The Lost Secret Page 8

  He heard hard breathing before that of pounding feet. With a feeling of disquiet, Ural repositioned himself and witnessed two sweaty raggedly garbed premen race over a hill and stagger in his general direction. Both premen watched the sky behind them, seeming terrified.

  “No!” Ural shouted. “Don’t come here.”

  Both premen jerked around, staring at him in shock. The one with short brown hair that stood up on end like a frightened dog spoke to the other.

  Off in the distance, the Emperor did another of his partial loops and changed direction.

  The two premen jerked about, watching the graceful if sinister performance.

  After the craft disappeared, with the shark-gun chattering in the distance, the two premen conferred together, chests heaving. Did they reach an agreement? It was possible, as the two staggered down the slope, with their shoulders slumped in defeat.

  Their tattered garments were familiar. They’re Star Watch officers. Ural looked away, troubled. Star Watch must never learn about this. That meant—he steeled himself for an unpleasant chore.

  Ah! There might be a way out of having to murder these two. Ural regarded them once more.

  They halted about a hundred meters from him. Each bore wounds and seemed unnaturally lean. Had the Emperor starved them before releasing them to hunt?

  “Sir,” one of them called. “May we approach?”

  Ural nodded.

  They jerked back as the Emperor’s sky-shark made yet another loop and turn as it sped off in a different direction. It would seem the Emperor must soon finish with the others. He would then come for them. No doubt reaching the conclusion, the two hurried toward Ural, maybe hoping for sanctuary.

  “That’s far enough,” Ural said when they were ten meters from him. He could smell their terror. It was a sweaty, meaty stench.

  They did not look at him, but stared at the ground as they trembled.

  “Who are you?” Ural asked.

  The shorter one, the younger, looked up once before staring down again. “I’m Lieutenant Franco. This is Major Morris.”

  Ural sighed. They used their old names. That was a crime on the Throne World. Surely, they’d received new slave names. The two were fools, or they were proud and considered themselves—

  That’s not it. They must want to die as men.

  The understanding saddened Ural, and he realized his actions might entail the Emperor’s wrath later.

  “Why…why is he hunting us?” Lieutenant Franco asked, as he indicated the sky.

  “I don’t know the exact reason,” Ural said.

  “Will you protect us?”

  “Alas, I cannot.”

  Franco and Morris traded glances. “We’ll leave you in peace, then,” Franco said, turning to go.

  “It’s too late for that.”

  The two began to tremble anew, although they dared to look at him again. Franco scowled. The older man—Major Morris—looked as if he was ready to cry and beg for mercy. That would be unseemly even for a subman.

  “This is wrong of him, and of you,” Franco said.

  “It’s daring of you to say that, but I’ll grant you it’s true nonetheless.”

  “You agree with me?”

  “Philosophically. Unfortunately, I can’t give you anything more.”

  Franco’s scowl deepened. “If you’re so superior to us, why not do something? Or are you afraid of him and thus too cowardly to act?”

  How dare he say that to me? The sudden anger drained from Ural as quickly as it had flared. The preman spoke truth, even if he’d dashed it in his teeth. It implied boldness, and such a thing deserved a reward.

  “On reconsideration, I’ll do as you ask.” Ural drew his saber.

  The two flinched at sight of the naked blade, although Franco flinched less.

  Ural pitched the saber underhanded so it twirled through the air, the sunlight glittering off the steel blade. It landed point first near Franco’s feet.

  “What is this?” Franco asked. “What are you doing?”

  “Giving you a weapon,” Ural said. “I urge you to attack in tandem and kill me if you can. I doubt that’s possible. Thus, I’m granting you a warrior’s death instead of dying like terrified rabbits.”

  “I despise your arrogance,” Franco said, the scowl disappearing as he spoke mildly. Perhaps he was too beaten down at this point for anything else.

  Ural nodded. “In your place, I would despise me too.”

  “You’re not better than us.”

  Ural cocked his head. “That depends on your definition. Certainly, if you face me, you will die. But better to die as a man than a rabbit.”

