"But the Consortium is laying low for the trial. And as the NDB are being cooperative—"
"I still do not see why the Consortium would want Derrick over Burin. Nor do I see why the NDB would act against our long-term interests if they think they can soon control us.”
You buffoon, Biam thought, leaving the Consortium’s angle aside for the moment. For the NDB, it was not about money. The Advisor looked to the ceiling. How can I explain it? If it is too simple, you will not believe it. If too complex...
“As you keep saying to everyone, Brother,” Biam replied, “the NDB do not have us yet.”
Ketrick moved a finger back and forth across his lip. "Seffan's ties with the Consortium are what the NDB have over him. As grandee, if Burin had continued to deal with the Consortium, any threat of expulsion could have been met with a threat to expose him."
Like they did with Seffan? asked Biam, suddenly wondering if the NDB would be willing to bring down House Possór in its entirety out of spite. If we don’t play, nobody does!
“Knowing that that leverage would be all but lost with Derrick,” Ketrick continued, “why eliminate Derrick’s main rivals for the throne?”
"This isn’t about the Consortium or about us,” said Biam, tired of waiting. “It’s about whether the NDB thought that Burin would act on Seffan's threat to expel them from Legan."
Biam watched contemptuously as Ketrick mulled the point over.
"Your concern is really about timing, right?” Biam took a calming breath. “You want to know if the NDB’s willingness to let Burin be killed, to the obvious advantage of the Consortium, is an indication of how long the NDB think it will take to make us theirs.”
Lord Ketrick blinked with exaggerated slowness. “My concern is how we fell behind the unfolding of these plans to kill Burin, and why you did not share your analysis on Burin sooner.”
The Advisor stared at the man before him. Apparently, even the Brotherhood promoted and discarded incompetents into middling managerial posts, either keeping its talent on the front lines, or quickly assigning them to positions of real power. “You didn’t ask,” Biam replied.
“I am asking now,” said Ketrick, adding authority to his voice.
“Ask me nice.” Biam held the other man’s stare…up to the moment when Lord Ketrick burst out laughing and his assistant entered the room, with a balanced tray on one hand, and his other hand behind his back.
“Ah, perfect timing, Annis,” Ketrick chuckled as his aide placed the tray on a nearby table, the aide’s other hand still hidden from Biam’s view.
“What is going on?” Biam demanded.
“Lunch,” Ketrick replied. His servant pulled the table closer to him and removed the lid from the tray. “Annis can get something for you too, if you like.” Ketrick smiled as a drink was being poured for him. “Would you like that? Annis giving you something?”
“No,” Biam replied, watching the manservant warily. “Thank you.”
“As you wish.” Ketrick regarded the contents of his glass. “As I see it, the Consortium's political interests go only so far as its financial bottom line. So long as its profits flow, they do not care who sits on the throne. If we can agree that neither Seffan nor Derrick would tolerate their continued operations on Legan, who do you think would, Brother Biam?”
Ethes Annis remained standing behind Ketrick, ostensibly waiting to be dismissed.
"Jordan oversaw Seffan's Consortium projects," Biam said testily. “Maybe they have an understanding. Derrick may only be slated to wear the crown briefly. If the succession issue could be handled right, Jordan would be the Consortium’s ideal candidate for the throne.”
Ketrick laughed uproariously, as if a small wish had come true. "Jordan wants to become a member of the Brotherhood!" Dismissing his servant, Ketrick furrowed his brow in mock disappointment at Biam’s look of surprise. "Listen, it is not like he would be the only brother keeping up the appearance of being a good, little Miran."
"Did he approach us?" Biam knew that Mirans were officially prohibited from joining the DuCideon Brotherhood. He did not care to hear Ketrick's explanation of it.
"Yes," Ketrick said, still savoring his control over this bit of news. "And I doubt even his sister knows about it, let alone Seffan."
"When did this happen?" Biam pressed, his annoyance intensifying. "And why didn’t you say something sooner?"
Ketrick's raised chin answered Biam's second question, and drained away his anger.
