House of Jackals

by Todd M. Moreno

  "You know the kind of training that an admiral is likely to have," Depré said carefully. "It still might not work. Best we keep the other part of the plan going too, just in case. "

  "Fine,” said Kamarin, turning to the older woman. “Get someone who is familiar with government training. Even if we can’t break this admiral, we should still be able to get those files downloaded to their remote-archives, even if we need to blow-up the whole damn building to do it. That way we won’t leave empty handed. We can always look for another way to unlock those command codes."

  "Command codes?" Annika prompted.

  "Yes," Taniell replied. "The informational data is only part of it. The Assembly has acquired military command codes, something we couldn’t say in front of Steuben. We need someone with clearance to unlock them. That’s why we need the Admiral."

  "But won’t they change them once they know he’s been taken?" Annika asked.

  "Part of our job is to make sure they don’t know until it is too late."

  “Too late for what exactly?”

  "As soon as we have access, we will relay them to other units who will be standing by," Depré said smiling. "With those command codes, we will be able to take their communication and surveillance satellites off-line, and lock-down key buildings on their military bases."

  "And then?" asked Annika, pushing back a lock of silvery hair from her eyes.

  "We will steal the kind of armaments we really need," Kamarin answered.

  "Including ships and aircraft," Depré added, his eyes twinkling.

  "And what about our resident colonel?" Annika said flatly, looking at Kamarin. "Now that he knows part of the plan, he may well figure out the rest of it. Do you really trust him?"

  "I trust him to be who he is," Kamarin said. "Let Steuben tell his superiors that we’re after those files. It won’t stop us from a true main objective. It might even serve as a distraction. We’ll know if he does tell, at least." Kamarin looked at Depré. "And if he does, then the dutiful Colonel Steuben will die."

  ---

  V

  Although the DuCideon Brotherhood claimed descent from an ancient secret society, it was only constituted in its present form after the founding of the Empire. It thus had no greater pedigree than that of its chief competitor in economic and political affairs: the Consortium.

  The tendrils of both organizations extended even beyond the Empire, and each sought to expand its criminal empire at the expense of the other. Inevitably, this led to encroachment and deadly conflict, though on Legan, this played out with a peculiar sense of decorum.

  Local Consortium operations were overseen by Anios Tenatte, who was appointed by the infamous Council of Underlords, the Consortium’s ruling body. His role was to advise, and when necessary direct, the many aspiring planetary Consortium crime bosses until one of them was strong enough to petition the Council for recognition as the planetary chief. It was under Tenatte’s tenure that the Consortium attained primacy over Legan. This was a fact that the planetary head of the Brotherhood, Lord Vaid Ketrick, was determined to change.

  But for now, in the tradition of rivals meeting to discuss matters of common concern on neutral ground, Ketrick sat waiting for his Consortium counterpart in a New Dawn Believer gathering hall, which to him looked more like a grade-school assembly room than a place of worship, wearily enduring the NDB funeral service of one of the Brotherhood’s fallen spies.

  “Thank you, Brother Josiah,” said the man as he returned to the podium. Though he was the local church bishop, the man wore no outer vestments signifying his rank. To the impeccably attired Ketrick, he looked like an insurance agent. “And now, Avid’s cousin, Zarian, would like to say a few words in remembrance.”

  If I hear another folksy story about this man’s childhood, Vaid Ketrick thought, never having liked the man being honored, I will tell them how the self-righteous slig really lined his pockets, and how much his annual tithes to their church coffers should really have been.

  “G’morning, Lord Ketrick,” Anios Tenatte said as he came up behind him and sat down. “Have I missed much?” After so many years, these meetings had acquired an air of familiarity.

  “The man’s brother was just saying how they used to play ‘Spy’ with the neighborhood kids growing up.” Ketrick spoke without turning around. In truth, he disliked looking at Tenatte directly. The man’s scarred face, mechanical eyes, and perfectly formed teeth conveyed an artificialness that he found disconcerting. It made him wonder if any part of the man was real.

