He was about to ask Daska a question when a second hatch whispered open and a five- or six-year-old boy entered the compartment. He had tousled hair, inquisitive eyes, and wore a navy uniform. “This is Prince Nicolai,” Daska informed him. “You will bow when he arrives and address him as Your Highness in public. Here, however, during private sessions, you are permitted to address him by his given name. Do you have any questions?”
Avery bowed. It felt awkward. His head was spinning. The toys, the prince . . . Everything was coming together. Had he been brought aboard to play games with Nicolai? To substitute for the playmates the boy didn’t have? The answer was yes; shock soon gave way to embarrassment and anger. He wanted to leave. But what would the penalty be? Avery knew that Ophelia was capable of anything and everything, so it was important to control himself. He was groping for something to say when Nicolai intervened. “You’re a major.”
“Yes,” Avery replied awkwardly. “My name is Avery. Major John Avery.”
The boy’s eyes were big. “Should I call you sir?”
“No,” Avery replied. “First because you are a prince . . . But, since you are wearing the uniform of a navy captain, you outrank me in that respect as well.”
“Oh. Can I call you Major John?”
“Yes. And I’ll call you Nicolai.”
Avery looked up to discover that Daska had left. There were bound to be surveillance cameras, however. He wanted to look for them but was careful not to. “So you’re interested in the military.”
“I’m going to be an emperor,” Nicolai said matter-of-factly. “So I need to kill people and stuff like that.”
The boy said it so casually that it made Avery’s blood run cold. Here, right in front of him, was a megalomaniac in the making. Avery was careful to choose his words with care. “Yes, well, being part of the military involves a lot more than killing people. There’s strategy to consider . . . And logistics . . . And . . .”
Nicolai looked bored. “Can we play now?”
“Sure,” Avery replied, as Nicolai led him to the platform. The raised step that ran all the way around the display allowed the boy to access the tabletop. “I’ll be the marines,” Nicolai said brightly, “and you can be the Legion. Mommy says legionnaires are bad people.”
Avery thought it best to let the comment pass. As he examined the miniatures that were laid out on the battlefield, he realized that they were moving. Not much, just a little, as if to signal that they were in play. “Use the laser pointer,” Nicolai said. “Zap a unit in order to activate it—then zap the place where you want it to go.”
Avery picked up a laser pointer, aimed it at a three-inch-tall Trooper I, and touched a button. Then he chose a point directly behind a perfectly executed clump of trees and marked it with a blip of light. Tiny servos whined as the toy advanced. It was armed with shoulder launchers, and its head turned right and left as if scanning for danger. It was fun, and Avery was starting to get interested. He discovered that after activating a unit, he could use the laser pen to draw a winding route through a series of obstacles, and the toy would follow it.
“See?” Nicolai demanded. “It’s easy. You’re supposed to try to cross the mountains while I do the same thing. Then, if you reach the other side, you can try to capture the dome at my end of the table. If General Crowley lets you do that . . . Which he probably won’t.”
General Crowley? An imaginary playmate perhaps? No, there was a General Crowley . . . An officer who had distinguished himself by suppressing a revolt on Mars twenty years earlier. “So General Crowley might join us?”
“He’s here now,” Nicolai replied. “In my head. Not the real one, a copy. Mommy gave him to me. I don’t like it when he argues with Tarch Senta.”
It sounded as if Ophelia had found a way to clone selected personalities and install them in her son’s mind. Or maybe the boy was all mixed up. Avery thought it best to play along. “Two against one . . . That’s not fair.”
Nicolai frowned. “I’m five, and you’re a grown-up. That isn’t fair, either.”
The line was perfectly delivered, and Avery couldn’t help but laugh. “Good point. Okay, let’s see who can get over the mountain range first.” The answer was Nicolai and General Crowley. While Avery was still learning how far each piece could move, and how to “fire” their weapons, his opponents took control of all three mountain passes by landing aircraft on them.
Then, as Avery began to advance, they fired salvos of heat-seeking missiles over the mountains and destroyed his cyborgs one by one. And that’s where the battle stood when Daska reappeared. “Playtime is over, Your Highness. It’s time for lunch.”
“But I don’t want lunch . . . We’re having fun. Aren’t we, Major John?”
“Some of us are having fun,” Avery said with a smile.
“Maybe you’ll do better next time,” Nicolai said.
“I will certainly try.”
Nicolai waved as the robot led him away. Avery was free to go.
The play sessions became part of the daily routine after that. Avery would receive a call, make his way up to B-14, and spend an hour with Nicolai. The only thing that changed was that Avery managed to cross a mountain pass on the third day, and was close to capturing a second one, when Daska entered the compartment. It wasn’t until Nicolai ran over to her that Avery realized the truth. Instead of the body double, he was looking at the empress herself! “Mommy! Major John is winning, and General Crowley is mad at him.” Having had some practice, Avery managed to bow without making a fool of himself.
Empress Ophelia ruffled her son’s hair as she looked at Avery. Her voice was identical to Daska’s. Or the other way around. “So,” she said. “I understand your brother doesn’t like me.”
