The Emperor shook his head. “No, it’s still out. But they’ll be searching the woods any time now with body heat scans. Hang on, Brendan.” He looked around, hoping to spot some sign of impending rescue, but Brendan’s hand on his arm drew his attention.
“Sire… Your father…”
“Shhhh. Don’t talk.”
“No.” Eric felt Brendan shivering beneath his touch, saw his lips quivering as he spoke. Brendan’s eyes grew glassy, but stared desperately into his father’s face as he tried to sit. “I didn’t kill him.”
His father stiffened. “I think I know that now.”
“He was already dying. We… we even had to keep him in cryosleep for… most of the journey here.” Brendan released his grip on Javas’ arm and fell back against Eric’s rolled jacket, catching his breath before going on. “He hid it from me… hid it from all of us with his integrator. Johnson’s… people would have murdered him, but he beat them to it… knowing that the public spectacle of his death would result in an intensive… effort to find his killers…”
“And gain immediate support for the project,” Javas finished for him. “He gave you the bracelet, didn’t he, using you as the bait Glenney needed to hunt down Johnson’s people.”
Brendan nodded almost imperceptibly at the burden that had just been lifted from him. As he died, the hint of a smile appeared at the corners of his mouth.
There was a humming vibration above their heads and Eric looked upward at the hovercraft skimming the treetops, recognizing it by its markings as one of the short-range hoppers kept at the House. The craft slowed as it passed over their location, then circled around and reoriented over the clearing as it prepared to land.
His father hadn’t moved, and remained staring at Brendan’s body, his eyes moist.
“You’ve done something few can do, my friend,” he said softly, his words nearly lost in the increasing whine of the descending hovercraft. “You’ve given your life twice for your Emperor.”
The day had begun with a beautiful summer sunrise over the green Kentucky hills to the east. It was still early, and Eric and his father strolled the grounds on what was to be their last morning together before the Emperor returned to the Moon. In the two days that had passed since returning to Woodsgate, his father’s wounds had been quick-healed, and only a slight shininess of plastiskin remained on his cheek where the bone structure of his face had been rebuilt. In a few days more even that would be gone, and with it, all physical traces of their ordeal.
“I’ll tell you something else,” his father was saying. He’d stopped to make a point, and Eric let his eyes roam the garden as he spoke. He felt a strong, humid breeze from the south and already felt warm in his formal Imperial jacket. Today would be hot, he knew. “In many ways, I don’t really miss it. Without my integrator, I’ve been more at peace with myself than I have in years.” He chuckled to himself, and added, “Of course, once they’ve reactivated the circuitry I’m sure I’ll wonder how I ever got along without it.”
“What about House Valtane?”
Eric’s blunt question took his father by surprise, and he resumed walking before answering. “I don’t know. I’m forced to admit that she’s covered her tracks well. We’ve been able to find little, if any, ties to the Sarpan other than the most innocuous of trade agreements. She apparently has no interest whatever in the project, other than how it might affect her personal gain, and merely used the zealousness of Johnson and his people to get to us. Without their leader to guide them, it’s becoming ridiculously easy to round up what’s left of them.”
“There will still be resistance, I suppose.”
His father sighed. “Yes, I suppose mere will. But nothing as fanatical—or as fatalistic—as Johnson’s group. They were the only serious threat.” Javas looked away again and cleared his throat. He was clearly uneasy about something. He took a deep breath, then said, “Eric… has Master McLaren told you of the test of courage that is given to each heir to the Empire upon his reaching manhood?”
Eric felt his heart race suddenly, but hid his true feelings as best he could. “He’s not yet spoken of it to me, not directly anyway; but yes, I know of it.”
His father nodded in understanding. “Do you know that my oldest brother failed?”
A whisper: “Yes.”
Javas sighed again. “I can’t guess how much you know about what happened, but accept that the test is the final determination of a man’s fitness to rule. To fail the test proves cowardice, which is punishable by death—instantly and without question—at the hands of a member of the House of Arman. Only he can set the conditions of the test; only he can be the judge in this. It is tradition, and cannot, will not, be broken.”
Javas pushed, and stared off into the distance where a flock of game birds were clearing a rise at the edge of the estate grounds. “Eric, officially speaking, your test would still be many years away. However, I can conceive of no test that would prove your courage more than the ordeal you’ve just gone through. There will be no need to test you further.” He smiled then and held out his hand. “You’ve made me proud, in more ways than you can imagine.”
Eric was about to reply, but was interrupted by a sudden, steady whine behind them as the shuttle prepared for takeoff, and the two men turned back to the front of the House. McLaren stood waiting at the edge of the shuttle pad, hands clasped behind his back and a dour expression on his face. Things truly are back to normal, Eric mused as they neared.
The head of House security sprinted up to them, bowing his head nervously. “Sire, your shuttle is ready to depart.”
The Emperor nodded to dismiss him, and when he was out of earshot, said, “I’ve got a feeling it will be a long time, if ever, before Imperial security is the same again.”
“Good.” Eric turned to his father, and extended his hand in farewell.
“Good-bye, Eric,” the Emperor said, shaking his hand firmly before turning for the shuttle.
“Father?” Eric said suddenly, stopping him. “I’m proud to be your son.”
His father raised his hand to the waiting security personnel at the shuttle to signal that he was coming and turned back to Eric. “I fought your grandfather for so many years,” he said, shaking his head sadly. “I never told him how proud I was of him until he was an old man, almost too late. Thank you for not making me wait as long.” The Emperor smiled warmly, then headed for the waiting shuttle.
Eric watched as the craft lifted off and passed through the shielding. It circled the grounds once, then disappeared through the clouds.
… there are a few physical differences, as well. Due to the gravity of 1.2 g, most native Pallatins are shorter in stature than human standard. Further, after three centuries their eyes are larger to better utilize the dimmer light emitted by their K-2 sun. The eyes have been described as very expressive and are, to the keen observer, a key indicator of their emotions at any given moment…
Eric found it difficult to sleep that night, and sat idly fingering the keys of the terminal at his study desk. He was only half reading the screen and tapped at the keys to bring up a different file. The readout on the flatscreen display showed a green planet, slightly larger than Earth, turning slowly as a description of the world scrolled by beneath it.
Pallatin, it read. Star type: K-2. Distance: 16.5 light-years. Colony established: 2321. Economy: Ship construction, heavy and light industrial, bioengineering, literature …
Sixteen and a half light-years. He did a quick mental calculation—at top speed, Dr. Adela de Montgarde was probably arriving at Pallatin just about now. Or perhaps she had even concluded her business there and was now on her way home. In any event, she certainly would know by now that she had a son, waiting on Earth.