Imperial Guard

by Joseph O'Day

  Mogul, his spirit lifted, walked briskly from the foyer into an adjoining room, humming quietly in self-congratulation. “A steaming hot whirlpool is a fitting way to celebrate my brilliant solution to this latest problem.” Hurriedly stripping the clothes off his lean, muscular body, Mogul buzzed for a servant and slid gingerly into the recessed whirlpool reserved for his personal use.

  When the servant arrived seconds later, Mogul ordered a mild drink—he never engaged in drinking hard liquor until late in the day—and stretched out lazily in the steaming, swirling water, languidly sipping the delicious nectar. Mogul enjoyed indulging in meditative techniques at times, and now, he decided, was one of those times. He began to feel himself slipping off into a state of altered consciousness when a jarring slam brought him to an abrupt sitting position. Josh Mogul strode arrogantly into the room, as his brother slowly turned his head to look at him.

  Once again Carl Mogul noticed how his brother’s soft, youthful features were being ravaged by riotous living. His eyes glinted coldly, like pieces of flint, and they reminded him of a wolf’s eyes. His lips were curled into their usual semi-permanent snarl. Yet Carl could see why women found him attractive . . . in a wild sort of way. He wondered idly if his brother was under the influence of some exotic substance. Seeing how much his health had deteriorated since he had seen him last, Carl wondered if his brother’s excesses might lead to his untimely demise before he could have him killed in combat.

  “Well, what do’ya want, big brother? I’m busy,” snorted Josh in his typical self-important way.

  Carl felt rage returning to cloud his better judgment. But he was determined that Josh would not manipulate him into playing his kind of game. Besides, in spite of his other shortcomings, Josh was an excellent fighter, having been trained by his father from early childhood, and his temper was unpredictable. He fought back the anger. Relax, Carl, relax. Remember the plan. Make him back himself into a corner. Make him want to do what you want him to do. Ignoring his brother, he closed his eyes and took three deep, cleansing breaths.

  Crossing his arms in obvious impatience and looking off into a corner of the room, Josh swore at him. “Look, if you’re just going to sit there with your ass hanging in the water, I’m leaving. I’ve got better things to do with my time than be at your beck and call.”

  “Stay right where you are, mister!” Carl intoned in the most authoritative voice he could muster. He slowly opened his eyes and riveted them on his brother’s. “You’re in big trouble, bud, and you need my help.”

  “I don’t need nobody’s help, especially not yours, sir high and mighty!”

  Carl lifted himself from the tub and began to dry off, massaging his muscles as he did so. He took his time responding to Josh, seeking to make him nervous and apprehensive and striving to maintain control of the conversation.

  Josh couldn’t stand the silence. “Maybe it’s you who’s in trouble. Maybe I’m spoiling your plans to rule the Empire.” Carl, in spite of himself, could not hide his surprise.

  “Everybody knows about it. Even ol’ Henry knows. That’s why he plays you and Father against Mizpala.”

  “Don’t you want to rule the Empire?” Carl sneered.

  “Not me. I’m satisfied with what I’ve got. Ruling the Empire is too much trouble. But I’d love to see you try and get squashed doing it!” Josh grinned in a hateful sort of way.

  Suddenly Carl realized that Josh was more dangerous to him than he thought. He quickly understood that he must waste no more time in taking the offensive away from his brother.

  As he completed his dressing, he said, “I’m not sure you will get a chance to see anything, dear brother. You have a much more immediate concern. Maybe the friends of that unfortunate you chewed up would gain a certain amount of pleasure from seeing you in the filth and squalor of a lower-class prison . . . or in the lower levels of the alley.”

  Carl could see his brother’s thoughts turning inward, contemplating his possible unpleasant futures. “I think, though, that they would much prefer to gain satisfaction through the Code of Revenge,” he continued relentlessly. Josh paled visibly. The Code of Revenge required like punishment. In this case Josh would be subjected to a disfigurement similar to what he inflicted on his victim.

