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                               Chapter Seventeen

   Colin MacIntyre paused outside the larger state dining room to watch three
   harassed humans and a dozen robots sorting the countless bags of
   old-fashioned mail into paper breastworks. No one noticed him in the
   doorway, and as he resumed his journey towards the balcony, he made a note
   to divert still more human staff to reading the letters while he tried to
   sort out his own feelings.

   Those bags, and the hundreds which had preceded them in the past few days,
   proved that whatever outrages the Sword of God might wreak and however
   well-hidden their true enemy might be, his subjects cared. Those letters
   weren't just formal, official nothings from heads of state. They came from
   people all over the Fifth Imperium, expressing their joy-and relief-that
   their Empress was pregnant.

   Yet his own joy, as 'Tanni's, was bittersweet. Over two years had passed,
   but the aching void remained. Perhaps the new children (for the doctors
   had already confirmed it would be twins once more) would fill that
   emptiness. He hoped so. But he also hoped he and 'Tanni could resist the
   need to make them fill it. Sean and Harriet had been special. No one could
   replace them, and their new children deserved the right to be special in
   their own ways, not compared, however lovingly, to ghosts.

   The decision to have them hadn't been easy. It was fraught with grief, a
   guilty sense of betraying Sean and Harriet in some indefinable way, and
   fear of fresh loss. His and 'Tanni's enhancement would give them centuries
   of fertility, and the temptation to wait was great. Yet they faced the
   dilemma of all dynasts: the succession must be secured.

   That wasn't something Lieutenant Commander MacIntyre, USN, had ever
   worried about, and it hadn't entered his or 'Tanni's head when Sean and
   Harriet were conceived, for it had seemed preposterous that the
   monarchical government of a long-dead empire might be maintained. But as
   Tsien Tao-ling had pointed out twenty years past, it was loyalty to the
   Crown-to Colin MacIntyre's person-which held humanity together despite its
   legacy of rivalries, and many years must pass before that primal source of
   loyalty could be buttressed by others. Colin had been amazed that someone
   who had been the commander-in-chief of the last Communist power on Earth
   could make that statement, but Tao-ling had been right. And because he
   had, Colin and Jiltanith had no option but to think in dynastic terms.

   And perhaps, he mused, as he stepped out onto the balcony and saw his wife
   dozing in the summer sunlight, that was good. If their hands had been
   forced, the decision had still proved there was a future . . . and that
   they had the courage to love again after love had hurt them so cruelly.

   He smiled and crossed to Jiltanith, bending over her under Bia's drowsy
   warmth, and kissed her gently.

                                     * * *

   "I'm afraid you're right, Dahak." Ninhursag scratched her nose and nodded.
   "We've put every senior officer under a microscope-hell, we're down to
   lieutenants-and the only bad apples we've found are deceased, so it looks
   like we've closed off Mister X's penetration there."

   "I must confess I had anticipated neither that his penetration might be so
   limited," Dahak replied, "nor that he would dispose of his minions so
   summarily."

   "Ummmm." Ninhursag leaned back and crossed her legs as she contemplated
   their findings. Dahak was an enormous asset for any security officer. The
   computer might not yet have developed the ability to "play a hunch," but
   he'd achieved total penetration of Bia's datanets, and he was a
   devastatingly thorough and acute analyst. He and Ninhursag had started
   with a top-down threat analysis of every officer outside Colin's inner
   circle, then used Dahak's access to every database in Bia to test their
   analyses. Where necessary, ONI agents had added on-the-ground
   investigation to Dahak's efforts, usually without even realizing what they
   were doing or why. By now, the computer could tell Admiral MacMahan where
   every Fleet and Marine officer in the Bia System had been at any given
   minute in the last fifteen years. Of course, he didn't have anything like
   that degree of penetration in the Sol System. Not even the hypercom was
   capable of real-timing data at that range, and Earth's datanets were still
   far more decentralized than Birhat's. But even with those limitations, his
   access to the military's every order and report had allowed him to clear
   most of Sol's senior officers, as well.

