Lost heir, p.4
Lost Heir, page 4
Neither of the escorts answered, but Priscilla did, “We left our gear in the car before it exploded. We were to report into the Academy later after the entrance interview. We’ll need some of our things from home.”
Deetz thought for a moment. “I’ll arrange for your gear to get here from your home. Give these women a list of what you’ll want and need. Personnel will be working on her file at the same time, but remember, whatever we bring for the girl will have to be gone through, with all trace of cadet status or family ties removed before you leave this building.”
As if punched in her belly, Maeve suddenly couldn’t breathe. She had lost her family and then been ordered into hiding until they needed her, like a spare part tucked away for emergencies. Now this. She wouldn’t even be allowed to keep a picture of her dad. Then one last, horrible thought came to her: she could not be herself, perhaps never be herself ever again. Maeve uch Robert had become a ghost, just as in all those fairy tales she’d read as a little girl, doomed to forever wander in the cold wastelands. Tears bubbled up; she couldn’t stop them. She felt adrift, floating in the universe without rudder, motor, or course.
An arm slipped around her. Priscilla’s soft voice whispered in her ear, “We’ll get through this together. We’ll find a way to keep some pictures. I’ll make sure they pack all of yours and your dad’s other things for safe keeping while we’re gone. It should only be for a short while until things settle down.”
Bitterness crept into Maeve’s voice as she hugged Priscilla’s arm for a moment before letting go. She whispered, “It’ll never settle down. The empire is failing, my parents are dead, and I’m an extra . . . something they might need. Maybe.” Angrily, she wiped the tears from her eyes. “Let’s get this over with,” she spat out, heading for the door. They were ripping her entire life apart. Minutes ago she had been weepy, but now fury raged inside. They had no problem telling her what to do without even bothering to wait for her agreement, Priscilla apparently going right along with them.
Before the escorts opened the door, they exchanged looks, which she ignored as she headed down the hall. Priscilla caught up in three steps, leaning over to say something, but Maeve side stepped away.
Stopping, Priscilla grabbed her wrist, which dragged Maeve to a stop, fiercely staring back at her. “Listen to me, miss,” she hissed angrily through clenched jaws, “I know you lost your dad as well as everything you have that ties you to him. Well, I lost him, too, and I don’t want you to die by doing something stupid! I know you need to grieve, but we just don’t have time for that, or a temper tantrum either, if we want to keep you alive. Your father and mother both died for you, so the least you can do is to not throw that away. Feel sorry for yourself on your own time. Be the strong girl I know you can be!” With that, she let go and proceeded ahead of her toward, and then into, the ladies’ lounge. One of their escorts followed; the other took a position outside the door.
Deep inside, a small voice admitted the truth of Priscilla’s words and she hated her for them. Jaw clenching and cheeks tightening as she entered, Maeve turned toward the mirror to survey her reflection. Rummaging through her shoulder bag, she pulled out her brush. She began angrily dragging it through her favorite feature, trying to untangle it. It amazed her what rolling around on the ground, followed by being exposed to a helicopter’s backwash, did to it. What a mess! “I’ll probably have to cut it to get all these tangles out,” she grumbled as she stood in front of the vanity mirror.
“If you’re pretending to be a basic spacer, that’s something we’ll have to do next,” said the escort, a rather petit redhead standing near her. Till that moment, the escorts could have been mutes for all Maeve knew, but this one obviously felt like she could make personal comments.
“Your long hair will have to go or no one will believe you’re a basic.”
Maeve glared at the woman. “How short?” she demanded. First Priscilla bossing her around and now this one? Couldn’t she do anything she chose to do instead of just being the package to be moved around?
“Short,” came the quick answer. “It needs to get not much below the top of your ear.”
