“Identify yourselves,” commanded the masculine tone through the intercom.
Both men reached into the side pocket of their chairs to retrieve a pair of goggles and slid them over their heads. The retina scan briefly activated and completed its work. They removed the goggles, returning them to the pockets, and sat back in their seats.
“Welcome General Addicott and Captain Turrick. Regent Torvino is expecting you. Docking connections now complete.”
The voice clicked off. Red lights flashed from the panel signaling the Royal Magno Station authorizing their entry, and the car’s speed increased with the direct pull toward the palace doors.
Projected by hologram onto the entryway was King Pasqual’s official portrait. Above the picture and written in red letters: TO DIE IS TO SLEEP—AND WE SHALL RISE COME MOURNING. Below the royal likeness, blazing in red: 3340—3401—AND HE SHALL BE REMEMBERED IN THE KINGDOM OF HAEVEN.
The projection briefly fluttered as the barriers opened. The car flew into the landing dock and waited as the castle doors closed. A loud, serpentine hissing echoed throughout the chamber as the toxic air was cleared away and the car was decontaminated.
“In a few hours,” Wilyem stated. “Your picture is going to be up there and it will read LONG MAY HE REIGN.”
“Stop it,” Tyler harshly whispered. He wiped his palms on the knees of his uniform. His right leg twitched with undischarged energy. “You’re making me nervous.”
Wilyem reached across the seat and took Tyler’s face in his hands. He looked into the resilient amber eyes, past the strong military bravado, and into the depths of the man behind it all.
“Baby.” The endearment was practically whispered. “You got this. You’ve proven yourself to be a compassionate man, as well as a fair and strong leader. Not since the Infiltration of 3001 has a general earned four stars before the age of fifty, and he wasn’t nearly as popular as you. So I’ve read.”
Wilyem leaned in and let their lips touch. He felt the spark that was always there between them. It pulled them closer, and he heard the breath racing through Tyler’s nostrils. Wilyem opened his mouth, letting his tongue explore, teasing the edges of Tyler’s lips. He felt the general’s strong arms wrap around him, locking at the small of his back and resting above the curve of his buttocks.
“I love you very much,” Tyler whispered. “You know that, don’t you?”
“Yeah, I do.” Wilyem’s lips twitched into an impish grin. “Your Majesty.”
For a brief flash Tyler let his stoic exterior vanish and allowed the hint of giddiness to show through.
“Could you just imagine?” he said with boyish excitement.
“Yes,” Wilyem replied. His smile grew when he saw Tyler finally succumbing. “Yes, I can.”
The general looked over Wilyem’s shoulder, his expression erasing all hints of delighted anticipation.
“We’ll know in a short while,” Tyler said with a nod. “Here comes the regent.”
The two men broke their embrace, turned ’round and snapped into a military stance as the pod doors opened, and Regent Torvino approached. The King’s widower was dressed in the uniform of Haeven except that his was black instead of blue, and the insignia was larger and placed central on his chest.
Regent Torvino walked across the silent room, his black boots echoing on the high-polished floor. His hair was gray and thinning at seventy-six, but his uniform was worn well, boasting a toned, stout body and a muscular pair of legs. The salt-andpepper mustache attractively covered the upper half of a thin pair of lips, and the lights reflected like fiery pinpoints from the corners of his glasses.
“Hail Regent of Haeven!” both men said in unison. They crossed their right hand to their left shoulder and extended the arm with a closed fist in perfect synchronization.
“Hail General Addicott and Captain Turrick,” Regent Torvino said. He repeated the salute and all three men lowered their arms.
Tyler leaned forward and whispered. “How you holding up, Cameron?”
Regent Torvino rolled his eyes with a heavy sigh.
“I’m still numb from Randyl’s passing,” he whispered in a congested tone. “But glad those bitches in Conclave didn’t take too long. I am done with Heads of State.”
“Any idea who they’ve chosen?” Wilyem asked with a mischievous tone.
