. When Alexander stood at attention, the officer frowned and didn’t even bother to return the salute.

  “We’re not on a damned parade ground, man! Is there any sign of intruders in this wing?”

  “No, sir,” Alexander barked in his best Corps voice. “I’ve checked every room in this hallway, sir.”

  “Well, get back to your unit,” the officer said testily. “We’re still assessing how many of them there are.”

  “Yes, sir,” Alexander said, resisting the impulse to salute again. He left precipitously, and promptly lost himself in the confusion, just as he had planned.

  • • •

  Emperor Lothar Edward Antonio du Plessis was indeed soaking in his immense bathtub, reclining on a long, slanted slab of marble at one end of the tub. Sitting astride of him was a very pretty young woman. She was golden-haired and had not only blue eyes but very fair skin. All of these things would be unusual in a time when humanity was almost homogenized into varying shades of brown, but Gaulle had been “purified” into a more narrow spectrum of the Terran population than was normal for a colony world. The du Plessis weren’t the first dictators to discriminate, but they were thorough.

  The woman, as naked as the Emperor was, had positioned herself so that her full breasts hung down in front of his face. It was a very uncomfortable position for her, but the Emperor was amusing himself by nibbling on her nipples, and she knew better than to move or to protest her discomfort.

  Just as Lothar took one rosy nipple between his teeth, a muffled thump sounded from the other room.

  The Emperor frowned and pushed his companion away. “Go put on a robe and see what that is, Lettice.”

  Happy to be allowed to move, Lettice got to her feet nimbly and stepped from the tub. She dried herself with one quick swipe with a towel and pulled on her robe. Lothar was never a patient person, and certainly not when he had his diversions interrupted.

  As Lettice walked toward the open door into the sitting room, there was another thump, and then the faint sound of screams. Lettice hesitated, then kept walking.

  “Wait!” Lothar ordered, standing up in the tub and reaching for a towel. “Don’t open that door, you cretin! Check the monitor.”

  She moved to the display on the desk near the wall and flicked it on. The scene outside the door showed chaos, and Lettice gave a shocked gasp of surprise when she saw it. At least two guardsmen lay inert on the floor, and three bodies in coveralls were strewn across the corridor. Four more men in coveralls crouched by the door and fired down the hallway. Another man appeared to be putting some type of explosive on the door.

  Behind Lettice, Lothar du Plessis uttered a curse as he ran across the bathroom floor, naked except for the towel. He hurried into the sitting room, opened a drawer in the desk, and snatched up a laser pistol. After only a second of hesitation, he turned and fired it at Lettice. There was no sound, but a small circle of hair-thin beams of light shot out of the barrel and pierced her chest. She wavered for a moment as the wound began to gush blood and then fell to the floor in a lifeless heap. Blood seeped onto the carpet and her mouth fell open as if to utter the scream she never had a chance to voice in life.

  “Sorry,” Lothar said. “You were a luscious bit of pussy, but you’d be a burden on me now, and I can’t have anyone see where I’m going.”

  Still wrapped only in the towel, he moved toward the far wall. He stepped into an alcove furnished as a reading nook, and ran his hand over the molding that framed the cushioned seat. After a second, he found a place where one of the spiral carvings moved under his hand.

  Lothar smiled with triumph and twisted the carving. A section of the wall beside him slipped open to reveal a doorway. Lothar stepped into it, and a moment later, the hidden door closed behind him.

  • • •

  Empress Thalia Margaret Helena Martain du Plessis was in her garden when the alarms sounded. Vinitra was reading aloud to her from a volume of poems of which the Empress was fond.

  When the harsh sound of the claxons broke in on them, both women were shocked.

  “What’s that?” Vinitra said in surprise.

  “It’s the emergency claxon,” the Empress said. “Something must be wrong.”

  “Maybe it’s a drill?”

  Thalia was faintly disgusted. “It’s a fortunate thing your father will arrange your marriage, Vinitra, because you haven’t the brains to find a husband for yourself.”

  Vinitra didn’t answer, and Thalia stood up abruptly. They were alone at the moment, as she had sent her maid back to the house to fetch her shawl. A moment later the sound of screams drifted through the late afternoon quiet, and the Empress frowned.

  “Vinitra, come here.”

  Her daughter put down the reader and obeyed. “Yes, Mother.”

  “Do you remember when I caught you letting your brother do disgusting things to you?”

  Vinitra flushed. “It wasn’t anything terrible. Antonio loves me.”

  “I don’t intend to argue now. I made arrangements then for a plan I hoped I’d never need to use.”

  “What was it?”

  “A hiding place,” her mother said with a faint smile. “Listen to me, Vinitra. Lothar Mothar, Edward Medward, Antonio Mantonio.”