  On some level, Franco must have agreed. He grasped the saber by the hilt, yanking the tip out of the ground.

  The older man—the Major Morris—watched Franco with terrified eyes.

  “Again, I urge you to attack in tandem.” Ural did not feel noble saying that, as it was an unfair fight under any condition. The Emperor’s keepers must have starved and badly frightened the premen before the chase. The chase itself had worn down their strength and mental acuity. Still, these two had acted courageously, or Franco had, at least. Ural approved of courage, and he severely disproved of his cousin’s behavior.

  Franco advanced slowly until he screamed a war cry, racing across the sward with the saber held high. Saliva flew from his mouth, his eyes bulged and he nearly tripped. He was exhausted, but he was going to do his damnest anyway.

  The Star Watch lieutenant reached Ural, and he swung. Ural stepped aside so the blade swished past uselessly. He might have tripped the preman, but that would have demeaned the action. He let the other stagger to a halt, turn and shake his head so sweat flew from it.

  “I’m going to kill you,” Franco panted, as he raised the saber and shook it.

  Ural had turned to face Franco and waited, with his back to Major Morris. He did not hear the other approaching, suspecting the preman was too frightened to try.

  Strangely, Franco did not charge right away. Instead, almost with manic intensity, the lieutenant stared at him. The preman seemed to struggle to keep his gaze locked with his.

  Then Ural heard a click, and he understood that Franco had shown greater cunning and determination than he’d believed possible. Ural spun around to see Morris unlatching the long rifle from the sky-shark’s frame.

  Clearly, Franco had deliberately refrained from glancing at Morris, which would have given the game away.

  “Yes!” Ural shouted, unable to contain his admiration for the maneuver. His boot tips dug into the grass as he launched himself at Morris. He sprinted faster than an Olympic athlete might have achieved.

  Morris looked up once, the older man paling and trembling even as he struggled to unlatch the rifle.

  Ural silently urged him to work faster and with more calm. The man’s trembling fingers was making it impossible for him to finish the deed. Ural slowed his sprint, giving Morris a fraction more time. It made no difference. Morris lost his nerve, removing his hands from the rifle and crying out for mercy.

  Ural’s fighting instincts had kicked in as he reached Morris. He pretended the other hadn’t given up, and lashed out with stiffened fingers, jabbing the older preman in the throat.

  Morris pitched back, gurgling in agony.

  Ural left him like that, as he turned, knelt and unlatched the long rifle from the sky-shark. He stood and was saddened that Franco hadn’t raced at him. The lieutenant watched from the same location as before.

  From the ground on his back, the gasping Morris raised an imploring hand.

  Ural sighed, and he struck with the wooden stock, killing the preman, putting him out of his misery. Afterward, he cocked the flint and raised the rifle, aiming at Franco.

  The preman watched him with resignation.

  “You could still charge me,” Ural said.

  “Why bother?”

  “In order to die like a warrior.”

  “I no longer believe in an
y code of ethics, certainly not in your Valhalla ideals.”

  “Have you lost heart then?” Ural asked.

  “No. I’ve been betrayed once too often is all.”

  “Oh? How did we betray you?”

  Franco shook his head. “My superiors betrayed me: first the Lord High Admiral Cook, second the Lord High Admiral Fletcher and lastly Methuselah Woman Lisa Meyers.”

  As Franco recited his litany, Ural lowered the rifle. “You believed in the Humanity Manifesto Doctrine?”

  “I still do.”

  Ural frowned until illumination occurred. “You were on Tortuga?”

  “Not so long ago, we made you a prisoner there.”

  That was true. Ural had gone to Tortuga, a pirate planet, in order to capture Lisa Meyers as she tried to trap Captain Maddox. Things had not worked out as planned, and he’d spent time in captivity with his nephew, thanks to Lisa Meyers outwitting all of them.

  “I hadn’t heard we captured ex-Star Watch people,” Ural said. Some Humanity Manifesto people had fled Star Watch when Admiral Fletcher died. Of those, some had joined Methuselah Woman Lisa Meyers.

