Imperial Guard (10 page)

Carl Mogul paced the polished marble floor in his luxurious penthouse suite. The gleaming surface, composed of the finest marble parquet, was seamed with pure gold. The high, arched windows held no glass or screens but, instead, were adorned with exquisite gossamer draperies. The light streamed through their southern exposure, lighting the room from end to end. Mogul was pacing the foyer, which gave access to seven other rooms. Its length and spaciousness always seemed to help him think. He was thinking furiously now.

Insufferable fools and bumblers!
he fumed inwardly regarding the many advisors who surrounded him constantly.
I ought to banish the lot of ’em to a pesthole for the remainder of their pitiful, worthless days!

Josh, Carl’s irresponsible pup of a younger brother, added fuel to the fire of Mogul’s mounting anger and frustration.
And that fool brother of mine, childishly playing the demigod, leading a gang of ruffians in terrorizing the lower levels of the city!

But most recently Josh had the thoughtless temerity to disfigure a nobleman
—and without even the common sense of disguising himself. “What an empty-headed idiot!” Carl exclaimed to the air around him. “How am I going to satisfy this man’s claim to justice? I
would
have a disgusting coward for a brother!”

Some imagined slight to Josh’s pride had triggered the unfortunate incident, and Josh had not taken the honorable route of calling the offender out for a duel. A duel was perfectly acceptable according to civil law. It allowed for no claim of retribution. An unprovoked ambush, however, was an entirely different matter. If the nobleman who was attacked survived the assault, he could demand retribution. And even if he did not, his surviving relatives could demand it in his stead.

Josh Mogul, by anyone’s definition, was a genuine spoiled brat. He had always and inevitably gotten everything he ever wanted. As the son who was most like his father, Kepec Mogul, Josh was his father’s favorite. And it was this favoritism that was his brother’s primary vexation.

Carl was Josh’s opposite: he had always tried to please his father. He had gone to the Academy when it had not been necessary. He had plodded his way through the military ranks when just one word from the Emperor would have meant instant promotion. He had worked like a slave furthering his father’s plans. He had gotten all the thankless jobs. Now he had another one: trying to decide how to make Josh’s latest snafu cause as little harm to their designs as possible.

Mogul’s pacing came to an abrupt halt. His fist came slamming down into the open palm of his hand. “I’ve got it!” he exclaimed. “I’ll send him off-planet! That’s the perfect solution!” A devilish grin slowly cracked his face.
That will provide several benefits: it will keep Josh from having to face his accuser, thus satisfying my father; it will keep him out of the way and incapable of spoiling any more of our schemes, making my life much easier; and it will teach him a lesson he will never forget, thus pleasing
me
. It’ll be a great way to finally get back at the little wimp!

Mogul took a deep, cleansing breath of sublime satisfaction and exhaled slowly and noisily. “Let’s see, now,” he remarked hollowly to the empty foyer, “the Fusiliers would probably be the way to go. Yes, yes, the Fusiliers. That way I could always have someone keeping an eye on him, just to make sure.”

Mogul cupped his elbow in his hand and fingered his mouth in thought.
There’s no way Josh would accept an appointment to the Academy—no way he’d ever make it through,
Mogul grinned harshly.
He’d be kicked out on his rebellious arse in no time.
But the idea of giving a direct commission to his brother was repulsive to Mogul. However, a nobleman serving in the enlisted ranks was out of the question.

A flash of insight went off in Mogul’s head.
But if I do give him a commission
and
send him into combat on Peru II with no combat training, it would be like signing his own death warrant.
Mogul rubbed his hands together with glee. “Even our father has finally agreed that this time Josh went too far,” he said aloud. “I’m sure he would reluctantly agree to my plan. And if Josh is killed on Peru II, though Father would certainly take it hard, I might be able to find a way to use his death against Mizpala, and that would make it all worthwhile. But even if the fool should survive, he would be a better man for it, and maybe more of an asset than the liability he is now.”

