Bolton swallowed hard. “I … I will adjust my numbers accordingly. May I suggest that we quietly dispose of the bodies out in space before anyone knows?”
Ever hard and practical, Carrington pressed her lips into a colorless line. “Best if we don’t do that. Times may get hard enough that we’ll need the extra protein.”
39
General Adolphus couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt so unsettled. He was a master of juggling the pieces of a large plan, coordinating and choreographing the efforts of his countless loyal followers. Managing more than fifty links of his new DZ network, ensuring that all the trailblazers arrived at virtually the same time, across vast swaths of space, was a mind-boggling challenge, and he had done it.
With the information provided by his loyalist spy, he knew exactly the strength and timing of the Constellation fleet sent against him, and the Urvanciks had verified that they were off the stringline and trapped in empty space. As planned. Stranded in the middle of nowhere with dwindling supplies and no iperion path to follow, they had no place to go.
And yet, they had gone … somewhere.
With the Jacob parked in orbit over Hellhole while the Urvanciks and ten other scouts searched the last known coordinates of the stranded Constellation fleet, Adolphus pondered his alternatives. He pored over the data, desperate to discover where he had gone wrong, which reports might have been false. The Constellation fleet had to be out there!
Suspecting a trick, his scouts maintained radio silence while searching. Perhaps Escobar Hallholme’s fleet lay in hiding—but they had left Sonjeera more than a month ago, and the crew should be desperate, low on supplies and life support.
Where were they? He didn’t trust them. His plan had seemed so simple and foolproof—cut the stringline and bottle up the Diadem’s warships, then wait for them to weaken and surrender. The simplest kind of siege. But now he realized he had been overconfident. Adolphus wondered if he’d been duped, if he had underestimated the son of Percival Hallholme. It was driving him mad with frustration.
While Adolphus pondered his next move from his flagship, Sophie had returned to the surface to notify the shadow-Xayans and the Originals that they might need to rely on telemancy defenses after all. Weeks ago, the General had been sure he’d bought Hellhole a reprieve, but now he wasn’t so certain.
The linerunner Kerris returned to the Hellhole hub with their report. “We just came back for a quick reprovisioning, General,” Turlo said. “The other nine scouts are still combing their grid patterns. No luck so far.”
Sunitha produced a datapack that chronicled the hunt for the lost Constellation fleet. “We’re covering an ever-widening volume, but I don’t think they’re out there, sir. Five big haulers, a hundred ships—we’ve picked up no distress signals, no radio chatter.”
“No wreckage either,” Turlo said.
His wife shrugged. “But if they wandered off into the weeds, if they used their FTL to head away in some random direction … well, they could be anywhere.”
Turlo looked away, obviously disturbed. “When we blew up the substations, sir, we were happy to help you snare the fleet … but we didn’t intend to impose a death sentence on all those soldiers.”
“Our son used to be a Constellation soldier,” Sunitha added.
“You didn’t do it. They chose their own death sentence.” Adolphus recognized his stinging tone, took a deep breath, and added in a quieter voice, “I didn’t mean for it to be a death sentence either. We intended to capture the fleet and negotiate in a civilized manner for the soldiers’ eventual return to the Crown Jewels. They weren’t supposed to die.” He felt sick at this failure. He straightened, and looked hard at the two linerunners. “Keep in mind that if those ships had reached Hellhole and completed their mission, they would have slaughtered hundreds of thousands.”
He looked down at the search datapack in his hand, but knew the information would tell him little or nothing. “I’ll have my experts scan this. Maybe we can detect some ion trail or exhaust residue.”
“Yes, sir.” Turlo did not sound convinced.
Adolphus’s heart felt heavy. It was a victory, but not one to be proud of. Militarily speaking, he had counted on adding those hundred captured warships to his DZ Defense Force. And he had looked forward to forcing the son of Commodore Hallholme to surrender to him, bringing events full circle. He had not meant to condemn all those soldiers to death.
