by Joseph O'Day
Carl set the flyer down and made his way into the house. Kepec was waiting for him, but as he looked around he surmised that his brother had not yet arrived.
“Where’s Josh? No doubt he’ll be late again as usual,” he complained to his father.
Kepec riveted him with his stare. “Your brother’s punctuality—or lack of it in this case—cannot compare to the problems we must discuss this evening.”
“Yes. My brother has managed to mess things up for us again,” Carl said with a sneer.
“I wish that were our only problem,” Kepec returned coldly. “But before we get to that, we need to sweep and mask the place first.”
Kepec pushed a button in the wall. Two floating droids similar to the one Brogan had encountered at the VO appeared. They began a preprogrammed electronic sweep of the premises, checking for newly placed bugs. It took them several minutes, during which time father and son ordered themselves drinks at the computerized bar.
When the droids were finished, they positioned themselves on either side of the room and emitted an electronic screen to mask the Moguls’ conversation from potential eavesdroppers. Kepec downed his drink quickly and ordered another. Carl was nursing his, taking occasional small sips. He could tell that his father was much more agitated than normal, and he was impatient to find out the cause.
“OK, Father. What other problems do we have besides Josh having to fight that Brogan character?”
Kepec ran his fingers through his black, sweptback hair. He frowned as he looked askance at his son. “I had no choice but to terminate our accomplice in the assassination plot.”
“So? It was the only thing you could have done. You didn’t know it would backfire.”
“I know, I know!” Kepec shot back angrily. “But it put Henry in a great, magnanimous mood, and Mizpala—curse him—took quick advantage of it. He took Brogan, of all people, to see him, and Henry put Brogan in command of the new IAD of the Imperial Guard. Where did this army grunt pop up from anyway? One day we’ve never heard of him; the next day he’s causing us more trouble than we’ve had in years. First, he overhears my conversation in the corridor. Then he forces a duel on my son. Then he gets appointed to the IAD.”
Carl looked up from his glass. “I knew him at the Academy,” he said quietly. Karl whipped his head around, his mouth parting slightly. “He was a couple years behind me, but he was a real ringer.” Carl’s mouth turned down in disgust. “Fresh from the corn patch, and he had two medals before he even got to the Academy. I got him buried beneath the Sahara after he graduated, but Darkhow recruited him to the campaign on Peru II.”
“Well, now he’s back, and we’ve got to do something about him. One thing’s certain: Brogan must die.”
“Unfortunately you’re right.”
“What do you mean ‘unfortunately’?” Kepec’s eyes narrowed.
Carl shrugged. “You can’t help but respect someone with ability, even when he’s an enemy.”
“I guess I haven’t taught you well enough over the years,” his father returned gruffly.
“Hey, don’t get me wrong. I only wish he could have been on our side. He would have been useful. Don’t worry, I don’t respect him enough not to hate him.”
“Good.” Kepec sat down. “Now, with Brogan’s death we kill two birds with one stone. We hinder and prolong investigation of the Imperial Guard, and we get Josh off the hook. I’ve worked too long and too hard to have anyone with loyalty to Henry and Mizpala meddling with the Guard.”
Carl nodded his head. His father had spent years getting soldiers who were secretly loyal to him transferred or promoted into the Imperial Guard. When there were enough of them, they would provide an instant power base in a takeover bid for the throne. Meanwhile, their task was to undermine the reputation and effectiveness of the Guard by means of corrupt and illegal activities and to line the Moguls’ pockets with money.
The Mogul clan had become fabulously wealthy and powerful primarily through the ruthless practices of the Trading Company. For decades Kepec had been profiting from the misfortune of those enslaved to the Company. His only major defeat had been on Cirrus, which made his hatred for Brogan even more intense.
A commotion at the front entrance attracted their attention. In a few seconds Josh came striding into the room.
“Well, I’m here. Now, what are we going to do about this duel?”
“Good old Josh. Wanting instant solutions as usual,” sneered Carl.
