And I am doing this for Derrick, not Seffan, Tillic admitted, aware of the conflict in his sworn loyalties. And somehow these whoresons know it.
"A small transport ship is coming this way, Commander," one of the spotters called over the com-link. "There are no serial or other markings," the woman added.
Tillic acknowledged the report with a nod just before the ship swooped downward around a building to his right. Shielding his eyes from the glare of the craft's landing lights with his hand, the guard commander guessed that it had been flying low for some time, keeping within the normal altitudes of everyday vehicles.
"There seems to be no outside mounted weaponry on her...Sir," another spotter reported.
Tillic frowned, making a mental note to speak to the man. He had seen a closed opening on the ship's starboard side, one that could easily conceal a lasgun. Odds were that it had a twin on the port side as well.
So now what will you do? Tillic asked rhetorically as the ship’s pilot switched fully from engine thrusters to suspensor fields, bringing the craft to an even and graceful touchdown. Now we can track you, and stop you from leaving the planet. Tillic smiled wickedly as he wiped the sweat from his forehead with his rolled-up sleeve. He had them.
The shuttle's landing door opened, giving Tillic a limited view of its darkened interior.
"We're aware of your forces surrounding this area, Commander Tillic," a voice called out over an amplifier. "Won't you step inside? We'll shut-down our engines."
Before Tillic could answer, he heard the ship power-down.
"Confirming the presence of two people on board, Sir," a voice informed Tillic over the com-link. "They haven't scanned us. Their shields are down...their engines are also down."
Tillic nodded and started for the craft, one hand ready to draw his lasgun, and the other to activate his shieldbelt. As he entered the shuttle, with its cool, fresh air rushing past him to mingle with the festering mugginess outside, a man offered him a seat. Tillic shook his head, studying the man as the ship's main door silently closed behind him. The battle-ready guard commander did not even blink.
"It's our hope, Commander," the man began delicately, "that we can convince you to signal your men not to track us once we depart. Given what will be discussed, surely you can appreciate the need for privacy—for everyone's sake."
"I'm to speak with you then?" Tillic allowed his doubt to show.
"No, Commander. I'm only the shuttle pilot." The man stepped back to press a small button on the wall. Tillic felt the tinge of an electrical charge being generated around him. "The ship has a silencing field, but no cloaking device," the man resumed. "Only the two of you will hear your conversation, but you must guard the secrecy of your source’s identity."
"And who will that be exactly?"
"I am your source, Tillic," a voice came out from behind the man.
"Henely!" Tillic said, recognizing the First Advisor’s voice even before seeing him. Although his thoughts whirled, many of Tillic’s previous questions began to be answered.
Henely could have easily discovered that Tillic was on an investigation, and that the mission was self-assigned, and unrelated to the Count-Grandee’s defense. More, although Tillic did not count the aloof First Advisor as a friend, they had known each other for years. How hard would it have been for Henely to conclude that the old guard commander, unmarried and childless, regarded Derrick as a son? Still, this was not enough for Tillic.
It was Henely who sent me on that fool's errand to where those four bodies were left, Tillic realized. He knew they were Imperial agents, and that their deaths were made to look like Consortium hits. The poor bastards must have found a link to Seffan. The old guard commander looked appraisingly at the First Advisor, absently noting that the large-nosed man with the small eyes had recently gained more weight. Standing together, it was easy to forget that the two men were roughly the same age.
"I need not mention my risk in meeting you like this," Henely began, as if a statement of the obvious would give him some leverage.
"Why do it then?" And why drag me across the planet to this sticky, bug-biting hellhole?
"Because I have suspicions of things that Derrick should know before the trial, ones I cannot verify on my own. Being here even now is problematic, although there was no way I could risk speaking to you anywhere within Pablen's walls." Tillic raised an eyebrow. "I will give you what I can," the First Advisor continued. "Names, places and events. You must follow-up on these leads yourself however. I cannot help you any further."
You have your own people, Henely, Tillic thought. You don't need me...unless this is too hot for even you to handle. “You still haven't answered me," the guard commander pressed.
The First Advisor took a deep breath, shifting his weight to his left leg. "That is between me and my conscience, Commander. God knows a man can only do what he believes is right."
"All right. But why me? Why like this?"
"Seffan is spending a tremendous amount of money on this trial," Henely began. "More than you might guess. With all the fact-finding going on, from verifications to reconstructions to background checks, is it not odd that you have been allowed to pursue your own assignments?"
"I assumed that if I were needed—"
"I am asking you to be objective here, not modest."
The guard commander accepted the criticism without protest.
"The government is in crisis, no matter how much Seffan downplays the trial publicly. Why should someone with your experience in these types of matters be overlooked?"
"I don't know. Perhaps they trust I'm using my time to—"
"Now ask why I was ordered to overload Derrick with work. Be assured that it was not just to baptize him into the onus of government."
"Seffan's busy with his defense case and doesn't want Derrick underfoot," Tillic replied. "There is no mystery there."
