House of Jackals

by Todd M. Moreno

  "They're in our domain and still want to play games?" the captain wondered aloud.

  "Cassand asks if she should allow the ships to continue on course," the officer reported. "Apparently, the Imperial Lord High Justice is also aboard, along with two other judges."

  "Authorization is given," the captain responded. "Notify all commands: The Imperial ships will assume their prearranged orbits in approximately..." the woman looked at her viewscreen for the vessels' current coordinates and frowned, noting how far they had gone before being intercepted, "...fifteen minutes. Also contact the Talion. Inform its commander that the ship has permission to take D standard orbit at point 42-78 degrees."

  "Ma'am?" the communications officer began hesitantly. "The three judges will be taking a shuttle to the Palace. Wouldn't a closer—?"

  "I know their destination, Lieutenant. Tell Talion that we need her there while we make the necessary flight adjustments to better accommodate her. Also tell them that she can release the shuttle at any point along its directed course."

  "But Captain—"

  "Make them wait, Lieutenant," the woman snapped. "Remember: until that Special Commander invokes Imperial authority under Pax Imperator, we're still in control around here."

  "Yes, Ma'am," the officer replied, chastened by the woman's sharp tone.

  “If they want to surprise us with that battle cruiser,” the captain muttered, eyeing the communications officer, “they can wait until we figure out where to put the blasted thing.”

  "Sergeant," the captain called, glancing at another subordinate. "Get the registry of the A.M.F.S. Talion, the planet of origin, and the local ruling House. Then send your findings to Pablen so they know whom we’re dealing with."

  "Yes, Ma'am," the sergeant replied, turning toward his console.

  ---

  "The trial is in four days," Lord Legan declared, resting his arms on the conference table. "What is left to do?" Seffan Possór looked at his advisors, studying their faces and movements. They are not confident, he said to himself. Glancing at his son, Seffan saw that even Derrick appeared subdued, although that was probably from exhaustion. At that, the Count-Grandee could only nod approvingly.

  "Sire," Advisor Biam began, "our records are flawless. As for the documentary evidence we received, we are prepared to rebut their authenticity and significance. The Justice Minister himself would be hard-pressed to prove we did anything wrong, or acted with any mal-intent."

  "Himself?" Seffan lifted his eyebrow at the qualification.

  "My Liege," another advisor replied, turning in his chair, "we've just learned of House Andior's success in persuading the Judicial Committee to approve the court's use of a truthseer."

  "Our counsel could do nothing?" Seffan heard the rise in his voice and regretted it. Derrick shifted in his chair and looked at him. Alarm was inappropriate, given that the measure was supposedly more of an insult to his royal dignity than an actual threat to his case.

  "Andior's statutory interpretation simply prevailed, Sire," the man answered.

  On a statute that I helped to pass, Seffan thought, despising the irony.

  "Our Parliamentary delegate brought the matter to a vote," the advisor continued, "but the measure was affirmed, and we don’t expect our appeal to succeed in getting an exemption."

  The Count-Grandee's eyes flickered as his facial muscles contracted into an angry squint. While the truthseer could not read through anyone trained in the Disciplines, a psychic search of the past might find someone involved in their illegal activities who lacked such protection. Exceptional truthseers might even use surrounding items and events that they could see to piece things together, and for this trial, the Justice Minister would undoubtedly send one of the best.

  "So Fenté has brought his allies and our enemies together," Lord Legan said, outwardly calm once again. "The good marquis has surely complicated matters for us." He put a hand to his chin and absently ran his fingers through his beard. First Advisor Henely nodded at the signal just before a messenger entered the room and stood between them.

  "Sire," the messenger began, delivering a stiff bow and focusing his stare at a point above the table. "Three of the trial judges will soon be arriving by shuttle. They travel in the company of the Imperial Commander."

  The corners of Derrick's mouth dropped.

  Perfect timing, Seffan said to himself. Derrick's presence at the meeting had made him consider reassigning more aides from under his son's support team. Or maybe just that Sukain woman, he thought, shooting a captious glance at his own sole female advisor.