Josh grinned and looked at his father. “Carl’s his normal lovable self, isn’t he?”
“You make me that way by always causing us trouble. But you’re the one who’s really in trouble. If this duel takes place, Brogan’s going to skin you alive.”
“Ha! That’ll be the day. A crippled off-planet farmer beating me in hand-to-hand combat?”
Carl felt his face getting flushed. “He’s twice the man you are, little brother!” he said savagely. “I only wish you were the man to prune his feathers. But we’ll have to come up with other alternatives and snatch you out of the fire as usual.”
Josh balled his fists and took a step toward Carl. Just then their father bellowed, “Enough! This arguing and bickering will get us nowhere. We have a problem to solve. Let’s get at it!”
Josh retreated and flopped onto one of the cushioned chairs. Carl crossed his arms, turned his back, and paced away.
“Now, the first order of business is to kill Timothy Brogan,” Kepec resumed. “Carl.” He looked at his elder son. “I want you to be in charge of that. Use your imagination. And make absolutely certain nothing can be traced back to us!”
Carl nodded his assent, arms still crossed.
“But an assassination plan is not enough. We need some contingencies in the event of the unexpected. For one thing, I think we ought to put Josh through a rigorous hand-to-hand combat training refresher course.”
“Hey! I don’t need that. I’m already good enough to take that army brat. And anyway . . . Carl’ll cook his goose for sure.”
Kepec raised his finger and shook it back and forth slowly. “No arguments, Josh. We can’t take any chances. We need you in top physical shape and at the peak of your skills. I will hire you a trainer and you will work out every day until further notice.”
Josh groaned and dragged his hand across his face. Carl smiled. Then his face became thoughtful as he remembered something.
“I just thought of something else that might be helpful. One of our moles overheard Mizpala and Brogan talking about a girl Brogan wanted to locate. She was part of that med team from his planet of Cirrus that was tried for conspiracy. They were stripped of their citizenship and dumped in the lower levels somewhere. Let’s see . . .” He fingered his lower lip in thought, then snapped his fingers. “Adriel Swartz was her name.”
“So what?” scoffed Josh. “How’s that going to help us?”
“Quiet!” snapped Kepec. “Undoubtedly this Adriel means something to him. This could be a real break for us. If we were able to locate her before Brogan does, we could hold her and use her as leverage against him. That might be even more useful than killing him. Unfortunately, we can’t put all our eggs in one basket.”
He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “We will proceed with all three plans. Josh, you will train to the peak of your ability. Carl, you will devise a plan to assassinate Brogan. Meanwhile, I will assign men to locate this Adriel Swartz. Somewhere along the line, something will succeed, and our worries will be over.”
*
“Minister Mogul’s quick discovery of the assassin was excellent work, was it not, Mizpala?”
“Indeed it was, your Excellency.”
Henry was in great spirits because of the foiled assassination plot. He was ready to celebrate and eager to be magnanimous. Brogan and Mizpala exchanged knowing grins. Ironically it looked like Mogul’s cover-up would work in their favor this night—something Mogul certainly had not planned on.
“Yes, yes.” Henry continued
to exude gratitude. “What emperor could be more blessed than to have two such fine ministers as Mogul and yourself, Mizpala? You have both served me well. Albert!” he called as he turned his head. “More wine!”
The servant hastened to his master with the requested beverage, then retired to an unobtrusive place to await further orders. Mizpala took his opportunity.
“Your Excellency, I have brought Major Brogan with me this evening to ask you a favor.”
“Certainly, Mizpala. What is it?” Henry made himself more comfortable in his easy chair.
“As you know, Major Brogan is a decorated war hero and comes highly recommended by General Darkhow, presently serving on Peru II.”
“Yes, I remember. I am pleased with how well the campaign is going there, Mizpala.”
“Thank you, your Excellency.” Mizpala nodded his head in appreciation of the compliment. “Major Brogan has proved himself loyal to the Emperor both on the field of battle and off, most recently in his report of the thwarted assassination attempt.”