“Keep looking,” Adolphus said. “They’ve got to be out there.”
40
“Now we can celebrate,” Ishop said, feeling triumphant, yet somehow disappointed at the same time. “That’s the last name on our list.”
He had lived for the better part of a year with the driving goal of crossing off one victim after another, nobles marked for death by the seven-hundred-year-old stain in their familial blood.
And now it was done. He and Laderna had worked together on the scheme to kill Priema Vuarner, a well-choreographed performance: The chandelier had glittered and twirled on its long tumble down from the domed ceiling in the museum of culture. Sweet Priema had been standing on the podium to accept an award for her exceptional contributions to animal welfare issues. The man presenting the award saw the chandelier falling and dove out of the way, but Priema Vuarner’s foot was mysteriously and inexplicably stuck on the floor of the stage. An odd thing. Her body had positively sparkled after the crash, studded with so many shattered fragments of crystal.…
Now he and Laderna smiled at each other in the elegant dining chamber of Edwond House, the old townhouse that Diadem Michella had given him in gratitude for his faithful service. For the celebration with Laderna, he had changed into a stylish tuxedo with tails … the kind worn by noblemen. Now there were no impediments to the full enjoyment of his restored heritage.
In two months’ time he could formally be inducted into those heady ranks. Now that the requirements of personal revenge had been taken care of, Ishop could work on cultivating a new polished demeanor. He no longer needed to slink in the shadows doing Michella’s dirty work. He was a noble!
The two of them were alone in the historic room where Edwond the First, the Warrior Diadem, had held his cabinet meetings. Such a room seemed appropriate for the occasion.
“We can celebrate finishing the list, if you like, boss, but don’t forget we still have a loose end,” Laderna said, dampening his victorious feeling. “We still have to cross off a Duchenet name.”
While it rankled Ishop that the Diadem’s daughter might still be alive, Keana was possessed by a hideous alien entity and trapped on a planet marked for sterilization. Surely, that was worse than death!
He frowned. “Keana is gone—no need to drag this out, with our own deadline approaching. She’s as good as dead, so I claim success.” Maybe Laderna enjoyed the quest so much that she didn’t want it to be over. He, too, felt let down from the emptiness after a completed task, but he had grander dreams to pursue now, plans to make for his future. “It’s just a technicality.”
Laderna sounded stern. “A technicality is what denied you your heritage for your entire life, boss. You’re as much a stickler for detail as I am.” She paused, as if an idea had just occurred to her, but he knew she must have thought of it earlier, then worked it over in her thoughts, prodding and testing it. “We do have an additional option. We could always find another Duchenet to kill.”
“Not the Diadem. Killing Michella would be foolish. Or do you mean some distant cousin?” He frowned. “That wouldn’t be the same.”
“Doesn’t the Diadem have a sister?”
Ishop drew in a quick breath. “Haveeda! But she’s been hidden away for years, completely out of the public eye.”
“So were these documents, but I found them. No reason we shouldn’t look for her. Once we start a task we need to finish it.”
“Very well, snoop around to see if you can find where she’s been all these years. But it’ll be a moot point as soon as the Constellation
fleet levels Hellhole. The rebels will all be dead, and who would bother to count the corpses and identify body parts?” He poured chilled champagne into a pair of tall crystal glasses. “You and I have more important matters to occupy our time.”
The compulsion to finish what he had begun was strong, but it was not a sufficient reason to delay his next step. He had to begin preparing his presentation to the Council, in which he would formally claim his title. He had marked the date on the calendar, but then decided to add two extra days. It had been seven hundred years, after all—no sense in being impatient. It didn’t seem noble.
He replaced the champagne bottle in the ice bucket, rattling the ice cubes. A smile curled the edges of Laderna’s mouth as she sipped from her glass. “I’m definitely in the mood to celebrate.” She glanced toward the anteroom with its comfortable chairs and a settee, a place for noblemen to relax after a sumptuous meal. “Shall we go in there? We’ve commemorated each victory, and this should be the best so far.” Her brown eyes flashed at him, and he felt his willpower melt. Ishop decided to indulge his assistant, rewarding her for a job well done. He took special care to show his gratitude for her in every possible way and position.
