Lost heir, p.19
Lost Heir, page 19
Hugh’s change of tone, indicating his intention to take full responsibility, brought a crisp response from Ward, “Which is, sire?”
“Follow my gut, of course. I think she’s solid.”
“Even after all I told you, sire?”
“Even after all you told me.”
Ward gave him a speculative look. “So what do you want to do with her?”
Hugh replied, “Same answer. She has been helpful, and the gut says keep her.”
“That feeling may be based on her being a beautiful girl for whom you feel sorry, Your Highness.”
Hugh chuckled. “Yep. That could certainly be true, but we’re going with my decision for now. Just keep an eye on her, Sergeant Major. Like you do everyone else.”
That seemed to surprise Ward a little. “Sire?”
“Sergeant Major, we both know, now at least, that for the last ten years you had one purpose: keep me alive for this test. I also remember, now that I’ve had time to think about it, a number of occasions you were where you really had no business being when I, regularly, got myself up a creek without a paddle. So, all in all, I assume that you constantly worry about me, as well as everyone who comes into my vicinity, especially someone who could kill me or compromise the test.”
Ward smiled but didn’t answer Hugh’s assertion directly. “I will certainly keep an eye on her.”
“Good. I will, too.”
At this, Ward’s eyebrow rose in a question. Hugh grinned. “Well, Sergeant Major, she is quite pretty.”
Ward shook his head. “This is neither the time nor the place for romantic distractions. And that comment is not amusing under the circumstances. She is dangerous and you need to keep that in mind, and nothing else. Even as a joke.”
Hugh’s turned serious. “I’m well aware of that.” Then he grinned again. “But it was entertaining to see that look on your face.”
Ward’s eyes crinkled at the corners, but he didn’t smile back. Instead, he studied Hugh for a minute. Hugh could feel his eyes examining him, something he had experienced often. Mostly in the past, it had been to see if he measured up, and other times because of some particularly spectacular prank or mistake. But today, Hugh found Ward’s expression inscrutable.
Ward cleared his throat, gaining a little time, before answering. “Unfortunately, with the galaxy trying to kill you, combined with the challenge of raising a very rambunctious and precocious boy so he could have a chance of taking and surviving the test, finding you a nice girl, one that could stand up to the challenges of being an empress, has been way down on our to-do list. We concentrated on the first two priorities.” Ward smiled as if reflecting on memories.
“My own marriage made me someone I couldn’t have been otherwise, the best thing that ever happened to me. Fireworks and supernovas at the start that developed into a deep friendship. It really hit Ann Marie hard as our boys died, one by one. Being a service family, you see lots of families lose fathers or mothers, sons and daughters, but the way my boys died, in accidents and illness, seemed worse. I’m just glad she didn’t have to deal with the loss of the little one, but stood there with him at the end. I miss her very much.”
Hugh watched Ward struggle with hidden emotions for a moment before he continued, “But from my general observation, marriages that start with those kinds of emotions don’t last long. I lucked out. Too many of my buddies started the same way I did and were divorced within a few years. I’m absolutely certain that it is better to start out as friends with the woman you marry, before the fireworks go off. That way, you’ll have a firm foundation to withstand whatever comes your way.”
Ward’s emotional sharing of this advice took Hugh by surprise. He’d been trying to get a rise out of the sergeant major and instead got a life lesson on choosing a wife.
After the silence stretched for a minute, Hugh asked the obvious question, “How do I get that kind of friendship with a woman while I’m living inside the bubble of being the heir? That seems impossible, Sergeant Major,” Hugh’s bitter frustration overflowed a little. He would likely never experience what Ward had just described.
Ward just shook his head. “I honestly can’t tell you how it can happen; I can only tell you that it does. It did for Emperor Cyrus. For a few years, anyway. It can happen for you. Just have faith and don’t settle for anything less.”
