House of Jackals

by Todd M. Moreno

  Derrick nodded, but continued to look down.

  "You know Imperial troops are not renowned for their compassion when putting down rebellions," Seffan added, "particularly under the edict of Pax Imperator. If we cannot control the situation, a military governor will, and innocent people could be hurt, and perhaps killed."

  “I know, Father. I know.”

  -

  "He did what?" said Lenalt over the noise of the crowd outside the Chancellery. Behind him protesters were chanting a slogan demanding equal wages between skilled and unskilled workers. "No, forget about the rogue initiate. Let them do it the hard way, and let’s get what we can. I’ll give the signal here not to work the crowd up too quickly."

  "Lenalt!" whispered the rebel cameraman urgently. "Troops are moving in!" Depré spun around to watch a high-ranking officer climb on top of one of the troop transports.

  "I’ll get back to you," said Lenalt. "Tell Annika to hurry."

  "Attention," said the soldier through his voice amplifier. "I am Major Dunning." The major ignored the ensuing jeers. "In the name of the Count-Grandee, I give you two minutes to withdraw from this area."

  "Is he serious?" asked the rebel cameraman, panning the crowd for its reaction. No one moved, and some of the more vocal members of the gathering even resumed their yelling.

  -

  "Sire? My Lord?" an aide began, interrupting Seffan and Derrick as they watched the images from Galleston. Derrick stepped back as the Count-Grandee turned toward the woman.

  "Yes?" Seffan prompted, his voice again steeled and impatient.

  "Viscountess Morays has arrived, Sire. She is being shown to the green drawing room, along with the other members of the Family."

  Seffan Possór smiled despite himself. "Good. We will join them presently."

  The woman curtsied before turning to carry out her orders.

  -

  "One minute, twenty seconds," said the major. "All units, move into position."

  "Dammit!" cried the rebel cameraman standing next to Lenalt. He lowered his now useless charge from his shoulder. "Those bastards just pulse-surged me."

  For the first time in his life, Lenalt felt true foreboding. Knock out news sources, and you blackout the news. Blackout the news, and you can do what you want.

  "They fried all the equipment in our transport too," said their female comrade from the control panel. "Good thing the ignition system was off, or we’d be stuck here."

  "Let’s get out of here," said Lenalt, pushing the cameraman toward their vehicle. "Now."

  -

  "Derrick," prompted the Count-Grandee, taking his son’s attention from the screen. "Go on ahead. I will handle things from here."

  Derrick was about to speak, but read the look in his father’s eyes. Deflated, he glanced down at his regimental house-uniform. "I guess I better get changed for dinner," he said resignedly. "Must not keep the family waiting."

  "One minute," intoned the major from the viewscreen.

  "I will meet you there," Seffan said, gripping Derrick’s arm and quickly releasing it.

  The young Possór could sense his father wanting to reaffirm that everything had been resolved satisfactorily between them. It was hard not to notice however that he wanted him out of the way. Derrick managed a weak grin, and nodded to his father before withdrawing.

  The Count-Grandee observed his son's departure with a cool but studied expression, thankful that Advisor Biam had notified him of the uprisings, and suggested that Derrick might need some direction in handling them.

  -

  "Hey, those bastards set off a pulse!" cried one of the rebels.

  Annika lowered the now dead com-link in her hand. "Are we still on line?" she asked.

  "Yes, the shielding here held."

  "Continue trying to trip the security system," Annika ordered, taking out her lasgun and putting it next to discarded com-link.

  "What’s wrong?" someone asked. "Are the lasguns pulsed too?"

  "Mine is," Annika said wearily. "The rifles have shielding for this type of thing." Walking toward the rogue initiate, she tapped him three times on the shoulder.

  "What is it?" he asked, coming out of his trance. "I was almost there."

  "Forget the admiral for now," she said. "I need you to tell me what is going on out there. Lenalt—" Annika gritted her teeth. "He sounded...alarmed. We may not have much time."