  “Go ahead and shoot,” Franco said. “I’m sick of this.”

  Before Ural could decide what to do next, the Emperor’s sky-shark appeared over the nearest hill. The aircraft did not roar over, but came slowly as if his cousin intended to land.

  “Throw down your saber and grovel,” Ural said. “The Emperor of the Throne World approaches.”

  Franco turned as the sky-shark started its bumpy grass landing. He watched, and he glanced back at Ural. Then, the preman thrust the saber point in the grass, sat down cross-legged and crossed his arms over his chest, apparently waiting for whatever was going to happen next.

  -13-

  Golden Ural un-cocked the long rifle, resting the butt against the ground. He also removed the goggles from his eyes, hanging them on his belt.

  The Emperor rose from the landed sky-shark, adjusted his uniform and then dusted it clean. He took in the throat-crushed preman twisted near Ural’s sky-shark and the other sitting cross-legged on the slope near the saber. Finally, he eyed his cousin.

  Ural dipped his head, holding it several seconds before looking up.

  “I killed them all but for the one you slew and the impertinent scoundrel with your sword in the sward,” the Emperor said languidly.

  Ural kept respectfully silent; at least, he hoped his cousin construed it that way.

  “Did you happen to witness my aerial marksmanship?”

  “Alas, no,” Ural said. “I did see your loops, however. They were models—”

  “Don’t bother,” the Emperor said testily. “I can feel your disapproval—or am I wrong in that?”

  Ural hesitated but a moment. Did Lieutenant Franco’s former words spur him? It was possible. “In truth—since you asked—I do disapprove of wanton murder.”

  “Ah,” the Emperor said. “You disprove of my sport?”

  “Of chasing them like rabbits, of treating them like vermin.”

  “They are vermin.”

  “They’re human, if subhuman in certain respects.”

  “I do not care for your tone, cousin. It treads on seditious speech.”

  Ural forced himself to laugh.

  “You dare to mock me to my face?” the Emperor demanded

  “I’m laughing at your joke.”

  “You’d better enlighten me, then.”

  “Seditious speech?” asked Ural. “You’re the Emperor of the Throne World. You’re the ultimate realist of a nation of realists. It’s a joke to think that your ears are too delicate to hear contrary thoughts from your staunchest supporter.”

  The Emperor glared at Ural, who calmly accepted the stare. Perhaps his demeanor softened something in the Emperor. The tallest of the Throne World dominants laughed, shaking his head. “It’s true. I’ve become touchy lately. It must have something to do with Strand’s proposal.”

  Ural felt himself go cold. It was true. The rumor that the Emperor had spoken with the scoundrel of a Methuselah Man was a fact.

  “Strand?” asked Ural.

  The Emperor waved that aside as he pointed at Franco. “What’s the impertinent creature waiting for?”

  “I tossed him my saber as encouragement,” Ural said blandly. “He rushed me, made a swing and missed. Thereupon, he apparently lost heart and sat down.”

  “The other?” asked the Emperor.

  “They attempted a ruse,” Ural said, then explained about Morris trying for the rifle while his backed was turned.

  “The dead one lost his nerve at the end?” the Emperor asked.

  “It was poor sport,” Ural said.

  “And that is exactly why I call them premen or submen,” the Emperor said. “They lack substance like a true man. For instance, they’re so easily discouraged. You!” the Emperor shouted. “Pick up the saber. Face me, or I’ll use my thumbs to squeeze out your eyes and blind you.”

  Franco stared at the Emperor, must have understood the certainty of the threat and climbed to his feet, jerking the saber from the grass.

  “That’s better,” the Emperor said. “Now, approach me. Try to kill me if you can.”

  Franco shrugged and started walking at the Emperor.

  “Do you mind if I interrupt for a moment?” Ural asked.

  “What is it now?” the Emperor asked testily.

  “If I could, I’d like to keep him for interrogation.”

  “Good Heavens,” the Emperor said. “Why bother?”

  “He was at Tortuga.”

  “So?”

  “If you recall, I was his prisoner.”