Afterward, Laderna lay beside him on the sheets, her head propped on one hand. Ishop finally had a moment to think, and he let out a long sigh. “That was a very nice way to conclude our relationship, a defining moment to end this stage of my life. Now I’m ready to emerge as a full-fledged nobleman, like a caterpillar becoming a butterfly.” He yawned. “I wonder if I should change the family name back to Osheer, just on principle, or continue to call myself Heer.”
He expected her to be pleased for him, satisfied with the part she had played in his victory. “Oh, we are far from finished, boss. When your formal title is restored, you’re required to marry a noblewoman, otherwise all our work would be for nothing. That’ll be the next step.”
This was a pleasant surprise. He had expected that she might be foolishly jealous and forget to look at the big picture. But this was Laderna, utterly reliable and devoted, serving his goals, facilitating his advancement. And they were bound together by the crimes they had committed. Certainly, he could count on her.
Even naked on the bed, she was still within reach of a datapad. She rolled over and called up a new list to show him. “I have been studying acceptable candidates, based on their planetary wealth and political influence. Personally, I’d feel better if we settled on an ugly crone, but I won’t be that petty.”
He was surprised that she had suggested it. “You already thought of this yourself?”
Laderna’s smile had a hard edge. “After what we’ve been through, our relationship doesn’t have to be over. I’m looking at how to gain what you really want. Isn’t that what we’ve been working toward? As a team? Once you become a nobleman, I didn’t expect you to marry me. I do expect gratitude, however.”
He swallowed in a dry throat. “And you shall have it. When I regain my rightful title, you’ll be there.”
“But out of sight,” she said. “I already have it planned out for us.” She extended the list, called up images. “What do you think about Enva Tazaar? She’s quite attractive, and could bear enough noble heirs to solidify your lineage.”
He put on his trousers and torn shirt. “All right. Let’s have a look at the advantages and disadvantages of Enva Tazaar.”
41
Among the twenty Crown Jewel planets, a stringline passage could be made in a few hours, a day at most: a short enough time that with sufficient planning and well-distributed excuses, even the Diadem could slip away on a private mission without the rest of the Constellation knowing. Not even Ishop Heer, who seemed to have eyes everywhere.
Though she was Diadem of the entire Constellation, Michella still had family obligations. She visited Haveeda as often as possible, though not as often as a sister should.
For the journey to Sandusky, she boarded a thin, new-model ship that could operate independently, and expensively, without being taken aboard a much larger stringline hauler. The streamlined vessel saved a full hour in the typical passage, which made it easier for Michella to keep her secret. Besides, as Diadem, her time was valuable.
During the passage, Michella remained in the sealed-off forward section of the ship reserved for special passengers. No one knew her identity, no one could track her movements. She shared the vessel with only one other passenger, a portly nobleman who made regular business runs between Sonjeera and Sandusky. Even though she wore a disguise, she made sure she had no contact with him.
During the passage, Michella remained isolated, glad to snatch a few moments of peace. For years, she’d had to deal with Haveeda, obligated to keep the unfortunate woman safe and protected, in a place where she could cause no further problems or make any accusations against Michella. Though it had been so many decades since the “suspicious death” of their brother Jamos, Michella doubted anyone would care. Still, she had no time for family scandals of any kind.
Keana had caused her own set of problems—worse ones, perhaps, and not so easily dealt with as Michella had dealt with Haveeda. Unreliable family members! She wished she could just oust them all like unsatisfactory Council members and get a set of new ones.
