The Forever Hero (58 page)

The gold starburst in the center of the console flared.

The man known as Eye stared at the golden light, which remained burning brightly. Behind his shadow mask his mouth nearly dropped open.

The Emperor's call—but why?

He frowned, wondering whether he should answer the almost mythical summons, still sitting before the console.

Three red lights blipped into place on the screen readouts, and his eyes widened.

He shook his head. Apparently the old procedures still held. All his defense screens were down.

What was it that Thurson had said years ago? That the myths always triumphed in the end, whether a man believed in them or not?

With a sigh, he stood, not that he had much choice as a squad of Corpus Corps assassins bracketed his private portal.

“The Emperor awaits, you, ser.”

While all gave him a wide berth, they seemed almost excited as they escorted him along the secret tunnels, tunnels he thought only known to the Eye and the two Eye Regents.

“How did you know this was the way?” he asked the Corps squad leader.

“The Emperor gave us the map, ser, after he dropped your screens, ser.”

Eye said nothing further until the tunnel narrowed, a narrowing that reflected nearness to the palace.

Opposite the portal that exited in his own guest quarters, assigned to him in his person as the Duke of Calendra, the Corps squad
leader halted and touched a databloc against the inlaid tile of the Imperial seal that stood man-tall on the right side of the corridor.

The seal swung back to reveal another tunnel, one that seemed to lead upward.

With a shrug, Eye let himself be escorted away from his own quarters and toward whatever destination the Corpus Corps killers had in mind.

Even with his age, he had no doubt that he could have dispatched at least two of the Corps troops. But there were eight, and he did not want to give them any excuse to kill him out of hand.

He had reasoned with the Emperor before and occasionally gotten his point. Reason provided a better hope than attack.

The squad halted at the liftshaft.

“Go on, ser.” The squad leader gestured. “This is as far as we go.”

“Alone?” Eye asked with mild sarcasm.

“Alone, ser.”

Eye shrugged and stepped into the shaft, letting himself be carried upward.

The trip was but seconds long before he stepped out into a small room. A single Imperial Marine stood before another portal.

“Lord Calendra, the Emperor will see you shortly. You may sit, if you wish.”

Eye shivered. That the guard knew his real name even while he wore the privacy cloak and black shadow of Eye did not look promising.

He studied the guard, debating whether he should take on the single impressive specimen who stood between him and the portal or whether he should still opt for his chances in reasoning with the Emperor.

The almost unseen haze that stood between him and the marine decided him. That it was a screen of some sort was clear, but of what intensity was not. He decided to wait.

Frowning to himself, Eye tried to determine how he might have failed the Empire, or displeased the Emperor.

Could it have been the incident on Harkla? Or the uprising in Parella? The commercial war on El Lido? That had been messy. But a commercial war?

He shook his head. Could the Ursans have sprung something new on the Fleet? Or was the Dismorph resurgence more of a threat than he had reported?

“Lord Calendra, the Emperor awaits.”

Eye stood, straightened his black cloak, and stepped evenly toward the portal as the Imperial Marine moved aside.

Once through, he found himself in a small study, scarcely larger than the formal office of a small commercial magnate. Solid wooden shelves lined the sides of the room, while the Emperor sat behind an apparent antique writing desk, his back to a full window overlooking the formal Palace gardens.

“Your pleasure, sire,” Eye stated evenly as he inclined his head and waited.

“Have a seat, Calendra.”

In private, His Imperial Majesty Ryrce N'Gaio Bartoleme VIII did not appear any more impressive than in public. His eyes were bulbous, bright green, and set too close together. His hair resembled plains grass scattered by the wind, and his fat cheeks gave him the air of a chipmunk. Only his deep bass voice was regal—that and the dark sadness behind the bright eyes.

Eye settled himself into the small chair and waited.

“This is something I would rather not do, you understand, Calendra, but it has been too long, and there have been too many Eyes, your predecessor among them, who seemed to feel that they represented another force in government besides the Emperor.”

“I am not sure I understand, sire.”

