EMPIRE: Succession

by Richard F. Weyand

  Interlude on Verano

  The weeks passed slowly on Verano. The legislature remained out, and the planetary police worked on the investigation into the assassination attempt on Prieto and Bouchard. It was clear at this point that they were both targeted, because of their successful promotion of annexation to the Empire.

  A number of relatively big names on the other side of the debate were arrested, including two members of the legislature and several businessmen in San Jacinto. The public supported these arrests. While many had been skeptical of annexation, they were not at all confused about their condemnation of the attempt to kill their popular president and her even more popular daughter. If Verano had anything like royalty, they were it, and their polling numbers went even higher.

  The public also seemed to think that assassination was something one would only try when they were sure they were losing, and so the attempt by the local media and the protesters to make support for annexation seem like a fringe extreme position fell on its face.

  Finding out that the demonstrators and the media were both being funded by wealthy business interests who opposed annexation also made the public question whether the fight against annexation was in the interests of the common man or in the interests of wealthy business people who didn’t want to have to compete in the Imperial economy.

  There were still voices against annexation, but they seemed to have lost their strength in the onslaught of bad news coming out of the investigation. Polling numbers moved toward annexation, but there was still almost two years to go and it wasn’t – yet – a done deal.

  Turley and Gulliver were sitting in the living room of the guesthouse after the business day was over, waiting for dinner. Prieto had been going in to the capital during the week, and the pair often took their dinner in the guesthouse. It was either that or sit at table in the main house while Bouchard and Parnell made moon eyes at each other and Stimson sat there looking lonely.

  It was an open secret that Parnell had moved into Bouchard’s room in the main house the second night after the assassination attempt and had been living with her since. They had become a bonded pair by this point, and Turley was glad to see it. Hard enough for an Emperor to rule even with a supportive partner, even worse trying to find a partner when one was Emperor already. Much like a billionaire making friends, how did you know the apparent affection was real?

  But tonight was Friday, so they would be dining in the main house, with all six of them at table.

  “Prieto is back on Il Refugio. I just got an update from George,” Turley told Gulliver.

  “Yes. Another week, another weekend.”

  “It is awful quiet, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Gulliver said. “I keep waiting for the centipede’s next shoe to drop.”

  Turley chuckled.

  “At least there’ll be someone to talk to at dinner while our lovebirds stare at each other,” Gulliver said.

  “Aw, leave ‘em alone. They’re cute.”

  “Yes, but they’re not very good at conversation currently. By the way, did you also notice that Mr. Carmell seems to be much happier when Madam President is in residence?”

  “Yeah. At least then he’s not alone at table with those two,” Turley said, then looked up sharply. “Wait. Are you implying what I think you’re implying?”

  “I’m not implying anything. Just commenting on something I noticed, that’s all.”

  “I haven’t heard any gossip.”

  “One does not gossip to houseguests about the head of household,” Gulliver said. “Not if one wants to stay employed. Besides, in a house like this, who knows how many revolving bookcases there are?”

  “You’ve been watching too many stupid videos. I’m not sure there ever was a revolving bookcase in real life. They’re too heavy, among other things.”

  “I have to do something in my spare time. It’s been pretty boring lately.”

  “Yeah, well, now you’re imagining things,” Turley said.

  “Perhaps. But Prieto’s appetites were legendary before the Verano operation, and there can’t be a lot of safe outlets for a planetary president. A secret houseguest is about as safe as it gets.”

  Turley was going to reply, but George opened the door.

  “Madam President requests your presence at dinner.”

  “Oh, my. It is that time, isn’t it? Thank you, George.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Dinner tonight, with Prieto back in residence, was a notch up from the normal weekday fare. Filet mignon with an au poivre sauce, served on a crab cake with blanched asparagus tips, a Caesar salad, and fresh bread, followed up with peach pie with coffee ice cream.

  Afterward, they retired to the sitting room as was their habit. The good cognac was brought out as well.

  “So what’s everybody been up to while I’ve been slaving away in the city?” Prieto asked.

  Turley chuckled.

  “We’ve been keeping busy,” Gulliver said.

  “I’ve been giving Chad tactical shooting lessons,” Bouchard said.

  “That’s wonderful,” Prieto said. “You never know when you need a tactical shooter around. As we recently learned.”

  “You haven’t tried to compete with her, have you?” Gulliver asked.

  “No,” Parnell said. “I think she’s afraid of embarrassing me.”

  “He is making good progress, actually,” Bouchard said.

  “Are you using Marie’s camera rig?” Turley asked.

  “Yes,” Parnell said. “It’s taking me a little while to get used to the change in perspective. I have a tendency to trip.”

  Turley nodded.

  “Yes,” Bouchard said. “That takes some getting used to. But he is improving.”

  “You should run through the course for him, Marie,” Gulliver said. “Show him what’s possible with practice and effort.”

  “Maybe next week,” Bouchard said.

  “And what’s going on in town?” Turley asked.

