Throne of Stars (107 page)

“I was there to see enough of that.” Roger’s face tightened, and he looked at Catrone. “Tomcat?”

“Christ, Your Highness,” Catrone said. “Don’t put this on me!”

“That was the deal,” Roger told him. “As you asked me, not so long ago, are you going back on your word?”

Catrone stared at him for several seconds, then shrugged.

“When she’s in, she’s
in
,” he said. “All the way in. She’s still got a few problems,” he conceded, raising a hand at Dobrescu, “but she knows she’s Empress. And
she’s
not willing to step aside.” He looked at Roger, his face hard. “I’m sorry, Roger. It’s not because I don’t trust you, but she’s my
Empress
. I’m not going against her, not when she still knows who she is. Not when it’s too early to know whether or not she can get better.”

“Very well,” Roger said, his voice cold. “But if she’s in charge, she needs to get back into the saddle. Things are in very bad shape, and we need her up,” he continued, looking at the doctors. “There are people she
has
to meet.”

“That would be . . . unwise,” the psychiatrist said. “The strain could—”

“Either she can take it, or she can’t,” Roger said flatly. “Ask
her
. I’m out of this decision loop, starting right now.”

“Like hell,” Catrone said angrily. “Are you going to go off into one of your Roger sulks? You can’t just throw the weight of the entire Empire onto her shoulders, damn it! She’s
sick
. She just needs some
recovery
time, goddamn it!”

“Tomcat, I can’t just make the galaxy
stop
while she gets better!” Roger snapped. “Okay. This was
your
decision—that was the deal. And for all I know, you’ve made exactly the right one. But if she’s Empress, she has got to
be
Empress, and that means
she
needs to determine what
I
do.”

“But—”

“No ‘
buts
,’ damn it! You know as well as I do how unsettled the situation is right now. Sure, we’ve got Helmut in orbit, and Prokourov and Kjerulf supporting us, but you’ve seen the coverage, just like me. Some of the newsies are doing their best to be dispassionate and impartial, but only a handful, and the
rest
of the rumors—”

He broke off with a frustrated snarl, then shook himself.

“Adoula did a damned good job of painting
me
as the one behind the first coup for public opinion,” he said flatly. “Hell, you heard Doc—they’ve got
her
half-convinced! It’s going to take time for everybody—
anybody—
to begin to understand what really happened. I know that. And I also know that’s actually a pocking good argument in favor of Mother remaining in charge. If
she’s
on the Throne, then obviously I’m not trying to take it away from her, right? So I
agree
with you about that, damn it! And I don’t care if she makes me her one hundred percent alternate, which as Heir Primus
should
be my job right now, or just hands me the shit details to reduce her load while
she
tries to do the job. Hell, I don’t care if she tells me to get off-planet and go back to Marduk! But for me to work for her, to help her, I have to at least be able to
talk
to her, Sergeant Major. And right now, I can’t even do
that
!”

“Okay, okay!” Catrone held up his hands, as if he were physically fending Roger off. “Point taken, Your Highness—
point!
” He paused and drew a deep breath. “I’ll see about a meeting. Not in private—that would probably be bad. A group meeting. You’re right, there
are
people she has to see. The new Navy Minister. The Prime Minister. Helmut. I’ll set up a meeting—an
easy
one,” he added, looking at the doctors.

“A short meeting with people she knows,” the psychiatrist said. “That may help her stabilize. It’s an environment she understands. But
short
. Nonstressful.”

“Agreed,” Roger said curtly.

“And you’ll be in it,” Catrone said.

“I can’t wait.”

“Your clothes survived,” Despreaux said from the bed.

“Sixty
million
credits worth of damage.” Roger sighed, tossing his cane onto the foot of the bed and flopping down next to her. They’d gotten their old bodies back. Sort of. Despreaux had opted for . . . a bit of upper body enhancement, and she’d kept the hair. She’d decided that she liked being blonde, even if it didn’t set off Roger’s coloring as well as her earlier dark brown had.