“No!” wailed Maeve. After all the rest that had happened today, this last demand simply overwhelmed her. At thirteen, she had begun to fill out and get close to her final height, but she didn’t think much of her looks. They were all right but nothing terrific. She felt awkward! Her nose, rather plain, lips too thin, mouth too wide. Her green eyes weren’t unique, although pretty like Mom’s. But her lustrous dark hair? She really liked her hair. It stretched down to between her shoulder blades and swished when she walked. The silkiness gave her a sensory pleasure running it between her fingers. When nervous, she often twisted her ponytail around a finger. She liked to make a bun, curl it, put it up on top of her head, or braid it in lots of different ways. Her friends often said how much they envied her hair. What could she do with hair that short? Nothing! “No!” she stated firmly, again.
But one look at her escorts as their faces hardened told Maeve they would hold her down and whack it off if she didn’t cooperate. She didn’t care, she’d fight to keep just one thing the way she wanted it. Priscilla stepped up beside her at the mirror. Softly, she explained,
“Maeve, you have to do this, it’s necessary. You can grow it out again later.”
Maeve didn’t want to even look at Priscilla but saw her plainly in the mirror. She noticed that Priscilla might have been crying just now, something Maeve had never known her to do. Maeve also detected a shadow of hurt in her eyes. Why? Is it because I let her know how angry I felt toward her? She’s not my mother! Even as she thought that, she felt guilty. This woman had dedicated her life to protecting her, giving up everything else she could ever hope to do. If that didn’t come close to acting like a mother, what did? Maybe she should give Priscilla the benefit of the doubt. Slowly, her anger ebbed away and the tears came again, tears for her losses, her hair, her home, everything. Priscilla’s soft arm crept around her shoulders, again pulling her gently in. She let Priscilla hug her. She needed someone, if not a mother, at least a friend.
“It’ll be okay, honey,” Priscilla shushed. “We’ll get through this together, I promise.” Maeve saw a fresh wave of tears fill her eyes. Letting go of her emotions, she hugged Priscilla back fiercely. Instinctively, she knew she could rely on Priscilla, no matter what.
CNS Pechnaya, Ninth Sector
1825 BBMT 30 May 3468
Morgain uch Robert sat tapping a finger impatiently on the arm of her chair. Anger coursed through her veins as she waited in her luxurious sitting room in the command cabin of her flagship. The attack on her father should have been completed six hours ago. What had happened?
Generally she had found that decisive action solved problems. She just needed to make sure no trail led directly back to her. For instance, when Commodore Patrick O’Donnell had begun to regret his decision to join the coup, she could have packed up and left. But she would have lost all her hard work and real power this task force gave her. The obvious choice had been how to remove him—and his nosy little yeoman who had never liked her—without creating a mutiny. So they had just disappeared, letting her remove others in turn who she could blame for the commodore’s death. Quite satisfactory on two fronts.
Killing her mother had been regrettable, and unfortunately, her father and little sister Maeve, had survived. And the next one. And the one after that. Why couldn’t they simply die as planned?
A message dinged on her personal com pad. She noticed no header identifying sender or location. Eagerly she went through the security protocols to open it.
Team lead as well as three subleaders dead. Confirmed Robert ap Morgan dead. No evidence of survival of your youngest sister, Maeve. She is not registered at Academy or in a hospital, so is presumed to have died in attack.
A shark-like smile wreathed her face. Finally! But she did not like the word “presumed.” It didn’t quite feel like the loose ends were tied up. Plus, with Maeve missing and presumed dead, Morgain still had a problem: she didn’t have access to a proctor for the heir she had convinced to join her. Did Maeve have a proctor when she died? She didn’t know. And, if she did, she didn’t know if the proctor survived the attack.
That left her with one option: continue to push forward using the Restitution Movement while claiming to be an heir. At least until she found a proctor she could use.
Pondering, she considered the strategic situation. If only she could convince another task force to join with her, things would go much faster and smoother. Unfortunately, after Commodore O’Donnell disappeared, the loyalist forces in Ninth Sector had kept their distance, although they were not actively fighting her. Perhaps she should concentrate on the mess in Eighth Sector next door? A little judicious trolling? But how to do it? And what bait would be best? Something to think about while she maintained control of this sector.