“Give me a break!” Cameron moaned, shooting him an exhausted look. “Smyth, Stolzer and Lozzi have been yapping at my heels like Gorwich pups since Conclave broke. You will all know soon enough, and I can be excused from my duties.”
The regent started off with the two men a step behind him.
“Please tell me it’s not that Son-of-a-Praggie Smyth!” Wilyem muttered.
“It’s not,” Cameron softly confirmed over his shoulder. “And that’s all I’m saying.”
The three men entered a long hallway with dimmed chandeliers illuminating the way. Precisely hung on either side were photographs, perfectly aligned and running the length of the halls: Haeven’s previous line of kings and their regents. Each couple stared out from their Official Portraits, silently offering warnings and advice as the men walked past. On either side there was blank space for future portraits to be added.
“It always takes my breath away,” Wilyem said gazing at the pictures. “Seeing all these faces of great men gives me so much pride.”
“Ass kisser,” Cameron playfully accused out the side of his mouth.
The three men softly chuckled as they entered the Royal Chamber. All sounds were silenced as they walked under the high-vaulted ceilings of the Grand Hall. The regent led the two men down the blue carpet running down the center aisle of the massive room. Although it was built to hold half the planet’s population, only the privileged were selected to watch the prestigious event of King Crowning.
The thirteen members of Conclave lined one side, standing in their purple robes with the planet’s emblem in black, their cowls hanging loosely over the tops of their faces. At rigid attention on the opposite wall, two-dozen of the highest-ranking military officers stood saluting as the trio passed. The entire room was draped in fervent silence.
“I love you,” Wilyem whispered. He reached out and took hold of Tyler’s hand, giving it a firm squeeze of confidence. The captain glanced at his husband with an affectionate smile.
Tyler kept his eyes locked forward. His face void of expression, he struggled with keeping his bottom lip from trembling. He was aware of all eyes in the room following them as they walked toward the dais and throne. A wave of vulnerability washed over him, and he did his best to keep his knees from buckling. His hand closed tighter around Wilyem’s. The two palms pressed firmly into one another, and General Tyler Addicott found his strength.
The throne was placed centrally on a raised platform three short steps up from the main floor. It pulsed with the dark blue light Aresium gave off in its raw and strongest form. To the left of the stairs stood Generals Smyth and Lozzi, with their respective spouses and several men of their regiments. General Stolzer stood with his spouse on the right side, with a small entourage behind.
“Look at their eyes,” Wilyem excitedly whispered. “It says it all.”
Regent Torvino reached the end of the aisle and stopped before the steps leading to the throne. Instead of directing them to their position on the right side, he turned sharply around, snapping his heels and saluting.
The two men following came to a sudden halt. Wilyem felt his chest grow tight, but Tyler breathed out long and slow through his lips. Their entwined fingers tightened and with the comfortable, strong and familiar sensations transferred through the simple squeezing of his hand, Tyler found peace and knew his time had come.
“Are you ready?” Wilyem whispered.
“Yes,” came the solemn reply.
“Hail!” Regent Torvino shouted with a sudden salute. “Hail to General Tyler Addicott, the Undoubted King of Haeven!”
“Hail to the Undoubted King!” the room thunderou
sly echoed.
Tyler said nothing. As the room erupted with the sound of his name he felt completely paralyzed. The men were all saluting him, their arms jutting out with their fists clenched for strength and support. The general looked around him, a tear forming in his eye at the exaltation of his fellow officers. He looked at Wilyem and saw the look of adulation and love expressed with tears running down his face.
Tyler smiled at the man he loved. He looked over Wilyem’s shoulder to see Regent Torvino standing very still and looking quite serious. The regent stepped up the few stairs of the dais until he stood next to the throne. His hand crept forward until his fingertips curled around the chair’s tall backing. At his touch the Aresium changed from dark blue to a pale red. The light’s silent pulsing slowed until it became a solid color.
No one else seemed to notice.
“I love you, Tyler,” Wilyem frantically whispered. He reached for Tyler’s hand, bringing it to his lips.