  Obviously shaken, Josh clutched at straws. “You and I both know you can’t afford to have a Mogul suffer such public disgrace.”

  Feigning guilelessness, Carl began to weave a skillful pattern of lies and half-truths. “I’m afraid the matter is entirely out of my hands. Our father must maintain the goodwill and support of the nobility or risk more civil war. Hercond’s seconds have already demanded an audience with the Emperor, and the Emperor has agreed to see them this afternoon. They intend to gain satisfaction, and the evidence against you is conclusive.”

  Glancing at the ceiling as if studying the filigree, Carl continued absently, “Somehow they have also managed to collect a fairly complete list of your past . . . ah, shall we say, indiscretions?”

  Josh felt the cold claws of panic ripping at his chest. He knew that he had to put on his best begging act to get the help he so badly needed from his brother. “Please, Carl, ya gotta help me! I never meant to hurt anyone. Anyway, I can’t stand pain—you know that. Besides, women would never look at me again . . . except with disgust!” Josh looked close to tears.

  Pretty good act, thought Carl. But he was pleased that he had managed to bring Josh to the verge of accepting his plan. “If they bothered to notice how twisted and disfigured you are on the inside, they’d be disgusted anyhow.”

  “Please, Carl, please help me outa this. Just one more time. I’ll never get outa line again. I promise . . . I’ll change.” Josh offered hopefully.

  Carl grinned inwardly. Maybe it will be the last time at that—whether you change or not. But throwing up his hands in mock resignation, he said, “I don’t see how anything can be done.” Again he lied. “Your victim has friends in high places.”

  Clutching his brother’s arm, Josh cried, “I can run! There’s plenty of places to hide in the Empire.”

  “You couldn’t even get off the planet,” Carl scoffed. “Your retinal patterns would set off the alarm. You wouldn’t get as far as one of the rendezvous points. But you would have to get off-planet—remember, the Imperial Guard could find you anywhere on Earth. They really enjoy that kind of sport, you know. Anyway, to hide successfully, you’d have to live far below the standard you’ve grown accustomed to. I don’t think you could do it. Of course, there is another alternative: you could always arrange to kill yourself. But I imagine you lack the courage for that.”

  Josh rallied. “I have as much courage as the one who engineered the massacre of Company G,” he squeaked. “Or did they call you ‘Butcher Boy of Company G’ for nothin’?”

  Carl turned scarlet, but as he seethed with hatred for his brother, he knew he had made a strategic mistake by inciting him. Sarcasm was Josh’s natural habitat, and Carl could never be his match in such a contest. I have to keep him on the defensive, not get him worked up and disagreeable.

  Turning on his heel and walking away, he flung back, “I’m not going to put up with your insults today. Go solve your own problems for a change.”

  Josh blanched. “No . . . wait! I take it back. Carl, you gotta help me! For God’s sake, I’m your brother!”

  “My brother? Why should that matter?”

  Sputtering, Josh answered, “Well, uh, think . . . think of your reputation.”

  “Ha! You ruined that long ago!”

  All out of arguments, Josh collapsed on the floor in an agony of emotion. “Carl,” he gasped, tears streaming down his face, “I . . . I don’t have anywhere else to turn.”

  At that moment Carl felt ultimate contempt for his brother, but at the same time he felt the unwelcome stirrings of compassion. Undeterred, however, he pressed his advantage. “There may be a way out,” he slowly rolled off his tongue, “but you wouldn’t do it.”

  Jo
sh took the bait. “I’ll do anything, Carl! Just tell me!”

  “You’ll have to join the Fusiliers at once and leave Earth for Peru II on the earliest transport.”

  Josh considered a moment. “OK . . . That wouldn’t be too bad.”

  “You’ll have to stay off planet for several years, until the heat dies down.”

  “Wait a minute, you’re talkin’ exile!”

  “Okay,” Carl gestured with his hands in front of him, “maybe only three years or so.”

  “I’d have to be commissioned captain.”

  “No way. Second lieutenant is the best I can do.”