   "Apparently Mister X takes the adage about dead men telling no tales to
   heart," Ninhursag observed now.

   "True. Yet eliminating his agents, however much it may contribute to his
   security, also deprives him of their future services. That would seem
   somewhat premature of him-unless he has acquired all the access his plans,
   whatever they may be, require."

   "Yeah." Ninhursag frowned at that unpalatable thought. "Of course, he may
   have been a bit too smart for his own good. We know about him now, and
   knowing he doesn't have a military conduit frees us up a lot."

   "Yet by the same token, it deprives us of potential access into his own
   network. We have exhausted all leads available to us, Ninhursag."

   "Yeah," she sighed again. "Damn. How I wish I knew what he was after! Just
   sitting here waiting for him to take another shot doesn't appeal to me at
   all. He's got too good a track record."

   "Agreed." Dahak paused, then spoke rather carefully, even for him. "It has
   occurred to me, however, that our concentration on the military, while
   logical, may have had the unfortunate consequence of narrowing our
   vision."

   "How so?"

   "We have proceeded on the assumption that he himself was of or closely
   connected to the military, or that the military was in some wise essential
   to his objectives. If such is not, indeed, the case, may we not have
   devoted insufficient attention to other areas of vulnerability?"

   "That's an endemic security concern, Dahak. We have to start someplace
   where we can establish a 'clear zone,' and we've got one now-physically,
   as well as in an investigative sense. We can be fairly confident the
   entire Bia System is clear, now, so we can assume Colin and 'Tanni are
   safe from direct physical attack, and knowing the military is
   clear-now-gives us the resources to mount a counteroffensive of our own.
   But if Mister X is a civilian-even one in government service somewhere-our
   chance of finding him's a lot lower."

   Dahak made a soft electronic sound of agreement. Entry level positions for
   civilian politicians and bureaucrats were subject to less intensive
   background scrutinies, and civilian careers seldom included the periodic
   security checks military men and women took for granted. When it came to
   civilians, he and Ninhursag lacked anything remotely approaching Battle
   Fleet's central databases, and their ability to vet suspects was
   enormously reduced.

   "Even worse," the admiral said after a moment, "Mister X knows what he's
   after, and that gives him the initiative. Until we figure out what he
   wants, we can't even predict what he's likely to do. Every security chief
   in history's worried about what he may have overlooked."

   "Granted. I only raise the point because I feel it is important that we
   maintain our guard against all contingencies to the best of our ability."

   "Point taken. And that's precisely why I see more reason than ever to keep
   this on a need-to-know basis. Especially since we don't know who in the
   civil service might have been suborned. Or who's vulnerable in the same
   way Vincente Cruz was."

   "A wise precaution. But may this not create problems when your ONI agents
   begin operations on Earth? They will inevitably be seen as interlopers,
   and the decision not to inform even the highest levels of the civilian
   security forces as to why their presence is necessary will exacerbate that
   perception. Indeed, it may even lead to a certain degree of institutional
   obstructionism in what humans call 'turf wars.' "

   "If there are any turf wars, I guarantee they'll be short. Ultimate
   responsibility for the Imperium's security rests right here, in my office.
   ONI's the senior service, and if anybody thinks different, I'll just have
   to show him the error of his ways, won't I?"

   Admiral MacMahan's smile was cold. Which suited Dahak very well indeed.

                                     * * *

   Lawrence Jefferson's pleasant expression masked a most unpleasant mood as
   he and Horus walked together to the Shepard Center mat-trans. Alert
   bodyguards watched over the Governor, and knowing his own actions had made
   them inevitable was irritating. Yet he'd had no choice. He'd known having
   Gus van Gelder killed would almost have to shake the Imperium's leadership
   into a fundamental reassessment of its security needs, but it had been
   essential to unmask Gus' mole. And, having done so, the only man who knew
   he'd had access to those briefing notes had to be removed, as well.

