by Ben Bova
He looked at their faces again. They were all waiting for him to continue. You grow pompous, old man.
"Very well. You each have several lifetimes of work to accomplish. Get busy, all of you."
Bomeer's and Fain's images winked off immediately. Javas' remained.
"Yes, my son? What is it?"
Javas' ever-present smile was gone. He looked serious, even troubled. "Father… I am not going to bring Rihana with me to Earth. She wouldn't want to come, I know—at least, not until all the comforts of the Court were established there for her."
The Emperor nodded.
"If I'm to be master of my own house," Javas went on, "it's time we ended this farce of a marriage."
"Very well, son. That is your decision to make. But, for what it's worth, I agree with you."
"Thank you, Father." Javas' image disappeared.
For a long moment the Emperor sat gazing thoughtfully at the wall where the holographic images had appeared.
"I believe that I will send you to Earth on Javas' ship. I think he likes you, and it is important that the two of you get along well together."
Adela looked almost shocked. "What do you mean by 'get along well together'?"
The Emperor grinned at her. "That's for the two of you to decide."
"You're scandalous!" she said, but she was smiling, too.
He shrugged. "Call it part of the price of victory. You'll like Javas; he's a good man. And I doubt that he's ever met a woman quite like you."
"I don't know what to say…"
"You'll need Javas' protection and support, you know. You have defeated my closest advisors, and that means that they may become your enemies. Powerful enemies. That is also part of the price of your triumph."
"Triumph? I don't feel very triumphant."
"I know," the Emperor said. "Perhaps that's what triumph really is: not so much glorying in the defeat of your enemies as weariness that they couldn't see what seemed so obvious to you."
Abruptly, Adela moved to him and put her lips to his cheek. "Thank you, Sire."
"Why, thank you, child."
For a moment she stood there, holding his old hands in her tiny young ones.
Then, "I… I have lots of work to do."
"Of course. We may never see each other again. Go and do your work. Do it well."
"I will," she said. "And you?"
He leaned back into the bed and smiled wryly. "I have to hold this old Empire together long enough to see that you will succeed."
PART TWO
HE WHO MUST DIE
CHAPTER FOUR
Anastasio Bomeer hated the dress tunic he was desperately trying to button properly. He hated the way it pinched at his neck, and the way it made him stand straighter and with more formality—against his will—when at public gatherings. He hated the fact that Court protocol required the ancient-looking academician's garb and wished, not for the first time, that tradition would allow him to wear a more modern, more comfortable, Imperial uniform jacket instead. But above all else, he hated the occasion for the formal attire.
Damn! he thought. What have they done to this—With a last grunted effort he managed to get the stiff collar of the tunic fastened and stood, nearly out of breath at the exasperating effort of merely getting dressed, staring at himself in the full-length mirror in his plush suite.
His face had reddened, and the skin of his neck lapped ever so slightly over the constricting collar. Had the tunic shrunk? Surely he had not put on that much weight in his relatively short stay on the Moon. Glancing at the straining buttons midway down the front of the dress tunic, he frowned deeply, remembering that this was only the second time he'd donned the outfit in the whole year since his arrival. The first had been on the dreadful day he'd landed here, beginning what he considered a near exile on Earth's only natural satellite.
His frown deepened when he recalled that he'd put the tunic away himself shortly after the welcoming ceremonies and that it had not been tailored or otherwise altered in any way since.
Angrily inserting a finger into each side of the collar, he tugged hard, nearly cutting off his windpipe momentarily, and managed to loosen the fit slightly. Or at least enough that the redness began to slowly drain from his face. A small sound, like a single chime, stopped him before he could struggle with the collar again.
"Wait," he said aloud, moving back into the living area. He glanced quickly at the identification banner on the common screen, verifying the caller as his personal aide before accepting the call. "Audio only. Answer."
The screen brightened, showing the youthful face and slight build of a man who, were it not for the impeccable tailoring of his uniform, might have looked too young to be in the Imperial service. "Academician Bomeer," he said urgently. "You asked to be kept informed of the Emperor's progress…" The aide's voice trailed off somewhat, apparently concerned that his end of the call had remained dark.
"I've not finished dressing for the reception," Bomeer lied. "You said you had information of his whereabouts?" Hands clasped behind his back, he walked slowly to the wide expanse of ray-shielded plastiglass that made up the entire far wall of the suite. He gazed out at a barren landscape that had been described by one of the earliest explorers as "magnificent desolation." Where others may have found beauty, he found only revulsion.
"Yes, sir. We've been informed that the Emperor's landing shuttle will pad down in ten minutes."
Ahead of schedule, Bomeer thought. Just like the old fool. He leaned close to the surface of the window and squinted into the distance where a bright pinpoint approached rapidly from the east. From his vantage point he might be able to see nearly the entire approach of the lander as it skirted the edge of the city, before finally disappearing as it proceeded to the landing area.
"Academician?"
Without turning: "Thank you, Kandel. That will be all." There was a tiny chirp sound as the aide disconnected.