A high-pitched sound rang out, thundering about the Great Hall. A bright light flashed out from the throne momentarily blinding him before fading to instant darkness. The room exploded with the sound of his name.
“Tyler!”
“Tyler…
“Tyler…”
Wilyem felt Tyler’s hand slowly release its grip. He looked up, eyes full of tears, and saw the machine’s red light pulsing slow, stop and flatline. Clinging to Tyler’s hand, Wilyem held it to his lips not able to let go. He felt a hand touch his shoulder and looked up from Tyler’s hospice bedside. Dr. Cameron Torvino nodded, trying his best to offer what comfort he could.
“He’s gone,” the doctor compassionately said.
From somewhere behind him in the small bedroom, Wilyem could hear a prayer being whispered.
“And it shall be said, the time is fulfilled and the Kingdom of Heaven is at hand.”
MATTERS OF THE HEART
Dale Chase
I can’t figure why I’m so gone on Ray Seel. He’s not a pretty man—hell, I’m prettier—but he can do the littlest thing, like knock the dust off his hat, and I’m smitten all over again. He’s a lean twenty-year-old working the family ranch and I’d never given him much thought until a few months ago when I had to jail him for disturbing the peace. Everything turned that night and I’ve no idea why.
He and his fellow cowhands were whooping it up in the Palace Saloon where I happened to be wetting my whistle. When a fight broke out, I turned to see Ray punch Elwood Sims, who’s too old to be a threat to anybody, so I had to intervene. If Ray had settled down there’d have been no problem, but he was drunk and threw a punch at me so I decked him. I then got him to his feet and marched him to jail. I hated doing this as he’s a good kid, but I couldn’t be seen favoring somebody who’d struck the marshal. Further manhandling was required when he balked at going into the cell, and I ended up slapping him to get him in line. By the time he was locked up something was afoot in me.
“He was bottom dealing,” Ray said as the cell door slammed. “I called him on it and he insulted me so I hit him.”
“You don’t settle things beating on an old man,” I said.
He gave no further argument, just wrapped his hands around the iron bars and I was lost for a second, wondering how those hands would feel on me. “Just settle down,” I said, stepping back. “You’ll stand before the judge tomorrow morning, pay a fine and maybe learn a thing or two. Now get some sleep. Your night is over.”
I kept looking in after he dozed off as I was caught up in the sight of him laid out on the cot. Finally I fled to my desk because that something afoot in me was gaining and I had to turn it like drovers do a stampede. In my office I told my deputy, Skip Loudon, “You go out and keep order. I’ll take the duty in here.”
Skip passed me a look, shrugged and went out. I didn’t care what he thought, even as I had no idea what that might be. It was hard enough to figure what I thought. I sat at my desk, but replayed the punches Ray and I had traded along with my shoving him into the cell. The night proved a long one and next morning I stole in once more, hoping to see just what I did which was him lying sound asleep, pants open, hand inside. When I later walked him to the courthouse, I was near beside myself as I felt intimacy when there’d been no such thing. Once he’d paid his fine he fled without so much as a look my way, but this was no bother as I knew his anger would pass, which it did.
Ever since then I’ve been Ray’s captive, only he doesn’t know it. It wouldn’t look right for the marshal to be seen mooning over a fellow, especially one fourteen years younger, so I go about my peacekeeping here in Silver City, New Mexico, although I may be less patient toward those disturbing that peace. This I attribute to enduring a kind of pent-up swoon.
I’ve never been good at matters of the heart. Matters of law I know well, but they’re set down in books so a man need only consult the proper passage, should a question arise, which it never does. Nobody attempts to set down rules for the heart, leaving it to disturb a man’s peace to the point he’s all but cooked from a fire he can’t put out. Water, coffee, whiskey, none dampen the flame so the man goes around in an awful state, seared inside. Worst of all is him welcoming the agony.
Ray comes to town with two ranch hands every Saturday, relieving me of a long week without him. I bathe on Fridays so I’ll be fresh for him though he’s got no idea on that. I’m thick in body compared to Ray, but believe I cut a fine figure and besides, a lawman needs strength both in build and character. I’m never more reminded of this, especially the character part, than when I see Ray on Saturday.