"As complex as this trial business seems, more hides beneath the surface. You have only to accept the possibility—however remote the government claims it to be—that Seffan could fall, before realizing that there are a lot of people laying plans to exploit any potential outcome."
"There are always opportunists," Tillic countered. "So what?"
The heavyset advisor took another extended breath, lowering his eyes before answering. "I am being isolated too, Manus." Lousin Henely gritted his teeth at the admission.
Tillic had heard the Count-Grandee speak of Henely's pending retirement. There was now no wondering just whose idea it had been.
"Even in dreams I see vultures quietly gathering," Henely whispered. "Although, at present, I wager they are content with secretly reserving their places at table."
Tillic said nothing, guessing that one of the vultures had the face of Allenford Biam, the advisor most likely to be appointed to Henely’s office.
"But enough of that," the First Advisor stated, seeming to rouse himself from his thoughts. "I need to know your intentions."
"The trial is but weeks away, and I have other obligations."
"But if my suspicions are true—"
"And what are your suspicions exactly?"
"I need your word to hear me out first. You must also let me return to the Palace without anyone knowing I was here—for both our sakes. Thereafter, we will not speak of these matters again." Henely paused, looking Tillic in the eyes. "Do you agree?"
Remembering something Henely said earlier, Tillic considered what demands the First Advisor’s disclosures would make on his conscience. In the end however, he saw himself as having no choice. At least he could listen to Henely, without necessarily having to trust him.
His eyes not leaving the First Advisor, Tillic punched the non-pursuit code on his transmitter. With such an order in place, he knew that his people would soon be standing down, and ending their attempts to identify the shuttle and its two mysterious passengers.
---
"Sir, we have confirmed the identities of six rebel leaders."
"Send it to Special Services," Biam replied, still studying the screen in front of him. Special Services was a division of Internal Security, commonly known by those aware of its existence as the Count-Grandee's "Death Commandos.” Its specialty was assassinations.
"Sir, His Lordship has yet to sign the necessary patent—"
"Issue the warrants under prior letters of authority." Biam waved his hand dismissively.
"That would require the First Advisor's signature."
Advisor Biam stopped and turned, his ice-blue eyes unblinking. "Get it then."
"I don't know where he is, Sir."
"Lost him again, did you? Contact Security Control."
"I did, Sir. They confirmed that First Advisor Henely has left the Palace, but no one knows his destination. And he is not answering any of his calls."
Biam straightened to his full height, recognizing the importance of what the man had so casually said. "Has this happened before?" he asked, a chill of suspicion running along his back.
"Yes, Sir. The last time was during the Galleston Incident."
Biam huffed at the mention of Galleston. For the rebels, he felt nothing. As for the civilian bystanders, well, when one is warned of imminent but avoidable danger, only an idiot stands there and does nothing. The timing of Henely’s disappearance however was noteworthy.
"Wait," Biam said, returning his attention to the immediate issue at hand. "Why do our agents need warrants for rebels?"
"They don't like their warrants issued after-the-fact, Sir. They don't want to risk being caught by local authorities and having their orders administratively delayed."
Like they were when those four Imperial agents were killed, Biam thought. Such orders, which bore the Count-Grandee's seal, were pre-approved pardons. Not that Seffan was ever going to put his official sanction on the murder of Imperials. But why should Special Service agents decline uncertified terminations of rebels? Killing them posed no special risks.
"But after Galleston," Biam said, chewing the last syllable, "I thought rebels were to be deactivated at will." He knew Seffan saw no point in capturing them. Their routine use of suicide capsules made interrogation impossible. Some went so far as to obscure their real identities with genetic splicing, just to prevent their family members from becoming hostages.
"The First Advisor gave us no such orders, Sir," the man replied.
What are you up to, Lousin Henely? Glad that Seffan had taken his advice and made an example of the rebels, Biam saw the fallout from the “Galleston Incident” as only a public relations issue. He was especially happy that Derrick was blamed for firing on the crowd. Henely, in contrast, had not been happy at all.
"Give me the list then," Biam growled, feigning impatience, "and locate Henely."
The man nodded as he rushed to his console to comply.
This is too important an opportunity to waste, Biam said silently, welcoming the chance also to add to Derrick’s emerging reputation for ruthlessness. If Special Services will not kill these rebels, my people will. Let Henely try to save Derrick’s reputation then.
---
“Gods below, Manus,” the man said, looking down at his drink as he spun it around in its glass. “For all I know, the sonofabitch could one day sit on the throne.”
Tillic nodded as he held his old friend’s stare. “That may well be his plan, Rom.”
Rommer Klin shirked off a shiver and sipped his drink. Tracking Jordan Possór’s movements was questionable enough. But to gather evidence of Jordan’s ties to the Consortium and DuCideon Brotherhood was outright dangerous. Even without Seffan’s trial, the Possór government would have no desire for such an investigation, let alone welcome a report that might fall into enemy hands. Some would even consider the action treasonous. The Count-Grandee would certainly consider it as such, if he ever found out about it.