Bomeer stared solemnly over the lunar landscape. His suite on the north side of Armelin City in the Tycho district had one of the best views of any of the lunar cities. With most of the industrial and support buildings located to the south and west, the tenants at this level paid dearly for the pristine scenery, unobstructed by the towers, receiving dishes and traffic patterns which were common sights from most of the residential areas. Those who even had windows, that is.
He watched the approaching dot of light for several moments, and as it grew larger confirmed it to be the Emperor's shuttle. Even at this distance it looked huge. "I never believed that I would think of you in as shameful a manner as I do now," he said softly. The bright dot moved steadily closer, oblivious to his mutterings. Save Earth's Sun? he thought bitterly, and plainly saw his frown reflected back at him from the surface of the plastiglass. Save these Earthers? He turned disgustedly away from the window.
He crossed quickly to the couch and sat stiff-backed on the edge of one of the cushions, again cursing the tunic, and touched the keypad set into the bottom of the comm unit. A series of coded numbers flashed and changed briefly, finally stopping on an eight-digit number. Pressing the manual call bar, Bomeer carefully tapped the number into the keypad.
After several long seconds, a gray-haired man wearing a formal tunic that closely matched Bomeer's appeared in the screen. The man looked frustrated, and Bomeer noted with satisfaction that the collar of his tunic was still undone.
"Anastasio! I was just about to head—"
"There's been a change," Bomeer interrupted. "His shuttle is already on its way."
The look of frustration on the man's face disappeared, replaced by an expression of surprised shock. "But he wasn't due for nearly an hour! There's no way we can assemble in time."
Bomeer knew what was going through his mind. "My thought exactly. This is Javas' work, I'm sure. He's purposely having his father arrive early, hoping to catch us off guard, hoping to get whatever edge he may to gain the support of the Hundred Worlds for this foolish plan of his father
's."
The other nodded thoughtfully, just a hint of anger in his eyes.
"Listen," Bomeer continued, glancing at the golden time-piece on his wrist, "I'm leaving immediately. His shuttle is landing right about now, but it should be at least another fifteen or twenty minutes before his party appears on the platform. I think I can get there before then."
"What about the rest of us?" The other man deftly buttoned the collar on the tunic and smoothed the satiny fabric with the palms of his hands, further annoying Bomeer.
"Round up as many of the others as you can, and get down there. Use this same code once I've broken the connection." Bomeer touched the keypad once to send the code to the other terminal, waited a moment for a nod of confirmation that it had been received, then touched the disconnect bar, being certain to leave the code in place on his own unit.
His eyes darted around the room. "Lights at half. Security on." The room lights dimmed immediately and a tiny red light suddenly flickered in the center of the door.
Nice try, Javas, he thought as he quickly exited the room. But you haven't won this round yet.
On the other side of Armelin City, in his private receiving chamber near the shuttle landing pad, Prince Javas frowned.
"I'm sorry, Sire," the synthesized voice of the comm unit repeated, "but the circuit is still engaged. A code lock is in place. Shall I implement an override?"
Javas could have Bomeer's code lock broken, of course. One quick order from the acting Emperor could not only have the circuit opened in less than a millisecond but could also have reprimand orders cut, processed, filed and sent to whichever technician had installed the system in the academician's suite. But there was no need; knowing that Bomeer was still at home was all the information he needed just now.
"No. However, please monitor the circuit and inform me when it is clear." The unit responded with a confirming chirp, and the blue screen dimmed immediately.
The Prince allowed himself a moment of wry pleasure as he wondered what the man was up to. He was certain he'd caught Bomeer and his cadre of academicians unprepared by insisting that the Emperor's shuttle arrive earlier than expected. Commander Fain had protested, of course, as had most of his father's attending Court when he'd made the suggestion via holoconference earlier that morning. But an insistent nod from him and a knowing look from the Emperor was all it took for his father to put the order to action.
How odd, he thought idly. And how close we seem to have become; how like each other we seem to think. Had the years of separation really made that much difference in the way he thought? Or was it the experience gained from fifteen years as acting Emperor? In the last several weeks, as his father's ship drew ever closer to Earth, the conferences and talks between the two had grown more and more numerous. Javas smiled inwardly at the realization that his father had come to know him better in these last weeks, while still separated by millions of kilometers, than in years of living together on the Imperial planet.
It suddenly occurred to him what it was: trust. The single suggestion of pushing up the landing by an hour, mentioned in just the right way, told his father I am in charge here. It was all that was necessary for Emperor Nicholas to immediately give Supreme Commander Fain the order for the schedule alteration.
A chime from the room system interrupted his thoughts momentarily. "Incoming message, Sire. Port Director Mila Kaselin."
"Yes, I'll accept." He swiveled his chair to face the small screen in the desktop comm unit once more. A woman appeared, talking off screen to someone as she waited for her call to go through. She turned quickly to him, a hint of embarrassment briefly crossing her youthful features. She wore the light green coveralls and matching hard hat and headset of the port authority; only the markings on her sleeve indicated she was anything other than one of hundreds of other port techs. Javas knew better: Kaselin ran the tightest, most efficient landing facility on Luna.
