Chapter Four
Proposition

Colonel Austin Burnell

"It appears my meeting with Admiral Hernandez has been cancelled."

I have to give credit where credit is due. The Empress has nerve. She sits there, bolt upright like an offended cat, radiating frosty indignation but no fear as she waits, measuring events.

To be fair, she has every reason to believe that the guards standing in the alcoves around the chamber are unfailingly loyal and will annihilate my companions and myself at the slightest gesture from her. However, the very fact that I am not only here in this room, uninvited and unexpected, at a time when she was scheduled to meet with someone else, but also still alive and intact, and not kneeling before her, should tell her that a number of things have already gone epically wrong.

"Oh, the Admiral is attending to other duties which I have recently assigned her," I say almost flippantly. "And I've already cleared your schedule for the next several days."

"Guards!" she barks.

I can't see what happens behind me at her command. Contrary to popular belief, I don't have eyes in the back of my head, but it stands to reason that the guards have drawn their weapons; and I can tell by the slight widening of her eyes that they're not all pointing them in the same direction (and the fact that I haven't already been reduced to a cinder does also rather give it away).

"Not all the Imperial household is as loyal as you apparently think they are, Majesty," I say, my voice cool, confident and meant to be heard. "Those of you who still are have three seconds to drop your weapons. One…"

"Kill him!"

Nothing happens. Her gaze is hot enough to incinerate as it flashes around the room.

"Two…"

"Cowards!"

Her eyes are flashing with fury now. I really do admire her courage. For all she knows she'll be dead in a minute, but she's not afraid. She's angry with the servants who have failed her.

"Th…"

The clattering and thumps of weapons being dropped to the floor tells me the guards have obeyed. I look over my right shoulder.

"Major Vaja, take them into custody," I command quietly, then I raise my voice again to be heard by the guards. "There is no need to fear. Things will be settled in a week or two, and then you'll each be given the opportunity to save yourselves. Until that time, you will all be treated humanely."

Of course they don't believe it. Why would they? The Empire has run on fear and intimidation instilled by merciless, senseless brutality for the entire duration of collective Human memory. It's going to take decades – if not generations – to change that; but though the resolutions I plan to propose in the foreseeable future might not spread as deep and wide as the former Commodore Tucker and his ilk might have intended, at the very least, I'm going to do my very best to make sure that the people learn to trust their government not to torture and kill random citizens who have committed no crime to deserve punishment.

Admittedly, it's not the milk of human kindness inspiring me to possibly spare those loyal to the Empress, but my firmly-held belief that the Empire cannot carry on as it has been doing since its foundation. We've reached a point where we're almost spread too thin, and while I do plan to slow the drive for expansion, if we don't want to be torn apart like cobwebs in the meantime, we also need to get all of our people pulling together for everyone's mutual benefit rather than doing the minimum necessary to avoid prosecution or persecution from The Powers That Be. Instilling a belief in fair and impartial justice is just one important step toward fostering the sense of community and shared destiny necessary to strengthen and unify the Empire, and I see no good reason not to begin re-educating my subjects here and now.

In my peripheral vision I've seen motion where the Empress is now standing, and as I turn back toward her, a dagger comes flying at me. I catch it, flip it around, notice it matches the ornament in her hair where once there were two, and throw it back to land point-first at her feet, pinning the hem of her gown to the floor. The material is an unbelievably costly pearl-coloured Triaxian silk brocade shot through with iridescent silver filaments so that it shimmers with every pastel shade imaginable as it flows like liquid opal over her slender body.

I start to mount the steps and she draws back a pace, her face rigid with suspicion and anger.

"Don't move," I order, and she obeys me. This is an auspicious beginning; at least she's had the sense to know when to stop. I keep going, stopping a step or two below the dais on which her throne sits and bending forward to collect the dagger. When she neither kicks me nor throws its mate (which she could, if she were stupid enough) I choose to take it as another positive sign.

I take the last two steps in one stride and join her on the dais.

"It's a lovely gown," I observe. "I didn't want to see it damaged any further, and if you'd moved it would have ripped."

I hand the dagger back to her. The handle is ebony inlaid with opal and iridescent silver to match the dress, and the fact that she was wearing it in her hair suggests the blade isn't poisoned, though the balance of it makes it an excellent throwing weapon. She gives me a rebellious, slightly bemused look, accepts the dagger (if not with good grace then at least without trying to slash my fingers), takes a step back, and replaces it in her hair.

"Make no mistake, Empress, before the week is out, I will be Emperor, in fact, if not in name just yet," I tell her quietly; when you're certain of what you're saying, there's no need to shout, and the more this can be kept between the two of us the more I safeguard her dignity, which may ultimately matter. "In the meantime, you, too, will be given an opportunity to save your life."