“Yes. I have yet to thank you properly for that, Major Brogan. Have you any request that I might grant by way of reward?”
“Your Excellency”—Brogan also nodded his head—“I seek no reward for my services. Your thanks is payment enough.”
“You can see, Excellency, why I myself have such a high estimate of this young man,” Mizpala interjected before Henry could respond.
“I do, indeed.” Henry beamed at the two guests.
“My request is this, Excellency . . . that you appoint Major Timothy O. Brogan as commander of the new Internal Affairs Division of the Imperial Guard. I know of no one better suited for the position. He is an outsider and therefore has no loyalties to anyone but you. He has no ambition but to serve the Emperor. And he is also high in integrity and skilled in command. I recommend him for your consideration.”
Henry gestured at Brogan. “Mizpala, your recommendation and confidence are enough for me. So be it. The papers will be drawn up for the transfer tomorrow. Let’s toast the occasion.”
He snapped his fingers and glasses were provided the guests. After the toast, Mizpala spoke up again.
“There are only a couple more things we ought settle before the Major’s appointment is made official, your Excellency.” Henry raised his eyebrows and waited for Mizpala to continue. “First is the matter of Major Brogan’s rank. I feel it is only proper that the commander of the IAD of the Imperial Guard have a rank of at least colonel. Therefore, I suggest a promotion to the rank of Lieutenant Colonel.”
Brogan looked at Mizpala in astonishment.
“Excellent suggestion, Mizpala. No problem. It will be done. What is your other concern?”
“Well, I feel that the wisest course of action is to give Major—uh, Colonel—Brogan a free hand to recruit the individuals to be placed under his command. He must have the utmost confidence that the people in his department can be trusted. And that can only be accomplished if he is given the power to choose them himself. This is an extremely dangerous assignment, your Excellency. Colonel Brogan will certainly be targeted for elimination, and we must give him every advantage at our disposal.”
“Another excellent suggestion, Mizpala. I see nothing wrong with that. Now . . . enough of business. Let’s enjoy ourselves for awhile and forget the troubles that surround us.”
17
The sinister-looking object inched along the corridor where the ceiling met the wall. Its assigned task required that it remain unseen, so it took great care to be unobtrusive. It made no sound that could be heard by the human ear. Its floating movement down the corridor was barely perceptible. But it had plenty of time. It could wait.
Shaped like an ancient hypodermic needle, it was no instrument of healing. It had a mission of calculated destruction, and it was patient. It had no compassion and no regret, and it would not stop until it accomplished its objective.
Its impersonal preprogrammed instructions were leading it to the optimal point of attack. When there, it would bide its time. It sensed nothing in its programming that required haste. So it would wait quietly. It did not get tired of waiting. It would hover in an unfrequented place, and when the time was right, it would strike. And that would be the end of it.
*
For the next two weeks Brogan was busy. The first thing he did was secure a leave of absence and arrange a temporary assigned duty for John Manazes. If he could trust anybody, it was Manazes, and Brogan wanted him on his staff during this critical first few months. Together they discussed who else they should recruit for the new IAD of the Imperial Guard.
Brogan decided that the wisest course of action was to select from among offworld candidates—better still, offworld candidates who had good reason to resent the Trading Company. Brogan also wanted to recruit only single soldiers since they did not have a wife or children on Earth who could be threatened. The biggest problem was that their choices were limited to soldiers who were stationed on Earth or who were due in during the next couple of weeks.
So far they had recruited only four men and one woman. But Brogan wanted to get the IAD up and running as soon as possible, and to do that they needed more personnel. The sooner they put a crimp in the Moguls’ plans the better.
Manazes and Brogan were bent over a table, discussing a list of suspects. They were trying to determine who to go after first. Once that decision was made, they would apprehend the individuals one at a time, question them, and try to obtain permission from the justice department to administer truth scans. That was their job—to apprehend, to question, and to build a case. Then they were to hand everything over to the justice department for prosecution.
