The Emperor raised an eyebrow. “I see.”
“Academician Bomeer has done his best at every turn to convert others to his side of the argument, as well, even as he follows your orders—”
“Son,” the Emperor interrupted, feeling his demeanor change. Where before he had been disturbed, even shaken, by the tragedy of the day before, he now summoned up his inner strength and once more spoke as Emperor. “I have seen the reports; those that you have been so thoughtful as to provide as well as my own private intelligence. I am aware of the problems you’ve faced here and of your many successes. I am quite familiar with the situation, as it stands now.” He glided the powerchair to its workstation behind the desk, a silent order opening a cabinet set into the wall behind him as he pivoted around and took a bottle and two glasses from the well-stocked shelves inside. He smiled to himself as he turned back to the desk, amused at what his physicians would think if they knew of this secret cache, installed at Javas’ order to match the one in his study on Corinth. He gave another silent order, this time to suppress those particular biomonitors that would relay certain information—specifically, information concerning his intake of alcohol and its effect on his system—to Brendan, who was certainly monitoring his readouts around the clock.
“In fact,” he went on, pouring two drinks, “even though I’ve been in the system but a short time, I’m sure I can provide you with more useful information than you might imagine.” He handed one of the drinks to the Prince, then held his own up in a brief salute before taking a long sip of the liquor. “Are you aware, for example, that there is to be an assassination attempt next week at the Hundred Worlds Planetary Council?”
Javas stared at his father, the glass frozen mere centimeters from his lips.
“Lost your taste for drink, son?” The Emperor sipped at his glass, set it down near the terminal screen built into the desktop.
“Father! You can’t be serious.” Javas downed his own glass in a single bolt.
The Emperor shook his head. “Fine liquor should be savored, not gulped. Yes, I’m quite serious. As we address the collected representatives of the Hundred Worlds, there will be another attempt on our lives; yours and mine. And probably Dr. Montgarde’s as well.”
Javas, quickly regaining his composure, set the empty glass slowly on the desk in front of him. The Emperor studied his son carefully and raised a pleased eyebrow when he noted that the momentary blip in the young man’s bio-readout had returned quickly to normal.
“I can understand why you have become a target, Father,” he said bluntly, “and, to a lesser extent, myself. If I’ve learned anything these last fifteen years here, it’s that your project has not been well received by all. There would be many who would like to see the plan defeated with the end of your reign. But why should Dr. Montgarde’s life be in danger? Surely any opposition would realize that without the full power and support of the Emperor to back her work, the plan would end here and now, whether she was part of the project or not.”
“Would it, then?” He looked steadily at his son, allowing the meaning of his words to sink in. “If I were dead, you would immediately assume the throne. And, whether you realize it or not, it is already widely known through many of the Hundred Worlds that you would continue the work where I left off.” He reached once more for the bottle and refilled each glass. He sipped once of the dark brown liquor before continuing. “And son, unless I’m misinterpreting both my information and my own senses, it is also obvious to many that you will certainly be working much more closely with Dr. Montgarde than I ever would have.”
The Prince sat quietly, then rose and approached the viewscreen. Staring at the sparkling lunar landscape, he sipped at his drink. “I’ve been a fool,” he said quietly, turning back to face the imposing figure seated behind the huge desk. “I’ve been entirely too open about my feelings for this project.” He paused, then added, “And, yes; I have grown close to Adela de Montgarde.”
The Emperor waved a hand to dismiss the small confession and indicated the chair before the desk, waiting until the Prince sat before going on. “You’ve not been a fool. In fact, your unbridled enthusiasm for the Doctor’s theories will probably, in the long run, work to your advantage. Consider this: Many think my backing of this plan to be merely the dream of a weak old man, clinging to the last strings of power before the inevitable occurs.” The Emperor paused, allowing a tiny smile to spread across his lips as he absently studied the empty glass in his wrinkled hand.
“Well, perhaps there is some truth in that. In any event, you are well liked and respected. Your work here has impressed many of the representatives of the Hundred Worlds. For them to see your conviction and enthusiasm has, no doubt, won many more followers than Bomeer’s frenzied rantings.”
While Javas considered what he’d just heard, the Emperor issued another silent command, then leaned wearily back into the comfort of the powerchair. A green light flashed several times on the right armrest of the chair. The Emperor pressed the light briefly, extinguishing it, then said aloud, “Enter.”
Prince Javas turned his head toward the opposite side of the study and stood as a door, previously invisible in the intricate woodworking of the room’s far wall, slid noiselessly into the matching paneling surrounding it.
The newcomer was of medium height and build, quite un-imposing really, and wore—not a fleet uniform or an Imperial jacket, as might be expected of someone entering the Emperor’s private study in so sure a manner—but plain, civilian clothing in a style currently popular in the larger, more cosmopolitan lunar cities. A closer examination of his clothing, however, showed that his outfit was not as inexpensively tailored as a casual glance would lead one to believe; that it had, in fact, been purposely designed to look quite ordinary, as though the wearer wished to be able to blend into a crowd without calling attention to himself. The door closed behind him and the newcomer suddenly adopted a much more formal attitude as he approached the massive desk, stopping barely a meter away. There was no mistaking that when he stood, he stood at attention. The Emperor nodded once and the man relaxed, clasping his hands casually in front of him.
“No, you have not been foolish to show your excitement,” the old man went on, returning his attention to the Prince. “However, you have been careless in some matters. Oh, please meet Marcus Glenney.” Again, the Emperor leaned back, watching the reaction on his son’s face. So, the old man can still surprise, eh?
Javas extended a hand in cordial greeting, but he tilted his head to one side, narrowing his eyes as a look of haven’t-I-seen-you-somewhere-before spread openly across his features. “Do I know you?”
Glenney took his hand with a strong, firm grasp. “No, not officially. But it is good to finally meet you, Young Prince.”
“We’ve met… unofficially, then?”
The Emperor chuckled softly, enjoying the small joke, and indicated that both men be seated. He fetched a glass and poured a drink for the newcomer, who thanked him but nonetheless set the glass down without drinking.
“Marc has been with you for nearly, what, twenty-five years now, subjective time?” Glenney nodded. “And with my arrival becomes head of Imperial security here on Luna. He has been your constant companion—without your knowledge, I’m afraid—since your wedding day. I assigned him as your personal protector the same day”—he paused, the sound of contempt plain in his voice even to him—“that she entered our House.”
“So, it seems I have a guardian angel,” Javas replied, ignoring his father’s aside at his former wife. An amused smile appeared momentarily on his lips before his voice lowered, assuming a no-nonsense tone. As he spoke, Glenney sat a bit more upright in his chair. “My father would not be revealing your identity, indeed, your very existence to me, if there were not a point to all of this. What have you to report?”