  The rogue initiate closed his eyes, casting his awareness outside the building and to the crowd. Whatever psychic monitors employed by the Chancellery’s security detail would not matter now. They had other things to worry about. "The crowd is quieting," intoned the initiate.

  "What about troops?" Annika asked. "Where are the troops?"

  "The troops have surrounded the area, but are concentrated on the north side of the building. There is a soldier with a megaphone."

  "Is he saying anything?"

  "Three...two...one. All troops, by order of the Count-Grandee, clear the area now."

  Durrin came out of his trance as they all heard sounds of distant lasfire. "We have run out of time," he said.

  Annika turned to the others, who were all looking to her for direction. "We can’t abort the mission," she said. “There is no retreat." She directed her attention to one rebel holding his lasrifle like a comfort toy. "You, activate one of the viewscreens." Shaking himself, the man moved to comply. Annika turned to Durrin, pointing to the Admiral. "Can you animate him?"

  "Yes," Durrin replied, not bothering to explain the difficulty of what she asked.

  "Good, it may buy us some time." Annika turned to the group. They would all go down fighting and, just maybe, their lives would buy some measure of victory. "Time, my friends, is now what we are all about. We fight for our cause, for our planet, and for our people."

  The rebels nodded solemnly, giving her with one look all the respect for which she could ever hope. In return, her eyes gave them a love she could not have otherwise expressed.

  "All right, you two," Annika pointed, breaking the spell of doomed fellowship, "stay here and continue working. Everyone else, with me. Seal the Admiral’s office. We’ll hold the doors as long as possible." She turned to the rogue initiate. "Durrin, let’s see if the Admiral’s word still means anything around here." The initiate moved to comply as Annika turned to another subordinate. "Help us bring the Admiral to that viewscreen and straighten him up." She leaned close to the rogue initiate as they moved the Admiral. "Time," she said, looking him in the eyes.

  "Understood," he responded calmly.

  With the Admiral’s body seated in front of the viewscreen, the rogue initiate sat in another chair next to him. Taking the dead man’s hand in his, Durrin closed his eyes.

  The Admiral’s eyes flickered and opened. Slowly the dull gaze encompassed the room.

  "You’re not blinking," Annika noted.

  The Admiral’s eyelids closed and reopened with careful deliberateness.

  "Now have him say something," commanded Annika, looking down at her chronometer.

  The rogue initiate worked the Admiral’s tongue, lips and jaw. Moving the Admiral’s diaphragm, Durrin’s own jaw set as air was sucked into the Admiral’s lungs and pushed out again. Annika flinched at the sounds emanating from the dead man. Steeling herself, she suppressed a shudder as Durrin took some time to find the correct vocal register and tone.

  "This is Admiral Neider," a voice said finally.

  "Close enough," the rebel leader breathed. "His voice should be stressed." Switching the com-channel setting, she activated the screen. The face of a com-officer emerged.

  "This is Admiral Neider," Neider’s voice began. "I am being held hostage by the rebels responsible for the demonstration outside."

  The young officer straightened in his chair. The surprise in his eyes lasted only a moment. "Admiral, Sir. We were unable to reach you. Command thought you were dead."

  "I am here, Lieutenant, and require assistance."

  "Sir, you ar
e aware of government policy regarding negotiations. All rebels who do not immediately surrender will be fired upon."

  "Do you think I haven’t told them that already? What else do you suggest I tell them?"

  "One moment, Sir, while I confer with Command." The communication officer’s audio feed went dead as he turned to speak before another screen. At that moment, Annika felt the Chancellery building shake around her as the sound of an explosion came up from floors below.

  "What was that?" demanded the animated Admiral.

  The lieutenant returned to the screen. "Troops are storming the building, Sir. They know of your presence, but we can’t guarantee the outcome. I am sorry, Sir."

  From outside the view of the screen, Durrin glanced at Annika. Exhaling deeply, she nodded. "Understood, Lieutenant. Neider out."

  The lieutenant saluted before his image faded to black. The sound of lasgun fire grew louder as another explosion gripped the building. The troops were getting closer.

