Horizon Storms (59 page)

Tasia hesitated. “Can’t I be both?”

“Not when they’re at war with each other.”

No doubt Internal Affairs investigators were looking into Tasia’s past behavior. If they ever discovered that she’d sent EA to warn Del Kellum’s shipyards, she might indeed be brought up on charges of treason or espionage. She would have to be extremely careful and give them no cause to look at her with greater suspicion. . . .

After she was dismissed, Tasia went to her quarters, but found no answers there, even when she used her Listener compy as a sounding board.

EA offered no useful advice whatsoever.

With the destruction of Hurricane Depot, Chairman Wenceslas had thrown down the gauntlet, escalating tensions when he could easily have resolved the problem. The man had always been so cool and businesslike, but this course of action seemed highly questionable to her.

Once they had crossed this line, the Eddies would not leave the clans alone until they had proved their point. But Roamers were not likely to concede defeat. How could the EDF understand so little about the Roamer mind-set? It was a bad situation bound to get worse.

And Tasia’s job was to train more recruits for the ships that would attack clan strongholds.

372

Garish blue-white potassium vapor lights shone down, creating razor-edged shadows across the open research bay. Basil stood next to Admiral Stromo, looking skeptically at the odd ship: It was a Frankenstein’s monster of components, spare parts stitched together in ways that had never been meant to function. The vessel was fast, though ungainly.

“It’s a captured Roamer craft, Mr. Chairman,” Stromo said. “One we seized during the raid on Hurricane Depot.”

Basil crossed his arms, careful not to wrinkle his fine business suit. He knew the Roamers had developed innovative and eccentric technology during their many years of austerity and isolation, but he didn’t understand what the Hansa could gain from studying this old hulk. “Please don’t tell me you’re going to reconfigure a squadron of Remoras to look like that.

What could you possibly extract from the design?”

Stromo had gained weight in the last few years, which made Basil frown slightly in distaste. Perhaps the Admiral should have been out pa-trolling with his ships, getting some practical exercise, instead of sitting behind a desk.

“Not the design, Mr. Chairman. It’s what we are taking out of the data-banks that I find so interesting.”

Now Basil raised his eyebrows. “How did you get to the computer systems without them self-destructing on you?” After Cesca Peroni had told all of her clan members to scatter, simply finding the space gypsies would be even more difficult than the Hansa had planned.

“Sheer luck, Mr. Chairman. The pilot of this ship attempted to destroy himself, but we captured him unexpectedly before he could activate normal fail-safes. About half of the files were scrapped, but our cryptography specialists were able to reconstruct the other records. We now have the detailed coordinates for a dozen previously unknown Roamer settlements and industrial facilities.” Stromo grinned, his face flushing with pride, though his skin looked pallid and sickly under the garish lights.

“But there’s more?” Basil prompted. Inside the analysis hangar, Hansa

engineers and EDF experts studied the engines, components, and computer systems, searching for further scraps of information.

“Much more, Mr. Chairman.” He formed a smile with his thick lips. “It took time, but we also know the location of Rendezvous—the central Roamer complex, the very seat of their government.”

Basil sucked in a quick breath. “Excellent! We can make effective use of this knowledge.” His joy seemed out of proportion to the actual news, but after so many disasters and plans that had not turned out the way he had hoped, he was pleased to have events go right for a change.

The demonstration assault on Hurricane Depot had not sufficiently intimidated the clans; therefore, the second phase needed to be even more overwhelming and demoralizing. He wanted to take Speaker Peroni down a notch or two. Her petulant defiance was simply unreasonable, and the Hansa didn’t have time for it.

He lowered his voice, muttering to himself. “It didn’t have to come to such an end—if only they had cooperated, played as part of the team of humanity . . . if only they had accepted the necessities of the situation.”

He snapped his head up to look at Stromo, who stood waiting for orders.

“There can be no more significant victory than to take over Rendezvous.

Admiral, devise a surgical strike, send in an EDF battle group with sufficient force that there’ll be no doubt as to the outcome. Destroy the Roamer seat of government—such as it is—and the clans will crumble entirely.

