Alarm of War

the tell-tale surgical scars on the side of the man’s head, marking him as one of the Creche-born Savak, the Emperor’s personal guards and storm troopers. The Tilleke Royal Family were an incredibly small minority in a sea of lesser born Freemen and slaves. They were ever mindful of their personal security. They traveled only with Savak bodyguards, surgically altered and behaviorally conditioned from birth for absolute obedience to the Emperor.

Deeply xenophobic, haughty, convinced of their own innate superiority and with a profoundly enlarged sense of personal space, the Tilleke traveled little. They were virtually prisoners of their own culture. They were uncomfortable being in close physical proximity to someone other than another member of the Royal Family. Vacationing in Darwin was unthinkable. Simply walking through a crowded spaceport, eating in a restaurant, even walking on a busy street would push a member of the Royal Family into a claustrophobic anxiety attack. So if al- Bashir had been in Darwin, it could mean only one of two things-

“Brill?” Teehan prompted impatiently.

Hiram snapped back, a little disoriented. “Sir?”

“Our good Mr. Jong says the implications of this are obvious. Do you see them?”

“Well, there are two things, sir. Uh…actually three, I guess.” He felt the old familiar fear start to pulse, the one that haunted him whenever he was put on the spot. A prickle of sweat broke out on his scalp and his stomach lurched. Not now, for the love of God. He took a deep breath. “Jong is right that al-Bashir is a very senior officer within the Tilleke Naval Fleet. What’s more, he is one of their Royal Born. The fact that he’s on Darwin meeting in secret could mean that either he is plotting against the Emperor, or has been sent there by the Emperor to plot with someone else. But see here?” He pointed to the Savak bodyguard in the picture.

“If I’m right, that is one of the Savak, the Emperor’s personal guard. He uses them as guards for all of the Royal Family, and is rumored to use them as special storm troopers. The Savak are loyal to the Emperor.” He frowned. “No, that doesn’t really describe it. The Savak are more than loyal. There are reports that they have been surgically and psychologically conditioned so that they must obey an order from the Emperor. If that Savak guard thought al-Bashir was betraying the Emperor, he would report him, if not kill him outright.”

“So you think al-Bashir was there plotting with someone else?” Teehan asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Plotting what?”

Hiram shrugged. “We only know two things.” He held up a finger. “First, whoever he was with isn’t part of the Victorian government. If they had been, you would know about it.” A big assumption, Hiram knew, one that opened up other doors that he didn’t want to even think about. “So that means that Tilleke is plotting with someone outside of Victoria, which means we could be the target.”

He held up a second finger. “Second, it’s serious, whatever it is.”

Teehan frowned slightly. “And you know that how, Lieutenant?”

“Two reasons, sir. The Tilleke hate to travel. Al-Bashir would only leave Tilleke for something of the utmost urgency. But the real reason is that Jong did not debrief his agent to get more information.” He turned to Jong. “Could not debrief him, am I right?”

Jong nodded. “Sadly, you are correct, Lieutenant Brill.” He turned to Admiral Teehan. “Our agent was murdered minutes after he left the glasses at a dead drop. It was made to look like a robbery.”

Teehan slapped the table in frustration. “It’s not enough!” he said.

“Al-Bashir met with someone a year ago. That’s all you have. Maybe if you had let us know sooner, we could have investigated, but after a year…” His voice trailed off.

Later, Hiram walked Jong back to the shuttle bay deck.

“Your Admiral will not follow up on this, I fear,” Jong said.

“No,” Hiram said.

Jong sighed. “I will report to the Abbot.”

“I don’t understand. Why are you doing this? You obviously have no love for Victoria.”

Jong smiled thinly. “No. Victoria scorns us for everything we hold dear. Worse, Victoria scorns everyone else for not being Victorian.”

“But you’re here,” Hiram insisted.

“Yes,” Jong acknowledged ruefully. “It is the lesser of two evils. Victoria is arrogant, pretentious and proud. Victoria ignores us when it can and when it cannot, sneers at us. But for all of that, it is tolerant. Prejudiced and unpleasant, but tolerant.

“The Emperor Chalabi is not tolerant, Lieutenant. The Emperor demands to be worshiped. He will not abide conflicting loyalties. And he thinks it his destiny to rule the entire Human Universe. We have watched the Emperor for a very long time. We know him all too well. There will be no room for the Light in his universe.” He stopped and faced Hiram directly. “You need to understand, Lieutenant Hiram Brill, there is no room in the Emperor’s universe for Victoria, either.”

They continued walking, then Jong spoke again. “Do you believe in God, Lieutenant?”

The turn of direction didn’t really surprise Hiram; every conversation he’d had with his aunt eventually turned to God. “Let’s just say I have questions,” he replied.

“What do you believe in?”

Hiram thought for a moment. Thought of his fears and his quests, his longing to belong, always feeling like the outsider looking in, his inability to see the politics swirling around him when he was only searching for some objective truth. Always searching.

“I believe in logic,” he said at last.

“Ah,” Jong nodded. “You must be very lonely then. Logic is such a cold master.”

They arrived at the shuttle bay. Jong shook his hand. “This is not over, Lieutenant. The Emperor is moving his pieces. We will keep watching. If we learn anything someone will contact you. Your Aunt Cornelia says you like her chocolate cake. Is that true?”

Hiram blinked, caught off guard by this sudden twist. “Yes.”

“Well, then, goodbye for now, Lieutenant. I fear there are difficult times ahead, but remember: A man must strive.”

Chapter 24

Night Out on Atlas

In Victorian Space, on Space Station Atlas

Emily had no idea where they were going. “Do you have any idea where he’s taking us?” she asked Cookie.

“Not a clue, child.” Cookie battered her eyes and clutched her bosom mockingly. “I just breathlessly follow my man here and hope against all odds that he actually knows what he’s doing.”

Hiram Brill smiled, enjoying his secret. “Be patient, people, not much further.”

Cookie leaned to Emily and whispered. “Look at that smile! Don’t he just look like a boy sittin’ in Sunday church with a frog in his pocket?” Emily snorted back laughter. “Hiram, why are you being so mysterious? Where are we going?”

“The mystery,” complained Grant Skiffington, “is why we all agreed to follow Hiram anywhere.”

“Come along, “Hiram said cheerfully, “it will all be worth it in the end. You’ll see.”

“This is boring,” complained Skiffington date, a curvesome blond who worked in one of the offices on Atlas. She had very long legs, a very short dress and heels not very suitable for the walkabout Hiram was leading them on. Her name was Tiffany or Heather or Krissy or something. Emily couldn’t remember which. “We could have gone to one of the night clubs off the promenade deck.” She looked distastefully around the deck they were on, which had occasional coils of wire and tubing stacked against the wall and grease smears on the floor. “This place is a dump.”

Emily’s date — blind date really — was a captain named Alan from the space station’s construction unit. He looked around and shook his head. “Haven’t been up here yet. Could use a little paint.”