“I am not sure you do either, Calendra,” answered the deep voice, resonating as if separate from the almost comical figure behind the desk. “I am not sure you do either.”

The Emperor pointed a surprisingly long finger at the head of the Intelligence Service. “Tell me. What is still the one weapon that the people of the Empire fear most?”

“Nuclear weapons.”

“And why? There are greater forces at man's command.”

Eye shivered, but forced himself to reply. “I suppose it must be because of what happened on Old Earth.”

“Exactly! And during your tenure, twice have those weapons been used. And you have yet to discover how those weapons were removed from Imperial control or by whom.”

Eye looked down, then raised his eyes to meet the green glitter of the Emperor's gaze. “Neither has anyone else, sire.”

“No. But they are not Eye. Nor are they specifically charged with insuring that such weapons do not enter private hands.” The Emperor paused. “Do you have any idea as to who might have obtained them?”

“Ideas, yes. Facts to support them, no.” Eye smiled a grim smile. “At this point, would it make much difference?”

“Not really, since we're being candid.”

“Then, since he has brought me down, he may as well bring you down as well, sire.”

With a calmness he did not believe he possessed, Eye triggered his own internal nerve destruction, trying to look alert even as his thoughts began to blacken, as the toxins poured through his systems.

Let the devilkid's revenge be Eye's as well.

His mouth dropped open in chuckle that he never completed as the Emperor, His Imperial Majesty Ryrce N'Gaio Bartoleme VIII, shook his head sadly and pressed the console summons for the disposal squad.

The once-upon-a-time scoutship jumpshifted, and for a moment that was both instantaneous and endless, black light flooded the two small compartments, the one containing the pilot and the crew space that contained no one. That instant of shift seemed to last longer than normal, as it always did when the actual shift was near the limit.

“Interrogative status,” asked the pilot, a man with tight-curled blond hair and hawk-yellow eyes that swept the range of displays on the screens before him.

“No EDI traces. No mass indications within point one light. Destination estimated at four plus.” The impersonally feminine tone of the artificial intelligence would have chilled most listeners, but the pilot preferred the lack of warmth in the voice of the
Caroljoy
.

In his rebuilding of the discarded and theoretically obsolete scout, the former Imperial commodore could have programmed warmth into the voice when he had added the AI, just as he could have opted for more comfort in the spartan quarters, rather than for the raw power and extensive defensive screens the beefed-up ex-Federation scout now enjoyed. The pilot had avoided warmth in both the ship and the AI.

He leaned back in the control couch, trying to relax, as if he wanted to push away a particularly bad memory. He did, and as he often also did he whistled three or four notes in the odd double-toned style that was his alone.

The AI did not acknowledge the music, since the notes represented neither observation nor inquiry.

What was past was past. The two tacheads he had used on El Lido, along with the thirty thousand casualties, would certainly draw Imperial interest, but he doubted that they would call Impie attention back on him. Not yet. After all, one of the two targets had been CE, Limited, in which he, as Shaik Corso, had held the controlling interest.

Now, Hamline Rodire had control, and the former commodore hoped that Rodire would use the influence that CE, Limited, represented for the benefit of all of El Lido.

He shook his head. He had run through the arguments all too often to change his mind, or the past. What was past was past. Time to concentrate on the future, on running down the rest of the re
search leads that he and the foundation had neglected for too long. Time to refocus himself on the long range and eventual mission, on getting the technology he needed for the reclamation job on Old Earth, a job that was too big for the underfunded and ignored Recorps to complete.

“EDI traces at forty emkay.”

“Interrogative signature pattern.”

“Signature pattern tentatively identified as standard system patroller, class II.”

“Course line?”

“Preliminary course line indicates target headed in-system. Probability exceeds point eight that patroller destination is planet three.”

Former Commodore MacGregor Corson Gerswin nodded. That made sense, particularly since planet three was Byzania.

“Interrogative other patrollers.”

“Remote EDI traces from exit corridor two. Probability exceeds point five that second system patroller is stationed within one hundred emkay of jump point.”

“Interrogative other system targets.”

“That is negative this time.”