They’ll have no choice but to fall neatly in line.”

“And what about casualties, Mr. Chairman?”

Basil frowned. “Don’t trouble me with too many details.”

Stromo clasped his hands together as if he could barely contain his excitement. After being utterly defeated at Jupiter, he looked forward to a combat scenario in which he could attack without fear. “I’ll lead the operation myself.”

374

King Peter swore he would never trust Basil Wenceslas again—not that he had trusted the man in the first place. First, the Chairman had allowed the blundering attack at the Roamer depot, and then he’d prevented Peter from meeting with Speaker Peroni when she had come to Earth. As the situation worsened in the Spiral Arm, and the carefully arranged pieces insisted on falling out of order, the Chairman’s frustration caused him to lose his patience . . . and make mistakes.

Basil, you’re losing your touch.

Peter requested a brief meeting with Basil, and the Chairman grudgingly allowed him fifteen minutes in his schedule. For a moment, he wished Estarra could be with him, just supporting him with her presence, but the King had to face this himself.

Basil folded his hands on the computer desktop, where files and images blinked and jumped, clamoring for his attention. “It’s not usual that you go through proper channels, Peter. In fact, you’ve made quite a habit of simply barging in and assuming that your impulses supersede all Hansa business.”

Peter did not rise to the bait. “I am demonstrating my good behavior—so you don’t try to kill me again. Or Estarra.”

The Chairman dispensed with pleasantries. “I have to attend to another matter in a few minutes. What did you wish to discuss?”

“Prince Daniel. I know you’re hiding him in the Whisper Palace somewhere. I want to talk to him.”

Basil remained cool. “What would be the point?”

Peter raised his eyebrows. “Wouldn’t it give you more publicity mileage if the two of us were seen in public as one big happy family? After all, he’s my dear ‘brother,’ even if I’ve never seen him.”

“Daniel isn’t ready to be seen in public.”

“Will he ever be?”

Ignoring the question, Basil leaned forward. “Tell me the real reason you’re interested in him.”

Peter shrugged, realizing that he would lose nothing by being honest.

“You announced his presence just so that I’d be intimidated. I want to see how much of a threat he really is.”

“That boy is just insurance against your . . . intransigence. At the moment, he is not my first choice to become the King.”

“So I have nothing to worry about?”

Basil gave him a hard look. “That depends on how well you continue to fulfill your duties.”

Peter knew that if Daniel had proved more tractable, he himself would already be dead. Preparing to leave, the King lied unconvincingly. “All right, then, Basil. I’ll take you at your word and not worry any more about it.”

On his private balcony in the royal suite, King Peter had a pleasant dinner with his Queen. Outside, he and Estarra enjoyed the late sunset that spread its colors far out to where the low ocean was barely a haze on the horizon. It was like a painting, very romantic.

The food had been prepared by the Whisper Palace’s most sophisticated chefs. The china was perfect, delicate and pristine. The flower arrangements smelled sweet and fresh. The food looked lovely and colorful on their plates.

Peter said, “OX, you’d better test everything for poison. As usual.”

The Teacher compy applied a chemical analysis probe to detect any toxic substances or drugs that might have been slipped into their food.

While they waited, their stomachs growling, Peter peered into Estarra’s large dark eyes. “We know what Basil’s capable of. We can’t be too careful.”

“I know,” she said with a smile and touched his arm.

When OX pronounced every course safe, the King and Queen began to eat. He picked up a toasted cracker with slivers of smoked salmon, but extended it to her instead, letting her eat it from his fingertips. Then she did likewise, selecting a morsel and offering it to him. He made a special show of nibbling her fingers at the same time as he ate the food.

After a while, though, when they had finished most of their meal, he barely tasted the delicately spiced flavors as his own concerns grew heavier. “OX, I want your objective opinion about something.”

“I am always happy to give you my opinion and my advice, King Peter.”

376

“I’ve got to make a genuine threat assessment. You are training Prince Daniel—how close is he to being prepared, at least to Basil’s satisfaction?

How much do I have to worry about being replaced in the near future?”