The comment was like a bolt of lightning out of the blue. Avery was stunned but knew he shouldn’t be. A synth named Snarr had cautioned him about his brother’s intemperate remarks months earlier. Which meant the government knew about it. So why had his nomination been approved?
Ophelia smiled. “Never fear, Major . . . I know how brothers can be.”
That was true. The difference was that Ophelia’s brother had been murdered on her orders. Avery forced a smile. “Thank you, Highness.”
“Nicolai looks forward to the daily sessions,” Ophelia said. “But I suspect they are a trial for you.”
Avery looked at Nicolai and back to her. “I have come to look forward to the sessions, Highness.” And it was true.
Ophelia smiled knowingly. “That was well said. And I believe it. As you know, we will enter orbit around Worber’s World in a couple of days. And when we do, Nicolai will have to share you with his mother. The governor of Worber’s World claims that all is well on his planet. My intelligence people say otherwise. I would like you to accompany me. Your job will be to look and listen. Then, when our visit is over, I will ask for your impressions.”
There was only one thing Avery could say. “Yes, Highness. I would be honored.”
“Good. Come on, Nicolai. Let’s have lunch.”
—
PLANET WORBER’S WORLD
Worber’s World was an earthlike planet that had been quick to declare its fealty to Ophelia upon the death of her brother but was also experiencing some “social upheaval.” Which was a polite way of saying that a significant portion of the population didn’t care for the empress or the new 12 percent “mutual welfare and defense” tax that had been imposed on all of the colony worlds. So whom to believe? Video of huge protests captured by Ophelia’s intelligence people? Or the governor? Who claimed that the civil disobedience was limited to a few cities—and not representative of the citizenry in general.
Ophelia was understandably gun-shy in the wake of the civil war on Orlo II. And Avery assumed that his analysis would constitute but a single tile in the mosaic of intelligence reports the empress would receive from
a variety of sources. In any case, it felt good to function as something more than a glorified babysitter for a change.
In his role as military attaché, Avery got to ride in Ophelia’s lavishly equipped shuttle along with her synth security detail and a handful of key advisors, all of whom treated Avery with haughty disdain. He was a commoner, after all, a mere major, and a Legion major at that. The Legion being the lowest form of military life there was where the courtiers were concerned. But Avery didn’t care. All he wanted to do was complete the assignment and return to regular duty. Somewhere near McKee if he could wrangle it.
Avery expected some pomp and ceremony once the shuttle put down but was unprepared for the totality of what followed. A crowd of five thousand people was waiting in the drizzle, many of whom held identical welcome signs aloft. A band played, dimly seen aerospace fighters passed overhead, and Governor Judd delivered a flowery speech. He was a portly man with a florid face and an ingratiating smile. Avery didn’t like him and could tell that Ophelia didn’t either.
But she played her part and waved to the clearly partisan crowd as she and a small retinue climbed into the bubble-topped limo that had been brought down to the planet’s surface six hours earlier. Avery was among that group and had been told that the rain-streaked duraplast could stop a .50 caliber bullet.
But that wasn’t all. The car was equipped with running boards, and two synths rode on each. There was a military escort as well, plus snipers stationed on rooftops all along the parade route. None of the buildings were more than five or six stories high, so Avery had a clear view of the marksmen and the armed air cars that kept pace with the limo.
There were discrepancies, however—differences between various elements of the militia that Avery found interesting. So, much to the annoyance of the economic advisor seated next to him, he whispered comments into a wire-thin boom mike as spectators cheered and pelted the car with identical bouquets of flowers.
Maybe it was the cloudy sky and the incessant rain, but Avery thought the city of Newport was a depressing place and was thankful when the journey ended two miles later. The governor’s mansion was a sturdy-looking affair surrounded by a blastproof perimeter wall, a water feature that could double as a partial moat, and narrow, slit-shaped windows. Were the soldiers on duty around the mansion a bit sharper than those guarding the intersections in town? Yes, Avery thought so . . . But it would make sense to put the best people at critical locations. There were other things however—things that bothered him.
At least there would be a good meal, or so Avery assumed. But first it was necessary to endure the reception, where, given his status as military attaché, Avery was expected to chat with a gaggle of officers all eager to curry favor with Ophelia’s pet major.
Finally, having survived the reception, Avery was given a chance to eat what turned out to be an excellent lunch. The only distractions were the woman on his right who wanted to know what Ophelia wore every day—and the geezer on the left who assumed the legionnaire was a criminal. “Did you murder someone?” he demanded. “And if so, why?”
Once lunch was over, one of Ophelia’s air cars plucked the party up off the roof of the mansion and flew it back to the spaceport. The empress was scheduled to attend a number of events over the coming days but preferred to spend the night aboard the Victorious. “So I can care for my sick son,” she told Governor Judd even though Avery knew that Nicolai was in good health.
Avery was beat by the time he returned to his quarters on the Vic, and about to get ready for bed when his pocket com buzzed. It was Daska . . . And she informed Avery that the empress wanted to speak with him. He was surprised, but only mildly so, and glad that he had taken the time to review his notes on the trip up into space.