Gerswin's fingers played across the representational screen, checking the relative positions and travel times.

He pulled at his chin.

After the debacle on El Lido, he had plunged into trying to tie up a number of loose ends. That had been fine, but he hadn't bothered to update Lyr on those activities. Not what had happened on El Lido, but on his OER Foundation-related efforts, the ones she monitored and on which she had to keep records for the Empire's tax collectors and various departmental snoops.

First, though, he really wanted to take a rest, one of several hours while the
Caroljoy
cruised in-system.

He reached for the control couch harness release, then straightened.

Might as well do the update and send it. The energy required would be less the farther out-system he was when he dispatched the torp. And the less energy required for the message torp, the more left with the ship.

Who could ever tell what he might require?

From what he recalled, Byzania, while not unfriendly, was a rather tightly controlled society. But, first, the update to Lyr. Then he could worry about sleep and Byzania.

Once she got the update, she could be the one to take on the
worries about the latest implications of what he was doing, not that she wasn't already.

He cleared his throat and tapped the data screen controls.

Buzz!

At the sound, Lyr dropped in front of the console.

The screen showed the face of the man with the curly blond hair and hawk-yellow eyes.

“You never change,” she observed safely, since Gerswin was really not on the screen, his image only the beginning of a prerecorded torp fax for her.

She first tapped the controls to store the entire message and the mass of data that always accompanied his transmissions, then tapped the acknowledgment stud to start the message.

“Lyr. Finished the Grom'tchacher lead. Your first impressions were right. Leased the lab, took the cash, and left. Nice prospectus, though. Theory's interesting, if not down our line. Might be worth a commission job for one of your friends to investigate.”

Gerswin looked down, then back into the screen. In the shadows behind him, Lyr could make out the accel/decel shell/couch that dominated the control room, and the manual auxiliary control banks that Gerswin had insisted on retaining even after centralizing the direct controls in the simplified bank before him, secondarily, in the AI center.

In scanning the background, she missed the next words, not that she could not have replayed them anytime.

“…off to Byzania next. Hylerion—the precoded accelerated tree grower—heard some interesting reports. Never collected the last installment of the grant. Suspicious enough to make me think the idea worked.

“Be back in Ydris to check their system after that. Send a report there.”

He grinned at the screen.

“Since you're the cred worrier, some good news. In tracing down Grom'tchacher, ran across some business. Managed to broker a lab lease and some other property along with ours. Finder's fee arrange
ment. Took it personally, but felt some belonged to the foundation. Means no draw on my operating account for a while. Remainder of the OERF share is coming through the general receipts. Code blue.”

Lyr frowned. That she'd have to check. Credits were often the last thing the commander worried about, the very last thing.

“…off to Byzania. See you soon.”

He always closed that way, she reflected, tapping the studs to store the message in the permanent file, but it had been more than five years since he had been anywhere near New Augusta.

She pursed her lips, knowing she should be somewhere other than before the console at 2030 on a spring evening. At less than seventy, she certainly wasn't novaed; her weight was the same as it had been years earlier; and her muscle tone, thanks to her exercise regime, was probably better. She looked far younger than she was.

“That could be the trouble…”

She cut off her monologue before it began and called up the general receipts account and the commander's code blue entry.

“Unsolicited donation. Fyrst V. D'berg, Aerlion. One million credits. Codes follow….”

Lyr ran her tongue over her chapped lips. Gerswin and his unsolicited donations ran to as much as several million annually. Where he found them she wondered, but they always were supported.

And his ventures…she really wanted to ask him what else he had been doing besides tracking completed grants and projects and grantees who had failed to report or collect. Always the ventures, like the fabrication plant on Solor and whatever he was doing on Westmark with that plant protein substitute. Add to that the aliases…she worried at her lower lip with her upper teeth.

After forty years with the foundation, she could see an accelerating trend, even more than in the first few years after the commodore's retirement, a trend where things were building. To what, she didn't know, but once again she had the feeling that the Empire and the commodore were going to clash.

She'd really have to talk to him about it—assuming he ever came back.