Roger, on the other hand, was back to plain old Roger. Well, plain old Roger just starting to regenerate the calf of his leg. Two meters, long blond hair, green eyes. Deep frown . . .

“Sixty million,” he repeated. “And that’s just to the
Palace
.”

“And then there’s the rumor that there are dozens of secret ways in.” Despreaux shuddered. “We need to get those blocked—and make damned sure everyone
knows
they’re blocked.”

“Working on it.” Roger sighed again. “And we need a new Empress’ Own. Replacement equipment. Work on the damage we did to the com facilities . . . Christ.”

“If it were an easy job, it wouldn’t take us,” Despreaux told him with a crooked smile.

“And we need something else.” Roger’s tone was serious enough that her half-smile faded.

“What?”

“An heir,” he said quietly.

The replicator had been found, turned over, the fetus poured out onto the floor and crushed. Roger had felt strange looking down at the pathetic, ruined body of the brother he would never know. They’d found the culprit among the surviving mercenaries—the DNA on his trousers had been a dead giveaway—and he was awaiting trial for regicide.

“Whooo,” Despreaux said, letting out her breath. “That’s a big thing to spring on a poor old farm girl! I’d hoped to have kids someday, your kids as a matter of fact, but . . .”

“Seriously,” he said, sitting up on the bed. “We need an heir of the body, out of the replicator, viable to take the Throne. Hell, we need duplicates. Things are bad right now. I hope like hell that—”

“I understand,” Despreaux said, reaching up to touch his cheek. “I’ll stop in at the clinic tomorrow. I’m sure they’ll take me in without an appointment.”

“You know,” Roger said, sliding down to hold her in his arms, “there’s another way to get things started . . .”

“God, I thought once I got you in bed, it would be
easy
.” She hit him with a pillow. “Little did I realize what a crazed sex maniac hid under that just plain
crazed
exterior!”

“I’ve got
years
of catching up,” Roger replied, laughing. “And there’s no time like the present.”

“Sergeant Major Catrone,” Alexandra VII sighed as Tomcat entered the sitting room.

She wore a high-necked gown, and her hair was simply but exquisitely styled. She looked every centimeter the Empress, but there were still shadowy bruises around her wrists. They had almost—
almost—
vanished, and he knew the medics had almost completely healed the . . . other marks on her body, as well. But they were still there, and something stirred and bared its fangs deep at the heart of him as she touched a control to raise the back of her float chair into a sitting position, and held out a hand.

“I’m so glad to see you,” she said.

“All you need to do is call, Your Majesty.” Catrone dropped to one knee instead of taking the proffered hand. “I am, and always have been, your servant.”

“Oh, get up, Tomcat.” Alexandra laughed, and laughed harder at his expression. “What? You thought I didn’t know your nickname?” She grinned. “You were a bachelor for many years when you served me; I learned
all
about your nickname.” She held out her hand again, fiercely. “Take my hand, Tomcat.”

“Majesty,” he said, and took it, dropping back to one knee again beside her chair and holding it.

“I haven’t been . . . well enough to tell you,” Alexandra said, staring at him, “what a
relief
it was to see your face. My one true paladin, there by my side once again. It was like a light in the darkness—and it was such an
awful
darkness,” she ended angrily.

“Majesty,” Catrone said, embarrassed. “I’m sorry it took us so long. We wanted—we
all
wanted—to move sooner, but until Roger—”

“Roger!” the Empress shouted, snatching back her hand and crossing her arms. “Everyone wants to talk about
Roger
!
The prodigal son returned—ha!
Fatted calf!
I’d like to roast
him
!”

“Majesty, control yourself,” Catrone said, gently but firmly. “Whatever you knew, or thought you knew, about Roger, you must take him as he is now. Fatted Calf would have been impossible without him. Not just because of the hidden protocols in his mind, either. Because of his leadership, his vision, his determination. His planning. He handled a dozen different actions as if they were one. Perfect combat gestalt, the best I’ve ever seen. And all he thought of was
you
, Your Majesty, from the first moment I told him what they were
doing
to you. His anger . . .”