Hugh nodded, thinking. I had female friends. At least I think they were friends. His mind drifted to Liz and Bettis . . . but his train of thought ended, when Ward solemnly continued, “Hugh Cascade, please stand and extend your hand.” Hugh raised a questioning eyebrow, then stood and held out his right hand, as he had back on Jeffco when he took the oath. Ward tried to stand also but sank back into the chair, puffing a bit from the exertion. Pulling out the bag, he stated firmly, “The heir acts with integrity.”
The golden topaz rose through the odd nanite bag. Hugh took it, a sudden fierce glow of pride spreading through his hand to his chest, warming him. Letting it go, it sank back through the bag, the glow remaining in his arm.
“Integrity is acting rightly, even toward those who are powerless to require correct action, as well as to those who would never know if they were treated poorly. Integrity is doing right because it is right. You refused to endanger people you did not know, for safety or convenience’s sake. Most people lie, rationalizing their actions in situations much less life-threatening than the one just past, yet you would not. Lying is addictive and you refused its seductive allure. Remember that the temptation will always be there and avoid it. On Nighthawk, it would have been convenient and easy, and might have condemned the system to destruction. You chose correctly, in spite of potential personal cost.”
As Hugh started to sit, Ward commanded a second time, “Hugh Cascade, please stand and extend your hand.” Startled, Hugh hesitated a moment between sitting and standing, something a person watching might have found amusing. He needed to earn all seven stones in order to win the Galactic Starburst and become emperor, but he had felt sure it would take a very long time. Was it possible Ward believed he should receive a second so soon? Gathering his wits, he straightened and put out his right hand for the second time.
“The heir executes true and merciful justice.”
Hugh felt stunned as the perfect emerald emerged. Reflexively, he grasped it. Unlike the first time he held it, a singing, vibrant chord seemed to take his whole body, a chord of perfect pitch and harmony. He knew the nanites approved of his choices, whatever they had been. At that moment, Hugh didn’t want to, wouldn’t, let go. He literally couldn’t release it. Slowly, the chord softened, almost disappearing. But not quite. Hugh heaved a sigh of longing and regret as the unearthly sound became part of the background. Now he found letting go hard but possible. The emerald sank back into the bag.
Hushed, in a tone of awe, Ward spoke, “I have never seen such a reaction, although I’ve heard of it. Your eyes were the same color as the emerald and not their usual gray. I can’t believe what I felt from you . . .” More firmly, he said, “Justice is a hard thing to administer. It tries the soul of the judge as well as the person brought before the bar, but it is essential to the life of the empire. You demonstrated true justice two times here in Nighthawk: first, when you allowed the crew of Elmira Hayes and Dr. Davison to retrieve their families, and second, in rewarding Maeve uch Robert for her sacrifices. But remember, not all justice turns out well. Justice must always be its own reward.”
Hugh didn’t know what to say nor could he speak. He had felt exhilarated a minute ago. Now, the weight of an endless series of decisions stretched before him. Each decision would be critical to someone, each would affect the existence of the empire for good or ill. Why would anyone want such a burden? But he had chosen this duty, had volunteered. He had felt the emerald’s nanites giving him strength, but the decisions would still be his alone to make. And to live with alone.
Ward struggled to his feet. “Now that that’s done, let’s call it a day. We all need some food and rest. We’ve earned it after the last twenty-four hours.”
Hugh put a hand under one of Ward’s arms while sliding his other arm around Ward’s back to help him to his quarters. Ward weakly tried to push Hugh’s arm off. “Not proper, Your Highness,” he protested, without force.
Hugh didn’t fight him, but let him slide back into the chair. Apparently, Ward had had just enough strength to carry out these duties, and no more.
“I’ll be fine. Have Pete or someone help me. Dunn needs to be on guard outside your door, but any of the others will do. Tell Captain Felt I’m on my way back to my cabin, because she’ll want to check on my wound. She really fusses if we don’t keep her updated on little things like life-threatening injuries.”
Nodding, Hugh called Peterson to come get Ward before comming Gail. He then headed to the mess for a snack, to be followed by a shower. After the last twenty-four hours, he really stank.