At close quarters, her glare is scalding. "There's no way…"

"There are multiple ways I can ascend to the throne without having to kill you," I interrupt calmly, wanting to reassure her but at the same time demonstrate with absolute clarity that I've planned all this down to the last detail and her options have narrowed down to those I provide and not one other. "There are even more which require your demise, but I would prefer not to utilise any of them. If you force me to kill you, it will be slow, painful, humiliating, and end with your head on a pike touring the farthest reaches of the Empire to be reviled for the crimes I will accuse you of committing before I have it turned into a doorstop at the main entrance to the Imperial Retreat in Japan. If I'm honest, I rather like the irony of sending you home."

It was former General Reed who taught me the power of irony in describing a victim's potential fate for their contemplation.

After a slightly longer hesitation than I expected – which once again impresses me with her sheer, raw nerve, for though I can't blame her for not wanting to appear too eager, I'm genuinely surprised by how long she's able to make me wait – she asks, "And what would be your preferred route to the throne, Colonel?"

"Ideally, you would announce that you have decided to take a consort and we will be promptly wedded. Of course, I will be the one actually in charge."

"Of course," she says with a humourless smirk.

"But you will still have certain duties and responsibilities of your own, and corresponding rights and privileges." The 'rights and privileges' part certainly gets her attention; I see the slight flicker of sharpening interest. "Naturally, I would insist on absolute marital fidelity from you until I have sired enough heirs, and would cheerfully employ specialised, if uncomfortable, undergarments to ensure it if you ever made me feel it was necessary, but after the children were born, you would be free to have yourself permanently sterilised so you could entertain any and as many partners as you like. Obviously, with the appropriate discretion."

"How many heirs is 'enough'?" she demands, and rightly so, I must admit; I'd be asking exactly the same question if I were standing in her shoes. After all, I'll be having the fun part, and the rest of it – as I understand, especially at the end – is a lot less entertaining.

"Oh, anywhere from six to a dozen at least," I reply cheerfully, "which isn't all that many, considering the record number any woman has ever produced was seventy-seven."

I can't help being amused by the look of horror that crosses her face, but I'm quick to reassure her. "Don't worry. I'll only expect you to carry and nurse the first one as public proof of our consummated marriage. The rest can be got by in vitro fertilisation and carried by surrogates. A DNA test will be sufficient to prove their parentage."

The look of horror dissipates, but she doesn't instantly agree. Her face takes on a look of calculation as she studies me. She didn't rise from an anonymous ensign on an Imperial warship to Empress overnight without carefully considering her options.

"You said there was more than one way I could survive this coup?" she asks on a note almost of disdain.

Too much power for far too long has made her arrogant. I'll cure her of that. This is Pack, and the female submits.

"Oh, yes!" I respond as if she has reminded me of something I've forgotten. Then my tone and expression harden. "I could convert one of the tower chambers into a nursery, lock you in and breed you like a bitch until you simply expire from the strain of perpetual pregnancy.

"But don't answer now. I'll give you two days to consider your decision." I actually need that time to get a few things in order and plan my coronation, but there's no reason why I should tell her that. The success of her reign so far has proven she's more than clever enough to realise it for herself. "Lieutenant Cole?"

She's been a few paces behind me since I walked in, along with my PA Ian Trainor, and now steps up beside me.

"Sir?"

"The Empress is not to leave this room until I return."

"Understood, sir."

"Lieutenant Trainor, you're with me."

I turn to leave the chamber, Ian falling in behind me, and the Empress calls out defiantly, "I'm going to have to go to the bathroom, eventually!"

I pause and turn to face her. "I'm sure Lieutenant Cole will be happy to have someone find you a chamber pot, Empress." I say. "Lieutenant, see to it as soon as it's practical, so that when 'eventually' comes, the Empress doesn't have to wait in discomfort."

"Yes, sir." She salutes, her face completely expressionless.

"And Empress," I address her again. "While I have always treated you with the appropriate respect, I feel neither awe nor any special reverence toward your title. All that interests me is the power that comes with it. So you should know that Lieutenant Cole has the authority to stun you or use any other coercive means if necessary to gain your co-operation. I am confident that any requests she makes of you will be perfectly reasonable, so you would be wise to comply. I am sure she will respond favourably to any reasonable requests that you might make of her in return."

I turn and leave without waiting for a reply, but the chamber is large. So, while I don't intentionally slow my stride, I'm not in any particular hurry, either; and there's time for me to hear the initial conversation between Cole and the Empress.

"Respectfully, Empress, I'm not confident my reflexes are as quick as Colonel Burnell's, so I would appreciate it if you wouldn't mind removing your hair ornaments and placing them on the seat of your throne?"

I hear the Empress hiss something at her, but Cole's polite, "Thank you, now please step away," is enough to convince me that she has everything well in hand.