Archived Imperial Classified Documents
Declassified 24 September 3485
Orders in Council—Creation of Implacables
July 15, 3305
Classification—Top Secret/Test of Heirs
In order to avoid a potential breach of the succession as almost occurred in 3271 due to the Qabal incursion, within the Proctors a special unit will be created to be known as the Implacables. To enter the program, candidates must have no living spouse or children. Implacables, both male and female, are discouraged from marriage or having children after induction due to the substantial time and commitment required to fulfill their duties to their heirs, and are usually terminated as Implacables upon marriage. If a female Implacable becomes pregnant, she is removed from the unit, due to danger from her nanites to her unborn child.
Implacables will be activated in the event of an interruption in the ability to administer the standard Test of Heirs, as determined by the Succession Council. The Guardian of the Succession can act on his, her, or their own authority if, in that person’s best judgment, it is unlikely the Standard Test can be completed. This decision requires affirmation by two-thirds majority of the Council of Sector Lords, if available.
Implacables will be provided with complete instructions for the administration of the test only accessible by removal of memory blocks once the Full Test has begun. The Guardian of the Succession or designee must initiate the Full Test with appropriate code words.
ON BEHALF OF THE EMPEROR CHARLES ROLAND
4
* * *
Safe Harbor
Camp Y, Beacon
0920 Local 30/0020 BBMT 31 May 3468
Maeve uch Robert stifled a yawn despite the bright morning sun shining on green mountainsides around her. Back home, most of a planet away, the clock had barely struck midnight. Her day had started almost twenty hours ago, however, so she deserved to yawn if she wanted to. Of course, if they had followed Major Deetz’s original time schedule, they would have been here six hours earlier, after a fast shuttle ride. Plans had a way of changing, military ones especially, which explained why Petty Officer Second Class Marva Erdogan, one of her original escorts, now stood beside her, as well as Petty Officer Third Class Qi Mai Ling, a petit woman with wonderfully clear skin Maeve envied.
Oddly, most of the women on the team, as well as Maeve, had dark hair, except for Erdogan and Priscilla. Erdogan’s hair shone a beautiful dark red that really made her stand out. As for Maeve, she felt lost in the crowd with her dark hair matching the other women with her. Had Deetz planned it this way to help her blend in?
Through the fog of her exhaustion, emotional and physical, random thoughts popped up. The plans had changed because the detail sent to pack her things reported back to Deetz that someone had placed trackers on some of them. That had further impressed them all with the need for more security. After a thorough debugging, Brigadier Holmes decided it would be better for her to be accompanied by her complete team. A further frustrating wait had followed.
With the change of plans, time had been provided for all four of her new guards to get their gear and make arrangements to store personal items while orders were cut, a process that took hours. Maeve understood, but the time passed in an emotional fog as the overwhelming loss of her father made all else nearly meaningless.
Then they had waited for the next regularly scheduled shuttle. Getting a special flight for an electronics team, even one on a classified assignment to a base like Camp Y, would have raised lots of red flags and unwanted interest. So, they had acted just like normal transferees. Exhausted, she simply tried to endure, knowing that not an hour away from Fleet City her personal sanctuary of bed and room sat unused. It seemed so unfair, yet she knew, bone deep, that hiding back home might be the last thing she ever did.
So, finally, they stood on the arrival platform at Camp Y awaiting transport to their billets and training facility, one blonde naval lieutenant and her special electronics detachment; Maeve the lowest ranking person around, being guarded by everyone else. Neither Qi Mai Ling nor Marva Erdogan were Implacables, something Maeve heard them discussing but didn’t understand at all. They had taken something called proctor training, however, but that failed to help her figure these things out. The other two protectors, Petty Officers Bonnie Patel and Zeta Marovian, were, however, Implacables. Of course, the team needed, technically, one more woman to be complete. Unfortunately, the only place they could find to hide her allowed a maximum complement of six, including her. So, here they were, one short of the six Priscilla Jenks had seemed to think they needed as a bare minimum.