Both men wore the traditional uniform of the Imperial Guard. Their white boots and belts contrasted sharply with their dark scarlet body suits and capes. Their white helmets had been discarded on a nearby table.
Far from merely ornamental, the uniform of an Imperial Guardsman served a plethora of practical functions. The helmet was constructed to protect the wearer from high-level radiation and a concussion blast of up to ten Gs, as well as turn aside light laser fire. A light-sensitive, polarized face shield slid into place automatically in response to bright sunlight or a laser flash, but it could also be lowered manually. Besides a communicator, the helmet also contained a light beam, an automatic personal radar field (PRF)—which emitted an alarm when penetrated, alerting its wearer to potential hostile intent—night vision, a distance targeting device, and a thermal locator.
The wide belt carried hand weapons and a pouch for personal items. The waist-length, white-filigreed cape contained pockets in the inner lining for emergency supplies and strategic items. It too was lined with material calculated to turn aside light laser fire and protect against a ten-G blast. Each uniform was equipped with a personal emergency distress signal (PEDS) that was activated should the wearer be injured.
As Brogan bent over the list, he was thinking about how overwhelming this job was going to be. The list of suspects came from First Minister Mizpala. He had provided a great deal of assistance, and Brogan was thankful for it. Mizpala had not been idle the last few months. He had already laid a lot of groundwork for the new IAD before it was even formed.
Being a policeman of sorts was new to Brogan, and he was not sure he liked it. However, he kept telling himself that it was a vital job and that he was working to implement justice and to improve society. But he was also chafing to look for Adriel and get her out of the lower levels before anything happened to her. His responsibility to the Emperor conflicted with his personal desires, and it was eating at him. He was finding it hard to concentrate.
He straightened up with a sigh. “Let’s take a break, Manazes. I don’t know about you, but I need one.” Brogan stretched his unencumbered arm above his head.
“OK by me.”
“I’m going to go get some cake and coffee. Want to come?”
“No, thanks, Colonel. Think I’ll just flop down here and get some shuteye.�
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“Suit yourself. I’ll see you in a bit.”
Brogan walked out of his office at the Imperial Palace and turned down the corridor to head for the cafeteria. He decided not to use the telestrip. He felt a need to stretch his muscles, and the walk would do him good.
As he turned a corner he saw something tiny hovering in the hallway. In a flash it was streaking toward him. His finely honed reflexes were all that saved him. Without time for thought, he jerked up his biopack in a blocking motion in front of him. The projectile struck it and bounded off at an angle. It came to a stop about four meters away. It was then that Brogan saw what it was.
An Evil Dart! The realization set in instantly, and beads of sweat broke out on Brogan’s forehead. Brogan knew that he was in big trouble.
“Evil Dart” was the popular nickname for Explosive Visual Locator Dart (EVLD). Shaped somewhat like an old-style hypodermic syringe with a square visual reception plate just behind its needle point, it measured ten centimeters in length and two centimeters in diameter. It was propelled by a miniature hydrogen engine and equipped with a tiny null-grav unit so that it could change speed or direction quickly or simply hover. The EVLD, when used, was preprogrammed with the visual likeness of its objective—not just the face but the physical proportions and dimensions of the whole body.
The specialty of the EVLD was the destruction of humans. It contained a minute but highly effective explosive that was detonated by the EVLD’s computer when its thermal sensors encountered a temperature in the human body heat range. First, the Evil Dart “made” its victim, which meant that it had to approach from the front since it had to make 95 percent certain of its target (an inherent weakness of the device). Then it propelled itself at its victim at high speed with the objective of burying its needle nose into warm flesh. The resulting explosion proved effective enough to be rated 100 percent.
In the same instant Brogan identified the object, he also noticed that the dart’s impact with his biopack had broken off its needle nose. That will reduce its effectiveness some, he hoped, but not all that much. OK, Brogan. What’re you going to do now? Think! Already he regretted not having worn his helmet, but no one wore helmets when they were not going outside.