Chapter One Hundred and Fifty-Four

Interview with an Admiral

Empress Hoshi Sato

"Admiral Hernandez, Majesty," murmurs my major-domo respectfully as the slender, upright figure of one of my foremost Fleet Admirals advances and bows to the precisely required depth in front of me.

Not that I need telling; it's simply protocol – one of the thousands of strands of it that surround me – and while it's occasionally irksome, it's also a comfort. It ensures that we all know our places, and act accordingly. Also, this is a private audience, which Hernandez requested 'on a matter of some importance to Your Majesty', so it's not like I'm unlikely to recognize her unless somebody was there to prod my memory.

I remember a report crossing my desk that she'd found things in her patrol sector somewhat more active than anticipated and was back for restocking, rearming and repairs a bit ahead of schedule. Presumably, this allows her and most of her crew to take a day or two of leave before they head out on patrol again. Naturally, whatever possessed her to sacrifice some of her precious personal time to come visit me is reason enough for intense curiosity on my part.

Normally I'm not keen on giving private audiences to anybody. One of the hardest tricks of rule, I've found, is keeping a balance; favor shown to one may so easily cause resentment in another. But it's not as if Hernandez has exactly besieged me with requests for favors over the years, and there's no denying that she's been one of the strongest supporters I have. Her work with the Revenge has been tireless, suppressing rebellion in one of the most discontented areas in the sector. For that alone, I owe her something; maybe another medal in the next round of award-giving, though there are already so many ribbons on the dress uniform she's wearing that it's hard to imagine where she'd fit another one on.

Still. Medals can wait. There must be some very specific reason why she asked for this audience, so I gesture my attendants away and point her to the chair that's been placed at the foot of the dais.

'Private' isn't exactly private, of course. Quite a few people linger within eyeshot, especially my bodyguard, whose hands are never far from their phase rifles when anyone is within reaching distance of me. But I've had the room meticulously swept for snooping devices (even though this is done every week anyway) and the angle of the chair ensures that nobody is going to be able to lip-read anything she chooses to say. As long as we both keep our voices reasonably low, we'll be about as 'private' as it's possible to get when one of us is the ruler of the entire Terran Empire.

With a respectful nod, Hernandez takes a seat. The uniform looks splendid on her; she's still trim and fit, and carries her authority almost unconsciously – unlike some of the jackasses wearing admiral's bars, who'd have the cats and dogs in the street saluting as they pass by if there was any way to arrange for it to happen.

Even now, there are moments when it feels utterly unreal to have people like government ministers and admirals and generals bowing and scraping in front of me. I wonder what they'd think if they saw me aboard Enterprise, a lowly lieutenant safeguarding my prospects by humping whoever happened to be occupying the captain's chair.

"Admiral." It would be inappropriate for her to speak first, so I politely break the silence before it can become awkward. "I believe there was something you wanted to speak to me about."

She hesitates. If it's artistic, it's beautifully done. But as she begins speaking, it soon becomes apparent that if she wasn't hesitant about broaching this particular topic, she damn well ought to be.

"Your Majesty, I … it pains me to have to do this. But I have reason to believe you may be in danger."

I dart my eyes around the Audience Room. It's quiet, peaceful. The sun is streaming through the tall lancet windows, spreading jewel colors on the polished floor.

When you're in charge of an empire that uses pretty forceful methods of keeping the peace, it's not exactly unusual to have someone plotting against you. So far the people charged with protecting me have done a good job of it, but sometimes I remember that it only takes one... Still, I make sure my voice is completely steady before I reply. "And what reason do you have for thinking that?"

She leans forward. "I'll speak frankly, your Majesty: I believe that there's a conspiracy between two of your senior officers to mount a bid for power. I think that one or the other of them means to force himself on you as your consort, and that unless steps are taken you could even find yourself sharing power with both of them."

As shocking as her words are, her air of conviction is … well, convincing. I grasp the arm ends of my chair, and my pulse shudders with the memory of being a puppet in the Triad's hands.

"They wouldn't dare," I say involuntarily.