  "Do you know who the Special Commander is?" the Count-Grandee inquired, returning his attention to the messenger.

  "No," the man quickly answered before hesitating. "Not yet, Sire. But along with the four Imperial destroyers, there also came a heavy battle cruiser."

  The right side of the Count-Grandee's mustache twitched. "Derrick," his father said presently. "You must greet them. We still need to win them over. Now more than ever."

  Derrick exhaled, nodded and stood up from the table. Seffan's advisors rose as well, standing while the messenger followed Derrick out and closed the door behind him. The Count-Grandee spoke as his aides and advisors noisily retook their seats, noting that his cousin Jordan, the newest member of the Privy Council, had not moved.

  "Now, how damaging can this truthseer actually be?"

  "A truthseer has always been a threat, Sire," Advisor Biam answered. "Still, many of the counter-measures we have worked on these past several months may prove ineffective. We can trust our own mental shielding, but a few of the untrained personnel we used are yet beyond our reach. If discovered, they could be linked to us. Given the scope of the charges, and the time periods in question, there is great risk in proceeding as originally planned."

  "Untrained personnel should not have been used in the first place," Seffan growled, but there was nothing to be done about it now. The situation still had to be addressed. Sighing, he leaned back in his chair, confident at least that those deemed responsible for the mistake had already been executed. Nodding to himself, the Count-Grandee took on another tone.

  "Should we just give up then?" The question was asked jokingly, although no one appeared to notice Seffan's change in manner.

  "Sire, it may be best to cut our losses."

  Seffan Possór stiffened at the unexpectedly candid response, but allowed First Advisor Henely to continue.

  "House Possór can lose thirty to forty percent of its net assets with a guilty plea. If we plead innocent and lose, sixty-five to eighty-five percent would be forfeit, due to the perjury and public-trust multipliers." The First Advisor paused, his small face taking on a solemn expression. "There is one more thing, Sire."

  "I know," Seffan breathed. "The Emperor could execute me if I plead innocent and lose." He withdrew to his thoughts for a moment. "And Derrick?"

  "If Lord Derrick were to be charged, Sire, he would not have been allowed on the court. And, as he truly lacks any knowledge of our Consortium contracts, the trial should pose no threat to his presumed innocence. Even there, he could submit to an open examination by a truthseer, as unprecedented as that may be." Seffan's stare turned inward as Henely continued. "The worst that could happen is his succeeding to a bankrupt House, and having to accept a commission in the Imperial Armed Forces. Unless he marries into House Tehasing, as Your Lordship has..."

  Seffan blinked, realizing Henely was staring back at him. The Count-Grandee was unsure how long the silence had lasted. "Damn House Andior," he whispered, dismissing the concerned looks around the table. Seffan knew there would be no deals from the Justice Minister. There was no escape. Jerking his head to the side, Lord Legan turned away from some private vision in a reflex response. Someone will pay dearly for this, he thought.

  The uncomfortable silence returned as Lord Legan's eyes again glazed to an unnatural opaqueness. Even without sensing the turbulent psychic aura swirling around Seffan, Henely knew what wa
s happening. He knew the others saw it as well. The Count-Grandee's temper was well known, as was how it might be vented. Furious currents waged havoc beneath the leveled surface of Seffan's face as the First Advisor realized that lives were at risk. A few quick glances told him that his fellow advisors shared his assessment.

  If anyone said or did the wrong thing...

  The worst was not knowing how long the Count-Grandee's mood would last.

  Seffan is unstable, Henely assured himself, quieting the anxiety which gripped even him, but not stupid. Alone among his nervous peers, Lousin Henely's long service and strong self-confidence often relieved him of the fear that Seffan might harm him. This time however, he too waited out those few precarious moments, neither moving nor saying a word.

  Finally, the Count-Grandee spoke. "Now," exhaled Seffan Possór through his teeth, his tone slow and calculated as a faint psychic echo resonated through the thoughts of Henely, and undoubtedly the others, "tell me of the traitor."

  It was said within certain circles that the Count-Grandee was sometimes given to fits of violence, even senseless violence. Unfortunately for his advisors, the idea of being betrayed was a prime precipitator of such paroxysms of anger. No one knew more than Henely how quickly people could be labeled "traitors," and how the Count-Grandee invariably dealt with them.

