House of Jackals

by Todd M. Moreno

  Wait, and see if Biam would keep his own repeated promises.

  ---

  Lousin Henely was breathing heavily as he reached Derrick’s apartments, having failed to appreciate the effort required to traverse the Palace without a suspensor-chair. Not wanting to seem physically distressed when he spoke with Derrick, the First Advisor used the Disciplines to calm his breathing and heart rate. There was irony in Henely employing more energy to disguise his physical limitations than to strengthen his body. But as a young man, he took perverse pride in his natural bulk, his extra weight serving as an act of defiance against social convention. As his position in government became secure, he grew to care even less about what others thought of his bloated form. Now surrounded by younger advisors, however, he wondered at his attitude that had served his sense of vanity for so long.

  “Are you all right, My Lord?” First Advisor Henely asked, having entered the apartments to find Derrick asleep. Derrick lifted his head from his desk and forced a smile.

  “Yes. Thank you, Henely. I was just resting.”

  “Your doctor says that he has prescribed stimulants. Do they help?”

  “I stopped taking them. They made me feel...anxious.”

  “A common side effect that no doubt diminishes in time. Perhaps a lower dosage?”

  “No. Well, maybe.”

  “I will see what I could do to lighten your schedule a bit.”

  “No. That will not be necessary. I spoke with Biam today.”

  “He is not giving you more work, is he? Because this baptism by fire idea of his—”

  “No. It is fine, Henely. He just suggested that I ask Uncle Burin for assistance.”

  “Actually, your cousiné Lord Jordan would be a better choice. Duke Burin doesn’t even attend to much of the business of his own estates.”

  “I do not really know Jordan,” Derrick admitted.

  “Despite his lack of titles, Lord Jordan has many contacts in Legan’s parliament, and is known to take care of small tasks for your father occasionally. He also has a business acumen that has made him quite wealthy, considering the resources with which he began.”

  “Well, my uncle also told Biam that he would be happy to help.”

  Henely pursed his wide lips. “Hmmm. If Duke Burin has so little to do, perhaps I can finally get him to help with your father’s case.”

  “He is not helping you already?”

  “Not to any real degree, my Lord. I think the Duke and Duchess enjoy cutting ribbons, and going to social events, more than they like being cooped up in the Palace. Of course, I can see how holding some of the reigns of government might be appealing...to them both.”

  “Well give them all my public appearances,” Derrick sighed. “I hate posing for photographs and making small talk with strangers.”

  The First Adviser shifted his weight uneasily. “My Lord,” Henely began, “your future subjects must see you. To be successful a ruler, your people must know that you care.”

  Derrick leaned back in his chair. “I am not sure I do care.”

  “Oh, you care, my Lord. Perhaps too much. Your remorse over what happened to that one plasteel-worker’s family—”

  “That was not my fault!” Derrick protested.

  “Of course not. I only meant that yours was not the reaction of a cold, unfeeling man.”

  “How could I have known my decision would cost him his—?”

  “This new level of responsibility may be overwhelming right now, my Lord, but I will not let you sink. You will weather this, and be the stronger for it.”

  Derrick smiled genuinely. “I snapped at Admiral Donarré today,” he confessed.

  “Yes. I know, my Lord. He complained to your father, wondering aloud whether your days at the Academy had somehow given you a negative disposition toward the military.”

  “What? Why that...” Derrick could not find the words.

  “He is just a proud old warrior, protecting his cherished navy.”

  “We cannot afford to keep those ships of his,” Derrick said.

  “I know, my Lord. Your decision was sound.”

  “Then why did Father overrule me?”

  “He did not wholly overrule you. He just transferred the ships to the merchant fleet.”

  “Where the navy can pull them back later,” Derrick breathed.

  “Donarré has served your father for many years. He felt offended by your tone, so he—”

  “He was offended by my tone? He spoke to me like I was a kid.”