She bites her lip, as though wondering whether to dare to contradict me. "With respect, Ma'am, for one of them it would be just going back to 'business as usual'."

Reed.

Time hasn't noticeably mellowed my memories of his lazy sensuality, his voracious lust. Oh, I can well imagine that now he's back to health he's getting ideas of taking up again where he left off, though at least this time I wouldn't have to cope with that blue-eyed horror Hayes or their Spanish bitch, and while I've heard he's gone back to stuffing Liz Cutler when he wants a quick fuck, I'd never got the impression that she'd have enough imagination to know what to do in a threesome.

I should have ordered Trip to finish Reed off. Trouble was, I didn't quite dare. Even badly wounded, he still had a huge following that would be immensely dangerous if let loose to cause chaos; and if anyone had the power to safely bring under control the now masterless forces that his dead buddies had overseen, he was the guy. Love him or hate him, I needed him – and I had to let Trip make sure he survived.

… 'Two of your senior officers'.

…Tucker?

I'm so shocked and angry I actually stand up. My bodyguards level their rifles, and at one gesture from me, Hernandez will fry where she sits.

"If you're referring to Commodore Tucker, Admiral, then you'd better have some evidence to back up that accusation," I say, my voice icy cold. "If it wasn't for his work with the Defiant, I'm sure you're aware that what became an overwhelming victory for the Empire could well have ended very differently. I'm not going to stand here listening to you slander one of my most loyal servants."

Wisely, she slips to her knees, but her raised face is earnest. "Your Majesty, I wouldn't be here if what I'm saying wasn't the truth. The commodore has helped you, yes, but he's also helped himself. His popularity, his influence, has grown exponentially. Most of your engineers are loyal to him, not just those currently on Jupiter station; they all pass through his command for a final polishing before their initial deployment. It's not an exaggeration to say that with one word he could effectively paralyze the Fleet.

"Reed is a fine soldier and an expert tactician. He has a vast power-base. You know him. I beg you, your Majesty, do you honestly believe that now he's back in power he'll be content with taking orders?

"Tucker could control the Fleet. Reed already controls the MACOs. But rather than establish a base here, he's chosen to base Fortress at Jupiter Station – now, I have to ask, why?"

I had heard something about that, but I didn't see the significance at the time. If I'd thought about it, I might have assumed it was so he could have easy access to Cutler in his down time. But now, presented with the possibility of two immensely powerful men suddenly deciding that they enjoy each other's company – something of a miracle, given that aboard Enterprise they couldn't stand the sight of each other – I have to ask why as well. Certainly, if Reed really wanted Cutler that badly, he could have taken her aboard Fortress and had her any damned time he pleased, just as he used to do aboard Enterprise.No, something has given my Chief of Imperial Security and my Head Engineer of the Imperial Star Fleet enough of an incentive to overcome a loathing for each other that was legendary aboard ship. That 'something' must be pretty damn powerful. Something they couldn't achieve alone … but might well be able to achieve together.

The last time I saw them together was at the Grand Ball. Sure, you could hardly say they were in each other's pockets, but there wasn't any particular sign of animosity apart from the usual dirty looks and a couple of gibes people overheard; though I did hear a rumor that Reed had taken Trip back to his place for a bit of … well, let's say the commodore very clearly wasn't a particularly happy bunny in the breakfast room the next morning. Apart from that, that degree of restraint from a guy like Reed, who'd been virtually held prisoner for over a year by a subordinate officer he cordially loathed, was pretty remarkable. True, I'd given orders that everyone was to keep the peace – I wasn't having my party spoiled – but I saw for myself the way at one point he propelled Tucker into a chair and took his glass away. It was almost as though he was keeping him out of trouble, and why the heck should he care if Trip got into trouble? I'd be less surprised if he'd driven him into it headlong and then stood back and laughed.

Hernandez has stayed quiet while I thought things through. At least she has the sense not to try to look saintly – she's not doing this because she enjoys taking orders from me and wants to make sure it goes on happening. What she absolutely does not want is to have me taking orders from Tucker and Reed, because you can bet your bottom credit that one of them would want her taken out of the equation as soon as they thought it was safe to do so. Big sharks want other big sharks taken out of the pool; the little ones can be allowed to swim on a little longer.