  "It was as Your Lordship suspected," a new advisor began.

  Seffan rotated his head to gaze at the man, his psychic menacing following his line of sight and passing over Henely like a wave.

  "Duchess Josephine had possession of the documents and computer files we planted for her discovery. They were found with some other new information she had collected."

  Henely gave Biam a casual glance, glad for the distraction from Seffan. Not having told Biam that Josephine was under investigation, he imagined Biam feeling his stomach sink beneath his chair at the mention of her name. He knew that Biam had made no attempt to hide his communications with Josephine…or to review all the information his aides had given her.

  The advisor who had been speaking released a weighted breath before resuming. "As with the earlier information, this new cache includes ledgers, dates and names. From this, we believe she was the one who supplied the evidence being used by the prosecution."

  Henely met Biam's glare with a carefully crafted look of amazement. It had been the First Advisor, after all, who had privately asked Biam to keep Burin and Josephine informed of what was happening at the Palace.

  "So, our investigators have done their job," Seffan scoffed, “for once." He let the unspoken threat drift in the air as he began to think of his sister-in-law.

  Although staunchly anti-NDB, Josephine clearly had no problem working with them. House Andior’s "distrust" of the New Dawn Believers was certainly no hurdle for them either. For Lord Legan, their hypocrisy only strengthened his contempt.

  Being a regional duchess was not enough for our base-born opportunist, the Count-Grandee continued. His dark, unfocused eyes suddenly rested on Biam. From his color and the rising sweat on his face, the man looked sick, if not feverish. A blood vessel on his right temple even pulsed. She wants to rule a planet. Unmindful of the fear-stricken advisor, Seffan dug at his thick, neatly trimmed beard with his thumb and forefinger. Stupid bitch, he huffed, not expecting her to have secured any meaningful deal with the Imperials beforehand. There may be nothing left to rule, if I am brought down.

  Seffan suddenly wondered what Josephine planned for Derrick. She might turn him over to the Emperor, but her young nephew would still be in her way. What does she intend for him? Lord Legan ground his teeth, remembering his son’s near accident with the shuttlecraft.

  As Biam's complexion returned to its normal hue, the First Advisor surmised that he had finally succeeded in using the Disciplines to control his body's reaction to the stress which had threatened to overwhelm him.

  And why should he not feel his heart beat in his ears? Henely laughed inwardly. Biam had no way of knowing that he had assured Seffan that his associate advisor's transmissions to the Duke and Duchess had been monitored, and that he was not the one who provided Josephine with the damning information she had apparently forwarded to the Imperials.

  So now you owe me, Allenford, Henely thought, looking forward to telling the advisor how he had saved him.

  The Count-Grandee lifted his head to see his advisors watching and waiting. At his gaze, most of them hastily averted their eyes. Jordan looked at him with hard resolution. Seffan’s cousin knew him well enough to know where this was going. "Does she suspect that we know of her treachery?" Seffan asked calmly. His change in tone visibly relaxed a few of the advisors, and the Count-Grandee had to resist the temptation of frightening them back into full attention.

  "No, Sire," another advisor began. "And precautions have been taken so that the rest of the information she possesses is useless."

  "And what of my spineless brother?" Seffan asked as he expelled his breath. His voice lowered, and his words took on a firm cadence. "Was he involved? Did he know of any of his dear wife's actions?"

  "We are still uncertain, Sire," answered the same advisor.

  The Count-Grandee noted the reluctance.

  "We know His Grace is aware of the hiding place where we found the materials. He also has access to it. What we do not know is whether he had any knowledge of its contents."

  Seffan nodded, wondering if his younger brother was stupid enough not to know what was going on, or stupid enough to be a part of it. "And their son?" Lord Legan asked.

  "He has been watched as well, Sire," said the woman Seffan had glanced at earlier. "He is not involved." The advisor looked pleased by her answer, even self-satisfied.

  "Does he know anything of his mother's actions?" the Count-Grandee asked icily, his eyes appearing like glass. "Has he seen or heard something that he should have reported to us?"