Tillic looked out from their private booth to the darkened bar, waving off a waitress about to offer another drink. A loud noise overcoming the booth’s dampening field on his right caught his attention. Off-duty soldiers were taking turns telling outrageous stories. The last one must have been funny. Tillic glanced to a man behind the bar, the owner. He was the one ensuring the safety of the place, another friend from the old days that Tillic trusted with his life. Just like the man sitting across from him with an empty glass.
“I wondered when young Lord Derrick would learn the truth about his family,” Klin said finally. “Guess the age of innocence is over. You realize that anything against Lord Jordan will likely reflect on the Count-Grandee as well.”
Tillic nodded. “This only matters if Seffan loses his case. If that happens, Derrick will know about his father anyway. I just want to make sure he knows about Jordan too.”
“Sounds like you want Lord Jordan out either way.”
“The man is a poisonous worm. I do not want him within spitting distance of Derrick.”
“I can’t disagree with that,” Klin remarked, reaching over to take Tillic’s drink.
“Hey!” Tillic said, making a half-hearted attempt to take the drink back.
“Shouldn’t have told the waitress to go away,” Klin mumbled, emptying Tillic’s glass.
Tillic leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms in front of him. “Well?” he asked.
Though its contents were gone, Klin examined the glass, enjoying the small pantomime before setting it down. “All right, Manus,” he said finally. “I’ll do it. It shouldn’t take too much time. I assume you and your people are going to be hot until after the trial?”
“Any watchers on my tail will likely lose interest once the prosecution finishes presenting its case. But after the trial, Jordan won’t care what I do.” Or Henely, Tillic thought privately.
“Then I’ll forget forwarding any progress reports. No need to risk tipping off one of Jordan’s henchmen, assuming you and your people are even on his radar.”
“Who knows? I’m willing to risk myself in either case, of course, but I cannot risk Derrick not getting this information if the worst happens.”
“When it’s done,” Klin said, standing from his seat, “I’ll contact you.”
Tillic rose as well and they both stepped from the booth.
“Thanks, Rom,” Tillic said, extending his hand. The man grinned.
“Damn, Tillic!” Rommer said, taking Tillic’s hand and pulling him in to give him a hearty pat on the back, “what good is living without a little excitement now and then?”
Tillic only smiled.
---
“Are you certain, Brother?” Vaid Ketrick asked, leaning forward in his chair and steepling his fingers on his desk, his face in shadow from the window behind him.
“Quite certain, Brother,” the man replied, standing before his DuCideon superior with his hands clasped behind his back. The way the room’s window blinds were drawn gave the effect of a spotlight upon the man. “I knew of our interest in Lord Jordan, so I asked my commander directly. When we have our evidence, a report will be sent to Commander Tillic.”
Ketrick’s personal aide entered the room to place a portascreen on his desk. Ketrick glanced at it quickly. Damn the NDB spies and their ineptitude, thought Ketrick, nodding once and dismissing Ethes Anni with a look. As expected, Tenatte’s efforts to rid the Consortium of Wyren’s agents was also costing Ketrick some of his own operatives. This in turn was delaying the Brotherhood’s latest business acquisition. But that problem would have to wait.
“So,” Ketrick scratched the side of his face, “Derrick’s surrogate father is spying on a member of the Noble Family. Is Jordan to be Seffan’s scapegoat, or are they both to go down?”
“I don’t know. I only know that the report will be for Lord Derrick’s eyes only.”
Ketrick turned in his throne-l
ike chair. If this inquiry were for just the lordling Derrick, it would only matter if Derrick were grandee. And then the only purpose it would serve would be to estrange him from Jordan. And anyone associated with him...
The Grand Master of Legan’s DuCideon Brotherhood closed his eyes and considered his options. Ketrick did not altogether trust Jordan Possór, knowing that he was making overtures to both the Brotherhood and the Consortium. Having something that could ruin Jordan in the eyes of the reigning count-grandee would be worthwhile.
Ketrick looked at the young man standing before him. Only luck had brought this information to him. Luck that a DuCideon brother was involved in this mission against Jordan. But surely the man had some loyalty to his military commander. Was it also luck that this man broke that confidence in favor of his duty to the Brotherhood?”
“Have you informed Chais Wyren about this?” Ketrick asked.
The man blinked. “Sir?”
“Chais Wyren,” Ketrick repeated. “You know who he is, right?”
The man shifted his weight back and forth between his legs. Few outside the New Day Believer Church would know the ranking NDB bishop on Legan by name. “Yes, Brother. But I do not know him personally.”
Ketrick smiled. “Has he been informed of this?”
“Not by me, Brother.”
“So, you have told no one else of this?” Ketrick asked.
“No, Brother.”
Ketrick was not skilled in the truthsense discipline, but he was willing to bet that the man had just lied to him. “Will you know before Commander Tillic when this inquiry is completed?”
“Yes, Brother.”
“Will you be able to get a copy of it?”
“Not easily, Brother.”
“You will get me a copy,” Ketrick ordered. “And I also want you to be prepared to stop that report from getting to Tillic.”
“Brother, I—”
“Or at least getting to Lord Derrick.” Ketrick narrowed his eyes. “The last,” he said slowly, “by any means necessary.”
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