  At these cryptic words, Vinitra’s face assumed an expression that was even more vacant than usual.

  Her mother kissed her cheek tenderly. “Go and hide, Vinitra, just as you were taught.”

  Vinitra turned without a word and began to run for the house. She ran, not toward her own quarters, but to the small cluster of servants’ rooms that were placed close to the Empress’ suite, so that someone would always be conveniently at hand to wait upon the du Plessis.

  Thalia resumed her seat on the bench an
d picked up the reader. She was, after all, Empress of Gaulle, and wouldn’t stoop to hiding from thugs.

  A few minutes later, two men ran from the house into the garden. When they saw her, they hesitated, and Thalia saw that one of them was wounded. They wore plain brown workmen’s coveralls, but both were armed, so she knew they must be intruders.

  They staggered closer, and the younger one gave a gasp and clutched at his companion.

  “I can’t make it, Isaac. You go ahead without me.”

  “No way, Alfie,” the older man said. “Nowhere to go, anyway.” He dragged the other man closer and then stared at Thalia.

  She sat calmly on the bench, her book reader in her hand and her spine perfectly straight, and stared back at him.

  “Well,” Isaac said with a death’s head grin, “lookie here, Alfie! Do you know who this is?”

  Alfie gave a groan and slid to the ground.

  “This is the fucking Empress,” Isaac said with satisfaction. “Thalia du Plessis, Empress of Gaulle and all its dominions. Your husband may have got away, but you’ll rot in hell, Empress Bitch.”

  He lifted his energy pistol to fire, but Thalia dropped her book reader to reveal a tiny but very lethal version of the same weapon.

  She fired first, and Isaac Lu dropped to the ground without a sound. Thalia smiled. “Not before you do, you scum of an assassin.”

  There was a shout from the house, and the Empress looked up to see a troop of at least twenty men in guardsmen’s black uniforms running toward her. She stood regally to greet them, and didn’t even notice when Alfred Jurreau propped his wounded arm on the ground and fired one last shot straight at her head.

  • • •

  Crown Prince Antonio was lying on his bed dreaming of his sisters. The whore he had paid off and sent away hadn’t satisfied his desires at all. In his mind he considered the things he wanted to do. Vinitra, his beloved equal, acknowledged his claim to her body and thus deserved tenderness. Cassandra, on the other hand, deserved to be punished for denying him his rights.

  Putting away such pleasant thoughts, Antonio rose and showered, then changed into clean clothes. When the claxon sounded, the harsh noise jolted him awake in a way that nothing had for quite a while. He knew at once it was no drill.

  He opened his door cautiously. Except for the claxons it seemed quiet enough. And then Antonio heard shouting, and he realized that something momentous was happening, something unexpected. It might not be safe to leave the room.

  He debated what to do. His room was one corridor over from the entrance to his father’s suite. Antonio heard more shouting and the sound of running feet. It sounded, he realized, as if the palace itself were under attack.

  Antonio shut the door. If the palace interior was being attacked, the most likely target was his father. Antonio smiled to himself. He was well aware of Lothar’s habits, and the image of crazed revolutionaries battering down his father’s door to find him in the tub amused him considerably. A thought came to mind suddenly, and Antonio realized that Lothar might well escape through the secret door.

  Quickly, Antonio went to his desk, searched through the drawers, and found a weapon. The du Plessis had a fondness for armaments, and even while he was punishing his son, it had never occurred to Lothar to disarm him.

  Antonio slipped the weapon into his pocket, opened the door to his room, and looked out cautiously. Several men in black uniforms ran past the end of the corridor, and then there was no one else in sight. The Prince turned away from that end of the corridor and walked swiftly down the hallway to a room at the far end of it. It was a room that had access to the outside, if one knew how to find it, and Antonio had been initiated into its secrets several years ago, when he was still in his father’s good graces.

  He opened the door and found himself staring at the barrel of a laser pistol. Antonio considered it a barbaric weapon, but then his father had always had a liking for the barbaric.

  “Hello, Father,” Antonio said, calm in spite of the weapon. He managed to hide a smile when he saw that Lothar was wearing only a towel.

  “It’s you, Antonio,” Lothar said, lowering the pistol. He didn’t sound especially pleased to see his son and heir. “Come in and shut the door.”

  “Certainly,” Antonio said as he obeyed. “What’s happening?”

  “What the hell do you think? Some damned rabble were outside my door, and I had to waste the best pussy I’ve had in years to get away safely.”

  “What a shame,” Antonio said, making his voice sympathetic.

  “Shut up. If you weren’t such a skinny little twerp I’d make you give me your clothes.”