  “Damn, I was hoping to hear that one,” said Tenatte dryly. “Any chance someone is recording this? I’d love a copy for my collection.”

  “Ask the big guy in the boxy suit—the local bishop here.”

  “Him? He looks like an insurance salesman.”

  “All New Dawn Believers are insurance salesmen.”

  “Religion is the ultimate protection racket,” Tenatte agreed.

  Ketrick scowled. The DuCideon Brotherhood had its own brand of mysticism to defend, but this was not the time. Besides, the strength of Ketrick’s beliefs did not depend on the number of those who shared them. Tenatte could think what he wished.

  “Then Avid got all mushy about Dora,” said the man at the podium. “Saying he was grateful to be given his soul-mate, and how much he loved her. He was so emotional.” A shared sigh came from the listeners. “So we all picked him up and tossed him in the swimming pool to cool off.” The ensuing laughter would have made a live-studio producer proud.

  “Am I correct that the high point of this man’s bachelor party was being thrown into the water?” the Consortium representative asked.

  “You missed the part about them playing volleyball.”

  “Ah. And the women were—?”

  “There were no women, Anios,” said Ketrick in mock admonishment, “and no consciousness-altering substances either. Only good and wholesome fun.”

  “If that really was this man’s life, killing him was a mercy.”

  “Yes, well, you did not have to kill him. Had we known that his cover was blown, we would have pulled him out. He had a family, after all.”

  “Then he shouldn’t have tried infiltrating our organization,” Tenatte replied. “He put himself at risk...and his family.”

  “Aww, Tenatte. Would you really pick on a young widow with five children? If you truly need to rub some family out, why not remove a few cousins. The man had several dozen.”

  “Avid was excited and nervous,” continued the speaker, trying not to laugh. “He couldn’t even sign his own name on the marriage certificate, his hand shook so much.”

  “You can start with the one up there talking right now,” Ketrick breathed.

  “For the moment, I am more interested in knowing what that buggering NDB spy gave you, than in extracting repayment for it.”

  “Regrettably, you were too smart for us. Our man was fingered before he could report.”

  “So our missing shipments out of Kelton were just coincidental?”

  “Hmmm? Kelton, you say? I hope they were not worth too much.”

  “And the new ‘competitive bidding’ for some of our contracts?”

  “Pity you killed the man before asking him about these things.”

  “He was less than cooperative.”

  “I know the type. Which reminds me, I never got the chance to express my regrets over the man you lost recently.”

  “Yes. The police called it a suicide.”

  “Walking alone at night, unarmed, in that part of the city? I would have to agree.”

  “No, that was a different one. The one I was thinking of was found floating in a river, down stream from a bridge.”

  “Sounds like a suicide.”

  “His throat was slit.”

  “Maybe he was loath to take any chances at being saved. It is amazing what medical science can do to revive people these days.”

  “So that wasn’t you?”

  “Tenatte, tossing
garbage into a river is littering.”

  “Technically, Lord Ketrick, I believe that is polluting.”

  “In either case, surely there are local ordinances against it. After all, we each need to do our part to keep our cities clean. Otherwise, we could be overrun by vermin.”

  “Maybe we’ll just have to tell our people to be more careful. Of course, with the streets being so dangerous, perhaps you should tell your people as well.”

  “I will be sure to issue a memo.”

  “Until next time then, Vaid.” Tenatte stood and walked away.

  “See you soon, Anios.” Ketrick moved to leave by another exit.

  Let the Consortium kill all the NDB spies they want, Ketrick thought. Tenatte was doing him a favor. The bridge killing however was unfamiliar. It could have been his operatives. It could also have been the work of NDB Church Security. Tenatte seemed to think there was a connection, and Ketrick had known the man long enough not to dismiss the notion out of hand.