   He rather regretted the deaths of Erika, Hans, and Jochaim van Gelder.
   Gus, of course, would have had to go eventually, but it had offended
   Jefferson's innate tidiness to eliminate him so messily. On the other
   hand, his early removal had worked out far better than Jefferson had dared
   plan for. A successful conspirator didn't base long-term strategy on a
   gift from the gods which made him the person charged with catching
   himself, but that didn't make him ungrateful when it was given. And if
   Horus' security was better now, it still wasn't
   impenetrable . . . particularly against his own security chief.

   No, Jefferson's true unhappiness had less to do with defenses which
   couldn't, in the end, really matter than with the news from Birhat. The
   last thing he needed was for the imperial family to produce another heir!
   He'd already been forced to dispose of one pair, and now he might have to
   do the whole job over again-especially since Jiltanith had already
   announced her intention to visit her father on Earth for the birth. Which,
   he thought disgustedly, was precisely the sort of thing she would do just
   when he needed her and Colin in the same, neat crosshairs on Birhat.

   Of course, he reminded himself as he and Horus stepped up onto the
   mat-trans platform, pregnancy wasn't something whose timing even Imperial
   bioscience could predict with absolute accuracy. But if the doctors were
   right, Jiltanith would not give birth, after all, for she-and her unborn
   children-would die two weeks before she did.

                                     * * *

   The Planetary Duke of Terra grinned as he and his lieutenant governor
   entered the conference room. Hector MacMahan-still grim, but no longer an
   ice-encased stranger-had brought Tinker Bell, and Brashieel had brought
   his own Narkhana, one of her genetically altered pups.

   Horus watched Narkhana collapse as Tinker Bell leapt upon him and wrestled
   him to the floor. He rolled on the rug, thrusting back at her with all
   four feet while their happy growls mingled. For a dog well into her third
   decade, Tinker Bell was remarkably spry, thanks to her own limited
   biotechnics, yet she had no conception of the tremendous strength Narkhana
   was reining in to let her win, nor of just how far her son's intellect
   surpassed her own. Even if she'd been able to conceptualize such things,
   she would never have known, for her children would never tell her, and
   there was something both hilarious and poignant in watching them revert to
   utter doggishness in her presence.

   Hector looked up and saw the late arrivals, and a whistle brought Tinker
   Bell instantly to his side. She flopped down at his feet, panting
   cheerfully as she prepared to put up with another of the incomprehensible
   human things her person did. Horus raised a sardonic eyebrow at his
   grandson, and Hector looked back with a bland innocence he'd forgotten how
   to assume for far too many months. For all her boisterousness, Tinker Bell
   was well behaved when Hector chose to remind her to be.

   "Horus, Lawrence. Glad you could make it," Colin said, standing to shake
   hands. Horus squeezed back, then opened his arms to his daughter's embrace
   and slid into the chair beside Jefferson's.

   "Now that you're here," Colin went on, "let me introduce someone very
   special. Horus, you've already met, but it's been a while since you've
   seen her. Gentlemen, this is Eve."

   Horus inclined his head to the slender being on the pad beside
   Brashieel's. She was much more delicate than Brashieel, and several
   centimeters shorter, but her crest was magnificent. Brashieel's, like that
   of all male Narhani, was the same gray-green as the rest of his hide;
   Eve's was half again as large, proportionally, and shot with glorious
   color. Now that crest fanned in a graceful expression that conveyed
   greeting and thanks for his courtesy with an edge of embarrassment at the
   fuss being made over her, and it was hard for him to remember she wasn't
   quite seven years old.

   Jefferson bowed in turn, and Brashieel preened with pride beside her. The
   Narhani were a hierarchical race, and there'd never been much doubt the
   first Narhani female would become the bride of the first Narhani nest
   lord, but it was clear that more than duty and mutual expectation
   flourished between these two. Horus was glad for them-and not just because
   Eve represented the culmination of his dead daughter's greatest project.

   "We've got several things on today's agenda," Colin announced, "but first
   things first. Horus, 'Tanni and I want you to make sure the Earth-side
   news channels are ready for our broadcast."