Although none of the other members of the crew were present when he walked in, a program ran on the monitor. Someone had prepared a memorial to Kennion: Timothy Kennion, Sergeant First Class, born August 17 3429 on Baker’s Moon, Silicon System, Sector Eleven. Joined the Imperial Army May 31 3447. Selected for Fleet Elite Marines January 12 3453 for unspecified heroism above and beyond the call of duty. Rank at time of transfer, Staff Sergeant, Elite rank, Master Gunnery Sergeant and Technician Second Class, Weapons. Awards include Imperial Starburst, Second Class; Order of the Core, Third Class; three wound stripes, Bronze and Silver Stars, one award each, as well as other lesser ribbons. Widower, one daughter, Maurine, living on Jeffco.
Kennion had a daughter? How had he not known that? Feeling very still inside, he wished he had suggested they do this but appreciated the fact that someone did, knowing Kennion well enough to put in the personal details. This man, the bare bones of his life and service scrolling through on loop before him, paid the price so Hugh might, just maybe, turn into a decent emperor and fix things. He couldn’t ignore that sacrifice.
CNS Pechnaya
2250 BBMT 25 October 3473
Morgain uch Robert sat bolt upright. She normally paid scant attention to the bridge repeater in her quarters, which included the destination and time of arrival of her task force at their next port. Most of the time it had been meaningless.
Generally, she had kept her task force in a single system over the past nine years for two reasons. First, the most important thing she had learned from Commodore Brian O’Donnell was simple: concentration of force made winning battles easier. She had proved that piece of advice true a number of times and now lived by it. Second, she had noticed that ships detached, either by themselves or in small groups, frequently disappeared, never to be heard from again. And often not due to enemy action. Keeping everyone under her guns avoided that slow attrition. Besides all of that, she liked seeing her power filling a system on the holodisplay. Now, though, they had to abandon that practice to pursue the bag of nanite impregnated gems and a proctor.
But the repeater said they were headed for Alpine and would arrive in nine days. Why aren’t we headed for Nighthawk? Grandmother had just reminded her that the test went through Nighthawk, which was much closer than Alpine, which she remembered from her visits to Green Gardens. Gnashing her teeth, she regretted the two days it had taken to get her task force organized and on the way out here because they might have already arrived in Nighthawk.
Calling the bridge, a lieutenant, Richards, responded instead of the captain, as she had expected. Without any introduction, she demanded, “Why isn’t the captain on the bridge, Lieutenant?”
Richards answered in a neutral tone. “I’m the night duty officer, ma’am. I can call him, or perhaps I can answer your question?”
Stifling her anger, she decided this man looked competent, so perhaps he could fix things now. Otherwise, she would have to wait for the captain to come on the line and put up with all of the other time wasted in military protocol until they did what she wanted. “I thought we were headed for Nighthawk.”
Richards nodded, tapping on his comm pad. Then he stood at attention as he reported. His obvious fear made her a bit happier as he did. “Yes, ma’am. You asked the captain how quickly we could arrive in order to capture the stealth ship Ambrose B there. The astrogator calculated it would take two days. The captain commed Nighthawk an order to relay instructions to Bring It to hold Ambrose B until we arrived. The planetary archeonA array relayed that instruction. Later, it reported that Bring It had exploded and that they had lost track of the stealth ship. Also, most of your flotilla in-system has been destroyed by the TechMech. The planetary communications team reports that surviving ships from the battle have already fled. Being now defenseless, the planet begs for help. The captain decided that with everyone gone from the system by the time we arrived, we would be unable to trace the movements of the stealth ship. Since we will be in Alpine in under nine days and likely ahead of it, a search for Ambrose B from there would be more likely to succeed.”