  Ketrick would have to make some inquiries. And if Church Security were responsible, he would take appropriate action. The NDB could throw as many of their people at the Consortium as they wanted, but he was not going to let them endanger his own operations by such stupidity.

  ---

  Allenford Biam waited carefully for a surprised Burin Possór to answer his question. The Advisor knew the risk of breaching this topic, but he had to know where the Count-Grandee’s brother stood before investing further political capital to put him on the throne.

  Burin stood from his chair and walked to the window. This part of the Palace looked out over a large forest. The night view presented him with only a sea of black. The cloud cover overhead would have made reading the stars a difficult exercise for the most seasoned mariner. If Burin looked for guidance to a possible future, this was not the place to find it.

  “It is unthinkable,” Burin murmured, his back still to Biam.

  “What is, Your Grace?”

  “All of it. That Seffan might lose. That Derrick could become so emotionally unstable as to be unfit to rule. The whole scenario is…I cannot see it happening.”

  “Your Grace,” said Biam soothingly, “we have but four months before the trial, and the Justice Ministry has made no overtures for a possible bargain to end the case.”

  “So the Imperials are either confident,” Burin turned toward him, “or plain vindictive.”

  “But even if they were making this personal, Your Grace, would you really expect them to go this far without thinking that they had a good chance of winning?”

  “No.” Burin walked to one of the gilded rococo couches, opened the neck of his uniform, and sat down. Again he faced the window.

  “And Lord Derrick? Henely takes away half the work I give him, either for fear of overwhelming him, or something going wrong. He is just not up to the responsibility.”

  “He is not getting any better?” Burin asked weakly, picking at the brocade of his sleeve. “Derrick is not stupid. He can learn.”

  “Government doesn’t interest him, Your Grace. And he has made notable mistakes.”

  “Mistakes? Has he no senior aides to offer him counsel?”

  “Advisers may counsel, Your Grace, but decisions still lie with the one being advised. Lord Derrick is just careless enough to be dangerous. It would be better if he were indifferent.”

  “Derrick’s fitness for the crown is not for you or me to decide.”

  “Not alone, surely. But the crown is not the only issue, Your Grace. Lord Derrick may well reign. But who should rule?”

  “Derrick has reached the age of maturity. And he is acting as Lord Regent even now.”

  “And it is precisely his performance in that capacity that causes concern. Have you noticed our financial markets, Your Grace?”

  “The trial has shaken the confidence of many in our society.”

  “And how would Lord Derrick restore that confidence, Your Grace? The people are uneasy over mere rumors of his melancholia. Imagine if they learn what has been kept hidden.”

  “Derrick has not tried to hurt himself for a long time.”

  “And if Lord Derrick sees his father condemned as a criminal? If the entire weight of government descends upon his shoulders, and the current political and financial crises become an upheaval? What do you expect would happen, Your Grace?”

  “Derrick can grow into his role in time,” said Burin.

  “And what of the cost that such time would entail, Your Grace?”

  Burin’s face darkened. He was tiring of this argument.

  “Would you really turn down a call for you to become regent, Your Grace?” Biam asked, catching Burin off-guard. “Because Lord Jordan would certainly have no hesitation.”

  Burin turned on the advisor. “What do you mean?”

  “His name has come up, Your Grace,” Biam explained. “And Lord Jordan has more governmental experience than you, along with strong supporters within Parliament.”

  “Why should he be made regent?”

  “The Count-Grandee is considering naming him to his Privy Council, Your Grace. It is a commonly held view that Lord Jordan’s fortunes are on the rise.”

  “Will Seffan really appoint Jordan?” Burin asked, having long hoped that his brother would bring him into the higher levels of government.

  “Yes, Your Grace. Which is why I fear that if you do not signal your willingness to serve as regent now, and if a new one is later named, it will be Lord Jordan.”

  “I suppose,” Burin said after a moment, “if a regency for Derrick were truly needed, it would be wrong of me to ignore the call.”