  “He knew you as one. If your father has any true personal friends, Donarré would certainly be one of them. It wouldn’t do to make that man an enemy, my Lord.”

  “He would be dangerous?”

  “He would be loyal,” Henely corrected.

  Derrick looked down and nodded his understanding. “I have not done much to win people’s respect, have I?”

  “I think most are concerned about...upsetting you, my Lord.”

  “They treat me like a child.”

  “Or like a bloodied man still recovering from his wounds?”

  Derrick tensed but after looking at Henely in the eyes, he gave him another small smile. “Well at least you believe in me, Henely.”

  “Oh, I am believer, my Lord. A true believer.”

  ---

  VII

  It was the rebel movement’s most audacious plan yet, and the time to strike had finally come. The trial was less than four months away, but security had already increased as more dignitaries and Imperial representatives arrived. While Seffan Possór was likely still negotiating bribes to ease his legal troubles, the requirement to maintain the Emperor’s Peace meant that the political bargaining power generated by synchronized protests throughout the planet would be at its height. And if House Possór remained resistant to the social economic reforms demanded by the rebels, there was always the military command codes waiting for them to exploit.

  Lenalt Depré waited in his hover-vehicle for the signal that would begin the demonstration outside the Chancellery in Galleston. Beside him sat another man with a transcamera across his lap, looking out a darkened window. Even parked this far from the Government Center, the downtown streets were crowded. He smiled. It would make the scenes they would be showing to the people of Legan even more dramatic.

  "Unit One is nearing position, but has been delayed," reported a woman from a com-station behind the front seats of the vehicle.

  "Sir," Lenalt snapped.

  "One of our watchers can still see them, Sir," the woman amended.

  Lenalt frowned. Was she mocking him? "But they are proceeding as planned?"

  "Yes, Sir, although a bit behind schedule."

  "Very well,” he breathed. “Signal units two and three." First the Admiral, thought Lenalt, then the codes. And after that...

  "Acknowledged. Unit two is in position," the woman confirmed. "They are planting the explosives now. Unit Three is also ready."

  "Any word from Unit Four?" asked the man next to Depré.

  "Not yet," replied the woman.

  The man with the camera looked at Lenalt expectantly.

  "He won’t signal us until one of the news agencies arrives," Lenalt explained. "We can’t be the only news team covering the story."

  "I just don’t like waiting," the man shifted in his chair. “I—"

  "We have our signal," the woman reported. "A crowd is gathering."

  "Alert the other units and start the countdown," Lenalt ordered. "If some news bureau doesn’t pick up the story by then, in we go."

  -

  Admiral Neider sat back in his worn leather office chair and looked out the balcony window behind his desk. An empty whiskey glass lay cradled in his hand. On his viewscreen was a report about mothballing another half-dozen capital ships. Six more ships-of-the-line on their way to becoming scrap—killed, with nothing to replace them. The old admiral shifted his gaze over to the ship models in their display cabinets against the wall. He had co
mmanded each of those ships, at one point. It was hard to believe. Nearly sixty years in the service, and his career would end here, as governor of a crown barony—as a bureaucrat.

  Not that his comrades still in the Admiralty had fared any better. None of them held ship commands. Their only battles now were with budgets and public relations. Only when the need arose did they deal with true navy policy, and even that was mostly to protect their budgets.

  Budgets, he mused. Poor bloody sods. I spent my life building up Legan’s navy, and it has fallen on them to slowly tear it down.

  Rather than be a part of that process, Neider had sought escape, retreating to a posting as a regional governor. And he hated himself for it.

  -

  The woman outside the Admiral’s office sat silently at her desk, waiting nervously. From the opposite wall, a portrait of the Count-Grandee stared at her. Catching herself, she broke her own stare and glanced down. Her desk was neat, but no work was getting done. Filings and correspondence lay in tight regimental piles. Her com-screen was dark.

  "Miss Bregan," began the Admiral irritably over the intercom.

  The woman gave a start as her breath caught. "Yes, Sir?" she managed, putting a small computer device in her upper desk drawer.