  "I—? Why—?" The woman stumbled over her words under Seffan's wild yet strangely restrained gaze. "Sire, surely a ten-year-old—"

  Seffan was ready to literally pounce. "Idiot!" The Count-Grandee's low thunderous tone, lathed with disgust, paled the advisor. "My young nephew has had enough time to come to us and demonstrate his loyalty. Permissive treason is still treason."

  As is treason by incompetence, Seffan thought, deciding to be rid of this advisor. Clearly she had divided loyalties. "If it is found that all of them were involved or knew about it, I want them all dispatched together. There will be no formal hearings."

  Allegations of Alta Proditio were rarely tried in open court, as evidence of such treason often involved state secrets. But applying the practice to Family members was unprecedented. Nonetheless, the Count-Grandee looked around the room to each advisor, making sure that he was understood, and making them all responsible to carry out his order. From the looks he received in return, Seffan Possór knew that he was understood, and that he would be obeyed.

  "That is all," the Count-Grandee breathed, waving his hand in dismissal. Let everyone be certain of it, Seffan thought as he watched his advisors leave, I destroy anyone who betrays me.

  Seeing Biam make a hasty departure, the First Advisor quickly followed, knowing he had to talk with him before the still terrified advisor did anything unwarranted.

  ---

  The room in which Derrick greeted the other judges and the Imperial Commander was not Pablen’s largest reception hall, but he thought it appropriate for the number and social stature of his guests. Tastefully ornate, with its plain columns and simple yet elegant tracery windows, the “Green Room” was quite spacious, and otherwise decorated as a formal living area. His choice of dress was equally moderate, his semi-formal military uniform bearing the stylized jackal badge of House Possór, with only a medallion and chain to signify his rank as heir.

  Smiling hospitably, Derrick’s gaze embraced the room. Seeing Guerren Andior, son of the Andior marquis-grandee, standing among the judges however, he hesitated.

  What in the Seven Hel
ls?

  Keeping his feelings masked, Derrick quickly smiled once again, cursing his aides for not fully briefing him. Guerren Andior’s presence was not something that he should have needed to ask about, especially if he had arrived for the reason Derrick now suspected.

  "Welcome to Pablen, my Lady and my Lords," Derrick hailed, casually signaling his guards to join the others stationed around the room. He noted that his guests had already done likewise, save for the representative from the Imperial House.

  "Baroness-Grandia Stous, it is nice to see you again." Derrick bowed to kiss her hand. He had met the ruler of Gastolos while at Parliament with his father, and was glad that she was one of the five judges. With her thick, dark hair put up in a wide braid that encircled her head like a crown, the young Possór saw Lady Gastolos as regal both in bearing and in nature.

  "Thank you, Lord Derrick," the Baroness-Grandia replied. "I am pleased to see you as well, despite the unfortunate circumstances."

  Derrick bowed again with silent gratitude. "Count von Taccen," he nodded, shaking hands with the judge sent by the Imperial House. Although he undoubtedly had his own heraldic devices, the man conspicuously wore the Emperor’s twin-eagle badge. "I trust the apartments secured for you are comfortable?" Derrick glanced at Von Taccen's guards meaningfully.

  "They meet my expectations," the large, older man rumbled, raising an eyebrow, "Your High—I mean," the man smiled purposely, "Lord Derrick."

  The taunt in almost addressing Derrick as "Your Highness" was not lost on him. While many Grand Houses gave their heirs a royal designation, House Possór had never adopted the practice. To some, the scions of House Possór were thus not properly considered royal.

  "Lord High Justice Salian," Derrick said, extending his hand.

  "Lord Possór," the old Imperial Judge responded, gripping his hand firmly.

  Initially uncertain about the implications of the Justice's address, the look on the older gentleman's face reassured Derrick. Here was a man whose esteemed office had required confirmation by the Emperor, Parliament and the Holy Church. For Derrick, an aura radiated from Salian, an effect enhanced by the man's thick white hair, deep alert eyes, and lines of age and experience. To him, here was a man of integrity and sound judgment.