Interesting, he thought. One way to keep yourself from going insane. Or... And he decided not to ponder further possibilities.
The third device was the most interesting. It was a very high-powered transmitter. Its activating mechanism was linked to the Emperor's vital organs. So, Poyndex thought. If the Emperor is killed, the transmitter transmits. Or, he theorized, if the Emperor is tortured into doing something he should not, or drug-conditioned into a certain pattern, or if he becomes neurotic/psychotic beyond the allowable profile—the bomb goes off and the transmitter transmits.
To whom?
To where?
And sometime later, the Eternal Emperor returns.
Poyndex was tempted to continue his investigation.
Then he caught himself.
What were the chances of the Eternal Emperor, when he recovered consciousness from this operation, ordering the death of everyone involved with this project?
Excellent.
What were the chances, even if everyone involved with this wasn't disappeared, of the Eternal Emperor ordering everyone connected with this operation brainscanned to see what they knew about this incredible secret?
Better than excellent.
Poyndex suddenly knew, with an absolute knowledge beyond experience, paranoia, or amorality, that his chances of living, if he investigated where this mysterious signal was beamed at, were far less than zero. Hating this loss of knowledge, but wanting to live even more, he personally destroyed all three devices.
He was not sure of what he had just done. Nor why the Emperor had this bomb in his body, or why he wanted it removed. It made sense for the Emperor to protect himself against kidnappers.
But... if he were eternal, as he most provably was, what happened when the bomb went off? How did the Emperor survive the blast?
Psychic projection?
Clot that. Next he would be accepting the wacko beliefs of the Cult of the Eternal Emperor, who thought that their ruler periodically went out to commune with Holy Spheres.
The hell with it. Now was the time to be nothing more than a supremely loyal servant.
"Sir. You are bleeding."
Poyndex came out of his kaleidoscoping thoughts and returned the Mantis soldiers' salute. "Thank you. I must have cut myself. I'll get it treated."
The soldier nodded and continued her patrol, eyes sweeping the wilderness, alert for any signs that an enemy of the Empire lurked out there.
Grateful for the pain, his decision, and the interruption, Poyndex walked toward the infirmary.
He allowed himself one second of pride.
From this moment, the Emperor—aided by his servant—would no longer be controlled by the past.
The Eternal Emperor's eyes opened.
He found himself in a cold, sterile place. Naked.
Was he once more back on that ship? A flash of panic. Had mistakes been made? Was he now that mewling waffler he had grown to hate?
No. He felt some pain. And not the sullen muscles of rebirth.
He remembered...
Yes.
He must be on Earth. And Poyndex, as he had promised, had performed his duty.
The Emperor yet lived.
He allowed his mind to wander, still half-anesthetized. But even stuporous, he realized that he no longer felt watched. He no longer felt he had to guard his every thought.
The link was broken.
The eyes of the warden, the assassin, the Voice on the ship, were closed.
Now he was alive.
Now he could rule as his fate, his weird, intended.
Now he was free.
The Eternal Emperor smiled.
BOOK THREE
WALL CLOUD
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The massacre at Pooshkan University backblasted across the Altaics. Rumors of the tragedy burst on the streets of Rurik as the troops were opening fire. Sten filed this anomaly away as significant while he tried to make sense of the chaos erupting all around him.
Surrounded by Jochi troops whose purported orders were to protect the Imperial embassy, Sten sat in the eye of the storm watching events unfold, filing a blizzard of "Eyes Only" reports.
The massacre itself he had witnessed via two teams of Frick & Fracks, which had swooped over the soldiers as they opened fire on the students. There was no question in his mind that Iskra had ordered the attack. Proof, however, would be difficult. The soldiers wore no identifying insignia on their uniforms. They were clearly human. But they could just as easily have been a rebel Jochi militia. Or even Tork.
Sten also noted that the first rumor claimed the attack was the work of a Suzdal militia unit.
This tidbit of disinformation came as he watched Riehl tumble off the barricade. The rumor was followed by its opposite a beat and a half later: It was the Bogazi who had committed the atrocity.
Sten, who had witnessed a great deal of blood spilled in his life, had to force himself to watch the gory drama that unfolded. He heard several young com officers retch at the sight. Even Freston, the chief of the com unit, turned away.
"Th' man's no daft..." Alex muttered as he watched the butcher's work on the vid screen. "He's clottin' insane."
Sten ignored him, as he attempted for the tenth time to get Iskra on the embassy line to demand that he call off the dogs. For the tenth time, his call was repulsed by a low-level functionary, who said that Iskra was "meditating" and had left strict instructions not to be disturbed.
"I'll meditate him," Sten snarled. Then, to Alex: "Get me some eyes on the palace."
Seconds later he was patched into a pair of Frick & Fracks soaring over the Square of the Khaqans.
The news there was just as bad. A group of protesters, spurred on by the rumors of the Pooshkan massacre, was advancing on the Khaqan's palace.
His stomach churned as, instead of the expected confrontation between the mob and Jochi troops, he saw a contingent of Imperial Guards sweep out of the palace and down the steps.
They charged into the crowd, hitting like shock troops. The confrontation was violent—and brief. In moments the crowd was hammered and put to flight. As the frightened beings fled, he saw many civilian bodies heaped on the ground.
To make matters worse, many of the Imperial Guard soldiers chased after the fleeing protesters, flailing at them with riot sticks.
Cind swore. "They're acting like clottin' cops, instead of soldiers. And bad cops at that."
Sten made no comment. He had his emotions under an iron lid now, but there was a backbrain crawl that wouldn't go away. When this was over many fingers of blame were going to be pointing in many directions. And the Imperial Guard had just made itself a potential target.
"I want the whole station on red alert," Sten told Kilgour. "Notify the kitchen to keep the caff coming. And tell housekeeping to haul in some cots. Until further notice, we all work until we drop.''
Alex hustled off to kick the staff into overdrive. Sten turned back to the monitors. His eyes were already red-rimmed and scratchy. He felt Cind's soft hand touch the back of his neck.
She didn't say a word. But the light pressure gave him strength. Sten buckled down to a decidedly ugly task.
As the hours passed, tragedy mounted on tragedy.