As for her Implacables, Bonnie and Zeta, neither looked particularly special or different, both dark-haired, fair-skinned petty officers, or so their ranks showed. Personally, Maeve suspected that the only legit ranks were Mai Ling’s and Marva’s because she had seen them before they were informed of the change of plans.
One thing began to penetrate her gloom, but not in a positive way. A glimmer of understanding dawned on her about the truth in the military maxim hurry up and wait, making her even more miserable. As Maeve considered the situation in the midst of her exhaustion, she almost reached up to twist her fingers in her hair, the hair she no longer had. She settled for another yawn.
“Stifle that yawn, spacer,” Patel ordered Maeve. As senior enlisted woman in the team, at least on paper, she ran things. Maeve already felt tired of being an enlisted woman after just twelve hours in uniform. Nevertheless, this would all be for nothing if she didn’t stay in character. She swallowed the next yawn on the way up. Maeve noticed a glint of amusement in Patel’s eyes. She might find this all rather droll, but Maeve didn’t. She just wanted a bed and twelve hours sleep. She didn’t sleep well in vehicles and hadn’t really napped on the way here.
Just then, a bus pulled up and they all grabbed their bags, dragging them on. Maeve looked around for a seat, seeing one beside Priscilla. Without thinking, Maeve stepped toward it when a senior petty officer sat down there instead. This confused Maeve, but she bit her tongue despite the PO being a man and there being lots of women on the bus. Why didn’t he let a woman sit? Not much of a gentleman. Glancing around, Maeve realized that none of the other women seemed to even notice. Looking closer, she saw that he outranked every one of the other women, including her four protectors that somehow had managed to close in around her.
Reaching a stop, Priscilla stood, heading for the door. Maeve took a step forward, but Mai Ling’s hand restrained her. Priscilla looked at Patel, ignoring Maeve entirely. “Next stop is in-processing, so try not to lose the newbie, Patel. See you at our building.”
Patel nodded. “Aye, ma’am. If I do lose her, though, I’m sure we can find someone better.”
Priscilla just gave her a smile, the same smile Maeve had seen officers giving their lead NCOs for as long as she could remember. “Just the same, the paperwork would be a pain, so try to keep an eye on her.”
“Aye, ma’am.”
Then Priscilla, her only anchor to the past, disappeared, leaving her very unsettled. Two minutes later, they arrived at a huge building. “Let’s go,” Patel directed.
Grabbing their bags, they all got off and headed in.
Later, Maeve couldn’t really remember much of what had happened over the next two plus hours except standing in lines, having paperwork scanned, walking down interminable hallways, then more lines. By the time they finished, Maeve swayed, dead on her feet and barely awake. She almost fell as they took another bus headed south toward the building that would be their new home. One of the women, Zeta, she thought, though she couldn’t have sworn to it, said, “Poor kid’s out on her feet.”
Patel’s voice, deep for a woman, now simply rumbled around in her brain, not making much sense. “A few more minutes. We should get some chow in her before she crashes.”
Another voice, slightly higher, answered. Mai Ling? “I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty beat, too. Watching for threats while eating is going to be tough for any of us after the last twenty-four hours.” A different voice, which had to be Marva because everyone else had spoken, offered a brief agreement.
Not sounding really put out, Patel said, “Right. Sleep first, chow later. I expect the lieutenant will want first watch. If she’s half as smart as I think she is, she caught a nap after finishing her in-processing.”
“Sleep,” came Mai Ling’s voice again. “That sounds so luscious.”
Maeve had no awareness of going to sleep, since she had continued standing. She wouldn’t have believed it possible until someone shook her arm. Awakening with a jolt, she saw the others stepping down from the bus. A voice from behind yelled, “Catch!” Maeve turned barely in time to have her space bag hit her squarely in the chest, knocking her sprawling on the ground. She saw stars briefly as her head made contact with the cement sidewalk. Rubbing her head as she sat up, she saw a crew chief standing in the hatch, grinning at her. “Be sure not to leave your head behind next time,” he called with a laugh and a wink.