The sergeant major shook his head.

“Only one thing kept him from killing New Madrid out of hand. I truly believe only one thing
could
have kept him from doing it, and it wasn’t the Empire, Your Majesty. It was his fiancée. He loves you, Your Majesty. He loves his mother. He isn’t his father’s son; he’s yours.”

Alexandra looked at him for a moment, then looked away and shrugged, the movement angry, frustrated, possibly even a bit uncertain.

“I hear you, Tomcat. Maybe you really believe that. Maybe it’s even true. But when I see him, I see his father’s face. Why, of all my children, did
he
have to be the only one to survive?”

“Luck,” Catrone said with a shrug of his own. “Excellent bodyguards. And perhaps most of all the fact that, I’m sorry, he’s one of the hardest, coldest bastards House MacClintock has ever coughed up.”

“Certainly a bastard,” Alexandra agreed astringently. “But how I
wish
John were still alive! I knew I could trust him. Trust his good judgment, trust his reasoning.”

“With all due respect, Your Majesty,” Catrone said with a swallow, “John was a good man. A smart one, and as honest as he could be, working in this snake pit. A . . . decent fighter, and someone I would have been proud to serve one day as Emperor. But . . . Adoula got away. He’s calling in all the fleets he controls, and proclaiming that
we’re
the ones using drugs and torture to control you now that we’ve gotten you into
our
hands. We’re in the midst of a civil war, and if there’s one MacClintock, besides you, who I’d trust at the helm in a civil war, it’s Roger. More than John. More even then Alex.”

“So you say,” Alexandra replied. “But I don’t—”

“—why, Sergeant Major Catrone! What a pleasant surprise!” she said delightedly, her face blossoming into a huge smile. “Have you come for a visit?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Catrone said evenly, his face wooden.

“Well, I hope you’ve had a good conversation with my friend, the Earl of New Madrid,” Alexandra continued. “He’s returned to my side at last, my one true love. So surprising that he’s such a good man, with a son who’s so evil. But, tell me, how are your horses? You raise horses now, don’t you?”

“They’re well, Your Majesty,” he said, standing with a wince. His knees weren’t what they used to be.

“I’m afraid I have a meeting in a few minutes with Our loyal servant, Prince Jackson,” the Empress said, waving him to a chair. “But I certainly have time to speak to my most favored former retainer. So, tell me—”

“How is she?” Eleanora said, taking Catrone’s arm to halt him briefly before they entered the room.

“Tracking,” Catrone replied. “Fine at the moment.”

“Let’s hope this goes well,” Eleanora sighed. “Please God it goes well.”

“For your side or for her?” Catrone asked bitterly.

“We’re on the
same
side, Sergeant Major!” Eleanora snapped. “Remember that.”

“I know. I try, but—” Catrone shrugged, pain darkening his eyes. “But sometimes it’s hard.”

“You love her,” Eleanora said gently. “Too much, I think.”

“That I do,” Catrone whispered. His face clenched for a moment, and then he shook himself. “Where’s the Prince?” he asked in a determinedly lighter tone.

“Late,” Eleanora said, her lips pursed in irritation.

They entered the conference room and took their seats. Their late entry did not pass unremarked, and they drew a stern look from the Empress at the head of the long, polished table. The room was lined with windows, looking out over one of the south gardens, and bright sunlight filled it with a warm glow. The Prime Minister had one end of the conference table and the Empress had the other. The new Navy Minister was also present; as was Admiral Helmut, who was temporarily holding down the position of CNO; the Finance Minister; Julian, who was still in some undefined billet; and Despreaux, who was in another. And, of course, there was one empty chair.

“And where is Roger?” Alexandra asked coldly.

The door opened, and Roger limped in. He wore a custom-tailored suit of bright yellow, a forest-green ascot, and a straw hat. The regeneration of his leg was still in its very early stages, and he leaned on a color-coordinated cane as he bowed.