The Emperor watched and listened closely to his son, pleased at how quickly he had adjusted to this new situation, how readily he had taken charge. You have matured greatly, he thought. I should have set you to an important task much sooner.
“Young Prince, I regret that there have been no fewer than three assassination attempts since your arrival here on the Moon.”
“Three!” A look of surprised shock. “I know of one, eleven months ago. My own security team”—Javas shot a quick look at his father—“informed me of their suspicions long before the threat was realized. Those involved were apprehended and dealt with.”
Glenney looked steadily at the Prince and said, not a hint of apology in his delivery, “I know. Your security team was given a great deal of help. By me. The information was channeled secretly, of course. They had no way of knowing that they’d not defused the situation as a result of their own efforts.”
Glenney glanced to the Emperor, who nodded curtly, then continued. “The second was taken care of without the knowledge of your personal security. In this case, however, those responsible were rounded up early on at Landsdowne, on the far side, with the threat never even making it to Armelin City.”
“I see.” Javas sat, unmoving, and stared intently at the security man. “And the third?”
For the first time since entering the study, Glenney squirmed uneasily in his chair. He turned to the Emperor, awaiting a sign to continue, when Javas pounded a fist on the table.
“Don’t look to my father for permission to speak! I asked you a question!” Glenney sat bolt upright, as if snapped to attention on a parade ground, but before he could answer, the Emperor held up a withered hand.
He looked to Javas, feeling a mixture of pride at the sudden strength exhibited by his son and regret at having kept secret what he was about to say.
“The explosion yesterday was not an accident.” He waited a moment for the words to sink in, and watched as a look of realization crossed the Prince’s features. The Emperor had ordered that the tragedy be explained as accidental, that the rupturing of a compressor line below the galleries had caused a flash fire responsible for the deaths of nearly 160 people.
“Not an accident?” The anger drained from Javas’ face and he eased back into the swivel chair. “But any attempt on your life from the galleries would have been contained by the shielding. Any assailant would realize that. I’m not sure I understand.”
Glenney reached into his jacket, extracting a thin sheet of stiff plastic, and handed it to the Prince. “Do you know what this is?” he asked.
Javas examined it, read the markings: Gallery 29, Row 1, Seat 11. It was dated for the previous day. “Obviously it’s a seating pass for the landing ceremony. Did you recover this from one of the victims?” He looked first at Glenney, then, when the security man remained mute, to his father.
“No,” he answered for Glenney. “There was not much to be recovered. This was Dr. Montgarde’s pass. She had originally been assigned to gallery 29.” He observed Javas carefully, noting how his brow furrowed in pained concern, his lips drew into a tight line. “Without knowing it, you saved her life, as well as the lives of several members of her research team.”
“When you invited her to sit in the Imperial gallery,” Glenney added, “we no longer felt the need to concentrate our efforts in 29. Fortunately no other members of the Imperial staff or the Doctor’s team were seated there.”
Javas’ mouth opened in obvious disbelief at the callous statement, and he was immediately on his feet. For a moment, the Emperor thought the Prince might strike the man but he watched as his son turned suddenly, disgustedly, away and crossed to the other side of the study.
“A hundred and sixty people,” he said softly. The Prince sighed and shook his head reverently, but the inner reflection lasted only a few seconds before a look of fiery determination glowed in his eyes and he turned his full attention to the security man. “I want those responsible, Glenney, do you understand?” The Emperor started to speak, but Javas cut him off before he could say anything. “No! Father, this is mine.”
Glenney cleared his throat. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Sire. The cause of the explosion was chemical in nature, and those responsible died along with the others. Which is partially the reason, incidentally, for our not being able to detect this attempt in advance.”
“Oh? And why is that, security agent?” Javas made no attempt to hide his sarcasm and stared at him, unblinking, until he continued.
“From spectrographic analysis of what little we’ve been able to recover, it seems this was an individual attempt on Dr. Montgarde’s life. One person, certainly no more than two, apparently brought volatile chemicals into the gallery; most likely by saturating articles of clothing. Alone, the chemicals were harmless, but combining them—perhaps with an effort as simple as crossing his arms so the sleeves made contact with one another—created a nearly instantaneous reaction. With the shielding in place, the assailant knew he didn’t even have to sit near his target. The explosion, in fact, originated in the last row. Ironically, from that location the assailant probably wasn’t even aware that the Doctor wasn’t seated in the gallery.”
The Emperor kept silent and observed the fortitude his son displayed in handling what was surely one of the most difficult experiences he’d had since arriving on the Moon. He smiled inwardly, pleased at the Prince’s self-control.
Javas crossed the room and sat down. He rubbed his eyes wearily with the backs of his hands and the Emperor noticed for the first time how tired his son appeared. He had not been the only one, he realized, who had slept very little the night before.
The Prince leaned an elbow on the armrest of the chair and stroked his chin absently for several moments before swiveling the chair to address Glenney.
“You’ve missed something,” he said. His words came slowly, evenly, and he waited until he had the other’s full attention.
Glenney sat straighter, cocking his head slightly in puzzlement and curiosity at what the Prince might be suggesting, but remained silent.
“The explosion occurred,” he went on, “several minutes after Dr. Montgarde was in plain sight on the landing platform. Tell me, security agent: Why would an assailant, acting alone and in control of his own actions, attempt to kill a target that was plainly no longer available?”
Chapter Six
“I don’t like this,” said the gray-haired man. “I don’t like any of it. At all.” He leaned back, sinking deeply into the comfort of the thickly padded sofa, but despite his efforts looked positively anything but comfortable.
“You think I do?” Bomeer shot back. He paced briskly before the enormous window, nervously looking from time to time at the box resting on the low table between the sofa and the two matching chairs that faced it. Seeing that the top surface of the small cube glowed green and, satisfied that the audio blocker was functioning properly, he continued. “I don’t like the native Earthers any more than I trust them, but face facts: Now that Javas fully intends to support the Old Man’s fool project—and carry it on when he himself becomes Emperor—we can’t afford to be too particular about whose help we accept.” He paced steadily, glancing occasionally at the comm terminal to check the time.