A couple of synths were waiting outside the elevator. Daska watched impassively as the other robots patted Avery down. Then it led him down a corridor he hadn’t been in before to a hatch marked B-3. It opened as if by magic as Daska led Avery into a beautifully furnished room. There were fresh flowers from Worber’s World, gilded mirrors, and art on all of the walls. Ophelia was seated on an off-white couch that was part of a well-conceived conversation area. She was dressed in a beautiful but modest synsilk robe and sat with her feet tucked under her. Avery bowed. Ophelia gestured to the chair across from her. “Have a seat, Major . . . Would you like a drink? I know I would.”
Avery said “Yes,” rather than risk offending her, and wound up with something called a Blue Comet. It packed a punch, and he resolved to have only one.
“So, Major,” Ophelia said, once he’d been served. “Tell me what you noticed during our visit. And Major . . .”
“Yes?”
“Don’t tell me what you think I want to hear. Tell me what you honestly believe.”
The whole thing was ironic. Avery was seated across from the dictator who was responsible for thousands of murders, including the deaths of Cat’s parents. A woman who would have McKee killed were she to learn of the legionnaire’s true identity. And he was going to provide Ophelia with what might or might not be valuable assistance. But what choice did he have? Other than to turn himself in. He took a sip and felt the cold liquid trickle down his throat. “I noticed two things, Highness. The first is that although they look new—every military vehicle I saw was at least ten years old. And some were older than that.”
Ophelia frowned. “And that’s important because?”
“That’s important because your brother provided Governor Judd with ten billion credits to modernize the local militia two years ago.”
Ophelia’s eyebrows rose. “And Judd did so . . . I read the readiness reports.”
“I’m sure you did,” Avery agreed. “But if the governor had new vehicles, why use the old ones? Especially for a royal visit? It’s my guess that the new equipment was never purchased.”
A hardness Avery hadn’t seen before appeared in Ophelia’s eyes and found its way into her voice. “You’re saying that he stole the money.”
“Not all of it,” Avery replied. “That’s the second thing . . . There are two militias on Worber’s World. The real one, and the militia within the militia, which is probably comprised of paid mercenaries.”
Ophelia stared at him. “How can you tell the difference?”
“The real militia is out of shape, sloppy, and poorly armed. The mercs are in great shape, well disciplined, and armed with assault weapons so new your marines haven’t received them yet.”
Ophelia looked puzzled. “But why?”
“I don’t know,” Avery answered honestly. “But, if I had to guess, I’d say half of the ten billion credits is stashed on one of the rim worlds waiting for the governor to retire. As for the militia . . . They’re the ones you’d expect to restore order if the population rose up against Judd. Except that his mercs could eat them alive. Then he’ll jump on a ship and run. Or maybe I’m wrong.”
“It fits,” Ophelia said angrily. “It fits with other things I know. And now that I can tell people what to look for, they can verify your theories. Thank you, Major. Thank you very much. Why didn’t my other officers notice those things?”
“Because they don’t belong to the Legion,” Avery answered. “Most of our people know something about crime.”
When Ophelia laughed, it was surprisingly loud. Avery had a feeling that Governor Judd was going to wind up dead pretty soon. Did that bother him? Hell, no. The people of Worber’s World deserved better. Would they get it? Not while Ophelia was empress. Chances were that she would replace Judd with someone worse. He finished the drink. It had a bitter taste.
—
There was no way to ascertain whether Governor Judd had billions of credits stashed on a rim world. But it didn’t take Ophelia’s agents long to confirm that the militia’s vehicles were as old as Avery said they were. And, after a bit of digging, they learned that 80 percent of the militia’s elite Ravag
er battalion were not only from off-planet but were full- versus part-time soldiers.
Avery half expected Ophelia to line Governor Judd and his family up against a wall and shoot them. But she was smarter than that. The truth was that the Victorious and her escorts weren’t carrying enough marines to land, duke it out with the mercs, and keep the civilian population under control at the same time. So Ophelia was pleasant to Judd—and left Worber’s World just as she’d found it. But Avery figured that Judd would wake up one morning to discover that a fleet was orbiting his planet, dropships were on the way down through the atmosphere, and a team of synths were knocking on his front door.
Once in space, the sessions with Nicolai resumed. They had moved on to other games by then, and Avery enjoyed the time he spent with the boy. Would Cat and he have children? It was an intriguing question and something he hadn’t considered before.
The Victorious was bound for Clone World BETA-018 at that point. The mission was to let the Alpha Clones know that Ophelia hoped to continue the friendly relationship they had enjoyed with her brother. As usual, the majority of the voyage would be spent in the never-never land of hyperspace, a dimension in which enemies couldn’t even see each other, much less fight.
That’s how it was supposed to work, at any rate. But such journeys often involved the need to exit hyperspace at what were commonly referred to as jump points, or places where a ship’s NAVCOMP could recalculate the next leg of the journey, before plunging back into hyperspace. And for reasons too technical for Avery to comprehend, the best jump points were not only well charted but used by a wide multiplicity of sentient races. That meant it was possible for a warship to wait at such a spot and ambush vessels as they arrived.
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