Don’t worry, Ketrick, he thought, now annoyed at himself for falling for the other man’s cheap intimidation. So long as the Brotherhood remains a minor player on Legan, your job is secure. The Advisor's ice-blue eyes twinkled as he suppressed a chuckle. But remember this day when reality crushes your delusion, and reveals that you will never be anything more than a lowly bureaucrat, with a petty hereditary title. My sights are set on greater things.
"Two months ago," Ketrick replied, curious over Biam’s change in demeanor.
To Biam, Ketrick's haughtiness was but a mark of stupidity, but it melted the remaining satisfaction the Advisor took from his DuCideon superior once again proving his worthlessness. The feeling was replaced by frustration. "Do you believe Jordan would be a good catch for us?"
"Do you think he is a spy?" Ketrick asked defensively.
"Perhaps. He could just be hedging his bets. It costs him little to be our friend right now. For all we know, the weasel might be trying to secretly become an NDB as well."
"I thought you said the NDB wanted Derrick?"
"We’re not dealing with personal loyalties here," Biam snapped, not bothering to correct the man. "The NDB will go with whoever best suits their purposes—at the time. They’re like the Consortium, only a little more image conscious."
"They must think they can just convert Derrick," Ketrick sneered. "Or will the NDB settle for selling him on the virtues of unbounded religious tolerance?"
Biam titled his head back to look down upon Ketrick with measured scorn. "In case you’re not fully informed," the Advisor began, knowing he was not, "House Tehasing is NDB."
Ketrick’s only response was several wide-eyed blinks.
"I admit I just learned of this recently," Biam lied, "and only because Seffan reassigned Derrick's chief counselor to oversee the marriage negotiations. This is a point the morons reporting to Henely have overlooked. If Derrick weds into House Tehasing, as Seffan himself first proposed, House Possór's political ends won’t be the only ones being served."
"Will Derrick do it?"
"If his father orders it, certainly. But Seffan’s own marriage was arranged, so for now, he only asks Derrick to consider it. And to ‘give the girl a chance.’ Derrick will likely need to be pushed however, and Henely has already reminded him of his obligations as heir."
"Henely is dangerous," Ketrick stated suddenly, his eyes focused on his unfinished meal.
So, you do have occasional insight, Biam silently remarked, trying to put the unpleasant memory of his last meeting with the Count-Grandee out of his mind. "Henely has his own agenda," Biam agreed. And no matter how much I play his fool, he still shares nothing of importance with me. "Still," he continued, "I see him doing no more than what any other career-oriented, self-serving bureaucrats would do. There is also his coming retirement. No sense in him risking his pension now."
"Could Henely be an agent though?" Ketrick asked. "You reported earlier that he had made a couple of interesting trips from the Palace."
"Agent? You mean from House Tehasing or House Andior?" Biam knew that a better connection was with the rebels. Pursuant to his policy of limiting what he told Ketrick, however, the Advisor kept this latter possibility to himself.
"Maybe he's with the Consortium. He was just as involved with them as Jordan, right?" Ketrick received a shrug for an answer.
"Can our new contacts in NDB Church Security give us anything on him?" Despite his earlier barbed remark, Biam was serious this time.
"You know I do not like
asking them for any favors." Ketrick shifted in his chair. "It is hard enough keeping our aims a secret from our NDB members."
True enough, Biam admitted, knowing the trouble that would ensue if the NDB Church discovered the extent of their efforts to put Burin on Seffan's throne. Like making promises to key members of the planetary nobility that the Brotherhood could not keep on its own….
"I am just glad our NDB Brothers, as you call them, are open about their dual allegiance."
"Not always," Biam replied. "The Mirans may be our hated enemy, but at least we know them by their robes. We can’t say that about the NDB, especially those ‘hidden’ ones."
"Let us keep to deciding what we are to do with Burin being gone," Ketrick said irritably.