  "Clear the rest of the day’s appointments."

  "But, Sir. Your next one...is short. And has already been rescheduled three times." The woman tilted her head and closed her eyes, hoping that her double lie would not be detected.

  "Three times?"

  "And they should be here any moment," the woman added. She could hear the Admiral grunt on the other end of the intercom.

  "Very well. Cancel the rest of them though."

  "Yes, Sir," the Admiral’s secretary replied.

  "And find out what that crowd is doing outside. I can hear them all the way up here."

  -

  Annika Lerle, having already spotted several cameras in the main lobby of the Chancellery building, feigned impatience with the guard in front of her. "Really," she said, adjusting her scarf as she took out a small mirror from her expensive handbag. "We have an appointment with the Governor-General." She pretended to touch-up her makeup. "Don’t you see it there?" She pointed to the man’s portascreen.

  "Yes, Madam Lerle," the man replied, "but for security reasons, we must verify the identities of everyone in your party."

  Annika huffed, rolling her eyes as another of her party was asked to step up to a scanner. Returning the mirror to her bag, Annika caught a signal from one of the rebels already stationed in the lobby that everything was ready. She signaled back for him to report the delay.

  Given the mission’s importance, Annika’s team had been carefully picked. All of them however had used their real names to get past the Chancellery’s security measures. She had no qualms about it herself. She had been prepared to leave the name of Annika Lerle behind years ago. For the younger rebels however, the sacrifice was greater, for they could never go back.

  "Lieutenant?" called a guard next to a security scanner.

  Annika gripped her handbag tightly.

  "Excuse me a moment, Madam," the tall officer told her.

  Annika nodded. She knew that using real citizenry file histories meant that this was the first of their mission’s crucial moments. Still, it made her nervous that the guards had stopped at the one person in the rebel party with a flag in his records.

  "Yes?" the lieutenant said.

  "Sir, the computer is showing an ASQ here."

  "An ‘askew’?" Annika said loudly, putting a wrinkled hand to her ear.

  "An ‘Access Security Query,’ Ma’am," the lieutenant explained, looking at the screen. "Mr. Durrin," he began, turning to one of Annika’s team. "You’re a long way from home."

  "I have been on Legan five years now," the man replied evenly.

  "Ever since you left the Holy Orders?" prompted the officer.

  "Yes. Is there anything wrong?"

  Behind them other guards closed the entrance to the Chancellery. No one else was being allowed in. "What’s going on out there?" Annika asked. The lieutenant did not take his eyes off the man before him.

  "Not that I can see," the officer answered. "You are still living in Paloan—"

  "I have never lived in Paloanca, Lieutenant," the man said coolly, "as you well know."

  "Durrie!" Annika chided her companion.

  "Get that from my mind, did you?"

  "No," the former initiate replied. "My Oath of Renunciation is on record, Sir. I am not listed on one of your rogue sheets, am I?"

  "No, you are not."

  "Really, Lieutenant, this is too much," said Annika. "Amuel—I mean, the Governor-General—is waiting." The officer was unimpressed by her use of the Admiral’s first name.

  "Please understand, Madam," the officer replied: "Extra care must be taken with anyone known to have received extensive psychic training. They pose…special security risks."

  "Fine," Annika said, waving her hands in the air. "Warn him about using the Disciplines within the building, tell him the guards are trained to detect anything ‘funny’ going on, then threaten dire consequences if he does try anything funny. Just please hurry." Annika’s body sagged with the apparent effort of voicing her plea. "We are already late seeing the Admiral."

  The man looked from her to the former initiate and back again. "Sorry to trouble you, Madam," he said, returning their documents.

  "Thank you, Lieutenant," Annika said, signaling the others to join her. They had turned down a second corridor when she spoke again. "The Admiral will hear about this." She caught the eye of someone passing in the opposite direction. "Delaying us like that. It’s like wanting to live one’s life free from religious discipline and control makes someone a criminal."