He gets in around noon, takes a room with his pards, which I try not to think on, him in drawers in their company, which they surely don’t appreciate. They’ll go around town, visiting stores to make purchases or just gawk, then hit the ice-cream parlor. I keep a distance, but not so far I don’t see him here and there. When they finally go into a saloon I settle some as this is more my territory. Ice-cream parlors are for kids.
Ray has the lanky brown hair of a hundred other men, brown eyes, and the ruddy look of an outdoorsman. He favors blue shirts, red kerchiefs and black wool pants, and his white hat is sweat stained and battered. Why such things stir me I don’t know, they just do. I’m always hoping he’ll get drunk and tear up some so I’ll have to arrest him again, but he’s only done it the one time. And I don’t know I could stand it now, him stretched out in a cell.
This particular Saturday is hot, it being July. I sweat when not even moving. I find myself restless as I watch men ride into town because it’s nearly four and Ray hasn’t shown. I’m also annoyed at being restless and when I’m forced to break up a fight spilling from the Grand Saloon, I’m less than patient. It’s two local men, good friends who’ve gotten into a spat, and they take heed when I threaten jail if they don’t observe order. It’s as they depart in opposite directions that I note Ray Seel riding in. And he’s alone.
I stand captured out front of the mercantile, heart beating like I’m running a race, parts lower rising to the occasion. I try not to look, but do. Ray ties his horse at the hotel and I see he’s clad not in a blue shirt but a white one and looking like a million bucks, at least to me. I’m struck by his maybe wanting to impress me and I enjoy about ten seconds of swoon before it crosses my mind that he may be dressed up for somebody else.
Appearing casual when the body is running a race all on its own isn’t easy, even for a lawman of some repute. I cross the street to a spot where Ray is headed, then run into him like I just happened along. “Ray,” I say as he approaches. “How are you keeping? How’s your Pa?”
“I’m doing good, Marshal,” he replies. “Pleased to have the week past. Pa’s well, getting after me like usual.”
Arden Seel is a demanding fellow who I’d not want to cross. Big as a bull and just as mean, he often acts no better than his stock, but his cattle operation is a success. If he knew my thoughts toward his son, he’d shoot me.
“I’ll have to get out and see him
one of these days,” I say, not caring a whit for Arden Seel. “Where’s your pards?”
“Dan’s gone off after some girl and Elmo up and quit. Pa’s in a state over that as he’s having to do twice the work. I’m lucky to get away at all.”
“Let me buy you a drink.”
“Much obliged.”
Ray is a welcoming sort of fellow, easy and mild, and we settle in at the bar of the Buckhorn Saloon. His voice is smooth as honey and when he pushes his hat back I seize with that torment I’ve come to crave. “New duds?” I ask when we’re on the second whiskey.
“Yep. ’Bout time.”
I want to say how fine he looks, but keep my mouth shut as the marshal can’t be seen going soft though I’d argue there’s some hardness involved. “White shirt will draw dirt faster than blue,” I offer which is a silly thing to say but I have to say something.
“Suppose so.”
“You staying at Morse House?” I ask.
“Nah. I’m at Brandle’s. Cheaper, but it’s not much more than a cot in your jail.” This comes with a smile that warms me to the point I’m lost for words. I break into a grin and feel the heat of a flush on my face. I find myself embarrassed at the conversation, never mind it’s no more than the time of day. Further indulgence is denied me when gunshots are heard. I enjoy another couple seconds of Ray before going out to corral a drunken cowpoke shooting streetlamps. As I crack my pistol over his head, dropping him to a heap, I glance over to see Ray standing out front of the saloon and I’m puffed up beyond reason at him watching me perform my duty. When I march the drunk to jail, I do it with great authority, knowing Ray’s eyes are on me.
Later on I take supper and am near done when in walks Ray. Seeing me, he comes over. “Join you?”
“Sure,” I say, thrilled at the request, “but I’m about done. I recommend the beefsteak.”
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