by Ben Bova
"In fact," he went on, pouring two drinks, "even though I've been in the system but a short time, I'm sure I can provide you with more useful information than you might imagine." He handed one of the drinks to the Prince, then held his own up in a brief salute before taking a long sip of the liquor. "Are you aware, for example, that there is to be an assassination attempt next week at the Hundred Worlds Planetary Council?"
Javas stared at his father, the glass frozen mere centimeters from his lips.
"Lost your taste for drink, son?" The Emperor sipped at his glass, set it down near the terminal screen built into the desktop.
"Father! You can't be serious." Javas downed his own glass in a single bolt.
The Emperor shook his head. "Fine liquor should be savored, not gulped. Yes, I'm quite serious. As we address the collected representatives of the Hundred Worlds, there will be another attempt on our lives; yours and mine. And probably Dr. Montgarde's as well."
Javas, quickly regaining his composure, set the empty glass slowly on the desk in front of him. The Emperor studied his son carefully and raised a pleased eyebrow when he noted that the momentary blip in the young man's bio-readout had returned quickly to normal.
"I can understand why you have become a target, Father," he said bluntly, "and, to a lesser extent, myself. If I've learned anything these last fifteen years here, it's that your project has not been well received by all. There would be many who would like to see the plan defeated with the end of your reign. But why should Dr. Montgarde's life be in danger? Surely any opposition would realize that without the full power and support of the Emperor to back her work, the plan would end here and now, whether she was part of the project or not."
"Would it, then?" He looked steadily at his son, allowing the meaning of his words to sink in. "If I were dead, you would immediately assume the throne. And, whether you realize it or not, it is already widely known through many of the Hundred Worlds that you would continue the work where I left off." He reached once more for the bottle and refilled each glass. He sipped once of the dark brown liquor before continuing. "And son, unless I'm misinterpreting both my information and my own senses, it is also obvious to many that you will certainly be working much more closely with Dr. Montgarde than I ever would have."
The Prince sat quietly, then rose and approached the viewscreen. Staring at the sparkling lunar landscape, he sipped at his drink. "I've been a fool," he said quietly, turning back to face the imposing figure seated behind the huge desk. "I've been entirely too open about my feelings for this project." He paused, then added, "And, yes; I have grown close to Adela de Montgarde."
The Emperor waved a hand to dismiss the small confession and indicated the chair before the desk, waiting until the Prince sat before going on. "You've not been a fool. In fact, your unbridled enthusiasm for the Doctor's theories will probably, in the long run, work to your advantage. Consider this: Many think my backing of this plan to be merely the dream of a weak old man, clinging to the last strings of power before the inevitable occurs." The Emperor paused, allowing a tiny smile to spread across his lips as he absently studied the empty glass in his wrinkled hand.
"Well, perhaps there is some truth in that. In any event, you are well liked and respected. Your work here has impressed many of the representatives of the Hundred Worlds. For them to see your conviction and enthusiasm has, no doubt, won many more followers than Bomeer's frenzied rantings."
While Javas considered what he'd just heard, the Emperor issued another silent command, then leaned wearily back into the comfort of the powerchair. A green light flashed several times on the right armrest of the chair. The Emperor pressed the light briefly, extinguishing it, then said aloud, "Enter."
Prince Javas turned his head toward the opposite side of the study and stood as a door, previously invisible in the intricate woodworking of the room's far wall, slid noiselessly into the matching paneling surrounding it.
The newcomer was of medium height and build, quite un-imposing really, and wore—not a fleet uniform or an Imperial jacket, as might be expected of someone entering the Emperor's private study in so sure a manner—but plain, civilian clothing in a style currently popular in the larger, more cosmopolitan lunar cities. A closer examination of his clothing, however, showed that his outfit was not as inexpensively tailored as a casual glance would lead one to believe; that it had, in fact, been purposely designed to look quite ordinary, as though the wearer wished to be able to blend into a crowd without calling attention to himself. The door closed behind him and the newcomer suddenly adopted a much more formal attitude as he approached the massive desk, stopping barely a meter away. There was no mistaking that when he stood, he stood at attention. The Emperor nodded once and the man relaxed, clasping his hands casually in front of him.
"No, you have not been foolish to show your excitement," the old man went on, returning his attention to the Prince. "However, you have been careless in some matters. Oh, please meet Marcus Glenney." Again, the Emperor leaned back, watching the reaction on his son's face. So, the old man can still surprise, eh?
Javas extended a hand in cordial greeting, but he tilted his head to one side, narrowing his eyes as a look of haven't-I-seen-you-somewhere-before spread openly across his features. "Do I know you?"
Glenney took his hand with a strong, firm grasp. "No, not officially. But it is good to finally meet you, Young Prince."
"We've met… unofficially, then?"
The Emperor chuckled softly, enjoying the small joke, and indicated that both men be seated. He fetched a glass and poured a drink for the newcomer, who thanked him but nonetheless set the glass down without drinking.
