Michella had requested that a hardcopy of the ship inventory be delivered personally rather than simply transmitted to the office. Apparently, the woman didn’t trust Administrator Reming’s primitive information systems. The Diadem was always one to prefer formality over efficiency.
Alert and thinking of possibilities, Enva took the document to the main offices usurped by Michella. She walked through the mansion corridors, where she passed guards in Constellation uniforms as well as decorated officers, Sonjeeran nobles who had attended the Diadem at her palace and at various governmental functions—places where they might have seen Lady Enva Tazaar. She could not afford to be recognized here, but her appearance and demeanor were quite different from those days.
Enva came to the anteroom as requested, where she overheard a discussion in the main admin chamber, Michella’s familiar voice—syrup mixed with acid—scheming with her advisers. Enva couldn’t help but glance up, saw the withered old woman at Administrator Reming’s desk, then turned away to keep from being noticed.
One of the Sonjeeran guards closed the door to give the Diadem privacy, shooting Enva a quick glare for the interruption. Enva delivered her document to a sour-faced receptionist and obtained the signature she needed, then ducked out of the offices, scurrying back toward her desk as a meek civil servant should.
Because she had encountered so many Constellation guards and entourage members in the main corridors, she slipped into a back hallway, taking a more convoluted but less traveled path around the central block of offices.
She tried to think of subtle—or not so subtle—ways she could harm the Diadem’s plans. She passed two of her coworkers, who looked harried and nervous; opened a door; slipped through a connecting hallway to avoid them—and nearly bumped into a bald man who was silent, alert, and seemed to belong in shadowy back halls rather than in the main bustle of attention.
Enva froze, recognizing him instantly. She was dismayed at her inability to cover her surprise—and Ishop Heer certainly noticed. She averted her eyes. “Excuse me, sir.” She kept her face turned away and tried to shuffle past.
Ishop Heer, the Diadem’s hatchet man, had been in the Council Hall when Enva was stripped of her titles and arrested. He had worked for Michella Duchenet for years and had a way of quietly making the Diadem’s enemies disappear. If Enva were caught, she had no doubt that Michella would have this man perform a long and painful execution.
Ishop blocked her way. He was a big man with broad shoulders—which always seemed odd to her for one with such a mastery of stealth. She tried to will him not to recognize her, but it was a vain hope.
“One moment—this is very interesting.” He grabbed her chin in a firm grip and lifted her head, forcing her to look into his intense, empty eyes. His lips curved in a cruel smile. “Quite a surprise, Enva Tazaar.”
“You mistake me for someone else, sir.”
“No, I’m certain I do not. I knew you’d fled out to the Deep Zone—to Tehila, in fact. But I thought you would have found a better hiding place than here in the thick of political activity in the administrator’s mansion.”
Enva clenched her jaw and refused to respond. Denials would be pointless. Then Ishop’s smile broadened. “Ah, but of course! You must be planting seeds, making plans for the future. Now, that’s what I expected from you, Enva.”
“How did you know I escaped to Tehila?” she asked in a hoarse voice. “No one knew.”
“Because I sent you here, of course.” He drank in her reaction and seemed to be enjoying himself. “I’m the one who arranged for your escape, dear woman. My operatives broke you out of prison, got you on a stringline ship, sent you to the Deep Zone. You’re alive because of me.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Why would you do that?”
Ishop pondered, as if he had never considered how to verbalize it himself. “Because you and I have a lot in common. Maybe you were too preoccupied with your own concerns to notice? While you were stripped of your noble titles and holdings, I was denied mine in the first place. They scoffed at my claims, tried to sweep me under the rug. After I gave a lifetime of service, the Diadem denied me my due, prevented me from recovering my status. She spurned me as much as she spurned you.” He reached out to touch the side of Enva’s face, stroked her blonde hair. She shuddered. “Once, I even thought you and I might make fine partners. That could still be the case.” He sniffed. “Now, seeing you here, a wealth of possibilities occurs to me.”