  “Make it the Imperial Guard and it’s a deal.”

  “Deal? Deal? What position are you in to make deals? I can’t do it.”

  “OK, just forget it. I’ll stay here and take my chances.”

  “Don’t be an idiot! Why do you want to be a Guardsman anyway?”

  “I like their uniforms . . . and their status,” Josh sniffed. “Besides, you can do it if you really want to. You can pull almost any strings you want.”

  “Yes, but at what cost? You don’t understand what these kinds of deals cost . . . and not just in money either.”

  “My mind’s made up.” Josh plopped down indifferently into a nearby chair and crossed his legs, elbows on the armrests and fingers tapping together petulantly.

  Carl knew that it was probably an act. Josh was certainly wrapped in thought, pondering the hot spot he was in. Apparently he was hoping to salvage some perks from this deal. He was too smart not to realize that remaining on Earth with Hercond was too risky. He would probably be impossible for Josh to finish off, surrounded as he was now by an army of bodyguards. So now he waited petulantly to see what his brother could come up with.

  Carl turned away to pace and think. The brat wants to be in the Guard so he can be powerful and bully anyone he wants to with impunity. Well, this deal’s too important, so I better let the cockroach have his way.

  A few more seconds of tense silence prevailed, then Carl Mogul turned to face his brother. “Very well. I’ll see what I can do. Wait here.”

  Mogul walked into the study and closed the door behind him. Stopping for a few seconds, he peered through the spy panel beside the door to make certain his brother was staying put and not positioning himself to eavesdrop. When he was satisfied, he turned to the console on his desk and tapped in a number he had committed to memory. A young captain appeared on the screen. The captain saluted respectfully. “General Hemenez is expecting my call. Is he available, Captain?”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll buzz him at once. If you will be so kind as to wait . . .” The general appeared on the screen almost at once.

  Unlike generals who had earned their rank by service in combat, Hemenez had gained his influential position by means of a careful manipulation of social and political intrigue. He was portly and tended to run to multiple chins. His appearance in uniform seemed rotundly comical rather than militarily impressive. Ignoring Carl’s military rank, the general said, “Earl of Mogul and pride of Manchuria, how go your political aspirations?”

  Pompous baboon! Carl intensely disliked Hemenez’s lack of discretion. And he despised the general’s obvious enjoyment at watching him struggle for power. Be smug while you can, my General. One day you will have to choose sides, then we’ll see . . . although I’m sure you’re ready for any contingency. Well, until then, perhaps I can still use you to my advantage.

  “I think it best, General, that we scramble. Please use code 27F.”

  Each party punched the code into his console. A scramble code was not foolproof by any means, but it did discourage the casual eavesdropper. When a conversation was scrambled, it was heard as an unintelligible garble unless each receiving unit had a descrambler of the same matrix.

  Carl hated to spend time on the usual amenities, but he knew that they were necessary, especially with the general. If I want the fool to help me, I’ve got to pander to him.

  “How is Liz, General?”

  “Her usual disagreeable self, I’m afraid. She is finally bound and determined to redecorate my den. And I fear that this time she may succeed.” No one else dared insult the general’s wife, but the general enjoyed the habit immensely. “How is your father?”

  “Father is well. He seems absolutely indestructible, as you well know. How about your youngest grandchild. Has he begun to walk yet?”

  “Oh, yes,” the general visibly lightened. “He has even begun to say a few words. But let us discontinue the small talk,” Hemenez exclaimed with a wave of his hand. “I know how much it bores you.”

  After a pause, “Ah, the ambitions of youth. You’re much too intense, Carl. You should find yourself a nice little woman, settle back—in the bedroom of course—and enjoy life. You’re not like your brother, who requires a thrill a minute. Speaking of your brother, this latest unpleasant business with what’s-his-name was disgusting, to say the least. Some day he’ll skate too close to the edge . . . perhaps he already has. That isn’t the reason for this call, is it?”

  Mogul was infuriated. Old round bottom has guessed. Sneaky little brain! “Yes, General. I’m afraid you are one step ahead of me as usual.” Let’s see how well you butter up.

