“You were used,” he said flatly. “Your talk, her questions, seemed innocent enough; and on the surface, I suppose, they were. But I’m just as convinced that her people observed you constantly.”
“Sire, I don’t—”
“Your every word, your every action and mannerism, was analyzed as you spoke; probably by the very people who advised her what carefully rehearsed questions to ask of you. She wanted information, Brendan. On how close you are to me. On the current state of my health. On anything to do with my relationship with you or anyone else with whom I interact. And you unknowingly gave it to them.”
Brendan sat wide-eyed, his mouth slightly open in shock at the revelation.
The Emperor sighed and shook his head slowly. “The fault was not yours, it was mine.” It was mine, he repeated silently, for underestimating the bitch.
Brendan sank into the chair, overwhelmed with remorse. “Sire, I deeply regret my role in this…” Gone was the light banter the Emperor had enjoyed; gone was the assured way the young man had handled his duties these many years while at the same time allowing the Emperor to retain his dignity. Gone, too, was that which the Emperor would miss most: the closeness he’d been able to share with a person who had become more of a companion than a subject.
“This can be remedied,” the Emperor said, shaking Brendan from his depression. “But it will require a sacrifice on your part.”
“Anything, Sire!” His face beamed with the thought that he still might serve his ruler.
The Emperor watched the change in the man’s demeanor at the thought of somehow making amends. “I shall not ask for your agreement in this, for I have already made my decision as to your part in it. Before this day is out you will become the center of Imperial attention; you will be asked many questions by many people.” He watched Brendan’s reaction, weighed it against the look of puzzlement and foreboding in his eyes. “Say nothing of this discussion. Nothing. Do you understand?”
The young man nodded slowly, uncertainly.
“Say nothing,” he repeated. “Answer none of their questions.”
“Yes, Sire.” Brendan’s head hung nearly to his chest, his voice catching in his throat as he added: “I understand, but… I am not sure I understand why.”
The Emperor glided the powerchair close enough to Brendan that he could have touched him, and held out the bracelet, its shiny surface catching the light almost hypnotically. “Take this,” he said. “Its purpose will be explained later.” The medical aide obediently slipped the bracelet into a pocket. “Tell me: Would you give up your life for your Emperor?”
The man’s eyes widened, but he didn’t hesitate in answering. “Yes, Sire. I swore an oath to serve you when I agreed to the implants before leaving Corinth. I would not take back that oath now.”
“That is good,” the Emperor replied, his voice at once kindly and foreboding. “That is good. Because when this day ends, your life will truly be over.”
He glanced at the data stick in its slot and issued a silent one-word command:
Erase.
Chapter Eight
Prince Javas stood, alone for the moment, at one side of the stage. Everyone else—Imperial staff, aides, ranking members of the Court, and those taking part in the presentation itself—buzzed incessantly all around him.
At the opposite side of the cavernous area were several groups of people. He easily recognized Bomeer and his retinue, and even in the dim lighting could plainly detect the scowl on the man’s face. Nearby, Supreme Commander Fain gave last-minute orders to some of his people. By one of the rear entrances, Adela stood with the members of her lab team. As he watched, each of the scientists spoke to her briefly, shaking her hand or giving her a quick hug, before she turned and passed through the security check. He realized the necessity of the security efforts, of course, but still felt uneasy watching her being subjected to them and looked away. He caught sight of Glenney, walking vigilantly among them all, glancing first here, then there, apparently satisfied mat his security measures were in place. A wave of nervousness swept over him.
Only an hour earlier he had felt excited, anxious, and had enjoyed the rush of last-minute anticipation that the years of groundwork for his father’s project were at last to be replaced by the actual work of the project itself. But the mood of several key people around him—as well as the constant, impatient murmuring of the representatives of the Hundred Worlds Planetary Council filling the auditorium—had affected him greatly in these last moments before the presentation. The raw edge of anxiety in the air had infected him, for the worse, and now he felt simple, common nervousness.
He didn’t like the feeling.
The backstage area of the auditorium was enormous, nearly as large as the seating area itself, and Javas felt dwarfed by the massive velvet curtains, open now while last-minute details were being attended to. He stared above him at the flies, noting that Glenney’s handpicked men remained at their positions in the catwalks among the hoisted and secured pieces of scenery and theater lighting equipment. He smiled at the intricacies of what went on backstage, things normally invisible to a theater patron but nonetheless essential to a smooth production. Just like life, he mused.
Javas stepped around the curtain and glanced at the front of the stage, as he had nearly a hundred times already, and confirmed once more that the shielding was in place at the edge of the proscenium. It would remain, until the start of the proceedings, on an opaque setting. The crowd that shifted in anticipation on the other side of the shield could not see the dimly lighted stage area behind it, but the bright lighting in the house itself enabled Javas to see occasional movement of the audience on the other side. The silhouette of a dozen armed Imperial guards just on the other side of the shielding, their backs to him as they scanned the crowd, did little to ease his tension just now.
“Sire?”
Startled by the sudden intrusion into his thoughts, the Prince turned sharply to his personal aide. “Yes,” he snapped. “What is it?”
The aide bowed curtly. “Sire, I’ve been informed that the Emperor is on his way to the auditorium.”
“Very good. Please tell Commander Fain we’ll begin as soon as my father arrives.”
The man spun about and crossed quickly to the other side of the stage. Javas was about to join Fain himself, but was stopped by a light touch on the sleeve of his dress uniform.
Adela was a vision in a flowing gown of powder blue that fit her exquisitely, accentuating her beauty. Her dark hair, normally restrained or pulled back behind her head, tumbled freely across her shoulders. A polished stone, an agate, hung from a simple silver chain around her neck and she had adorned her hair with a single fire-red flower. She smiled, then turned wordlessly and walked to where Javas had stood just a few minutes earlier behind the gathered velvet curtain.
Javas followed. A security guard in Imperial dress stood near the wall a few meters away. Although forbidden to leave his assigned position, the man made a show of inspecting the flies and catwalks above him. With a smile, he read the guard’s name on the pocket of his uniform and made a mental note of it.
He embraced her then and, intoxicated by the way her perfume mixed pleasantly with the natural scent of the flower in her hair, kissed her.
They separated slightly and, still held in his strong arms, Adela lay her head against his chest. “I can’t believe it’s finally happening,” she said at last.
Javas took her chin gently in his fingertips and gazed down into her eyes. “I never doubted that it would.” Still cradling her chin in his hand, he kissed her again, more softly this time.