She stood firm, alert, wondering if he had installed listening devices to record her answers, to trap her—but to what end? He could already destroy her with a word. “What possibilities?”
The look on Ishop’s face became utterly vicious, and his answer shocked her. “I want to destroy Diadem Michella. No, not just destroy her—she is a cancerous tumor that I want to rip out and stomp under my boot heel.” He leaned closer. “Does that sound interesting to you?”
Enva’s thoughts whirled. She couldn’t believe that Ishop Heer had betrayed the Diadem, arranged for Enva’s escape, and now wanted to kill the woman who had been his benefactor for years. That made no sense! Enva still despised this man, but she also realized that he could be unexpectedly useful—if he was telling the truth. But she didn’t trust him for a fraction of a second.
Her other plans now crystallized. “Simply murdering Michella would be satisfying, but there are more effective ways to ruin her—if that’s what you truly want to do, Ishop Heer.”
“I’m listening.” His lips quirked in a smile. “So long as Michella suffers. That detail is rather high on my priority list.”
“Oh, she will suffer. But instead of just killing her, we should take her hostage, use her as a bargaining chip.”
His smooth brow furrowed. “What would we do with her?”
Enva caught her breath at how the pieces were falling together. Ishop would turn on her in an instant, but she might use him in the meantime. “Why, we’ll deliver her into the hands of General Adolphus, of course.”
She could tell by Ishop’s bright eyes and crafty smile that she wouldn’t need to do any further convincing.
29
“Great military heroes never retire,” said General Adolphus, “they just become managers.”
George Komun, planetary administrator of Umber and one of the original eleven conspirators who had planned the Deep Zone independence movement, arrived at Hellhole for a private meeting. Sitting in the Elba conference room, he commiserated with the General.
The room seemed too large for a private conversation, but it had resonance for the two men. Here, the tight-knit group of planetary leaders had met in secret: Tanja Hu, Ian Walfor, George Komun, Dom Cellan Tier, Sia Frankov, Eldora Fen, and others. In this room they had hatched the scheme for the DZ stringline network that would free the Deep Zone from the Diadem’s monopoly. Together, they had plotted the overthrow of the Constellation, and they had succeeded.
“I believe that’s why many wars start in the first place,” Komun said. “When fighting epic battles, military commanders have a well-defined goal, but during all that bloodshed, in the backs of their minds, they long for peace. Then, afterward, when their lives are dull and normal, they miss the rush of adrenaline and think fondly of the bygone glory days. And so—perhaps unconsciously or perhaps not—they end up starting trouble, so they can go out and fight again.”
Adolphus poured himself a second cup of hot, sweet kiafa. “Yes, the old glory days. I certainly don’t long for the bloody battles, but it was good to have a clear goal. Conquest is easy—governing is hard.”
Komun took a seat. “Rules are more clear-cut under a dictatorship. Now that the Deep Zone is independent, every person has the freedom they thought they wanted, but freedom has a way of providing so many choices that some people are afraid to have no guardrails and no safety net.”
Captain Naridar entered the room with his report. Since Naridar’s recent decisive crackdown at Hossetea, the General had given him the responsibi
lity of watching over the DZDF forces stationed at the primary Hellhole stringline hub.
Hearing the comment, Captain Naridar frowned. “Now that the Deep Zone has had a taste of freedom, I can’t believe anyone would want to go back to the repressive Constellation. The Diadem was bleeding the DZ dry by forcing us to pay for her bloated and outdated system.”
Komun sat back in his chair and regarded him. “I understand your bitterness, Captain. The stupidity on Hossetea was shocking, but in retrospect not unexpected. The fact that some people would actually prefer the old tyranny seems nonsensical to anyone who’s been living, breathing, and fantasizing about freedom for year after year. But there are instances—unbelievable as it may sound—where too much freedom, too soon, causes chaos. For the most part, people just want to live their lives and take care of their families, instead of making grand political gestures.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry to say that the majority just want to be told what to do and then be left alone.”