  Biam smiled at the back of Burin’s head. And treason can be as simple as that. “All I could ever ask for, Your Grace, is that you be ready for whatever call is made for you.”

  ---

  After so long a day, Derrick should have been asleep. Instead, he lay gazing at the embroidered canopy above his bed, thinking on his cousin Anson's question in the gymnasium.

  But why not just blow them away?

  Even with the euphemism, the question sounded disturbing to him coming seriously from the mouth of a child. But why should it? Derrick asked, shaking his head. Anson was heir to a duke. The ever-present threat of assassination made matters of life and death a common topic for those born to a noble house. The same would be true even for a child half as old as Anson. Derrick was certainly never spared the reality of complete strangers wanting him dead.

  Closing his eyes tightly, he shifted under his bedcovers. With thoughts of death and assassination running through his mind, memories of his mother came unbidden.

  Derrick had been at the Academy at the time, sitting in a lecture hall with other cadets. He remembered working through a strategy exercise when he sensed his mother's presence. To him, it seemed to spring forth from inside himself, and then surround him like a soft, transparent blanket. Surprised but not startled, he initially gave in to the feeling of warmth. As quickly as the sensation came over him however, an unseen force ripped the projected emotions of comfort and love away. Reportedly he had jumped to his feet in shock, panting as he tried to catch his breath. Wavering in his stance, he had tried to say something before fainting without a word.

  Despite the distance between Legan and Doloren, where the Imperial Academy was located, his instructors were not surprised by the experience discipline compelled him to report. Nor were they amazed that he could tell them the exact time of his mother's death, though word did not arrive from Legan until later. This phenomenon occurred with some frequency, they said, especially among those having innate talents, and a particularly strong personal bond. One instructor even told him that the incident was a testament of his and his mother’s shared affection. Not that any testament was needed, the man hastily assured him.

  As it had done at the time, the formal and clinical tone of their questions and comments angered him. To them his grief seemed only a curiosity, his pain but an academic demonstration.
>
  "For a lady-in-waiting, this was a very accomplished assassin," one administrator hypothesized, after another had confirmed the Countess-Grandia's death and offered Derrick her sympathies. "To get so close to a woman with such a high level of psychic training, even while sleeping, and attack her with no warning, killing her without the slightest outward struggle..."

  "She was probably focused on her son and caught off-guard," another man remarked in an equally hushed voice. "Maybe that's why his first impression was pleasant. He didn't sense any peril because she didn't either. One minute everything was fine, and the next it was over."

  Both men had paused as the woman who was with Derrick glared at them, shifting her gaze between the two as she put a protective hand on his shoulder. Derrick had looked at her only briefly before taking the portascreen she had given him and walking out.

  Derrick knew that nothing would change with the other cadets afterward. Guerren Andior and others still openly called House Possór a “Consort House,” given its alleged involvement with the Consortium. Discounting a pronouncement by the Possór government blaming a secretly jealous lady-in-waiting, his mother’s murder was even cited as a predictable consequence of such involvement, a cruel warning of the inherent dangers of dealing with gangsters. To Derrick, who always denied such slanders, it was an insult taken too far. He only wished he could have answered his antagonizers with more than a repeated willingness to engage in a duel. For even in that, he had no credibility, having been prohibited from fighting when he had challenged his chief tormentor the first time.

  Realizing how tightly he gripped his sheets and blankets, Derrick loosened his hold as he calmed his rapid heart. After taking several relaxing breaths, Derrick cursed the name of Guerren Andior before turning on his side to go to sleep.

  ---

  It was elementary.

  The trick to countering enemy surveillance, Colonel Steuben knew, was to make them think that they knew where you were. And he had had plenty of time to lay the groundwork prior to engaging with the rebels. He was thus confident that as far as Taniell Kamarin and the rest were concerned, he was safely at his apartment, with a bottle of single malt whiskey in one hand, and a full-figured prostitute in the other.