Sigil of the Wolf - 12. Chapter 12

Sentinel Station - Lagrange Five - Jump Nexus

His mind swam in a sea of tranquillity, each breath rippling the water of emotions causing a rush of pleasure through him. He gasped again, tasting the air, fresh air without the fetid stench of the prison cell, nor the smell of burnt flesh and ozone.

He shivered, cold, as he involuntarily curled into a ball. He was dying. He had felt the bullet slicing through him, felt each painful breath as he had laboured where they had left him to die. And yet there was no pain, each breath came and went.

He was alive...

That wasn't possible.

A strange man was kneeling beside him, a black waistcoat with twin red dragons upon it, a warm hand on his arm. A pair of soft brown eyes that stared at him with a mixture of love and concern. Love, he'd never felt it before, alone in the dark. Yet all he wanted was to be swept up into the man's arms, for him to keep him safe.

They were going to kill him... they had killed him... he was lost.

"Your Highness?" the strange voice was mingled with concern.

Edward forced his eyes open, wincing painfully as he struggled to sit upright. The headache was an intense throbbing and he felt the room reeling about him as he slid back to the small bed sickly. He took a long breath and tried to force his eyes open again. He was supposed to be dead, wasn't he? An Amsus firing squad facing him as he shivered in the dawn's light...

"W-what do you want now?" he demanded blearily, trying to focus his eyes on the shape looming over his bed.

"Your Highness," the voice repeated firmly, "you're safe..."

He heard his own bitter laugh at that, how many times had they promised him that, only to plunge him through more torment and torture just to work another confession from him? Another declaration of the Empire's guilt broadcast over the news nets, touting the victory of the Hegemony over Humanity. He still knew not to fall for it again. They could interrogate him all they wanted, he'd already been tried and found guilty.

Why wasn't he dead?

The first rays of light touching that square, the burning of the ropes tied too tightly around his wrists as they lined up. It had been his relief, an end to the pain. A chance to escape it...

He opened his eyes again and swallowed down the nausea as he slowly sat up again, feeling the nurse's hands guide him upright, helping him rest on the soft pillows. His eyes strained to look around the small hospital room, at the nurses and men in Imperial uniforms. House von Karin, from their insignia.

"Where?" He croaked through parched lips. A moment later the nurse handed him a glass of water that he sipped thirstily.

"Your Highness," the tall, hawkish-looking officer repeated again, "Do you know your name?"

The young man nodded. "Prince Edward VonGrippen...." He said, pausing; why had he wanted to say Matty?

He remembered standing on a world he was sure he had never visited, an arm pulling him close as the sun had set. It was such a strong memory, so real, and yet...

He searched about him. "W-where's the doctor?" he asked in confusion.

"Right here, your Highness," a leathery-faced old man with a stethoscope said, stepping forward.

"No," Edward shook his head, "The other one, the short one..."

"I'm sorry your Highness," the doctor shook his head, "I am the attending physician."

"There could be residual confusion from the re-integration," the hawkish man wearing a Lieutenant Colonel's silver oak leaf on his collar said with a warm smile as he knelt beside the bed, "You're safe now your Highness, the Amsus can't harm you here..."

Edward flinched, reflexively curling into the foetal position; it had to be a trick, the Empire had fallen, the Amsus had won... Yet he was there, surrounded by human faces in a comfortable bed, not on the floor of an Amsus cell awaiting his execution.

"W-what happened?" Edward asked, remembering vague recollections of a ship, of a man sitting beside his bed holding onto his hand, the young doctor... he struggled to remember, but all he had were faint bits and pieces.

"You've been through an ordeal," the hawkish man said, rising and gesturing for his men to leave, "You should recover your strength, I'll tell you everything once you are a little stronger." He paused; bending down to wrap the boy's hand around a cold silver pocket watch. He turned and left, finally shutting the doors as he left the boy to his thoughts.

Edward pulled the sheet tighter about him; where the hell was he? What the hell was going on? His hand opened on the plain watch, feeling his tears welling inside him as he looked at his grandfather's timepiece. He knew every scratch upon it, running his fingers across the engraving on the back; he'd given it to his grandfather, the old man vowing to take it with him, for good luck...

