“Uh, yes. Yes, I’ll need a room for the night.”
“Very good, sir.” The boy turned to a woman clearing a table on the far side of the room and whistled over the chatter to catch her attention. He held up two fingers. “Room two for the traveler, Sarah,” he called out before turning back to his customer. “My wife’ll have your room ready by the time you’ve finished. Will you be having another ale, then?”
“No. Thank you.” The boy—no, young man, Brendan reminded himself—nodded and returned to his place behind the bar. Brendan finished his meal undisturbed, paid for it and the room and went up to bed.
He was so tired and sore from walking that after removing his boots he fell onto the bed fully clothed. Despite his fatigue, he did not fall asleep easily, which was becoming commonplace of late, and lay staring out the room’s single window. The Moon had risen, and cast a pale glow across the floor.
I did what you asked, he thought. I said nothing, told them nothing. His head ached slightly, although he couldn’t tell if the dull pain was caused by the deactivated implants or the strong ale he’d consumed.
Why? Was it so important to you to see this project begun that you had to sacrifice your life this way? Brendan sighed heavily and tossed fitfully in the small bed. He rubbed tired, burning eyes and silently added, And mine?
Hours passed and he was nearly asleep when there came a soft knocking at the door. Not bothering to attempt to light the oil lamp on the table, he stumbled across the room with only moonlight to guide him and opened the door a crack. “Yes?”
It was Sarah, the innkeeper’s wife. She carried an electric flashlight and he blinked at the brightness of the beam streaming in through the door. “Sorry to be disturbing you, sir, but the traveler you were expecting has arrived. He and his wife are waiting downstairs at table.”
Brendan shook his head to clear it. “What traveler? I was expecting no one.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” she replied, “but he did not give his name. Shall I tell him you shan’t be disturbed until morning, then?”
Curiosity got the better of him and he quickly pulled on his boots. “No. I’ll see him.” Sarah stepped back and allowed the glow of the flashlight to guide them both down the narrow staircase.
The man stood immediately when Sarah led him into the dining room, surprising Brendan with his size.
“Will you have some more coffee, sir?” She indicated a large pot and several cups sitting on the table.
“No, thank you, ma’am,” the bearded stranger said politely in a deep, resonant voice. “We’ll be fine for now.” He turned his attention to Brendan. “Come, sir, and join me at my table.”
Brendan sat down and gratefully took the offered cup of steaming coffee. He sipped carefully of the hot liquid and studied the stranger. The fire had burned down, but the mound of glowing embers in the fireplace cast an eerie light that reflected in the man’s feral eyes. And even seated, he still looked taller than any Earther Brendan had yet seen.
“I’m afraid you have the advantage,” Brendan began. “Do I know you?”
“My name is Johnson.”
Brendan offered his hand and winced at the strength in Johnson’s handshake.
“It’s good to meet you…” Brendan hesitated, looking for the proper salutation. “Uh, Mr. Johnson.”
A dying log shifted suddenly in the embers, momentarily bathing the room in orange brightness. In the few moments since Brendan had come downstairs, most of his attention had been focused on Johnson, and he’d paid little heed to the woman sitting at his side. But as the flow in the room increased, he saw her clearly for the first time.
She had darkened her hair and her face was nearly hidden by the high collar of the Earther coat she wore, but as the glow of the fireplace bathed her features in a dance of flickering light, there was no mistaking that the woman playing the role of Johnson’s wife was Rihana Valtane.
As he had numerous times since his father’s death nearly three weeks earlier, Javas met now with the Emperor’s two closest friends and advisors in what was to have been his father’s study. There was much to do now that the Planetary Council had, by an overwhelming margin, given official approval to Dr. Montgarde’s project, and Javas had consulted with Fain and Bomeer repeatedly. The Commander, having realized the benefits of the project to the Imperial military fleet, had proven himself to be one of its staunchest supporters. Bomeer, too—although still quick to point out every flaw or negative aspect of his planning—seemed, at least, to have mellowed in his opposition.
Commander Fain paced slowly in front of the viewscreen. “Pallatin has been a thorn in the Empire’s side since it was colonized three centuries ago,” Fain said in a voice now husky from overuse. “They have had little discourse with other worlds, still less trade, and except for minimal representation on the Planetary Council, have preferred to allow themselves to develop without Imperial assistance. They even seem unconcerned about how their gene pools have drifted and have no interest in preserving a genetic baseline. It was no surprise that the representatives from Pallatin’s governing body, the ‘Joint Dominion,’ were among the few of the Hundred Worlds to refuse, outright, their cooperation.”
Fain crossed the width of the room quickly, retaking his seat next to Bomeer’s. “Unfortunately,” he went on, “they also possess more raw materials necessary for shipbuilding than any of the worlds. Their construction facilities, likewise, are among the finest in the Empire—”
“But they are a member of the Empire, even if in name only,” Javas finished for him. “As such, they cannot, will not, outright refuse the needs of the Empire.”
Fain shrugged, nodded in understanding. Many of the outermost worlds of the Empire had seen unrest and had shown a certain level of defiance. The chief of staff of the Imperial Military Forces had maintained throughout his career that a firmer hand was needed with the frontier worlds and, while he did not exactly welcome the opportunity to use force, agreed that it was necessary and that he was prepared to use it.
“We need Pallatin’s cooperation in this,” Javas said firmly. “Do what is required, Commander.”
Fain nodded in sharp agreement, the slight hint of satisfaction in his manner telling Javas that he was not displeased with the decision.
This meeting, like so many of the others, had lasted hours. Javas rubbed his face with both hands in an attempt to perk himself up and a sudden feeling of frustration swept over him, interrupting the subject at hand. He blinked the tiredness from his eyes and let them wander over the study. He took in the viewscreen and the handcrafted woodwork of the cabinetry, felt the massive wooden desk beneath his fingertips; he’d personally designed this room and all its contents for the Emperor, had it equipped with every convenience, every comfort his father might want. Javas was surprised, when he reluctantly took the study as his own, at how comfortable the room was, how it seemed to “fit” him. The feeling disturbed him.
“Why did he do it? Why did he pardon his own murderer?” Javas pounded a fist on the desk in frustration, startling both men seated across from him. He leaned forward and rested his chin on steepled fingers, staring intently at the two. “You knew him, Fain, better than anyone. Why?”