  “The steam’s really gone out of the anti-annexation movement. There’s no more money funding the protests, what with the police cracking down on the money men, and it seems people don’t want to protest for free. So how strong is their support, anyway? But a few big arrests, and showing people how money was being funneled to protests and media, has got everybody wondering how much support the anti-annexation people actually have. And pro-annexation people have been coming out of hiding. This week anyway.”

  The conversation kept on for quite a while before everyone made their excuses and headed off to their own pursuits.

  Stimson had been quiet during the conversation. And Turley noted that he rarely took his eyes off Morena Prieto.

  Once back in the guesthouse, Turley brought it up to Gulliver.

  “I think you’re right, by the way,” she said.

  “Always nice to hear. About what?”

  “Prieto and Carmell. He seldom took his eyes off her, and he seemed much more content than he does during the week.”

  “Interesting that you see it, too,” Gulliver said. “So is it love, do you think, or is it– convenience, perhaps.”

  “Oh, I think he’s got a serious case. I’m just not sure his feelings are reciprocated in the same way. Prieto has a lot of experience hiding her feelings and controlling her body language.”

  Gulliver nodded.

  “That would be nice, though, if it was mutual. Wouldn’t it?”

  “Yeah. That would be nice.”

  She was quiet for several seconds.

  “What’s he going to do when it’s time to, uh, go back?”

  “That’s a good question. At least Clemson gets to take Bouchard with him. Prieto can’t leave.”

  Turley nodded.

  “I didn’t know she was teaching him tactical shooting,” she said. “That’s interesting.”

  “Well, they have to have something to do. They can’t have sex twenty-four hours a day.”

  “You sound jealou
s.”

  “No, dear,” Gulliver said. “I have nothing at all to complain about.”

  Tuesday of the next week, Bouchard and Parnell were back out on the tactical range continuing his training in tactical shooting. Parnell already had a lot of familiarity and proficiency with firearms, and he was an eager student willing to work hard.

  Parnell had run through the course twice already today, and he and Bouchard watched the recordings in VR and, with the use of a lot of stop-action and slow-motion, critiqued his performance after each trip. Each trip was a different sequence, called up by the computer that controlled the targets.

  They had just finished critiquing his second time through.

  “You really are getting much better,” Bouchard said.

  “They killed me twice on that last run, Marie.”

  “Yes, but this course is designed to be very tough. You don’t learn anything if you aren’t challenged. Are you ready to go again?”

  “Wait. For once I want to see you run the course. You’ve never run the course for me.”

  Bouchard looked at him, then shrugged.

  “Very well. Load the course.”

  “Same difficulty level?”

  Parnell had worked his way up to seven out of ten in the difficulty levels available.

  “No. Set it for ten.”

  Parnell loaded the course at a difficulty level of ten. Bouchard started to walk toward the starting point of the course, the entrance of the twisting box canyon she had selected years ago.

  “You’re not going to put your hair up?” Parnell asked.

  “No. Train as you will shoot because you will shoot as you have trained. I am unlikely to have my hair up when I need these skills.”

  Parnell nodded and she walked around the corner to the beginning of the course. Bouchard had had the course equipped with a full VR rig, and Parnell logged into VR and selected the channel. He was effectively in the canyon with her, but couldn’t get hurt by being in the way.

  Bouchard paused at the start of the course and took several deep breaths, then set off into the course. When the first target popped up, she ejected the pistols in her forearm rigs into her hands and fired. As she proceeded through the course, and targets popped up in front, to the sides, and even behind her, she turned and fired and turned again, always on the balls of her feet.

  There she was again. The Angel of Death he had seen in the sitting room of the main house on Il Refugio, a couple miles to the south of where they were now. His breath caught. It was like watching ballet. He took it in without trying to analyze or critique it, just appreciate it as one might a performance by a prima ballerina, taking it in for its beauty alone.

  When she finished the course, Bouchard reloaded her pistols and reset them in her forearm rigs before walking back out of the canyon.

  “I’m getting rusty. That one target almost got me,” she said as she walked up to him.

  “That was set at ten, though. Had you run through that sequence before?”

  “No. The computer runs a different pattern every time unless you ask it to repeat.”

  “Remarkable,” Parnell said. “I should sell tickets.”

  Bouchard raised an eyebrow.

  “Part of the advantage is that people don’t know that I’m capable. Those fire teams that night thought they would face token resistance, if any at all. They might have done things differently otherwise.”

  “Oh, I know. I was just kidding.”

  He put an arm around her waist and pulled her close, kissed her cheek.

  “What is it about shooting and sex with you, anyway?” Bouchard asked.

  “It’s not any shooting. It’s you shooting.”

  “Ah. I see.”

  “I think we should go back to the house.”

  Bouchard chuckled and he kissed her more urgently, on the mouth.

  “All right, all right,” Bouchard said. “Let’s pack up.”

  That was Tuesday. On Wednesday, they got the call that changed everything.

  Amanda’s Plan

  Imperial City and San Jacinto had drifted closer into synch. It was early Wednesday afternoon that Turley, Gulliver, and Parnell all got a meeting request from Amanda Peters. It was early evening in Imperial City.

  The meeting request was marked ‘Urgent.’