He closed his hand on it tightly, feeling the sense of loss. His grandfather wasn't coming back... his mind swirled with a myriad of unanswered questions; maybe they'd be answered in the morning...

* * *

"He has memory residue." Iver observed, standing looking down through the high observation window at the bed with the sleeping young man. The hope for his Empire, the only hope at restoring the kind of order that Walker and Taine seemed so intent on stripping away.

It was funny to the old General that so much hinged on a sex toy.

"Well, it was nearly three days between the memory erasure and the encoding,"

Colonel Evans explained, making notes on a chart, leaving specific instructions for the construct's care, "but I doubt it will cause many problems. His new memories are a lot stronger than those left behind by his former life. He is, for all intents and purposes, Prince Edward."

The General stood, his arms folded, as he stared down hard-eyed over the hospital room. He would have to put his own reservations aside; he was yet to be convinced that, indeed, the clone was fit to rule. But their time was drawing short. The next stage of his plan took shape in his mind as he contemplated how he should proceed.

Tackling the Senate and Walker directly could cause him problems; the young Prince needed to be established. Resurrecting someone three hundred years dead was no easy feat; it all hinged on what people believed, or more importantly what they chose to believe.

"How long until he is ready?" the General demanded, turning his head a fraction of an inch to address the Colonel.

"A week to bring him up to speed on current events and explain our perspective of the current political situation," the Colonel said, "We can explain his sudden reappearance as being a discovery in cryo-stasis. The Empire employed it from time to time, imprisoning people for decades in crystalline status chambers..."

"And if someone checks his DNA structure?" Iver demanded. They had to be certain that the ruse would not be discovered.

"His DNA structure is nearly flawless, standard tests will detect none of the usual anomalies associated with artificial constructs. It they do find anything, it can be explained as cellular degradation caused by the extended hibernation in stasis." The Colonel waited patiently for the General's verdict.

Iver stood quietly awhile before turning back. "I received a report that Highlord Taine has broken through Amsus lines. Maintain an FTL embargo on his ship and proceed with the plan." He looked down at the young man again. "His hair is the wrong colour, and the tattoo will have to go." He pursed his lips thoughtfully, "I want you to test his authenticity on Sentinel before we try to escort him back to the Empire."

"I can arrange something," the Colonel agreed.

"What did you give him?" Iver asked, jolting Evans out of his thoughts.

The Colonel shrugged, "I gave him his grandfather's watch, I had one of my men recover it from VonGrippen's tomb..."

"Sentimental," Iver replied as he mulled over the significance.

"I felt the boy has enough unanswered questions," Evans remarked, "At least that," he nodded down to the silver watch clutched tightly against the boys sobbing chest, "will give him some kind of closure."

Iver shook his head, returning to the matters at hand. "What were the Imperial House colours?"

"There was none, it was a simple black shield." Evans supplied.

"See that we have an honour guard dressed for him. The more he looks the part, the more people will believe he's who we tell them he is," The General smiled tightly, "As for myself, I have business on Karin."

* * *

Edward rubbed his temples exhaustedly as he sat on the edge of the bed. He couldn't remember ever having problems sleeping. He'd always slept soundly, but that was a different lifetime ago now.

Three hundred years, they had told him.

It still didn't seem possible; he remembered everything as if it had just happened to him, the desperation of Earth before the fall, Lord Morvanor's futile last stand, his capture and trial. Desperate human beings clinging to life as they were relentlessly crushed beneath an Amsus jackboot. The death toll had been into the millions.

Starvation and disease had done more damage than a bullet ever could. Hope dying of starvation amidst the bodies lining the streets, huddled in the cold.

He stood up and crossed the opulent living quarters, a suite in one of Sentinel Station's upscale hotels, taking some time before the sink to wash his face and stare at his own reflection. Had he been expecting some kind of change? Something to show on his face the ordeal he had been through? But he still looked the same, dark-hair, soft slightly rounded features and gentle eyes. His grandfather had always teased him for being too soft, an old war dog trying to toughen the young man up for the hardships to come.

He was alone for really the first time in his life. He felt his hand squeezing the watch he refused to let go of. His grandfather was gone, the indomitable man that had stood firm against all the injustices of the Empire, its corruption and its backbiting politics... Admiral VonGrippen was three hundred years dead, leaving behind a legacy that had given birth to a new Empire.