  "All initiates of the Deeper Training make them nervous," said the man through clenched teeth. “To them, a rogue initiate is like a bomb that can go off at any moment.”

  Annika looked at him sharply but said nothing. This was not the time for truisms spoken with resentment. Harmless citizens had only petty concerns. And they rarely used words like “bomb” in a government building. Hurriedly, she pressed one of the elevator calls.

  -

  "May I help you?" the receptionist asked behind his high desk.

  "We have an appointment with Admiral Neider," Annika said briskly. "We are from—"

  "Madam Lerle?" came a voice behind the receptionist.

  "Yes?" Annika replied.

  "Hello, I’m Elisa Bregan, the Governor-General’s personal assistant." Annika shook the woman’s cold, damp hand. "I’m glad you’re here. I was a little worried."

  "We were a bit delayed downstairs," Annika said, giving the woman an embarrassed smile that her eyes did not share.

  The woman smiled back uncertainly before the man standing beside Annika drew her gaze. The woman swallowed as the rogue initiate made a precautionary psychic connection before drawing his awareness back to himself. It would facilitate mental control later.

  "I’m—I am sorry to hear that," the woman said, shaking her head to clear it. "Here, let me take you to the Governor-General."

  "Thank you," Annika replied, leaning down toward the receptionist on her way past. "Young man," Annika said, "about three others will be joining us shortly."

  "Three others?" asked the man. "We were expecting only—"

  "Be sure to bring them in as soon as they arrive, won’t you?"

  "Go ahead and show them in, Karl," the woman called back. "Then you can go to lunch."

  "All right," said Karl, looking back at Annika, who smiled warmly.

  Karl was a good-looking young man. She pitied him. "Thank you, dear," said Annika.

  The thick inset doors to the reception area of the Governor-General’s office appeared to be wooden, but Annika knew that they were made of plasteel, and were shielded against lasguns. They would need to remain open until the rest of her team arrived.

  "Where does he expect to meet
us?" Annika asked once they were inside. Her tone was cold and peremptory.

  "In the small conference room," the secretary replied.

  "Have the suite’s inner-room security systems been deactivated?"

  "Yes," the woman nodded. "His actual office however—"

  "Get him out here then," Annika commanded.

  Three more rebels entered the room through the faux-wooden blast doors. As one of them went to a keypad on the wall and sealed off the suite of rooms, the others opened carrier cases and finished assembling their lasguns.

  "How did you get all that past security?" the secretary asked, staring at the weapons.

  "With a little planning, you’d be surprised what you can build with little pieces stored about here and there," Annika answered, turning to the newly arrived rebels. "Were you seen?"

  "Not by anyone who would now think to set off the alarm," said one of the rebels.

  "K-Karl?" asked the Admiral’s assistant.

  Annika ignored the woman. "Everyone to their places." The other rebels all moved. Only the assistant stood frozen where she was. "Is there a problem?" Annika asked as one of the rebels handed her a small firearm. She checked the weapon and took its safety off.

  "You said no one would be hurt," the woman accused.

  "You sent the boy off to lunch," said Annika. "If he did what he was told—"

  "What about the other thing you promised?" The woman’s hands shook at her sides.

  "Durrin," said Annika calmly.

  The former initiate stole up behind the assistant before she could turn around, his hands grabbing hold of her head and pulling her toward him. Having already made contact when they met, the effect of his psychic manipulation took only a moment.

  "Miss Bregan," Annika said cheerily. "We are ready for the Governor-General now."

  "Y-yes," said the woman, still a bit unsteady. "I’ll get him."

  "And don’t worry," Annika called softly. "It will all be fine."

  ---

  Outside their parked transport, Depré watched the Galleston crowd with outward satisfaction. They had chosen their site well. It was close enough to see the demonstrators, yet strategically placed to allow for a fast retreat. Lenalt smiled as another news agency vehicle passed by them to set up nearer to the action.