  Hemenez reached beyond the view screen for a delicacy that he stuffed into his mouth. “Must have something to do with your political plots,” he mumbled around his food. “What’s the matter? Josh cramping your style?” he asked, carefully licking each ringed finger.

  Mogul clutched the edges of his desk painfully. Am I so transparent? Where does the old toad get his information? I’ll have to do some snooping of my own.

  “I only wish to help my brother out of an unfortunate situation. I was wondering if you could arrange a commission for him in the Imperial Guard.”

  Hemenez grinned his knowledge of the lie, food particles showing between his teeth. “That’s a sizable request.”

  “I trust the Scotsberg Affair was handled to your satisfaction,” Mogul reminded Hemenez of his most recent favor.

  “Since when did old friends start counting favors?” Hemenez replied, flourishing a candy morsel in the air before popping it into his mouth. “Your brother would best be suited to the rank of private, scrubbing out latrines. But be that as it may, a nobleman can serve only as an officer . . . unfortunately. Sometimes I think our system has grown too soft. The only thing that counts for anything anymore is privilege.”

  Mogul was getting impatient. You ought to know, you old hypocrite. “I will accept a commission for him in the Fusiliers. Whatever you say I’ll tell him is the way it has to be.”

  “Well, I won’t be party to adding a corrupt influence like your brother to the officer corps of the Fusiliers. He should be in the company of those like himself. Therefore, I will issue an order that he be commissioned as a second lieutenant in the Imperial Guard. . . . I hope that is all you wanted. It certainly is a large enough favor. It should put me way ahead. . . . But who’s counting?” Hemenez added with a mocking smile.

  “I’m afraid there’s just one more thing. I want him assigned to Peru II. He must get off-planet at once.”

  “A Guard officer serving in a Fusilier theater of action? My, we are ambitious aren’t we? So you would stoop to fratricide, would you? And what of the brave Fusiliers who are bound to die with him? I can’t have that on my conscience!”

  Again Mogul was stung by Hemenez’s penetrating insight. Conscience! We both know full well that you have sent thousands of men to their deaths to advance your own self-interest. I know what you really want, you pompous mercenary.

  “I know that you have always admired my estate on Minas 5. If I were to deed it over to you, would that persuade you to reconsider?”

  Hemenez pursed his lips in a particularly offensive way. “It might . . . if you included the slaves.”

  You’re making me pay through the nose for this one, aren’t you, you old windbag. I’d love to face you in the arena and show you jus
t what a useless slug you really are. The value of the slaves and droids that looked after and serviced the estate nearly equaled the worth of the estate itself. But Mogul thought of a compromise.

  “Of course, I would retain title to the droids.”

  Hemenez stopped smiling—a bad sign. “Under the laws of Minas 5, the ownership of the droids and other mechanical equipment used by the slaves in their work must be transferred with the slaves. You must be aware that the excesses of my children and our high taxes have grievously reduced my fortunes. Do show a little concern for someone in his old age, sir.”

  “Certainly, General. How foolish of me to have forgotten that particular law. You’ll have the necessary paperwork within the hour. I am sending my brother directly to the port. Please have him sworn in and outfitted there. I want him on the next transport to Peru II.”

  Hemenez replied frostily, “He’ll be sworn in when I have all the legal papers in good order. Now, unless you have something else, I’ve duties to attend to.”

  “Thank you for your indulgence, General,” Mogul snapped curtly and switched off his viewer. Still angry he called his attorney and began the transfer of property. It required his retinal and digital records, which he sent electronically over the transmitter. Nursing a foul mood for how much this deal cost him, he launched himself out of his chair and walked back to where his brother was waiting. He found Josh sprawled carelessly on his sable-covered chaise.

  “Get your filthy boots off my furniture!”

  “Take it easy, big brother. Your furniture ain’t hurt none.” Josh pushed himself to a standing position and began sauntering around the room, hands in his back pockets. “Everything all set?”