Mogul, his spirit lifted, walked briskly from the foyer into an adjoining room, humming quietly in self-congratulation. “A steaming hot whirlpool is a fitting way to celebrate my brilliant solution to this latest problem.” Hurriedly stripping the clothes off his lean, muscular body, Mogul buzzed for a servant and slid gingerly into the recessed whirlpool reserved for his personal use.

When the servant arrived seconds later, Mogul ordered a mild drink—he never engaged in drinking hard liquor until late in the day—and stretched out lazily in the steaming, swirling water, languidly sipping the delicious nectar. Mogul enjoyed indulging in meditative techniques at times, and now, he decided, was one of those times. He began to feel himself slipping off into a state of altered consciousness when a jarring slam brought him to an abrupt sitting position. Josh Mogul strode arrogantly into the room, as his brother slowly turned his head to look at him.

Once again Carl Mogul noticed how his brother’s soft, youthful features were being ravaged by riotous living. His eyes glinted coldly, like pieces of flint, and they reminded him of a wolf’s eyes. His lips were curled into their usual semi-permanent snarl. Yet Carl could see why women found him attractive . . . in a wild sort of way. He wondered idly if his brother was under the influence of some exotic substance. Seeing how much his health had deteriorated since he had seen him last, Carl wondered if his brother’s excesses might lead to his untimely demise before he could have him killed in combat.

“Well, what do’ya want, big brother? I’m busy,” snorted Josh in his typical self-important way.

Carl felt rage returning to cloud his better judgment. But he was determined that Josh would not manipulate him into playing his kind of game. Besides, in spite of his other shortcomings, Josh was an excellent fighter, having been trained by his father from early childhood, and his temper was unpredictable. He fought back the anger.
Relax, Carl, relax. Remember the plan. Make him back himself into a corner. Make him want to do what
you
want him to do.
Ignoring his brother, he closed his eyes and took three deep, cleansing breaths.

Crossing his arms in obvious impatience and looking off into a corner of the room, Josh swore at him. “Look, if you’re just going to sit there with your ass hanging in the water, I’m leaving. I’ve got better things to do with my time than be at your beck and call.”

“Stay right where you are, mister!” Carl intoned in the most authoritative voice he could muster. He slowly opened his eyes and riveted them on his brother’s. “You’re in big trouble, bud, and you need my help.”

“I don’t need nobody’s help, especially not yours, sir high and mighty!”

Carl lifted himself from the tub and began to dry off, massaging his muscles as he did so. He took his time responding to Josh, seeking to make him nervous and apprehensive and striving to maintain control of the conversation.

Josh couldn’t stand the silence. “Maybe it’s
you
who’s in trouble. Maybe I’m spoiling your plans to rule the Empire.” Carl, in spite of himself, could not hide his surprise.

“Everybody knows about it. Even ol’ Henry knows. That’s why he plays you and Father against Mizpala.”

“Don’t
you
want to rule the Empire?” Carl sneered.

“Not me. I’m satisfied with what I’ve got. Ruling the Empire is too much trouble. But I’d love to see you try and get squashed doing it!” Josh grinned in a hateful sort of way.

Suddenly Carl realized that Josh was more dangerous to him than he thought. He quickly understood that he must waste no more time in taking the offensive away from his brother.

As he completed his dressing, he said, “I’m not sure you will get a chance to see anything, dear brother. You have a much more immediate concern. Maybe the friends of that unfortunate you chewed up would gain a certain amount of pleasure from seeing you in the filth and squalor of a lower-class prison . . . or in the lower levels of the alley.”

Carl could see his brother’s thoughts turning inward, contemplating his possible unpleasant futures. “I think, though, that they would much prefer to gain satisfaction through the Code of Revenge,” he continued relentlessly. Josh paled visibly. The Code of Revenge required like punishment. In this case Josh would be subjected to a disfigurement similar to what he inflicted on his victim.

Obviously shaken, Josh clutched at straws. “You and I both know you can’t afford to have a Mogul suffer such public disgrace.”