  "Any success with the computer data?" Annika asked through her comm.

  “Not yet,” said one of the rebels in the Admiral’s office. “Almost.”

  "Very well." She hefted her makeshift lasrifle. Almost would have to do. "Let’s—" she hesitated and drew close to the rogue initiate. "Durrin," she whispered, "what’s that smell?"

  Durrin closed his eyes as he sent his awareness through the building’s ventilation system. "Troops are at the air-conditioning unit," he said distantly. "They are gassing the building."

  "Poison?" Annika asked, looking at the motionless admiral.

  "No. But it will soon render everyone unconscious."

  Annika unslung her weapon. "We cannot be captured," she said evenly, reaching into a travel pack. They all knew what HOPIS would do to them.

  "I know," Durrin replied, leveling his eyes at her.

  "Annika!" one of the rebels hissed as he rushed forward. "They’re gassing us!"

  Annika turned toward the advancing rebel. She had an explosive in her hand.

  The rebel stopped up short and looked at her in horror.

  "I am sorry," Annika said, forcing down a cough as she straightened to her full height. "But it is better by our own hand, than by theirs."

  The man held the old rebel leader’s eyes for a moment. Then, closing his mouth, he brought his legs together to stand to attention. The rogue initiate gave her a final nod.

  Nodding to them both, Annika detonated the explosive.

  -

  "Derrick," Seffan Possór whispered as live-action scenes from Galleston appeared on the room's monitors behind him. He did not take notice of them, even as the viewscreen flashes from explosions and lasguns cast a fiery glow over the entire room. What shall I do with you?

  As he ordered, soldiers fired at the crowd. None of the rebels who committed themselves to defiance were permitted to escape. Not surprising to the battle tested, as the lasguns burned holes through the bodies and barricades, there was little blood. Most of it vaporized on contact with the lasfire. Even those people who the beams cut to pieces had their wounds instantly cauterized, just as their outlining flesh was transformed into carbonized fragments.

  Several smaller bursts followed the initial blasts, the result of various mechanical devices carried by the protestors being destroyed. Smoke, composed of dust and larger charred flakes from damaged buildings, vehicles and nearby structures, swirled in the air, mingling with the cinders and fine particles of the dead and dying.

  While many uprisers were armed, few had a chance to return their assailants' fire. Those who could retaliate did not have personal shields strong enough to withstand the intense, continuous strikes which their own fire drew upon them. Every rebel who even succeeded in discharging a weapon was marked as a target by three of Seffan's soldiers.

  From the order to fire being given, to the time troops rushed the Chancellery building, barely five minutes had passed. At times, the light emanating from the screen became so intense, the Count-Grandee's shadow moved erratically across the room's walls and ceiling. Still, Seffan Possór never once bothered to turn around. The Count-Grandee only stood there, staring at the door through which his son had departed. By the time he heard the reports coming in, the siege was over. The Chancellery building had been retaken and, in the process, nearly destroyed. Not that the building really mattered...or that lives had been lost. It was the message that mattered: Defy the Lord of Legan, and be obliterated.

  "Our Communications Director should be clear that the rioters were warned what would happen if they refused to surrender their weapons and depart," Seffan instructed. "And that a Pax Imperator violation would have consequences for everyone on Legan. While death in the commission of treason may be unfortunate in the minds of some, the lives and property of honest, law-abiding citizens must be protected. No one has the right to jeopardize that."

  "I will inform him, Sire," a voice behind him answered.

  “And follow the same protocol for the remaining protest sites. Whether they disburse or fight, I expect order to be fully restored across the planet within the hour.”

  ---

  VIII

  Guard Commander Tillic approached the doors to Jordan Possór’s new office with deep suspicion. It was not in the best area of Pablen Palace, but it was a victory for Seffan’s royal cousin just the same. Acquiring a Palace office meant that Lord Jordan had an official position within the government. Tillic guessed that he was about to find out what that position was.

  Opening one of the doors, he stepped inside. Boxes filled the room, partially hiding a young, attractive woman standing behind a table. “My name is Manus Tillic,” he began, maneuvering his way through the boxes. “Lord Jordan asked to see me.”