OX calculated for a moment. Though his words sounded like an outrageous joke, the little robot stated the facts as he saw them. “Extrapolating from the young Prince’s current rate of progress, he will be sufficiently prepared no sooner than . . . three centuries.”

Estarra chuckled. “How could Basil have underestimated him so badly?”

The Teacher compy stood at attention next to their table. “Prince Daniel was chosen swiftly, without as thorough an investigation as the team members applied to you, King Peter, when you were Raymond Aguerra.” Peter pressed his fingertips together and continued to listen.

“Prince Daniel has not lived up to expectations thus far.”

“Do you think Basil will . . . get rid of Daniel and choose someone else?” Estarra asked, her dark eyes wide.

Peter pursed his lips. “At the moment, Basil’s main purpose is to use the Prince as leverage to keep me in line. As long as we remain sufficiently cooperative, the Chairman would not consider it ‘cost effective’ to shake up the Hansa by replacing me.” Peter heaved a sigh, knowing he had to be on his best behavior not just for himself, but also to protect Estarra. She was his greatest weakness now, since he loved her so much.

He put his elbows on the table, a casual habit left over from his life as Raymond Aguerra, but which his protocol trainers sternly corrected whenever they caught him doing it. “I’ve never had the opportunity to meet him face-to-face, OX. Basil won’t let me go see him. What is my supposed brother like?”

“Narcissistic, rude, and ill-behaved. And he has not been as malleable as expected. I have patiently worked to instruct the boy in matters of king-ship, but with little success. Daniel has no interest in learning the material.

He is pleased with his current situation and would rather remain in his chambers and be pampered. In order to make him do his work, I have been forced to develop a litany of promises and threats.”

“You threaten him, OX? That doesn’t sound like you.” Peter sipped from a glass of ice water.

“I threaten to take away his desserts. Prince Daniel has an extraordi-

nary fondness for candies, puddings, and other treats. The Chairman has given me complete control over the dispensing of such items. I can either cancel or double the dessert portion of an upcoming meal, depending on his cooperation. So far, Daniel has gained thirteen kilograms. I project, based on the young man’s metabolism and physiological characteristics, that he will become overly plump and, ultimately, an obese adult.”

Peter made a tsk-ing noise. “If the Hansa is facing lean times and colonies are suffering famine and starvation, we can’t have a roly-poly Great King. As soon as Basil notices, he’ll put the kid on a draconian diet regimen.”

“I have already suggested that Prince Daniel begin a regular and healthy exercise routine, but he refuses.”

“Sounds like he just needs a good talking-to,” Peter said. “Hmm, even if Basil won’t officially allow us to talk, maybe you should arrange a meeting between Daniel and myself. Who knows? He might listen to my advice.”

Estarra looked at him, puzzled. Once Peter had stopped playfully feeding her, she’d barely touched her food. “I thought you wanted Daniel to stay incompetent so we don’t have to worry so much.”

“Even so, that boy and I share a common background. We were both snatched from our lives and put into a position we didn’t choose. Maybe he and I can become . . . I don’t know, allies.” He turned to the Teacher compy. “OX, can you take me to him?”

The compy straightened, his optical sensors glowing. “The Chairman has implied that he does not wish you two to meet. However, he has never categorically forbidden me to introduce you. It is my estimation, however, that Daniel will not become your friend.”

Peter wiped his mouth with a napkin and stood up from the dinner table. “Being a friend is not necessary, OX. An old Earth cliché says to keep your friends close, but keep your enemies closer.”

378

The stolen EDF battle group arrived at the first target colony. The five Mantas and one Juggernaut still bore the chain-of-stars symbol of the Earth Defense Forces, but Klikiss robots commanded them. The Corribus colonists had only recently arrived and were still establishing a basic settlement in the blistered ruins. They suspected nothing.

DD stood on the bridge of the renegade Juggernaut as Sirix unfolded his articulated limbs and issued detailed orders for the massacre to proceed. “Power up jazer weapons. All Mantas prepare for first assault. This Juggernaut will complete the annihilation.”