“Three hours, plus or minus point two.”
Why did people let themselves be ruled so easily? Why did they let others enslave them? Why didn’t they fight?
“Why didn’t they fight?”
“Question imprecise. Please reformulate.”
The businessman who was an idealist with a vision and who had been a commodore did not rephrase his question. Instead he stood up and turned away, pacing from the cramped control room into the equally small, but less cluttered, crew room.
Finding the techniques to reclaim his home had proved difficult enough, and the refining and producing was even more difficult. Plus, refinement and production required resources and funding, and while obtaining both had been the technically easiest part, it had been by far the most time-consuming, and had created the most problems. But without the resources to bankroll the development and the field testing and the production, all the foundation’s research products would be worthless.
Then, still unknown, was the question of the Empire. While it would certainly continue to passively oppose any wide-scale adoption of the techniques the foundation was developing, how soon would the forces marshaling against Gerswin be able to turn the Empire against him.
He had Lyr to thank, time and time again, for turning the inquiries and blunting the attacks, but Lyr and her allies could not hold back the tide forever.
He shook his head. One thing in his favor was that his opponents did not know where they stood. Nor would they for years to come, though Gerswin could sense it now. And his own stupidity in using tacheads! Thirty thousand innocents because he hated tyranny and personal greed. Thirty thousand innocents because he had held others to his standards. He shook his head. Better to write off an enterprise, or to wait until no one suspected he could return. Brute force wasn’t the answer. Yet, knowing better, he had turned to it.
He shook his head once more.
“You’d better hope it’s considered an isolated case. You’d better hope.”
He walked back toward the controls, thinking about Rodire, and about the man’s family.
Corson, where are you? Beyond? Never? Martin . . . ?
But Martin he had not known, even briefly, only known about when there was nothing he could have done.
He reseated himself at the control couch, tilted now into a standard seat, and tried to refocus his thoughts on his next operations.
He couldn’t afford another mistake like El Lido. Not for himself, or Lyr, or Martin, or the people involved.
Not ever.
LXXII
THE GOLD STARBURST in the center of the console flared.
The man known as Eye stared at the golden light, which remained burning brightly. Behind his shadow mask his mouth nearly dropped open.
The Emperor’s call—but why?
He frowned, wondering whether he should answer the almost mythical summons, still sitting before the console.
Three red lights blipped into place on the screen readouts, and his eyes widened.
He shook his head. Apparently the old procedures still held. All his defense screens were down.
What was it that Thurson had said years ago? That the myths always triumphed in the end, whether a man believed in them or not?
With a sigh, he stood, not that he had much choice as a squad of Corpus Corps assassins bracketed his private portal.
“The Emperor awaits, you, ser.”
While all gave him a wide berth, they seemed almost excited as they escorted him along the secret tunnels, tunnels he thought only known to the Eye and the two Eye Regents.
“How did you know this was the way?” he asked the Corps squad leader.
“The Emperor gave us the map, ser, after he dropped your screens, ser.”
Eye said nothing further until the tunnel narrowed, a narrowing that reflected nearness to the palace.
Opposite the portal that exited in his own guest quarters, assigned to him in his person as the Duke of Calendra, the Corps squad leader halted and touched a databloc against the inlaid tile of the Imperial seal that stood man-tall on the right side of the corridor.
The seal swung back to reveal another tunnel, one that seemed to lead upward.
With a shrug, Eye let himself be escorted away from his own quarters and toward whatever destination the Corpus Corps killers had in mind.
Even with his age, he had no doubt that he could have dispatched at least two of the Corps troops. But there were eight, and he did not want to give them any excuse to kill him out of hand.
He had reasoned with the Emperor before and occasionally gotten his point. Reason provided a better hope than attack.
The squad halted at the liftshaft.
“Go on, ser.” The squad leader gestured. “This is as far as we go.”
“Alone?” Eye asked with mild sarcasm.
“Alone, ser.”
Eye shrugged and stepped into the shaft, letting himself be carried upward.
The trip was but seconds long before he stepped out into a small room. A single Imperial Marine stood before another portal.
“Lord Calendra, the Emperor will see you shortly. You may sit, if you wish.”
Eye shivered. That the guard knew his real name even while he wore the privacy cloak and black shadow of Eye did not look promising.
He studied the guard, debating whether he should take on the single impressive specimen who stood between him and the portal or whether he should still opt for his chances in reasoning with the Emperor.
The almost unseen haze that stood between him and the marine decided him. That it was a screen of some sort was clear, but of what intensity was not. He decided to wait.
Frowning to himself, Eye tried to determine how he might have failed the Empire, or displeased the Emperor.
Could it have been the incident on Harkla? Or the uprising in Parella? The commercial war on El Lido? That had been messy. But a commercial war?
He shook his head. Could the Ursans have sprung something new on the Fleet? Or was the Dismorph resurgence more of a threat than he had reported?
“Lord Calendra, the Emperor awaits.”
Eye stood, straightened his black cloak, and stepped evenly toward the portal as the Imperial Marine moved aside.
Once through, he found himself in a small study, scarcely larger than the formal office of a small commercial magnate. Solid wooden shelves lined the sides of the room, while the Emperor sat behind an apparent antique writing desk, his back to a full window overlooking the formal Palace gardens.
“Your pleasure, sire,” Eye stated evenly as he inclined his head and waited.
“Have a seat, Calendra.”
In private, His Imperial Majesty Ryrce N’Gaio Bartoleme VIII did not appear any more impressive than in public. His eyes were bulbous, bright green, and set too close together. His hair resembled plains grass scattered by the wind, and his fat cheeks gave him the air of a chipmunk. Only his deep bass voice was regal-that and the dark sadness behind the bright eyes.
Eye settled himself into the small chair and waited.
“This is something I would rather not do, you understand, Calendra, but it has been too long, and there have been too many Eyes, your predecessor among them, who seemed to feel that they represented another force in government besides the Emperor.”
“I am not sure I understand, sire.”
“I am not sure you do either, Calendra,” answered the deep voice, resonating as if separate from the almost comical figure behind the desk. “I am not sure you do either.”
The Emperor pointed a surprisingly long finger at the head of the Intelligence Service. “Tell me. What is still the one weapon that the people of the Empire fear most?”
“Nuclear weapons.”
“And why? There are greater forces at man’s command.”
Eye shivered, but forced himself to reply. “I suppose it must be because of what happened on Old Earth.”
“Exactly! And during your tenure, twice have those
weapons been used. And you have yet to discover how those weapons were removed from Imperial control or by whom.”
Eye looked down, then raised his eyes to meet the green glitter of the Emperor’s gaze. “Neither has anyone else, sire.”
“No. But they are not Eye. Nor are they specifically charged with insuring that such weapons do not enter private hands.” The Emperor paused. “Do you have any idea as to who might have obtained them?”
“Ideas, yes. Facts to support them, no.” Eye smiled a grim smile. “At this point, would it make much difference?”
“Not really, since we’re being candid.”
“Then, since he has brought me down, he may as well bring you down as well, sire.”
With a calmness he did not believe he possessed, Eye triggered his own internal nerve destruction, trying to look alert even as his thoughts began to blacken, as the toxins poured through his systems.
Let the devilkid’s revenge be Eye’s as well.
His mouth dropped open in a chuckle that he never completed as the Emperor, His Imperial Majesty Ryrce N’Gaio Bartoleme VIII, shook his head sadly and pressed the console summons for the disposal squad.
The Silent Warrior Page 26