28 Loose Lips #2
I didn’t have time to thank the archduke, as the door behind me slammed open with an almighty clatter. I whirled about to see Ankhelina filling the doorway, fury distorting her face. I put down my coffee. “If you’ll excuse me, Archduke, I feel I’m about to be called away.”
Darius did not have a chance to reply. Ankhelina lashed out, grabbing my upper arm in one of her sizable hands with remarkable speed, then pulled me along like a wayward child.
“Steady on, Champion. There’s no need to be so rough,” I chided.
Ankhelina did not let up. “What are you thinking, keeping the Emperor waiting?” With no regard for my public image, she half dragged me to the Emperor’s side.
Astrid was dressed in her skintight black flying leathers, her fingers capped in chromium points. When she saw me, her face lit up like a battlecruiser’s engines during maneuvers.
“Levar,” she exclaimed. Then she noticed my outfit, and her face fell. “What is this? You’re not dressed.”
“That’s because I won’t be racing,” I replied, standing stoically before her.
“What?” Astrid looked as though I had slapped her. She searched my face, confused, for an explanation, but I remained impassive. “Levar, I chose a terrain race because I thought you’d enjoy it.”
“After last night, I find I have more important things to do than engage in juvenile games.” I clicked my heels together and bowed in my best courtly manner. “I hope you enjoy the race. May the flight be pleasant and your skycar swift.”
For a moment, I thought Astrid would strike me.
Her entire body tensed and her fingers curled into fists.
Then I thought she would order me to attend, the way she straightened and half turned as though to command Ankhelina to force me into flying leathers.
In the end, she decided not to force the issue, which was good, because I had intended to disobey her if she demanded I race.
“You will sit by my side this evening,” she said in a tone which brooked no argument.
I bowed my head again. “There’s no place I’d rather be, my Emperor.”
The Emperor gave me one last sharp look, visibly trying to decide if I was being impertinent or not, but she left for her skycar without another word.
I sidled up to the bar and ordered an Eire-style coffee, with whipped crème and sprinkles because, damn it, the Emperor’s Consort would drink whatever the Fall he wanted.
I fortified myself with caffeine and whiskey as the racers filtered out, leaving a significantly denuded palace, which was perfect for me.
I wanted as few prying eyes and suspicious ears on me as I was about my business.
Ordering a second Eire coffee, I sat back and asked, “Ingvar?”
“Yes, sir?” the hordling said, appearing around the edge of the bar.
“Do you know where Count Zukov is?”
Ingvar adopted a disapproving posture. “I do, sir, but you will not like it.”
I guffawed. “You cannot know why I want to see him. How could you possibly know what I will and will not like?”
“Call it a servant’s intuition, sir,” the hordling answered.
“Regardless, tell me where he is,” I ordered. Ingvar told me, and dammit, he was right: I did not like Count Zukov’s location.
Twenty minutes later, I crossed between two heavily armed Imperial guards onto the lancer range.
The high-pitched pangs of lancer bolts firing, the burned-metal smell of shells, the conflagratory flares as targets burst into flame all brought me back to the front.
I wasn’t a minor Commonwealth diplomat, or the Emperor’s Consort, or the negotiator of the quadrant’s future.
Now I was a Royal officer, and I had orders to give.
It’s a supply problem, I thought. He has the supplies you need. You have the authority to requisition them, but he outranks you. You don’t want to force him; you’d rather he give the materiel willingly, but you can order him to give them over if you want. You’ve done this a hundred times.
This was why I had worn my parade dress tunic. In war, when giving orders and assuming authority, a properly pressed parade dress uniform was better armor than a fully charged shield.
Count Zukov was in a private shooter’s booth, putting rounds through a double-barreled long lancer, too long and heavy for a human to use, but elegant in his massive hands. I noted his accuracy was middling-fair, but that was at two hundred yards. I would be speaking to him at point-blank range.
The count broke his lancer open, ejecting both rapidly cooling shells from the breech. As he reached for another pair of magma shells, he noticed me and straightened. “Consort.”
I spoke in Imperial. My accent was still decidedly foreign, but several days in the Emperor’s company had brought back much of what I’d forgotten in her absence.
“Count. I need to speak to you.”
“Of course. How may I assist the Emperor’s Consort?” he responded in a voice like shingles shifting.
“It concerns the Emperor,” I said curtly.
That got Zukov’s attention. He lay the long lancer rifle on the bench and stood. “One would think you could speak to her directly about such things.”
I made a noncommittal gesture. “In this matter, she will not listen to me.”
“If she will not heed her Consort, what hope has a mere count of catching her ear?” Zukov tried to brush past me, but I grabbed his elbow.
“I know the Federation is planning to betray its allies,” I hissed up at him.
Zukov was silent, but he stopped and his face went carefully blank. His lack of reaction confirmed my suspicions. “So you’re in on it. How disappointing. Somehow, I thought you were more direct than that. How could you believe the Federation will act in good faith?”
The count took a step back, ostensibly to speak to me better, but I noticed it brought him within easy reach of the lancer rifle.
“My reasons are direct enough. Despite my suspicions as to who caused New Melbourne’s Fall, the Emperor has proven so myopically focused on avoiding a second Fall that she neglects the Empire’s future.
Thus it falls to me to think of our best interests. ”
“Did you know of New Melbourne’s Fall?” I asked, incredulous.
Zukov shook his head minutely. “Not until after I spoke with you. I was leading an offensive on the Silesian front when the Emperor ordered a halt and summoned me here. After speaking with you, I had too many questions, and the Emperor took me into her confidence about the true purpose of this gathering.”
“And the issue of who caused a Fall event does not concern you? It doesn’t matter that the Federation might have tripped the Fall event themselves?”
“It matters less than ending the war on good terms. The Federation offers us what we want from this war now. Whether they act in good faith or not, we can take what we have conquered, cement Imperial power in the quadrant, and avoid another Fall event.”
“You believe that? I thought you were a man of sense.” Count Zukov bristled slightly.
I held up a placating hand. “Even if they are not responsible for New Melbourne, the Federation is an unstable, untrustworthy ally. The moment you show weakness, they will strike, all while maintaining the facade of friendship.”
“This is what they have done with you. They will not find the Empire so exposed,” Zukov growled.