  All acknowledged, and Parnell acknowledged with a note that he was bringing Bouchard. The simulation of the cozy room accommodated five by having two settles facing each other in front of the fire, with an armchair closing off the end, facing the fire. Amanda sat in the armchair, with Turley and Gulliver on one side and Parnell and Bouchard on the other.

  All arrived standing, and Parnell waved to the chairs.

  “Be seated, everyone.”

  Parnell sat and, when everyone else had sat down, nodded to Peters.

  “Proceed, Ms. Peters.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

  Peters took a deep breath and gathered her thoughts.

  “It is now time to move to the next phase of this operation. Mr. Goulet has been consulting with me off and on since being allowed to assume power. He has gradually come to the realization that he does not have the skill set to be a good Emperor, and, worse, that his instincts are often wrong.

  “The latest episode involved his seeking input from sector governors about what changes they would want in Imperial policies to benefit the people of their sectors. They all returned requests for policy changes that would benefit themselves. When admonished by Mr. Goulet, most withdrew their requests, while others doubled down, providing nonsensical justifications for their requests.”

  “Hawking, Sounder, and their cronies, I’m guessing,” Turley said.

  “Yes, Governor Turley. Exactly correct. Mr. Goulet was complaining to me about it. He did not understand the relationship between the sector governors and the Throne. The natural tensions there. He told me that he was the wrong person for the Throne, but he didn’t know how we could fix it. I suggested he abdicate, but he said he couldn’t leave the Throne empty, to be filled by the sector governors.

  “So I told him there was an alternative, that the Illustrious had not been lost, and that Daniel Parnell was alive. I admitted my role in that, saying I would avoid civil war at any cost. He is now on board with putting the proper Heir on the Throne. We are now partners in that endeavor.”

  “Can we be sure of that, Ms. Peters? Sure of him?” Gulliver asked.

  “I think so, Mr. Gulliver. He looked relieved to find out that Bobby’s named Heir was alive. Then he was crestfallen when he considered how he would be remembered by history. Those would not be the reactions I would expect from someone who was trying to trick me.

  “Granted, I may be wrong, in which case I have fallback plans. They are much more dangerous for the Empire, however.”

  “What if he imprisons you, Ms. Peters? Cuts off your VR? Or worse, has you executed?” Parnell asked.

  “It is unlikely he can actually prevail upon the staff to do any of those things, but if he did then those fallback plans happen automatically, Sire. It is only my continued freedom that keeps them from happening.”

  Parnell nodded.

  “I agree with you those wouldn’t be the reactions of someone dissembling, Ms. Peters,” Gulliver said.

  “Good,” Amanda said. “Now I do think there are some things we can do to mollify him on the history side of things. Reassure him on how he will be remembered. That would mean he would be a happier and more secure co-conspirator. This is where you come in, Ms. Bouchard.”

  “Me, Ms. Peters?”

  “Yes. I take it you have decided to be His Majesty’s Empress?”

  Bouchard reddened but did not hedge at all.

  “Yes, Ms. Peters,” she said.

  “Excellent.”

  Peters turned to Parnell.

  “It is much easier to rule with a competent partner, Sire. My congratulations to you both.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Peters,” Parnell sai
d.

  “So. Ms. Bouchard. You need to meet with Mr. Goulet. I will set that up. You should address him as Your Majesty, which, de facto if not de jure, he is right now. You should give him some historical examples of people who did the right thing and were remembered for it, or who did the right thing and it turned out well for everyone.”

  “Attila the Hun and Lord Halifax come to mind, Ms. Peters.”

  “Those are excellent examples, Ms. Bouchard. Having explained those, tell him that you will write the definitive history of his role in this succession crisis. When he questions your ability to do that, bring up your doctorate in history. That will not be enough to satisfy him, I expect. Only then will you tell him that you will be Empress. I will coach you on this conversation further before you have it. I will also work with you on your avatar for this meeting.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Peters,” Bouchard said.

  Amanda nodded, then turned to Parnell.

  “The next step then, Sire, is for you to meet with Mr. Goulet. I would suggest you use Mr. Goulet and Mr. Parnell, or you’ll get all tripped about who Sires to whom. The two of you will work out the plan to put you on the Throne. You also need to tell him what will become of him.”

  “My own inclination would be to restore him as Provence Sector Governor, Ms. Peters.”

  “I think that would be a wise choice, Sire. He was good at it, and I think he misses it.”

  Parnell nodded, then waved Peters to continue.

  “So the two of you work out the plan between you. It has to be set far enough in advance that you can get to the Illustrious and then get to Center in time. I would think you would go to the Illustrious in a shuttle, then have the Illustrious space directly for Center. Have it drop out of hyperspace over Center on a vector from Richland.”

  “Like it just took four months for a three-day journey,” Turley said.

  “Exactly, Ms. Turley. An ‘Oh, there it is,’ moment.”

  “What do we do when we get there, Ms. Peters?” Parnell asked.

  “Report back to the Imperial Palace and resume your duties, Sire. As a brigadier general in the Imperial Guard.”