Edward had reviewed the short history of the New Empire, High House von Karin and a Highlord Darien Taine. The same Darien Taine that had turned renegade, kidnapped him...

He scrubbed his head again, the man with the soft brown eyes...

It didn't seem to make any kind of sense to the young Prince, why would Taine kidnap him? But he could vaguely remember being the one to turn him in, why had he done that? Was he afraid of the man? Was Taine seeking to exploit him in gaining control of the Empire? For a man who literally helped create the new Empire, again that made little to no sense.

As much as he was spoon fed information in tiny portions by Colonel Evans, Edward had no illusions; he knew he was being lied to. Some things about human nature never changed. He just needed to watch how Evans spoke or walked to know that the man built his entire life on lies, and to a man like that, the truth held little value.

Edward knew he was in no position to challenge Evans's perspective. In a few hours he was supposed to get up and participate in some kind of publicity stunt Evans had cooked up to let the people know that he was alive. A puppet on a string to be paraded to the masses, a tool for another man's political ambitions.

There were times Edward thanked his grandfather's endless lessons about human nature; they had helped him navigate the mire of the old Imperial court. Depths and traps that could ensnare a man so completely that they would never break free - compared to the old Empire, Evans's attempts were almost juvenile, and like any game of strategy, Edward just had to buy his time and learn the game if he was ever to make sense of what was going on.

Brown eyes...

His brow furrowed as he bit his lip, the memory was so strong. A simple impression of love, understanding and warmth. He wasn't sure, but he knew he had to find that again; once he found those eyes he knew, on an instinctual level, that he would be okay.

He brushed his hair back from his right eye, it stubbornly falling back again. A place to hide, his grandfather had always urged him to cut it short, to face the world like a man. But Edward didn't want to do that, he wanted to fade back, hide away from it. He always had been too shy.

* * *

"We have a rare opportunity here," Iver insisted, standing across the desk from the Imperial Senator. The downtown Karin office sat in the new Senate building, a very modern structure that provided the new elite of the Terran Empire with luxurious offices that came at the expense of the war effort. Sedentary old men, they were comfortable with what they had, and too afraid to risk it all for a greater prize.

Senator Ernesto Sanchez stared across the budget requirements, the astronomical increase in expenditure that would literally dedicate the whole of the Empire's industrial base to the war effort. He looked up in shock.

"Fifty starships a year?" He asked incredulously, "And where do you plan to get the crews for such a large number of ships?"

"I intend to press them from the general population," Iver tossed down a second report, anticipating the question.

The Senator pushed his glasses up as he rubbed his eyes, looking over the grandiose plan, shaking his head. "And if you press all the able-bodied citizens into your army, who will that leave to build your fifty starships a year?"

Iver hesitated, looking down at his carefully prepared reports. "We..." He faltered.

Sanchez closed the file carefully, the head of the Senate Defence Committee shaking his head slowly. "You know I can't sanction this. The Empire can't sustain a war with the Amsus Hegemony for an extended duration, even if we dedicate our full resources to the war effort the most we would do it delay the inevitable... Our best, and safest bet to ensure we don't loose everything we have gained so far, is to sue for peace..."

"I never penned you for a coward," Iver snarled, causing the Senator to draw back, the General resembling a feral wolf as he braced both hands on the table and leaned forward.

"Be very careful, General," Sanchez warned, reaching out to pick up an imported cigar, turning it slowly in his hands before he clipped and lit it, "Just because I don't share your overly-optimistic view of what the Empire can accomplish..."

The General straightened up rigidly. "As you wish..." he made to turn as the Senator gestured for him to wait a moment.

"What do you know about this Prince Edward thing?" The Senator asked curiously, puffing on his cigar.

Iver smiled inside as he turned back to the fat man, he'd anticipated that question arising. "The Prince was recovered by Highlord Taine from the cryo-statis crystals," Iver said, using Evan's carefully cultivated plan, "He must have recovered it when he defeated Zixor, such crystals often drifted into private collections," Iver's eyes sparkled, he knew all about the Senator's own personal collection of the artefacts, highly prized when the Pirate Barons had evacuated from Karin, many people had been quick to capitalize on the relics looted from their manors.

