"Grow up!"Galen shook his head slowly and with a finality that killed Victor's wildest "what if" fantasies. "The Intelligence Secretariat has gone over the tapes again and again. I know you've seen their frame-by-frame analysis hundreds of times. They know everything that happened and how it happened. There is nothing more you can learn, yet you persist. If you don't deal with the problems that is creating, you're going to wish you had been there and within the blast radius."
"What are you talking about?"
Galen folded his arms across his chest. "You never get out, but I do. The way rumors have been running rampant in the city, I'd guess they're probably spreading across the whole Federated Commonwealth by now. The stories range from the ridiculous to the truly vicious. People are saying that you have taken charge of the investigation to cover for your mother's murderer."
The Prince's eyes narrowed. "And who would that be?"
"An agent working for you." Galen glanced at the screen again. "Morgan Kell."
"What!" Victor hit the Rewind button, then punched another that switched the read-laser to a different section of the holovid disk. Instead of the close-up front view, the scene appeared as shot from a profile camera that showed Morgan Kell and his wife sitting with their chairs half-turned toward the podium. As Victor punched the Play button, the scene began to crawl forward.
Morgan turned back toward the camera to smile at his wife. As he did so, his napkin dropped from his lap. Twisting around, he half-ducked down to retrieve it. At precisely that moment the flowers exploded and the whole scene dissolved into static.
Victor popped the viewpoint over to another camera, which presented an elevated three-quarters view. Thick smoke billowed up and out from where the podium had stood and little flames licked at the corners of the semicircular hole blown in the dais itself. From the right side of the screen a nightmare creature emerged. What was left of his dress jacket hung in smoldering tatters on his body. Blood streamed from his nose and ears. His broad chest hid his right arm from view until a security man leaped up onto the dais and tried to grab him.
Morgan Kell pushed the man way with his left arm, flinging him into the air and out into the crowd. As he did so, his torso twisted and Victor saw a skeletal arm hanging from Morgan's right shoulder. The mercenary knelt where Melissa had been standing and reached his left hand out toward her body.
The Prince killed the picture. "How can they suspect Morgan? He lost his arm."
"And you bought him a new one, Highness."
"My God, Galen, the man went to help my mother even before realizing the blast had killed his wife! If that were not enough, he is one of my closest living relatives." Victor looked up, appalled. "How can they believe such things?"
"They do so, Highness, because you give them nothing else to think about." Galen shook his head. "You are now the ruler of a star-spanning empire. You are not some amateur detective. You have many more duties to attend to than to see if you can spot the vital clue concerning your mother's death. I can tell you, I don't think that clue exists. I think Curaitis has it right—a professional did the job and even if youwere to find him, you might not be able to learn who hired him because he might not know."
The Prince nodded as Galen reminded him of his greater responsibilities. "How bad are things out there?"
Galen shrugged his shoulders. "I'm not a political advisor, but people are angry. You and I both know why you told your sister to use her best judgment about your mother's lying in state and the funeral, but it doesn't play well to the masses. To them there is only one reason that you did notattend the funeral and that your brothers and sisters did—they think you didn't love your mother."
"But that's not true."
"Again, you and I know that, but theydon't." Galen opened his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "You need to do things. You need to have memorial coins struck and memorial bills printed. You need to give money to charities your mother supported and you need to endow some scholarship funds in her name."
"But those are gestures, they mean nothing."
"You might see it that way, but the people do not. Sure, you're a war hero, but your most daring exploit involved a mission to save the heir to the throne of a sworn enemy. Then you invited Phelan to Arc-Royal, a man they see as a traitor to the Inner Sphere. Then this same traitor had the gall to arrive here with a captured Inner Sphere prince in bondage, and you did nothing. Finally you have allowed a Clan Cluster free access to Commonwealth space. None of this goes over well with the people you rule." Galen reflected for a moment, then nodded. "I tell you what, if I were you, I'd keep your mother's face on the money and delay putting your face on it for a year or so."
Victor was surprised at his own reaction to that suggestion because he'd never have thought having his face on money—a sign of his accession to the throne—would mean so much to him. Part of him realized that he had always subconsciously looked forward to it as an affirmation of his right to rule, but another part of him saw the wisdom of Galen's words.
"For someone who disavows any political acumen, Galen, you have some skill in that area." Victor made a note on a slip of paper. "Consider those suggestions implemented. Have you others?"
"One. Give some interviews."
"I don't have time to talk to reporters and media folk."
"You don't have time not to. People already see you as your father in miniature. They're afraid you're going to start a war, and in many ways, they think your father didn't do enough to stop the Clans. Yes, I know that's stupid, but they don't. All they see is the former Federated Suns untouched by the war, while their worlds are dotted with refugee camps."
Galen chuckled. "Look, I know you're not comfortable with the media, but why not talk to Katherine about it? She knows how to handle them and she can probably give you some pointers."
The Prince frowned, then nodded. "All right, I'm willing to do that, but I want something from you in return."
"What?"
Victor pointed at the black screen. "I still want the people who killed my mother. That means the assassin and whoever hired him. If I accept that you're right and that I've been obsessing about this, I also accept that I'm too close to it. What am I doing wrong?"
"I don't know. I know the intelligence folks have put together a psych profile of the assassin, but they're trying to follow whatever trail he might have left. They're as much interested in learning why and how he got through their security as they are in catching him. And even catching him won't tell you who hired him."
"You're saying I have two problems, right?"
"Hard lock and fire." Galen's hands again rested on his hips, but the set of his shoulders was no longer belligerent. "The assassin was a professional and had to be working for money because no political groups have claimed responsibility for the assassination. Tracking him down is likely to be frustrating and full of dead-ends, but at least we know what could bring him out of hiding."
"Money."
"Yes, that and an assignment worthy of the man who killed the Archon of the Federated Commonwealth. Taking the time and the care he did to get to your mother means that he thinks of himself as a virtuoso, whether he's aware of it or not. I doubt he would be willing to risk himself on a job that was less a test of his skills than your mother was."
Victor nodded slowly. "The Intelligence Secretariat has said that assassins of that caliber have been known to base themselves on Solaris. With the traffic there and the relatively open nature of the world, getting in and out and laundering money is easy. We could put the word out on Solaris." Victor smiled slowly. "In fact, I think I know just the person to do the job."