"Marc has been with you for nearly, what, twenty-five years now, subjective time?" Glenney nodded. "And with my arrival becomes head of Imperial security here on Luna. He has been your constant companion—without your knowledge, I'm afraid—since your wedding day. I assigned him as your personal protector the same day"—he paused, the sound of contempt plain in his voice even to him—"that she entered our House."
"So, it seems I have a guardian angel," Javas replied, ignoring his father's aside at his former wife. An amused smile appeared momentarily on his lips before his voice lowered, assuming a no-nonsense tone. As he spoke, Glenney sat a bit more upright in his chair. "My father would not be revealing your identity, indeed, your very existence to me, if there were not a point to all of this. What have you to report?"
The Emperor watched and listened closely to his son, pleased at how quickly he had adjusted to this new situation, how readily he had taken charge. You have matured greatly, he thought. I should have set you to an important task much sooner.
"Young Prince, I regret that there have been no fewer than three assassination attempts since your arrival here on the Moon."
"Three!" A look of surprised shock. "I know of one, eleven months ago. My own security team"—Javas shot a quick look at his father—"informed me of their suspicions long before the threat was realized. Those involved were apprehended and dealt with."
Glenney looked steadily at the Prince and said, not a hint of apology in his delivery, "I know. Your security team was given a great deal of help. By me. The information was channeled secretly, of course. They had no way of knowing that they'd not defused the situation as a result of their own efforts."
Glenney glanced to the Emperor, who nodded curtly, then continued. "The second was taken care of without the knowledge of your personal security. In this case, however, those responsible were rounded up early on at Landsdowne, on the far side, with the threat never even making it to Armelin City."
"I see." Javas sat, unmoving, and stared intently at the security man. "And the third?"
For the first time since entering the study, Glenney squirmed uneasily in his chair. He turned to the Emperor, awaiting a sign to continue, when Javas pounded a fist on the table.
"Don't look to my father for permission to speak! I asked you a question!" Glenney sat bolt upright,
as if snapped to attention on a parade ground, but before he could answer, the Emperor held up a withered hand.
He looked to Javas, feeling a mixture of pride at the sudden strength exhibited by his son and regret at having kept secret what he was about to say.
"The explosion yesterday was not an accident." He waited a moment for the words to sink in, and watched as a look of realization crossed the Prince's features. The Emperor had ordered that the tragedy be explained as accidental, that the rupturing of a compressor line below the galleries had caused a flash fire responsible for the deaths of nearly 160 people.
"Not an accident?" The anger drained from Javas' face and he eased back into the swivel chair. "But any attempt on your life from the galleries would have been contained by the shielding. Any assailant would realize that. I'm not sure I understand."
Glenney reached into his jacket, extracting a thin sheet of stiff plastic, and handed it to the Prince. "Do you know what this is?" he asked.
Javas examined it, read the markings: Gallery 29, Row 1, Seat 11. It was dated for the previous day. "Obviously it's a seating pass for the landing ceremony. Did you recover this from one of the victims?" He looked first at Glenney, then, when the security man remained mute, to his father.
"No," he answered for Glenney. "There was not much to be recovered. This was Dr. Montgarde's pass. She had originally been assigned to gallery 29." He observed Javas carefully, noting how his brow furrowed in pained concern, his lips drew into a tight line. "Without knowing it, you saved her life, as well as the lives of several members of her research team."
"When you invited her to sit in the Imperial gallery," Glenney added, "we no longer felt the need to concentrate our efforts in 29. Fortunately no other members of the Imperial staff or the Doctor's team were seated there."
Javas' mouth opened in obvious disbelief at the callous statement, and he was immediately on his feet. For a moment, the Emperor thought the Prince might strike the man but he watched as his son turned suddenly, disgustedly, away and crossed to the other side of the study.
"A hundred and sixty people," he said softly. The Prince sighed and shook his head reverently, but the inner reflection lasted only a few seconds before a look of fiery determination glowed in his eyes and he turned his full attention to the security man. "I want those responsible, Glenney, do you understand?" The Emperor started to speak, but Javas cut him off before he could say anything. "No! Father, this is mine."
Glenney cleared his throat. "I'm afraid that won't be possible, Sire. The cause of the explosion was chemical in nature, and those responsible died along with the others. Which is partially the reason, incidentally, for our not being able to detect this attempt in advance."
"Oh? And why is that, security agent?" Javas made no attempt to hide his sarcasm and stared at him, unblinking, until he continued.
"From spectrographic analysis of what little we've been able to recover, it seems this was an individual attempt on Dr. Montgarde's life. One person, certainly no more than two, apparently brought volatile chemicals into the gallery; most likely by saturating articles of clothing. Alone, the chemicals were harmless, but combining them—perhaps with an effort as simple as crossing his arms so the sleeves made contact with one another—created a nearly instantaneous reaction. With the shielding in place, the assailant knew he didn't even have to sit near his target. The explosion, in fact, originated in the last row. Ironically, from that location the assailant probably wasn't even aware that the Doctor wasn't seated in the gallery."