"I'll want all this independently verified," I say sharply.

"Of course, your Majesty." She answers promptly, without a moment's hesitation. "Fortress is coupled up there now. General Reed had business at Starfleet Command, which he attended to for two days, and then he had himself shuttled back to Jupiter Station. He's been there twenty-four hours, and his ship was ready to go before he arrived. You won't find any evidence to the contrary." She makes a slight moue of distaste. "Of course, he has the use of the 'facilities' there–" I know perfectly well to which particular 'facility' she's referring, and I'm inwardly amused. Does she think she's telling me something I don't know? – "but I hardly imagine she's worth delaying a whole day for. And even if that is his reason, he should be out patrolling the quadrant, supporting the Empire." Like I do year in, year out, is her unspoken rider.

"Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Admiral. I'll make the appropriate enquiries. Please hold yourself available at short notice, I may want to speak to you again."

"Empress." She bows her head. At a guess, it's to hide a grin, but when she looks up again her face is suitably solemn.

I wave dismissal, and she walks backward from the room, watched with suspicion and relief by my bodyguards, who are still covering her with their phase rifles. The last time Reed walked backwards from the Throne Room he blew me a kiss and a wink from the door – he was on his way to Jupiter Station that time, too. Fortunately I was the only one who could see him do it, but I'd spent the night with him in my bed, the horny little bastard. I was hardly likely to have forgotten that already, however much I'd have liked to – and however amused he might be by reminding me.

After sitting still for a few minutes to let my composure settle (Never let your underlings see you shaken is an excellent maxim), I rise and stroll back to the sanctum of my inner rooms. One of my favorite of these is open all along one side to my private garden, an exquisite place designed by the top Japanese landscape architect. Every plant and bush and tree is placed and trimmed to perfection; every stone complements the view. On all sides water trickles through waterfalls and gleams in still pools. No matter what affairs of state may be weighing me down, this place never fails to calm me.

I sit on the rim of a pool where carp fan between the stems of golden waterlilies. There's food standing ready in a priceless antique pot, and the fish swim up to me, opening their round mouths greedily as they beg me to throw a handful of the meal into the water.

Not a bad analogy, I think bitterly. Everyone's after what they can get from me.

Not that I blame them, really. That's what the Empire's all about, and it's a long time since I've allowed myself the luxury of sentimentality. At least these wouldn't tear me to pieces the minute I lost my footing.

On that thought, I kick off my silk slippers, pivot and dabble my feet in the water. A couple of Rigelian golden veiltails swim up and begin daintily feeding off the layers of skin that are ready to shed off; their tiny, rasping teeth tickle a bit, but the skin they leave behind is immaculately clean and smooth. They're the most beautiful creatures to watch, too, like exotic dancers in the clouds of iridescent finnage that's the result of centuries of careful breeding to produce variants that wouldn't last an hour in nature.

So.

Is Hernandez telling the truth?

If she is, what does she want me to do about it?

Depending on what I do, what does she intend to do?

If I don't do anything, what will she do?

If she's telling lies, why?

I'll give Reed credit for one thing – he taught me to view statecraft like a game of chess. Before you act, you study the strategy. And the first assumption you make is that nothing that anyone tells you is for your benefit.

So.

Hernandez Wants Something, is the first and 99.999999999% reliable deduction.

'What?' is the first and most important question to ask. Possibly a pretty stupid one, but you never know – it pays to make sure.

'Why?' is the second.

Everything else will follow on from those two.

Clearly, I don't have the answer to either of them. So it seems to me that my most obvious course of action before I do anything is to speak to someone who may have extremely valuable insight into the situation. Someone who I've learned by the way harbors not only unrequited passions, but also unfulfilled ambitions. And may well be amenable to the possibility of getting a step upward as regards both of them.

I withdraw my feet gently from the still busily feeding fish and walk indoors, enjoying the feel of the warm stone under my bare soles, and as soon as I reach my desk I comm. Della.

"Arrange a call on an encrypted channel. Top priority."

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