"Seffan's vengeance against Josephine may have been a grave mistake," Biam declared, noting Ketrick’s choice of the plural pronoun. "If she really was an Imperial informant, the accident theory will be dismissed, and people will openly call it murder. And if they prove he ordered her silenced, everything else would fall into place. He will have admitted his guilt."
"So you still do not know if she truly committed treason or not?"
"Few believe that she acted alone,” Biam replied carefully. “Seffan even suspects NDB involvement." The Advisor saw no reason to reveal his own communications with Burin’s wife. "However, since I only heard of the government's clandestine Consortium operations, and had no real part in them, I’m unable to verify anything."
"So Seffan eliminated her before discovering her source."
"It was more expedient just to kill people associated with Josephine.” Biam kept his face impassive. “The targeting criterion was very broad. If there was a leak, he probably plugged it."
"I am sure he did," Ketrick remarked. "But you did not urge him to stop?"
Biam hesitated, sensing a renewed attempt to fault him. "Brother Ketrick, you don’t tell Seffan Possór that he’s acting foolishly. Particularly when he has you under that twitching eye."
Ketrick scratched the back of his hand, letting the point pass.
"I did all that I could to save them," Biam said, almost to himself. Privately, he was grateful that he had never fully revealed himself to Josephine, knowing that she might have taken him down with her.
"I guess the trial will show if she truly turned state’s evidence,” Ketrick remarked idly.
"She may well have." Biam stopped as doubts suddenly surfaced, most of them associated with Henely. "I actually hope she did. It would be hard not to pity her otherwise."
"Yes, it would be terrible," said Ketrick dismissively, forcing a yawn as he touched his napkin to his lips.
"Still, with Burin gone and Seffan likely going down, we need a new candidate."
"And so, we are back to Derrick," Ketrick asserted.
Biam glanced at him surprisingly. He had half-expected him to favor Jordan, if for nothing else than to spite the NDB. "I agree with you," replied Biam. Now he would need to reverse the political damage he had worked so hard to make the Possór heir suffer for Galleston and the other cities. As much as I hate to do so.
---
Having retired aboard his father's flagship, The Talion, Guerren Andior leaned against the plasteel window of the ship's main conference room and looked down over the planet Legan. Alone, with the top half of his uniform already unbuttoned, Guerren put a hand to his forehead and ran his fingers through his hair. The day had been tiring.
They themselves do not believe it, he thought, reviewing his acceptance of Pablen's findings that an accident had claimed the lives of Duke Burin and his family. The decision had not been easy, and had come over the strong objections of his Imperial advisors. Despite a few remaining doubts however, Guerren believed it was the correct one.
Even Derrick does not buy the story. Yet there had been no arrogance in the Possór heir's expression, or any sense of challenge. Not as there was when Guerren had first arrived.
He was desperate, Guerren told himself. Uncertain. One could anticipate some trepidation that a violation of Pax Imperator may have been declared. Derrick’s shock over his uncle's death might also be expected, assuming he had no part in it.
And that was what bothered him, Guerren admitted. He did not think Derrick was involved. It further troubled the Andior prince that if one assumed that the murder was related to the trial, Derrick's lack of complicity suggested other things as well.
He could have faked being upset, but why? If he were concerned over a violation, he would not have allowed the killings in the first place. Surely he was not playing for sympathy! I would be the last person from whom he would expect that. Still, Guerren knew that sympathy may have been why he decided how he did.
I know what I saw, the Andior heir said, unwilling to undermine his confidence by creating shadows for himself from endless possible deceptions within deceptions. But even if he were innocent, why would it matter? Why did I not proclaim the obvious and call it murder?
Guerren narrowed his eyes. What instinct held me back?
"Good evening, Your HIGHNESS!" The voice came from a young man as he entered a door to Guerren's left, its last word having been spoken in falsetto.
Guerren smiled but did not turn around. "We are in orbit above an area for which the sun is again about to crest, and you Nierreb, tell me ‘Good evening.’"
"So you’re to be unsociable and unappreciative, huh?" the young man replied as the door automatically closed behind him. "Figuring that, for once, you may have actually put in a hard day's worth of work, I decide to spare a little of my exceedingly valuable time to come by and—"
"Unsociable?" Guerren asked, pushing himself from the window to face his accuser.