   "In truth." Jiltanith's smile was almost as lovely as of old. Not quite,
   but it was getting there, and the knowledge that she was to be a mother
   again showed. " 'Twas kindness greater than e'er any mother, be she
   sovereign lady or no, might expect of so many to wish her unborn babes so
   well, Father. 'Twill heal our souls to tell them all how greatly their
   letters have helped to heal our hearts."

   "That," Horus said, "will be my very great pleasure."

   "Thank you," Colin said warmly, then grinned. "I know the Council's got to
   talk about all those little niggling things like taxes, budgets, and
   engineering projects, but first there's something really important. Eve?"

   "Of course, Your Majesty." Eve's vocoder had been set to produce a female
   human voice, and Horus felt a familiar stinging sensation in his eyes when
   he heard it. At Eve's own request, the voice was Isis Tudor's. It was her
   way of honoring her human "mother's" memory, and he'd once been afraid it
   would hurt to hear it. But there was no pain. Only pride.

   The adolescent Narhani woman reached into her belt pouch and withdrew a
   half-dozen holo plates. She laid one before her with a slender,
   six-fingered hand, adjusting it with nervous precision, then looked up at
   the humans seated around the table.

   "As you know," she said with a formality at odds with her youth, "the Nest
   of Narhan plans to commemorate the Siege of Earth with a gift to our human
   friends. We do this for many reasons, including our nest's desire to
   express sorrow for the deaths we caused and thanks for all humanity has
   given us when we might have expected only destruction. Memorials, such as
   your own Memorial at Shepard Center, are important to us, as well, and it
   is our hope that this will be the beginning of an Imperial Memorial. One
   in which our nest shares and which will be completed when the Nest of
   Aku'Ultan has also been freed."

   She paused, obviously relieved to have completed her formal statement
   without errors, and Brashieel's crest rose even higher in pride.

   "Our gift," she said more naturally, "is now finished."

   She pressed a button, and a soft gasp went up as a light sculpture
   appeared above the plate. It wasn't in the abstract style human artists
   were currently enamored of; it was representational, a reproduction of
   another sculpture worked in finest marble . . . and it was magnificent.

   A rearing Narhani rose high on his rear hooves to fight the bonds which
   held him captive. The cruel, galling collar about his neck drew blood as
   he pitted his frenzied strength against its massive chain, and the humans
   who looked upon him knew Narhani expressions well enough to read the
   despair in his eyes and flattened crest, but his teeth were bared in
   snarling defiance. He was without hope yet unconquered, and the anguish of
   his captivity wrenched at them.

   Yet he was not alone. Broken chains flailed from his wrists, the
   exquisitely detailed links shorn by some sharp edge, and a human knelt
   beside him, torso naked but clothed from the waist down in the uniform of
   the Imperial Marines. His face was drawn with fatigue, but his eyes were
   as fierce as the prisoner's, and he held a chisel in one hand, its honed
   sharpness hard against the iron ring which held the Narhani pent, while
   the other raised a hammer high to bring it smashing down.

   The detail was superb, the anatomy perfect, the two species' very
   different expressions captured with haunting fidelity. Sweat beaded the
   human's bare skin, and each drop of Narhani blood was so real the viewer
   held his breath, watching for it to fall. They were trapped forever in the
   stone-human and Narhani, fleshed in marble by a master's hand-and for all
   their alienness, they were one.

   "My God," Colin whispered into the silence. "It's . . . it's- I don't have
   the words, Brashieel. I just . . ." His voice trailed off, and Brashieel
   lowered his own crest.

   "What you see in it is only truth, Colin," he said softly. "My people are
   not so gifted with words as yours; we put our truths in other things. But
   while this lasts-" he gestured at the light-born statue before them "-we
   of the Nest of Narhan will never forget what humans have given us. We came
   against you thinking you nest-killers, but you taught us who the true
   nest-killer is and, when you might have slain us, gave us life. You gave
   us more than life." His hand stoked Eve's crest gently. "But most of all,
   you gave us truth, and so we return that truth to you. To all your people,
   but especially to you, for you are our nest lord now."

   "I-" Colin blushed as he had not in years, then looked up and met
   Brashieel's eyes squarely. "Thank you. I will never receive anything more
   beautiful . . . or that I will treasure more."