Adolphus was not happy to hear this, though not surprised. Komun’s planet, Umber, had been a largely self-sufficient world even before the recent rebellion. His people mined a wealth of green sapphires and always managed to hide the true output from the Diadem’s inspectors. Umberians complained enough about their allotted tribute to the Crown Jewels that the Diadem never suspected how little pain the tribute payments actually cost.
“The Deep Zone has its independence,” Adolphus said, “but as in any transition, the people have to put up with some turmoil. Our honeymoon is over, and this is reality.”
Komun gave a snort. “And they’re still hung over from the wedding celebrations.” He tapped his fingers on the conference room table. “But we shouldn’t underestimate the risk of unrest. Hossetea was a warning we cannot ignore. Right now, our single most vulnerable point is the Hellhole stringline hub. It serves as the strategic high ground for the entire Deep Zone. It must be defended at all costs—and that is where the Constellation will try to attack us.”
“Soon enough we’ll remove that single point of failure,” Adolphus said. “Right now, at least five other DZ worlds are establishing their own stringline hubs, which will diversify and strengthen the stringline network. In fact, I’m surprised you haven’t started one yourself, George.”
“There will come a time for that, General, but I’m in no hurry. My planet is stable, my people are content.”
“I wish all DZ planets could say the same,” Adolphus said.
Captain Naridar set his display screen on the table between the two men. “Our stringline hub is secure, sirs. The peacekeeper ships I withdrew from Hossetea now provide added defenses. Our direct line to Sonjeera has been cut, so the Constellation cannot make a frontal assault.”
“But there are fifty other routes in,” Komun pointed out. “If Hossetea had fallen, the Army of the Constellation could have used that to gain access to Hellhole. Thank God Captain Naridar was there and reacted appropriately, but who is to say that another DZ world isn’t going to fall? There may be additinal restless planets like Hossetea.” He arched his eyebrows. “If I might make a suggestion?”
Adolphus met the man’s gaze. “I’ve always valued your advice, George. We’re on the same page.”
“Defending the hub itself is important, but it’s just as important to guarantee the loyalty of the other Deep Zone worlds. Maybe there’s a better use for Captain Naridar’s extra peacekeeper ships. Representing the DZDF, he could take those fifteen battleships on a security inspection tour from one DZ world to the next. That would be a nice visible reminder that you’re here, General, in case the populations start to have doubts.”
“But sending those ships away would diminish the security here at the Hellhole hub,” the General pointed out.
“It’s a reallocation of assets.” He shrugged. “But if it lets you sleep better at night, I have fifteen ships for planetary defense at Umber. You gave them to me as a reward because I was one of your original revolutionaries, but I don’t need them. Umber is stable. Sure, I could leave one or two ships there as a token security force, but I’ll send you the others to guard the Hellhole hub while Captain Naridar goes on his showy patrol.”
Naridar said, “It does seem a better use of the ships we have, sir. We don’t want another hot spot like Hossetea.”
“I wish the Constellation was the only thing I had to worry about,” the General said, frowning. Since launching the new observation satellites from Ankor, Adolphus had been receiving high-resolution images, and his technicians remained vigilant for any unexpected celestial movements, any asteroid attack from the Ro-Xayans.
He rested his elbows on the table, said, “Personally, I believe a bombardment of asteroids is a greater threat than the Diadem’s temper tantrum or some discontented rebels who’ve discovered that real freedom entails hard work and not just bragging and dreaming.” He considered, then nodded. “George, if you can eliminate one of my worries, then that in itself strengthens the Deep Zone. I would gladly accept your ships. Thank you.”
Komun actually chuckled. “I can see how the threat of Armageddon might lead to some anxiety, General. You send Captain Naridar on his patrol, and I’ll dispatch thirteen of my battleships back here from Umber. In turbulent times like these, everything we do makes history, so we have to pay attention to the details.”
