“Such a horrible misunderstanding,” Reid added with mock sincerity. “Of course, when I’m made Emperor I will do all I can to smooth relations with the Sarpan Realm… even if it means dismantling the project.”
“But you can’t!” His father moved forward in anger, checking himself abruptly when Johnson jumped to his feet.
“Oh? Once word spreads through the Empire that a major confrontation with the Sarpan Realm can be resolved as simply as postponing an effort that few members of the Hundred Worlds really understood anyway… In another twenty-five or thirty years, the urgency of this stupid project begun by Emperor Nicholas and the Grisian scientist will no longer be as keenly felt. I’ll see to it.”
“I’ve studied the data,” Eric interjected. “My mother’s conclusions are valid.”
“It doesn’t really matter, does it?” he shot back, “since I could not possibly care less about pursuing your mother’s work.”
“You disgust me, Reid,” Brendan put in, speaking for the first time since their capture. He looked at Johnson, adding, “To think I played any part in his upbringing, in the name of a debt to House Valtane.”
Johnson laughed, truly amused at Brendan’s words, his booming voice echoing through the trees. “I would think you’d be getting comfortable with being used by now.” Two steps and Johnson stood before him, his enormous frame towering over the former Master. “Beginning with Emperor Nicholas, you’ve made a life’s work of being a puppet, after all.”
Brendan leaped for Johnson’s gun, but the man must have been expecting the move and neatly sidestepped the attack, bringing the butt of the shotgun up brutally under Brendan’s chin. His father moved to catch Brendan as he fell, but caught the toe of Reid’s boot in his stomach for his trouble and fell back gasping on the ground. “Stay out of this, Father.” He spat the word like a curse.
Eric sat rooted, keeping his anger and concern in check as best he could. He wanted to go to his father’s side, but knew that Johnson—or his brother—would love for him to try, and held himself back. Wait, wait.
His father seemed all right, but winded by the blow to his stomach. Brendan lay on the ground moaning, Johnson standing menacingly above him. Waiting, it seemed, for something. As he studied the man’s face, the pure meanness behind the wolflike eyes, he saw that Johnson had intentionally goaded Brendan into attacking him out of some perverted sense of pleasure. The two men fully intended to kill them, that was apparent, but Eric realized that he and his father would be kept alive long enough to be marched back to the shuttle. Brendan, on the other hand, would most certainly be killed here, now, his body discarded in the backwoods.
He shifted his gaze to Reid and saw that he was enjoying Johnson’s torment of the former Master as much as the Earthman was. The resemblance to his father was merely physical, after all. Any influence Brendan may have had in his upbringing had been completely outweighed by whatever conditioning Johnson had exerted. Brendan managed to sit up groggily, and Eric saw that Johnson was readying to strike him again.
“What do you mean ‘used’?” Eric asked quickly, trying to forestall another blow and play for time.
Almost instantly, his father picked up on what he was attempting. “Brendan, what’s he talking about?”
Johnson stood back and looked over his shoulder at Reid, then said, “Go ahead. Tell him.”
Brendan massaged his jaw and was still wavering from the blow he’d taken. “Go to hell,” he croaked, not even bothering to raise his head.
Johnson kicked him savagely, sending him writhing to the ground once more. His father had managed to edge closer and reached out to Brendan, but Johnson smacked the barrel of the shotgun sharply against the side of his head, forcing him back. “Do it, just do it!” he yelled, roughly prodding his father in the face with the gun. “I’ll drag your gods-damned corpse back to the shuttle myself—”
“Enough!” Reid grabbed the man’s shoulder, restraining him. Johnson stood aside, but kept the gun leveled. “The Sarpan don’t use shotguns,” he reminded him, then leaned into his father’s face. “But don’t think I won’t kill you here, myself, if it comes to it. It would be more trouble, but we could make a shotgun wound look like a crash injury.” He straightened and suddenly kicked his father forcefully in the ribs, knocking him on his back.
Eric marveled at how well his brother was playing this out. He had stood back and studied the three of them while Johnson worked on them, both physically and emotionally, intervening only when it seemed necessary to avoid having his plans altered. He paced a few meters away, turning back to address them.
“What Brendan is now realizing,” he began, raising an eyebrow, “and what he seems too ashamed to admit, is that he’s the reason we caught you so easily.” He walked in a wide circle around them, concentrating his gaze on Brendan as he spoke. “His implants may be inactive, but my mother has monitored them for years. You didn’t know that, did you, Master? We’ve watched you, followed you, traced your steps since I was a boy. Then, after you left our service three years ago, we still knew every move you made. Knew of your hovel in the woods, and how you’ve shadowed our House as well as the Imperial residence. We tracked you easily once you met up with my father and brother, and it was simplicity itself to set up a trap at your home. Were you so naive as to think you could prevent the inevitable?”
His father sat up again, wincing with the movement—the blows he’d taken, along with his injured arm, were beginning to take a heavy toll upon him. Eric saw fresh blood oozing slowly down the man’s wrist and realized that his wound had reopened and was once again bleeding freely. “Why, Brendan?” His words came weakly, his voice rasping. “I asked you before why you stayed here, in the backwoods, and you never answered.”
“I sought…” Brendan coughed, wiped a bit of blood from his lips. “I sought to serve you, Sire, to make up for—” He stopped, looked apologetically to Javas. “I wanted only to watch them. They hated you, that was plain. Their plans had been thwarted by your father, their numbers reduced when they were systematically rounded up after his death. I had hoped to be able to watch them, perhaps somehow warn you if the resistance to your regime mounted once more. But instead…” He hung his head in shame, his voice shaking as he whispered, “Instead, I’ve betrayed your House once again.”
His father started to speak, obviously confused by what he was hearing.
“You still don’t get it, do you?” Reid came forward, grasping the lapels of the Emperor’s jacket. “The Master has been stupidly loyal to the Empire all along.” He released his hold on the jacket, letting Javas fall heavily to the ground.
“We’ve wasted enough time here, Lord,” Johnson said.
“You’re right,” Reid agreed, turning for his horse. “On your feet.”
A satisfied smile spread over Johnson’s features and he raised the shotgun toward Brendan’s face as everything seemed to happen at once.
“No!” Eric tried to stand, desperate to do something but knowing he was too far to the side. His call distracted the gunman, however, allowing his father the split second he needed to leap sideways in an attempt to reach Johnson. He managed to deflect the gun enough that when it discharged, only a small portion of the blast caught Brendan in his left shoulder and upper chest. The force of the blast sent him flying backward into the scrub at the edge of the trail. At the same time, Javas kicked upward, knocking the gun aside but not with enough strength to dislodge it from Johnson’s grip.