“Save your breath, Young Prince,” Johnson said, “you should have but a short wait.” He turned away, walking out of sight behind him once more. Eric heard a brief bit of static, then, “They turned to the east, Lord. I have them.”
He had felt trapped, helpless, before—at this exact spot, in fact—but for the first time in his life, he felt abject humiliation. He struggled again, uselessly, more out of anger at his situation than from any hope that he might actually break the grip of the field holding him. He concentrated on the sounds behind him: He could hear the occasional struggling of his father and Brendan as their feet would contact the ground and scoop through the leaves below them. Johnson stacked the weapons out of reach, then unfastened a pack or bag of some kind and removed a canteen, the loud slurping unmistakable. From time to time a bird called somewhere in the backwoods, and at one point he thought he heard the trilling of a raccoon, which disappeared immediately at the sound of approaching hoofbeats.
Hanging as he was, facing down the trail, he was the first to see the riders when they rounded the curve of the trail.
There were three of them, their horses as magnificent as the one he’d seen Brendan riding when they first met at this place. They led a fourth horse, Mobo’s body draped over it, his arms and legs dangling grotesquely over the animal’s flanks.
He’d never seen one of the riders before, but he recognized the one leading Mobo’s horse as his brother’s friend Paulie. The man’s eyes were filled with anger and hatred as he stared at him and, although he obviously held him responsible for what had happened to his companion, he didn’t speak. He led his animal to a grassy area on the side of the clearing, followed by the dead man’s horse and the other rider, leaving only the leader’s horse on the trail proper. The rider gracefully alighted on the ground, allowing his mount to follow the others to the grass.
It was his brother. Reid had been bigger than Eric four years ago, but now he virtually dwarfed him. His muscular build and physical features closely matched his father’s. His thin beard was gone, and his copper-colored hair had lightened, and he looked even more like his father than he had remembered from their first meeting. In fact, where he had merely looked familiar to him when they had first met, it would now be apparent to even a casual observer that the Emperor and Reid were father and son. Eric wondered idly if anyone would ever make the same assumption about himself.
Reid stood silently before him for several moments, then circled around to examine the others.
“Father,” he heard him say, a sarcastic chuckle underlying his words, “how nice it is to see you again for the first time. And Master; you, too, are looking well.” His brother laughed aloud, then walked to a point where Eric could just see him if he strained his neck enough. Reid shook his head in mock sadness at the sight before him. “Is this any way to treat the Emperor of the Hundred Worlds, and his Crown Prince? Johnson!”
He held out his hand, deftly catching the controller that Johnson tossed to him. “Cover them with…” A sudden thought occurred to him, and he laughed again. “Use the Master’s own shotgun.” There was a sharp, metallic sound as Johnson broke the magazine and checked the load, then walked to stand next to Reid. Satisfied that Johnson had a clear field of fire that included all three of them, Reid held the controller before him.
Eric fell suddenly, losing his balance as his feet hit the ground. His father and Brendan had both managed to stay upright when the field released. Eric scrambled quickly to his feet; too quickly, causing Johnson to swing the shotgun immediately in his direction.
“Sit down,” he ordered, punctuating the remark with the shotgun, “cross-legged. All three of you.”
“Paulie! David!” Reid called over his shoulder. “Take Mobo back to the House.”
“And one of you fetch my horse before you leave,” added Johnson, tilting his head behind him. “You’ll find him tied a few meters down-trail.”
The one identified as David scrambled over the oak and disappeared, while Paulie came forward and said something under his breath to Reid, who smiled wickedly and nodded in Eric’s direction. Paulie crossed quickly to him and hit him full in the face with his fist, knocking him backward on the ground. “He told you to sit down,” Paulie said emotionlessly. Eric wanted to throttle him, but staring up the barrels of the shotgun trained squarely on him, he fought back his anger and quietly sat upright, crossing his legs as ordered.
Hide your anger; hide your fear. Show your contempt. “That’s it?” he asked, wiping at his bleeding lip. “I would have thought that with a weapon trained over your shoulder to back you up, your bravery would have been such that you could have delivered a better blow than that.”
Pauline lunged forward, but Reid restrained him with an outstretched arm. “Forget it,” he said, his voice and commanding delivery immediately reminding Eric of Johnson’s way of speaking. His brother had obviously picked up a number of the bearded man’s strengths. “Now get moving, both of you.” Paulie opened his mouth as if to argue, then thought better of it and crossed wordlessly to his mount and, with David rejoining him, led Mobo’s horse into the underbrush to clear the downed oak before disappearing on the eastern portion of the trail.
Reid waited until the sounds of their horses faded away into the backwoods before speaking. “Father, it has been such a long time, and we have such a short time left to us.”
“Time for what, son?” the Emperor asked, looking up from his place on the ground.
“Why, to get to know each other before I kill you, of course.”
Brendan stirred uneasily at the remark, but held his tongue.
“That’s what this is all about, then? Your mother’s attempt to put her bastard son on the throne?”
Reid chuckled at the insult. “I’m no bastard. I was born according to the old ways of a natural womb, on Earth, as mandated by Imperial law and custom. As the only living heir to the throne, there won’t even be a question raised as to the validity of my claim, once your bodies are discovered aboard the wreckage of the shuttle and the news of your tragic deaths reaches Armelin City.”
“And you think you’ll get away with this?” Eric demanded. “You think no one will connect House Valtane to this?”
“And why should they, little brother?” he asked, crossing in front of him. “You’ll be the victims of a desperate attempt by the Sarpan to defend themselves.” He held the controller up between thumb and forefinger. “See this? It’s an integrated unit that controls not only the shielding in place over your palatial home, but the sticky field Johnson used to snare the three of you. There are hundreds of types of shield technology in use in the Empire, but the shield over Woodsgate has undoubtedly been analyzed from the inside, and its origin will be directly traced back to the Sarpan. Just as the nerve slug I shot you with this morning will match the Sarpan gun we’ve planted in the wreckage.”
“Sarpan?” His father gripped the bandage on his arm and stared in disbelief at Reid’s statement. “Your mother has made a deal with the aliens?”
Reid shrugged. “One finds allegiance where one can.”
“Yeah,” snorted Eric, nodding disgustedly in Johnson’s direction. “That much is painfully clear.”
“Yes,” agreed Johnson, his feral eyes narrowing at Eric, “but sometimes the allegiance can truly be of mutual benefit to all parties concerned.” He walked to the fallen oak and sat, the barrel of the shotgun still trained on the three of them. “The frogs feel threatened by your blasphemous project to alter the Sun’s natural course. They don’t understand your efforts and see only an Imperial expansion that brings humans closer to Sarpan space. They were more than happy to lend assistance to House Valtane, knowing that the final determination will show them to have acted only out of fear for their own existence.”