30
Hurtling in on the Qiorfu line, Lord Riomini’s haulers arrived at the main stringline hub over Sonjeera, overwhelming the gigantic transport facility. Thousands of fighter craft, destroyers, and immense battleships from the Black Lord’s privately constructed fleet dropped out of docking clamps and fell into orbit, taking up positions around the Constellation’s main world. Passenger pods and shuttles sped out and descended toward the capital city. They bypassed the ruins of the Sonjeera spaceport and headed for Heart Square, using the large parks in front of the government buildings as makeshift landing grounds.
He was coming not as a conquering invader, but as a savior, a rescuer for the Crown Jewels in a time of disastrous upheaval. He wanted to show strength, not intimidation.
Riomini rode in the largest transport, which was itself so heavily armed that it could destroy many frontline Constellation warships; it was also equipped as a mobile command center, where he could meet with his top officers and formulate attacks. He couldn’t stop smiling. This was marvelous.
Originally, he had constructed his clandestine military force at Lubis Plain for the protection of his considerable assets. This private fleet was not part of the Army of the Constellation, and not subject to being commandeered by the Diadem for her own purposes. Riomini was well aware that no other noble family had the resources—or the will—to invest in such an undertaking. He had meant for these ships to be his insurance, not an offensive force to overthrow the Diadem.
But circumstances changed.
This was not an overthrow, not a civil war, but the imposition of strength and stability to remedy a dangerous leadership vacuum. At present, the Constellation had no leader, and Michella Duchenet had attacked her own planet, killing her own subjects, as a paranoid overreaction to an imagined alien threat. In obliterating the spaceport, she had destroyed a vital strategic asset for the Constellation—which was, after all, currently at war with General Adolphus. And then she had abandoned her throne.
Rescue and recovery operations continued round the clock on the perimeter of the kilometer-wide glassy crater left by the explosion; countless casualties were still being removed from wreckage on the outer circles. Tebias had also advised Riomini that as one of his first acts, he should endorse the recovery operations and add funding (at least by a marginal amount), to show how he was different from the old Diadem. One of the military ships was loaded with relief supplies; not enough to make much of a difference, but enough to look good.
The citizens were appalled by what Michella had done, and Riomini knew that by now they must hate her, feeling betrayed. In recent years, many of the nobles had already grown
disgusted with the old woman’s excesses and erratic behavior. Very few would mourn her departure.
No, this was not an overthrow. Selik Riomini saw himself as the person to save the Constellation, and fortunately, through his foresight, he had the resources to do so. He had always intended to become the next Diadem, although it was coming about in a different manner than he had anticipated. He would never have a better time, and so now when he saw his chance, he acted. For the good of the Constellation. After what Michella had done, everyone would welcome a strong leader, like him.
Riomini’s preparations were not just military, as the rest of the Council was about to discover. Oh, some would complain about his obvious ambitions, as they always did, but the Crown Jewels had no other viable options. Previously, his closest competition in the succession had been Enva Tazaar, but she was disgraced and stripped of her position, vanished into the shadows somewhere. She was nothing.
He had been planning this for a long time, and he expected his assumption of the diademacy would go smoothly. The descending passenger pods and troop transports contained more than soldiers: He’d brought along an army of bureaucrats, diplomats, legal and constitutional scholars—enough functionaries to take over every detail of day-to-day government operations. His people would replace all managers, supervisors, and even some of the rank-and-file workers who had served Michella Duchenet. He even intended to set up his own court system, if necessary, which would process any challenges to his rule.
Yes, he had it all planned.
As his armored transport landed directly in front of Council Hall, people scattered in all directions, frightened. Additional escort flyers and troop carriers landed in the surrounding streets, while the rest of his massive fleet secured the perimeter of the city.
It was late morning, local time, and he’d timed his arrival to coincide with the emergency session of the interim Council. Surrounded by his elite guard force, Riomini marched toward the Hall. The Council was already in an uproar, leaderless and in turmoil after Michella abandoned the government. The interim committee spent more time raising measures and arguing about them than actually establishing law—business as usual, but Riomini would change that.
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