Her daughter had been flighty but willful, petulant in her refusal to accept her role and meet her minimal obligations. Keana had her embarrassing affair with Louis de Carre, which had been taken care of in a politically expedient way. Then running off to Hellhole in a silly gesture to find de Carre’s son had been another maddening example of her stupidity. Worse, she had become an obvious pawn of General Adolphus and his revolutionary plans. But worst of all—to allow herself to be possessed by those hideous aliens, to give her body to that slime, the mental domination of an inhuman creature!
Michella’s skin crawled. Even though she had never cared much for her disappointing daughter, the thought of the flesh-of-her-own-flesh so completely contaminated caused panic to wash over her. Who knew what other powers those creatures exerted? The infestation was a far more insidious threat than a mere political rebellion. Her stomach twisted, as if the contamination reflected back through her daughter, penetrating to Michella, crawling into her womb.…
She gasped and caught herself from crying out. She had dozed on the long passage. Now her heart pounded, and she felt sure this was more than her imagination. She had always been coldly rational, a leader who shouldered the weight of countless planets. She had never imagined she might have to deal with an alien invasion.
By contrast, the annoyance of her intractable sister was a trivial matter.
Sandusky was one of the smaller Crown Jewel worlds, sparsely populated, known for thriving biological research and isolated laboratories. If she were discovered on one of her secret trips there, Michella could always claim to be inspecting a classified project, perhaps a nerve agent to be turned against the Deep Zone rebels. Better still, she would set Sandusky researchers to work on the question of the dangerous aliens on Hellhole. Yes, she had plenty of reasons to go to Sandusky. No one would guess that this was where she had hidden Haveeda.
The Sandusky researchers also performed behavior-modification experiments on research subjects that Michella happily provided from her political prisons. Among their promising avenues of inquiry, they sought ways to selectively erase a person’s memories; so far, though, they had not shown enough success that Michella was willing to let Haveeda return to a productive life. She doubted, in fact, that her sister would ever leave Sandusky—some risks were too great. Michella had no trouble living with her guilt.
After the streamlined vessel arrived at the Sandusky terminus ring, Michella rode a separate shuttle down to the surface, where she had arranged her own private transportation.
Her sister was kept in an isolated sanitarium, which was constructed of a rare, vivid green marble from local mines. The historic facility featured white columns and statues of famous Sanduskan scientists. It was a lovely place for po
or Haveeda.
Guided by a lab security escort, Michella found her way to the echoing research chamber on the second floor. She found it disconcerting that only children worked in the facility, boys and girls wearing starched white lab coats and characteristic magnifying goggles that were used to examine specimens.
The oldest worker was a slender teenage girl with short blond hair, who approached Michella with a respectful bow. “Eminence, your sister’s condition is unchanged, and stable.”
“Thank you. I’d like to visit her for a while.” The teenager guided her through an electronic barrier that slid open and then closed behind them.
When they finally reached the familiar heavy vault door, the girl bowed again and opened the door with a breath of frost and cold vapor. “I will leave you alone with your loved one now.”
A clear glass tank stood in the center of the room. Michella stepped inside the vault and heard the door close behind her, but her attention was on the preservation tank. She stood over the container and wiped the sparkle of frost from the curved surface. Haveeda lay inside, frozen in her body as well as in time. Her sister’s eyes were open and unfocused, as if made of glass.
It was for the best. Haveeda was no longer plagued with nightmares; she no longer threatened to expose Michella’s embarrassing childhood crimes. But she was still alive.
“I told you I’d take care of you,” Michella said. “And no one bothers you here.” And Haveeda was no longer a threat.
The Diadem studied the younger woman’s face with its passive, locked-in expression. Haveeda looked to be in her early thirties, the age at which she’d been frozen. She had been preserved for so long that Michella could still see glints of what Haveeda had looked like as a child … when the girl had the misfortune of witnessing Michella kill their brother Jamos. She had pushed their brother out of a tree, happy to watch his head strike a rock, more fascinated than frightened by the hollow cracking sound and all the blood. Michella had never forgotten what her brother looked like in death, the staring, empty eyes.
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