The Emperor kept silent and observed the fortitude his son displayed in handling what was surely one of the most difficult experiences he'd had since arriving on the Moon. He smiled inwardly, pleased at the Prince's self-control.
Javas crossed the room and sat down. He rubbed his eyes wearily with the backs of his hands and the Emperor noticed for the first time how tired his son appeared. He had not been the only one, he realized, who had slept very little the night before.
The Prince leaned an elbow on the armrest of the chair and stroked his chin absently for several moments before swiveling the chair to address Glenney.
"You've missed something," he said. His words came slowly, evenly, and he waited until he had the other's full attention.
Glenney sat straighter, cocking his head slightly in puzzlement and curiosity at what the Prince might be suggesting, but remained silent.
"The explosion occurred," he went on, "several minutes after Dr. Montgarde was in plain sight on the landing platform. Tell me, security agent: Why would an assailant, acting alone and in control of his own actions, attempt to kill a target that was plainly no longer available?"
CHAPTER SIX
"I don't like this," said the gray-haired man. "I don't like any of it. At all." He leaned back, sinking deeply into the comfort of the thickly padded sofa, but despite his efforts looked positively anything but comfortable.
"You think I do?" Bomeer shot back. He paced briskly before the enormous window, nervously looking from time to time at the box resting on the low table between the sofa and the two matching chairs that faced it. Seeing that the top surface of the small cube glowed green and, satisfied that the audio blocker was functioning properly, he continued. "I don't like the native Earthers any more than I trust them, but face facts: Now that Javas fully intends to support the Old Man's fool project—and carry it on when he himself becomes Emperor—we can't afford to be too particular about whose help we accept." He paced steadily, glancing occasionally at the comm terminal to check the time.
"Academician! Would you kindly sit down?"
Bomeer halted in mid-stride and regarded his companion. With a bemused snort, he crossed to one of the chairs opposite the sofa and fell heavily into it.
"You're right, Wynne," he said, checking the time yet again. "My apologies," Bomeer reached for a glass on the same serving tray where he'd placed the blocker, but a soft chiming from the door stopped him. He spoke tersely at the comm. "Identify." The screen glowed immediately, an external camera showing a tall, slim man standing outside the suite.
"Is that him?" Wynne asked, leaning forward to study the screen more closely.
"Yes." Both men rose, and Bomeer crossed quickly to the entranceway. "I'll say this for Earthers, they're punctual," he said to the other academician under his breath, then, louder: "Admit."
The newcomer was tall, Bomeer realized as soon as the door slid aside; surprisingly so. The external security camera had not given a true feeling for the man's sheer size any more than it had given a clear look at the intricacies of his face. Although hidden by a thick beard, his features appeared mostly North American or European; but Bomeer could detect a hint of Asian stock somewhere in the man's background. He wore a neat but casual outfit dominated by shades of brown that closely matched the color of his hair and beard. His jacket, Bomeer noted, was a finely brushed leather. Not waiting to be invited in, he strode purposefully into the room as soon as the door had completely cleared the frame.
"On behalf of myself and my fellow academician," Bomeer said to the man's back, "I'm honored you have agreed to—"
The man spun about, the angry glare of his dark eyes immediately silencing the academician, and drew a quick finger across his throat in a cutting motion. He just as abruptly turned away again and walked to the seating area in the center of the room. Ignoring Wynne completely, he hurriedly scanned his surroundings and reached into the pocket of his jacket, producing a thin cylinder—it looked to Bomeer like a pen or stylus—and twisted the top once, clockwise, and clipped it to the jacket's narrow lapel. The tip of the object blinked softly, steadily. He turned to face Bomeer, the leather of his jacket creaking subtly as he clasped his hands casually behind him, and allowed a polite smile.
"All right, then. You were saying?" His deeply resonant voice was deceptively calm and out of place with the rugged image he presented.
Bomeer pursed his lips a moment and forced down the annoyance he felt at his visitor—dis
missing his manners as peculiar, but normal perhaps, to Earthers. Clasping his own hands behind his back, Bomeer stepped down to the seating area and stood facing the newcomer. The two men stared at each other for several seconds, neither making an effort to extend a hand in greeting to the other. Bomeer's neck began to stiffen as he stared up at the giant of a man, and he immediately regretted trying to imitate his actions.
"Your blocker was not necessary," Bomeer said finally, indicating the blinking object clipped to the Earther's jacket. "We've already seen fit to take all practical caution."
"Is that so?" The man's hand flashed into his coat and, before the two academicians realized what was happening, held a pin laser leveled at Bomeer's face. "It wouldn't be easy to kill you with this, Mr. Bomeer, but I could blind you in two seconds." He punctuated his remark by flicking the weapon back and forth several times mere centimeters from Bomeer's eyes. An unpleasantly sadistic smile crept across his features as he added, "Of course, with my foot planted firmly on your chest and fifteen or twenty seconds to work, I could slice open your throat." He lowered the laser and waved it at Bomeer's neck, whispering softly on each pass, "Zip. Zip. Zip."