The door slid aside instantly, and both men were hit by what seemed like a solid wall of sound. The Emperor of the Hundred Worlds smoothly powered the chair forward onto the crowded platform, Commander Fain walking steadily at his right. Imperial officers, flagship crew and shuttle crew members, support personnel and numerous other dignitaries parted as he passed, and fell into position behind him. Fain escorted the Emperor to a large circular receiving area that had obviously been set up for the reception, then took two steps back as the Emperor himself glided into its center.
Lights dimmed slightly in the chamber and a spotlight illuminated the circle. He raised a hand in greeting, and the crowd exploded once more into tumultuous applause that continued for several long minutes. He raised both hands now in an effort to quiet them, and waited patiently for the noise to die slowly away. He glanced to Fain, who touched his earpiece once and nodded, indicating that the audio pickups in the landing bay were operative and ready, then turned to face the crowd.
“I thank you deeply for your warm welcome,” he said simply, his strong voice reverberating from the curved walls of the immense room. “It is good to be home.”
The crowd burst into approving applause, and the Emperor thought better of attempting an address at this time. Instead, he extended a hand to a point just above the nearest gallery, the one reserved for Imperial guests, and motioned directly at the Prince’s viewing room. Another spotlight arched across the room, catching the Prince in its center, and all eyes turned to face Javas as he rose, bowed briefly, then turned swiftly and disappeared from view. He reappeared seconds later at a door at the top of the gallery flanked by two color guards and, with a single wave to the crowd, started down the steps to one side of the private section. He walked slowly, purposefully, down the narrow aisle until reaching the fifth row. He stopped, and held out a hand to a formally dressed woman sitting a few seats down the row. The woman hesitated, but at the insistent urging of those around her she rose and edged carefully down the row to stand nervously at the Prince’s side.
He extended his arm and escorted her forward to the bottom of the gallery. The Prince’s color guard separated and quickly took position on either side of a short set of steps leading to the landing grid itself. A section of the air shield at the top of the steps quivered visibly and changed color momentarily, allowing Javas and Adela to pass through, then solidified when they continued on to the reviewing area where the Emperor now waited.
They were nearly on the platform itself before the Emperor recognized the woman being escorted by his son as the tiny girl who, in his bed chamber one night that seemed a thousand years ago, convinced him of her plan to save Earth’s Sun. The years have aged her, he thought as she curtsied formally before him. He studied her face and realized that behind her eyes was a subtle look of surprised shock, a look that reflected her own concern at how much he had deteriorated.
Prince Javas bowed deeply and moved to stand at the front of the receiving circle, where he looked out over the crowd and raised an arm to silence them. When he was satisfied that the noise level had subsided to his liking, he carefully removed the Imperial sash and held it above him in both hands, turning slowly so as many people as possible could see what he was about to do. Ceremoniously he knelt at the side of his father’s powerchair and placed the sash over the older man’s head, smoothing the glistening, satiny material across his shoulder. He leaned close and whispered in his father’s ear, “Things are going well.” He nodded to the empty row in the reserved gallery and enjoyed the look of understanding in the old man’s eyes as he realized that Bomeer had been sidestepped. He stood upright again and faced the crowd.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the Prince said forcefully, proudly, in a voice more powerful and commanding than the Emperor had remembered. “I give you Nicholas, Emperor of the Hundred Worlds!”
There was no restraining the people now as they erupted into applause and shouts of approval that seemed to shake the very walls of the landing bay. Javas stepped briskly to a smiling Commander Fain, offering a hand that the other grasped and shook vigorously. As the Prince turned formally and stood on his father’s right, Fain immediately crossed behind the Emperor and took position on his left, completing the ceremonial transfer of power. As the threesome remained in formation for the audience review, the Emperor noticed that Adela, unfamiliar with Imperial protocol, stood awkwardly at the edge of the receiving circle. He looked up and caught his son’s eye, nodding in her direction. Javas raised an eyebrow in silent request and, when the Emperor nodded approval, slowly extended his arm, indicating that she should join him at his side.
The noise was so loud that it took several moments before anyone noticed the commotion off to the right side of the reviewing platform. Dozens of security personnel had surrounded one of the public galleries, and the people in the gallery itself seemed to be scrambling in an effort to escape.
There was a sudden flash in one of the backmost rows of the gallery and the entire wedge-shaped area suddenly turned crimson as the explosion was contained by the shielding. The flash subsided immediately, leaving only a smoke-filled cube behind.
A sudden crackling filled the air as the shield surrounding the landing area—until now at a normal setting—snapped to maximum, adding a translucent haze around the perimeter of the platform that made it difficult to observe what was happening in the gallery. Javas lunged for his father’s powerchair in an instinctive attempt to cover the Emperor with his own body, but a dozen members of the Imperial security staff had immediately surrounded him, separating him from the Emperor for safety’s sake, just as Fain and Adela were being hustled under equally heavy guard to different secure areas. The Emperor tried desperately to make out what was happening in the landing chamber, but he was already being placed into the protective custody of the shuttle crew.
If what he suspected was true, the entire gallery—effectively contained by the air shield—had been turned into an oven, guaranteeing the death of everyone in the section. The Emperor shook his head, realizing that his greatest fear had come true.
So, he thought. It begins.
Chapter Five
“Dead. All dead.”
The Emperor of the Hundred Worlds hadn’t realized he’d spoken the words aloud, although softly, and was startled momentarily by the confused beeping of the info system built into the walls of his study. The system had mistaken the words as an incomplete command.
“Cancel—” he started to say, then thought better of it. He hesitated, knowing how great the pain would be if he acted on the sudden thought. He sighed heavily, feeling the tiredness of the last twenty-four hours wash over him, and glided the powerchair to a position facing the center of the large viewscreen on the far wall of his study.
“Interior lights off.” The room’s artificial lighting dimmed immediately, but the screen cast a soft, comfortable glow over the room. “Give me a single-screen biographical file on each of the victims of yesterday’s explosion in gallery 29, alphabetically.”
“Manual or continuous rotation?”
“Manual.” The Emperor’s reply was a whisper. Although easily picked up by the system, another person in the room would have heard only the slightest mumbling. The mutterings of an aging man, he thought bitterly.
“The specified files will require some time to cycle manually, Sire. Would you prefer an integrator download?”