As Richards spoke, her mind emerged from the cloud of anger and kicked into gear. The captain had obviously made the correct decision and avoided wasting her time on a simple math problem. Fruitlessly adding days by going to Nighthawk would cause her to miss Ambrose B in Alpine, too. Frustrating, but it couldn’t be helped. Losing Dent and the others in that flotilla really didn’t matter to her, either; she could kill Wilby Dent anytime. The important thing was to find the Ambrose B and get that proctor and bag. She could almost taste her victory . . .
Graciously, she nodded, as she gave Richards one of her blinding smiles. “Thank you, Lieutenant. Well done. Alpine will be the perfect place to set up a search.”
Closing the screen without signing off, she began contemplating how to keep Ward and his bag from slipping by her.
Archived Imperial Classified Documents
Declassified 24 September 3485
Test of Heirs Program
Proctor Course revised 2612
Determination of Heir’s Readiness to Take Test
The two most difficult tasks for a proctor are: first, to determine when a candidate is ready to take the test, and; second, determining whether the Heir has failed and must be removed from the test procedure.
In many ways the decision that will require the most evaluation is whether a candidate can even be allowed to take the test. Most candidates fail, which means that the proctor will be condemning an unsuitable candidate to death by admitting him or her to the test procedure. For this reason, deciding whether to administer the oath should be unhurried and careful in the extreme. Only the most qualified and experienced candidates should even be considered.
14
* * *
Teenagers
Ambrose B, Norma Arm
0630 BBMT 26 October 3473
Head aching slightly from lack of sleep, Maeve Uch Robert picked at her breakfast. Her rest had been interrupted by nightmares, a jumble of events and scenes from the past as well as what ifs from yesterday. The sounds of laughing and talking from across the mess made her head ache even more. The female crew—Sally Carr who hadn’t come aboard Bring It, a slightly tanned lieutenant that appeared motherly, plus Petty Officers Pam West and Karen Hall, she thought they were called—shared her table. The Marines shared another one.
Just then Hugh Cascade walked in, looking like his night’s rest had equaled hers. He scowled at the Marine sergeant named Pete Peterson when he loudly called out “Deadeye.” Dropping into a seat after choosing oatmeal from the buffet, he studiously ignored the lively discussion going on. He has the right idea. Maeve returned to chasing her food around the plate as she tried, unsuccessfully, to ignore them as well.
Talking louder than before, Sergeant Kevin Dunn insisted, “You never saw anything like it. His Highness here drove those scalpels into the carpet so hard I thought they would go right through the deck plates, but they snapped off instead. Zane took one look into those cold, gray eyes and really believed what His Highness said about torturing him to death. Never would have happened, but that goon believed it.”
At that, Maeve glanced up, feeling slightly sick, and abandoned all pretense of eating.
Then Peterson took up the story, waving a piece of toast in his hand like a sword, stabbing it for emphasis as he spoke, “You didn’t see what he did in the corridor. Ask Jebet. He saw it too. His Highness looked ready to puke his guts out when he came out of the cabin after shooting those guys. I thought he might faint!”
Maeve glanced up at Hugh and found him looking back at her; she quickly dropped her eyes in embarrassment at having been caught looking at him. Peterson seemed not to have noticed either of them as he went on, “Jebet had to watch the far hatch. I wanted him to help me handle the medics instead of Hugh, but they showed up just then, so we had to get on with business. I just hoped he could help get the medics to Captain Felt before keeling over. Well, just then the one in the rear decided to get frisky so I just hoped Jebet would be watching the lead medic, since I had no doubt His Highness would be useless. First combat does that to you if you have time to think right afterward.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Maeve watched Peterson take a bite of his toast, smiling like a Cheshire cat, slowly chewing as if he had finished talking. Sergeant Tabi Fleisch, a woman standing above average height with very dark hair who had remained on the ship during the whole thing, snorted in exasperation. “So, finish your story,” she demanded.
Peterson just smiled more broadly. “As I said, both of them medics tried to get cute, pulling hideout guns, but I expected something like that. I screwed my pistol into my guy’s eye, getting his full and complete attention, so he dropped his gun real peaceful like. Not used to people who know how to fight back, I guess.”