  Antonio said nothing, but glanced at the towel and allowed his smile to show. Lothar gave him an angry look and put his weapon down to adjust the towel, which was slipping disastrously.

  Antonio didn’t waste a moment. He pulled his energy pistol from his pocket and pointed it at his father.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Lothar demanded.

  “I’m making myself Emperor at last,” Antonio said, buoyantly cheerful. It was true that fate rewarded those who were ready to seize their good fortune. This had worked out well. “About time, I’d say,”

  Lothar’s eyes glittered with anger. “Don’t be a fool, boy! You haven’t got the brains to pull this off.”

  “You think not?” Antonio was almost giddy with elation. “I’ve had the brains to keep you from finding out how Vinitra and I feel about each other all these years. I want you to know now, Father. I want to thank you for giving me the most perfect consort any ruler could ever have.”

  Lothar stared at him, revulsion growing in his expression. “You really are an idiot! Do you think our people would tolerate an incestuous royal marriage—full siblings—let alone what the nobility would say? You wouldn’t last a month.”

  Antonio frowned, annoyed both at his father’s lack of surprise and at his affirmation that Antonio might not get his way. “We’ll see about that. Or I will at any rate. You won’t be around to know.” He chuckled, suddenly in a better mood at the thought. “Killed while clutching a towel around your nakedness! I couldn’t have planned it better.”

  Lothar frowned, as if he had just now realized that Antonio did indeed mean to kill him. “See here,” he said, and then he made a desperate grab for his own weapon.

  Antonio fired instantly, and the Emperor of Gaulle and all its dominions sank to the floor at his son’s feet. Antonio looked down at his father and watched his death struggles reflected on his face.

  “By the way, Father,” he said, his tone polite, “I think you should know I mean to have Cassandra, too. She may not be a real du Plessis, but she has enough of our blood to make her worthy of the honor. I may even have her tonight, in this very room. It seems appropriate, and I can let Mother come and watch. She’d like that.”

  Lothar Edward Antonio du Plessis gave a few garbled cries and then was still. Antonio bent over his father’s body and inspected it. He grunted with satisfaction as he straightened up. That was it then. He was the Emperor now. No one could stop him. So long as Lothar was dead, he was Emperor.

  After a moment’s reflection, he went over to the table and picked up Lothar’s laser pistol. He adjusted the focus to a single tight beam, bent down again, aimed the laser at his father’s left ear and held the firing switch down for several seconds. When the beam of light penetrated the other side of Lothar’s skull, Antonio finally released the switch.

  He looked longingly at the seal ring on his father’s right hand, but decided it would be too dangerous to take it now. It would come to him very soon, anyway.

  “The Emperor is dead,” he said loftily, as he straightened up. “Long live the Emperor!”

  Chapter Nine

  Alexander encountered no difficulty in escaping the palace. No one seemed to suspect that a renegade guardsman was on the loose. The barracks had emptied out very quickly once the alarm sounded, and scores of men in black uniforms
swarmed all over the compound. It was simply a matter of attaching himself to the right group. Once Alexander had joined the makeshift squad put together to patrol the exterior of the perimeter, all he had to do was watch for his chance to drift away.

  He waited until the others were well out of sight and earshot, and then ran to find his skimmer. Tucked out of sight in an unused garage only a dozen blocks away, it was just where Ostrov had promised it would be. Alexander tapped the door code and slipped into the skimmer with relief.

  He got well away from the palace before he stopped in an alley to change his clothes and carefully hide his tattoo with a bandage. He checked the cargo compartment and was relieved to find that Ostrov’s people had provided everything they had promised—not only clothes and money but credentials to support a false identity. Alexander wondered if they had followed through on their pledge believing he had a chance of surviving the raid, or if they had left the skimmer with the hope that he would never claim it.

  His first objective was to find a safe place to stay, somewhere where he could take the concubine once he got her back. Hopefully, she would have family she could go to, but it would be best to wait some time before allowing her to contact them. The military would be on the alert after the attack on the palace.

  Once he had hidden his uniform in the cargo bin of the skimmer, Alexander’s first stop was to look for a house agent. He needed somewhere isolated, and that meant a house.

  After he left the skimmer in a convenient spot in the downtown area, he found the city in the grip of an eerie kind of chaos. Pedestrians hurried through the streets, and shops seemed to be closing early. Twice, emergency vehicles careened down the street, claxons blaring, and once Alexander noticed a military flyter hovering overhead. He watched as a stocky man in coveralls closed up his tiny sidewalk beverage stall just at a time when he should have been preparing for a flood of commuters.

  Perplexed, Alexander snagged the man by the arm before he could rush off. “Here, what’s happened? Where’s everyone going?”

  The man stared at him in surprise. “Haven’t you heard? The Emperor is dead!”