  “You remember him?”

  “No, but he might remember more about Lisa Meyers and tell me a few facts I’ve been meaning to learn.”

  During their conversation, Franco had continued walking at the Emperor, the saber held upright.

  “Hold,” the Emperor told him.

  Franco stopped several meters from the Emperor and seemed in no hurry to attack.

  “You don’t want me to kill him in retribution for what he did to you at Tortuga?” the Emperor asked.

  “I wish to interrogate him, if I may.”

  The Emperor regarded a high cloud, glanced from Franco to Ural and then back at the cloud. “Talking to Strand has upset my equilibrium.”

  “The Methuselah Man has that effect on people.”

  The Emperor nodded. “Strand says we’re flawed.”

  “Ah. He must mean our lack of an X-chromosome in our sperm.”

  “That’s true,” the Emperor said, appearing surprised. “How did you know he’d say that?”

  Ural made an offhand gesture.

  “Do you believe Strand is right, then?”

  “In what way?” asked Ural.

  “Strand suggested I allow him to fix the error—as he calls it—so we can sire females as well as males.”

  “And?”

  “And that we begin colonizing other planets in earnest,” the Emperor said. “He suggests we wait to conquer the Commonwealth until we’ve built a massive industrial base. That could take up to a hundred and fifty years, in his estimation.”

  “Colonizing and growing would be a major shift in focus.” After a few seconds contemplation, Ural’s eyebrows rose. “I’d like to hear the thrust of his argument.”

  “I thought you might. His plan would entail a mission to the Library Planet, if it indeed exists. Strand would want to join me.”

  “He suggested you go?”

  “He called me the father of the True Men and that this quest would be the way to cement the title.”

  “Strand appeals to your pride.”

  “Obviously,” the Emperor said. “I’m thinking he’s right, though, about postponing colonization until we have a huge industrial base. I’m wondering if it’s possible for him to rectify his failure concerning our lack of an X-chromosome. If he could, if we decided to create a real empire built on colonial expansion
—we would no longer need the Commonwealth.”

  “No…” Ural said. “We would not.”

  “So, you approve of Strand’s plan?”

  “I’d like to know more details.”

  The Emperor’s lips thinned. “If I went, I’d have to take the best of you. It would be imprudent of me to let others remain while I’m gone.”

  “Others…?”

  “Those with political aspirations,” the Emperor said. “That would include you, cousin.”

  “You know I have no wish to rule.”

  The Emperor smiled thinly. “Do not lie to me, as I do not appreciate it.”

  Ural sighed. “The Library Planet is supposedly fifteen hundred light-years away. Such a journey might take years.”

  “Not if we use the nexus to reach it in a single jump,” the Emperor said.

  “No…” Ural said, “not then. It would still take time to return to the Throne World.”

  The Emperor glanced at Franco standing so near. With a sudden lurch, he lunged, striking the fellow’s wrist. The saber fell from Franco’s grasp, and he winced with pain, grabbing the wrist and cradling it.

  “Go ahead,” the Emperor said. “Interrogate him. That means you’re walking back, though, as your sky-shark cannot carry two.”

  Ural nodded in agreement.

  The Emperor laughed, and he lay down on his stomach in the sky-shark, starting it up. On the skids, he raced over the grass and made a bumpy lift-off, soon heading for the mountain lake.

  “Does interrogate mean you’re going to torture me?” Franco asked, who still cradled his wrist.

  “It doesn’t have to,” Ural said. “For instance, during our walk to the lodge, you could answer my questions.”

  “And after that?”

  “We’ll see. Are you ready?”

  “Just like that?” asked Franco.

  “Just like that,” Ural said.

  Franco glanced at the dead Major Morris, staring for a time. Finally, he shook his head and turned to Ural. “Sure. Let’s get out of here.”

  -14-

  Before leaving, Ural set the preman’s wrist, wrapping it tight. Then, he took his saber and shouldered the flintlock, an antique and ceremonial weapon. He didn’t ask any questions for the first several kilometers, but let the reality of the situation sink in.