Feigning guilelessness, Carl began to weave a skillful pattern of lies and half-truths. “I’m afraid the matter is entirely out of my hands. Our father must maintain the goodwill and support of the nobility or risk more civil war. Hercond’s seconds have already demanded an audience with the Emperor, and the Emperor has agreed to see them this afternoon. They intend to gain satisfaction, and the evidence against you is conclusive.”

Glancing at the ceiling as if studying the filigree, Carl continued absently, “Somehow they have also managed to collect a fairly complete list of your past . . . ah, shall we say, indiscretions?”

Josh felt the cold claws of panic ripping at his chest. He knew that he had to put on his best begging act to get the help he so badly needed from his brother. “Please, Carl, ya gotta help me! I never meant to hurt anyone. Anyway, I can’t stand pain—you know that. Besides, women would never look at me again . . . except with disgust!” Josh looked close to tears.

Pretty good act,
thought Carl. But he was pleased that he had managed to bring Josh to the verge of accepting his plan. “If they bothered to notice how twisted and disfigured you are on the inside, they’d be disgusted anyhow.”

“Please, Carl, please help me outa this. Just one more time. I’ll never get outa line again. I promise . . . I’ll change.” Josh offered hopefully.

Carl grinned inwardly.
Maybe it
will
be the last time at that—whether you change or not.
But throwing up his hands in mock resignation, he said, “I don’t see how anything can be done.” Again he lied. “Your victim has friends in high places.”

Clutching his brother’s arm, Josh cried, “I can run! There’s plenty of places to hide in the Empire.”

“You couldn’t even get off the planet,” Carl scoffed. “Your retinal patterns would set off the alarm. You wouldn’t get as far as one of the rendezvous points. But you
would
have to get off-planet—remember, the Imperial Guard could find you anywhere on Earth. They really enjoy that kind of sport, you know. Anyway, to hide successfully, you’d have to live far below the standard you’ve grown accustomed to. I don’t think you could do it. Of course, there
is
another alternative: you could always arrange to kill yourself. But I imagine you lack the courage for that.”

Josh rallied. “I have as much courage as the one who engineered the massacre of Company G,” he squeaked. “Or did they call you ‘Butcher Boy of Company G’ for nothin’?”

Carl turned scarlet, but as he seethed with hatred for his brother, he knew he had made a strategic mistake by inciting him. Sarcasm was Josh’s natural habitat, and Carl could never be his match in such a contest.
I have to keep him on the defensive, not get him worked up and disagreeable.

Turning on his heel and walking away, he flung back, “I’m not going to put up with your insults today. Go solve your own problems for a change.”

Josh blanched. “No . . . wait! I take it back. Carl, you gotta help me! For God’s sake, I’m your brother!”

“My brother? Why should that matter?”

Sputtering, Josh answered, “Well, uh, think . . . think of your reputation.”

“Ha! You ruined that long ago!”

All out of arguments, Josh collapsed on the floor in an agony of emotion. “Carl,” he gasped, tears streaming down his face, “I . . . I don’t have anywhere else to turn.”

At that moment Carl felt ultimate contempt for his brother, but at the same time he felt the unwelcome stirrings of compassion. Undeterred, however, he pressed his advantage. “There may be a way out,” he slowly rolled off his tongue, “but you wouldn’t do it.”

Josh took the bait. “I’ll do anything, Carl! Just tell me!”

“You’ll have to join the Fusiliers at once and leave Earth for Peru II on the earliest transport.”

Josh considered a moment. “OK . . . That wouldn’t be too bad.”

“You’ll have to stay off planet for several years, until the heat dies down.”

“Wait a minute, you’re talkin’ exile!”

“Okay,” Carl gestured with his hands in front of him, “maybe only three years or so.”

“I’d have to be commissioned captain.”

“No way. Second lieutenant is the best I can do.”

“Make it the Imperial Guard and it’s a deal.”