"The memorial service?" Nierreb reminded him, tilting his head and raising his eyebrows.
Guerren curled his right upper lip. "That is hardly a social occasion."
"So what are you saying? You only go to funerals if they're serving free drinks?"
Guerren reached for a nearby com-button. "Commander Ward," he said, hailing his chief security officer with a cold, stern voice. "Is anyone currently in the brig?"
"Guerren!" Nierreb cried.
"Not presently, Sir," the commander replied, knowing the Andior prince well enough to detect Guerren's intent. "Does Your Highness have someone in mind? The rats, poor skinny things, are getting lonely down here."
The young Andior allowed himself a dramatic pause. "I will keep an eye out for a suitable playmate for them, Commander." Guerren turned the intercom off and looked up at his curly-haired friend. His eyes twinkled. "You know, I like that Ward. He is a good man."
"You're the Special Commander, Guerr," Nierreb said seriously, though still shaking his head in good-humored reproach. "You're supposed to attend these things." He lowered his voice. "You might even see something interesting—something you're not supposed to see."
Guerren looked at him before slowly nodding. "I know, but I would not feel right being there, especially as ‘Imperial Special Commander.’ My God—three members of his family have died! My presence would only cause...disruption."
"But if you don't go, you'll offend them."
"That might be the more respectful thing to do. It would certainly be the kinder."
"It’s not like you might see that Derrick guy fall into an open grave or anything. And I bet the other judges will be there. I even bet that sight-seeing dame will be there."
Guerren chuckled. "Ah, you better watch yourself with that one, Nierford. If angered, that truthseeing soror has the psychic power to see your mind blown and laid waste."
"Blown and laid, huh?"
Guerren blew out his breath and turned away. Nierreb only smiled.
"Well," Guerren said after watching a patrol craft fly across the planet, "have you chosen your new quarters on one of the destroyers?"
While generous accommodations had been offered to Guerren on Legan, the Andior heir preferred to sleep aboard ship. There he could be more relaxed, and still
oversee the activities of his people on the planet. The same people who were teaching him his job as Special Imperial Commander, he reminded himself, and who were responsible for his performance.
"Not yet. Which ship are you moving to?"
"I have not decided," Guerren replied. "Though the remaining ships are the same."
"I still don't know why you can't keep this big sucker around." Nierreb patted a nearby wall with mock affection. "Why bother lugging your dad’s old behemoth out here if you’re just going to turn around and send it off to conduct military maneuvers somewhere?"
"To shake up these Possórs a bit," Guerren explained. "We wanted to have the cruiser around for a week or so, let the crew take her out to run drills with our Senac allies, have it return unexpectedly, go out for more maneuvers, come back and surprise them again, and so on."
"That's mighty considerate for someone who won't crash a wake."
"Yes, well, that was the plan. Now I am not so sure."
"The thing about that ‘accidental’ explosion is still bothering you, huh?"
"A little."
"Forget it. Accident or no, better to wait for something really big to happen—where there's no question of a peace violation. And don’t be glum.” Nierreb slapped Guerren’s back. “If it was murder, things could escalate. You might need to call down the troops after all!"
Guerren turned and looked at his friend silently. Maybe that is why I did it.
Nierreb's smile slowly faded as he read his prince's face.
Perhaps something else is to occur that I would have otherwise prevented. The Andior heir considered the possibility carefully, having long lost his amazement at how the forces behind the Mental Disciplines affected human events. Something that still needs to happen for all this to be properly resolved.
---
As Ketrick neared the open door before him, he could hear Jordan Possór remarking on the items brought to him for possible purchase.
“The broken-off bits there bother me,” Jordan said, waving his hand at one of the pieces.
“The item is very old, my Lord. It comes from the—”
“Either an item pleases me, or it does not,” Jordan snapped. “And these primitively rendered things.” He pointed to several other objects. “It looks like a child made them.”
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