"Director Kaselin?" he said simply.
"Sire, the Imperial shuttle will pad down in five minutes. We're about to start landing procedure—" She turned her attention away from him abruptly, and without apology. Cupping the microphone of her headset with one hand, she spoke rapidly while studying the electronic clipboard held in her other. Like most civilians on Luna—or anywhere, for that matter—Kaselin spoke with deference, even timidity, to members of the royal family. But with Kaselin, all pretense of formality disappeared instantly when her duties interrupted. She followed protocol to the letter when necessary, but made no secret that her job, and the safety of the hundreds of people who depended on her, came first. If formality and protocol suffered as a result, so be it. Javas liked that, and silently wished that certain members of his own staff felt as strongly about their duties. He waited patiently.
The interruption dealt with, she turned back without apology and continued. "Landing procedure has begun, Sire. Your father will arrive in…"—again, a glance to the side—"four minutes twenty-two seconds." She nodded curtly and, not waiting for a reply, broke the connection.
"Give them hell, Mila," Javas said softly. The Prince stood. He removed his jacket from the back of the chair and slipped it on, deftly fastening the gold buttons as he approached a grouping of several plush chairs facing the opposite wall. "System," he commanded, sitting in the leftmost chair.
"Sire?"
"Open my receiving room, please. I wish to view the landing. Interior lights off for the duration."
The room dimmed and a glow formed several centimeters over the entire surface of the wall as the air shield came on. A thin shaft of light beamed into the room in a straight line along the edge where wall met ceiling, then widened as the entire wall slid noiselessly into the floor, exposing the huge landing bay.
Leaning forward, Javas looked directly below his chamber at the private viewing section reserved for members of the Court and invited guests. Nearly all the seats were filled. All, that is, except one row near the front of the section that had been reserved for Bomeer and his associates from the Academy of Science. He chuckled to himself, pleased that the academician had been so easily sidestepped. His eyes swept farther down to the floor of the chamber, fully a hundred meters below his position, where hundreds of technicians scurried about, attending to God-only-knew-what important duties that were essential to the safe landing of the ship. He squinted at the workers on the floor and in the dozens of catwalks and workstations that lined the curving walls of the circular expanse, and wondered which of the moving figures might be Kaselin.
Prince Javas shook his head slowly in awe at the tremendous sight, and allowed the corners of his mouth to turn up in a boyish grin.
"I never get tired of this," he whispered to himself, settling back in the comfort of the chair. Then, aloud, "System, please place an audio-only call to Commander Fain aboard the incoming shuttle, and inform me when through."
The public access conduit was crowded. Hundreds of people hurried down the wide, curving hallway that surrounded the landing bay. Many of them stopped momentarily to sneak a glance at the seating passes in their hands while looking for the large, painted numbers identifying each side passage in an attempt to find the spectator gallery to which they'd been assigned for the landing ceremonies.
Two men stood near a side passage identified as "Gallery 29." The shorter of the two looked nervously around at anyone who passed nearby, lowering his voice whenever he thought someone might be within earshot.
"But there are so many in each section," he was saying. He wrung his hands as he spoke and shifted his weight first to one foot, then the other. "How will I know if I'm in the right one?"
"Don't worry," replied his companion. "We've checked her seating assignment. She'll be sitting in the front row of the gallery. After the ceremonies have concluded, just wait in your seat for her to exit, then give her the letter." He seemed much calmer than the other; at ease, in fact. His exact expression, however, was hidden behind a thick beard.
"I'm not certain about this. What if—"
"Listen!" snapped the bearded man. His powerful voice cut instantly through the small man's agitation and forced him to gaze up into the bearded man's wolflike eyes; forcing him—as effectively as if he'd violently grabbed him by the lapels of his coat—to give his total attention. "Our cause is right. We must do whatever it takes to make His will succeed. Here…" He reached into a side pocket of his leather jacket and retrieved a gold bracelet. "Wear this, and show it to her when you identify yourself."
He obediently slipped the bracelet over his wrist, examining the engraved picture on its surface as he did. "A phoenix?"
"A trinket; it means nothing. It serves only to identify you." The bearded man took a few steps into the stream of pedestrian traffic and located an info screen he'd remembered seeing mounted a few meters down the far wall. "They'll be sealing the galleries in a few minutes. Better get in."
The man nodded, absently fingering the bracelet on his wrist, and headed down the passageway.
The bearded man stood unobtrusively in front of the passageway, pretending to be waiting for someone, until he heard a large doorway close. A quick look toward the gallery confirmed that it had been sealed; an armed guard stood before it.
Satisfied that no one would be leaving the gallery until after the ceremonies, he casually strolled away from gallery 29, careful not to attract attention.
The huge landing shuttle continued its deceleration as it approached Armelin City. Still five kilometers out, the spherical craft reoriented slightly and slowed even further—an observer on the ground might even have assumed it had stopped all forward motion entirely.
"Imperial shuttle Bright Cay now in approach position, awaiting final clearance."