   "Then we are content, High Nest Lord."

   Lawrence Jefferson gazed raptly at the statue through the buzz of
   admiration which followed, and not even his reverence was completely
   feigned. He cleared his throat when the first rush of conversation slowed.

   "Brashieel, may I-" He paused, then shrugged slightly. "I hesitate to ask
   it, but may I have a holo of this for a place of honor in my office?"

   "Of course. We have brought several copies for our friends, although we
   hope they will not be made public before the formal gifting."

   "May I display it if I promise to hide it from any newsies?"

   "We would be honored."

                                     * * *

   The Lieutenant Governor of Earth was almost as carefully protected as her
   Governor. Whenever he was in residence, security troops, unobtrusive but
   alert, prowled the grounds of the Kentucky estate the Jeffersons had owned
   for generations. But none of those protectors knew of the secret measures
   which let him elude their guardianship at need.

   Lawrence Jefferson stepped from the concealed tunnel exit eight kilometers
   from his home. Once it had served the Underground Railroad, but it had
   been refurbished and extended in more recent years when Senator Jefferson
   had been recruited by Anu's chief operations officer. Not even Kirinal's
   most trusted subordinates had known of its existence, but Jefferson had
   labored upon it under her direction, incorporating certain unobtrusive
   elements of Imperial technology to make it undetectable. At the time,
   those measures had been aimed at Horus and the scanners of the hidden
   battleship Nergal, yet they'd proved equally efficacious against those of
   a planetoid named Dahak.

   A flyer waited in a carefully dilapidated old barn, and Jefferson climbed
   aboard and set the holo plate almost lovingly on the empty seat beside
   him. He'd managed to obtain copies of the preliminary study, but he'd
   never expected to receive the exact image of the finished sculpture, and
   his smile was unpleasant as he activated the drive and, even for him,
   highly illegal stealth field and lifted quietly into the night.

   It wasn't a long trip, though reason told him he shouldn't be making it,
   but he wanted to make this delivery in person, and the risk was slight.
   Yet even had it been greater, he would have made this flight himself.
   There were times when the elaborate deception of his life palled upon him,
   when he wanted-needed-to be about his work himself. He built his
   strategies like a chess master, but there was a gambler within him, as
   well, one who sometimes felt the need to throw the dice from his own hand.

   He landed outside a shed-like structure and keyed a complicated admittance
   code through his neural feed. There was a moment of hesitation, and then
   its door slid open. Imperial machinery stood silent in the bright overhead
   lights as he walked to stand beside the heroically scaled sculpture that
   machinery had wrought in exact duplicate of the sketches he'd provided.

   A stoop-shouldered man turned to greet him. His artist's eye told him he
   had never seen his employer's undisguised face, and he was glad, for he
   believed that made him safe. He didn't know he, too, would be eliminated
   anyway when his task was done. Lawrence Jefferson took no chances.

   "Good evening," the stoop-shouldered man said. "No one told me you were
   coming in person, sir."

   "I know. But I've brought you a gift." Jefferson set the holo plate on a
   work table and pressed the button.

   "Magnificent," the man breathed. He looked back and forth between the
   sculpture and his own handiwork. "I see a few details will need changing.
   I must say, sir, that this is even more spectacular than the sketches
   indicated."

   "I quite agree," Jefferson said sincerely. "Will there be any schedule
   problems?"

   "No, no. It's only a matter of arranging the input and then letting the
   sculpting unit do its job."

   "Excellent. In that case, I'd like you to go ahead and input it now; I
   need to take this with me when I leave."

   "Of course. If you'll excuse me?"

   The stoop-shouldered man bent over his equipment, and Jefferson stood
   back, hands folded behind him while he admired the work his doomed
   henchman had already produced. It looked just like real marble, and so it
   should, given how much it was costing.

   Perfect, he thought. It was perfect. And no one who looked at it would
   ever guess the secret it concealed, for the gravitonic warhead and its
   arming circuits were quite, quite invisible. 

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                                                                       Framed