  “Yes, Commander,” the woman replied, taking a box from atop the table and setting it on the floor. “Lord Jordan is expecting you.”

  As the woman activated her com-link to speak to her employer, Tillic glanced in one of the opened boxes. Rolling his eyes at seeing printed stationary, he wondered if Seffan’s cousin had also commissioned a royal seal for himself, along with specially scented wax.

  “Lord Jordan will see you now,” the woman said, gesturing to a side door. As she opened it, Tillic saw Jordan sitting behind a desk and looking out his window. In his hand was an antique dagger.

  “Ah, Commander Tillic,” Jordan said, twirling the dagger at its hilt between his thumb and forefingers, “thank you for coming.”

  “Lord Jordan,” Tillic replied, giving him a short bow.

  “I know you are a busy man, Commander, so I shall come to the point.” He placed the dagger on his desk. “The Count-Grandee is concerned about Lord Derrick.” When his opening elicited no response, an irritated Jordan continued. “Lord Derrick, I hate to say, is not the most emotionally stable member of the Family.”

  Tillic remained silent, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

  “Commander,” Jordan began in a different tone. “You have served House Possór for many years. In that time, your duties have involved some very delicate assignments, correct?”

  “Yes, my Lord,” Tillic acknowledged. A few of those assignments concerned House Possór’s relations with Consortium operations, as he knew Jordan was aware.

  “We both know that Lord Derrick has been protected from the less glamorous aspects of House Possór rule. With the Count-Grandee’s trial, some of these aspects may surface. You know Derrick better than anyone. Will his sensitive nature be able to handle such disclosures?”

  “There may be limits to what he finds acceptable, my Lord,” Tillic answered carefully.

  “Then we agree.” Jordan retrieved the dagger. “I must ask a favor of you, Commander.”

  “A favor, my Lord?”

  “I have recently been named to the Count-Grandee’s Privy Council,” Jordan continued. “The concern I speak of comes from the Count-Grandee himself.”

  Tillic waited. Nothing Jordan had said so far gave him the authority to make this supposed
favor an order.

  “Lord Derrick must be watched,” Jordan said finally. “I do not mean protective surveillance. He has plenty of guards. I am talking about someone monitoring his...moods.”

  And reporting to you, Tillic thought, formulating a way to deflect this “request.”

  “Does the Count-Grandee wish Lord Derrick to resume psychiatric—”

  “Derrick is presently the Lord Regent,” Jordan reminded him.

  Tillic nodded. The trial was straining public confidence in the Possór government already. While his duties were being limited, what if Derrick were truly unready for the burden of rulership? And what would happen if he learned some troubling truths?

  “I am sure the Count-Grandee would prefer you to accept this responsibility voluntarily, Commander,” Jordan went on. “Your closeness with Derrick is appreciated. Personally, I would prefer your assessment of him to one from any of his servants.”

  “His personal servants see Lord Derrick more than I do, my Lord,” Tillic said respectfully. Jordan’s mouth straightened. “For as you know,” the guard commander continued, trying to soften the rejection, “my duties often take me away from the Palace.”

  “Your assignment roster could be modified,” Jordan suggested flatly.

  “Suddenly seeing me around all the time might make Lord Derrick suspicious, my Lord.”

  Jordan let out a breath. “A professional might employ subtle observation, Commander.”

  Tillic let silence be his answer. Nothing was going to make the guard commander spy on Derrick for this man. Besides, the guard commander had an assignment of his own to pursue.

  “Very well, Commander,” Jordan said, looking Tillic in the eyes as he dangled the dagger by the handle and let it fall to the floor. Neither man blinked as the blade point embedded itself in the polished wood. “You may go.”

  Tillic gave another slight bow before leaving. He had never thought highly of Jordan Possór, but he knew he had just made a powerful enemy. Not that he was afraid. He had made enemies before, and more than one had tried to kill him in the past. But he did sense danger. This time, for Derrick.