"He was planning some kind of coup," Iver stood folding his arm, one of his hands resting on the butt of a large-bored automatic he wore tucked under his arm, "Intelligence alerted me of the threat and we were able to put a stop to it.

Unfortunately, Highlord Taine got away."

Sanchez held up the General's report, "As I read, what it doesn't say is if he is who people are claiming he is."

"Tests are being done by my medical teams to confirm his identity..."

"What do you think?" Sanchez demanded, anxiously puffing on his cigar.

"I think that if he is the Prince, then the Empire has a new leader," Iver replied, "because you know as well as I do that an Heir to the Imperial throne will rally the people in ways Walker von Karin never could."

Sanchez chewed his lip thoughtfully. "Very well General, you should go." He said, turning back to shuffling the papers on his desk "I'll review your budget request, but I doubt the committee will pass it."

The General saluted and left the office, confident that he had made the right choice in Sanchez.

* * *

Privacy onboard Excalibur was usually a luxury reserved for the senior officers. It existed, in a way; improvised curtains made of marine issue blankets between crates of parts and supplies covering crew members playing cards, talking, or in the rare instances scribbling letters home with pencils on scraps of paper.

The occasional waft of tobacco smoke could be smelled, and no one said anything.

It was generally accepted and overlooked by the Petty officers and Marine Sergeants who knew that the men needed every chance they could get to relax.

The lack of privacy had led to some bizarre rituals onboard ship. Sex barriers and modesty often broke down with people crammed so close together. A crew member would use the wash facilities nearest to them regardless of whether it was designated for males or females, and it wasn't uncommon for horseplay and clowning around to occur in and around the communal showers.

Firlotte ignored the pair of boys giggling and running up the corridor dressed just in towels, a prized piece of underwear between them as they ran, giggling manically.

Galadriel emerged from the shower, dripping wet and wrapped in a towel, cursing and shaking her fist after the pair, "I'll have you on report!" She yelled, taking a moment to look at all the Marines that were watching the lithe young woman dripping-wet before them.

She turned, regaining some of her dignity as she stalked back into the shower, grumbling about the fact that they always seemed to want to steal her bras...

Firlotte smirked as he tipped his ball cap backwards and hesitated outside the pilot's berth, his hand opening and closing as he reached towards the curtain that had been strung there, wondering if he shouldn't knock or something. Though there was no door, he could always just knock on the frame...

He started as the curtain was thrown back, a couple of Flight Officers tromping out, doing up their flight suits and hauling on the nylon flight jackets that everyone in Paladin Squadron seemed to wear, honour badges copying their Squadron Leader's example.

They looked at the lanky red-haired technician with his back-to-front ball cap and loose fatigues that were a size too large for him. Giving him a knowing smirk, they walked by, leaving Firlotte glaring at Katz lying on his bunk with his arms behind his head.

"What did you tell them?" Firlotte demanded, coming into the small bunk area.

"Shhh!" Katz said, nodding to one of the bunks with its privacy curtains drawn, light snoring coming from it. He pulled back into his bunk and gestured for Firlotte to join him.

Ashley shot him a dark glance, moving the pair of beer cans he'd managed to trade a pack of his prized cigarettes for, shaking his head reluctantly as he got into the bunk next to Katz, watching as the Squadron Leader pulled the curtains closed and stopped up the gaps with his sheet.

They were alone, or as close to alone as they could be on that ship.

Firlotte felt the tension pass between them as they moved to get comfortable, breathing the close air of the bunk that needed a good airing to get the very...Katz smell out of it. He blushed, glad that Katz couldn't see it in the dim light, sprawled back as he was against the head of the bunk, his breathing rhythmically hypnotic.

"I thought we were going to have a beer..." Firlotte murmured, looking nervously in Katz's direction, feeling his hands begin to fidget.

Firlotte felt Katz draw near to him, hand lightly touching his, and he felt his breath hitch as the hand closed on one of the beer cans and a few seconds later the hiss of the can opening broke the silence.

"I..." Firlotte swallowed, taking a deeper breath, "You... We..."

His feeble attempt at conversation was cut short as he heard a giggle, followed by a shuffling of feet. Firlotte frowned at the bunk's curtains, noticing them rustle. His jaw dropped open as he wrenched back and a group of grinning Pilots clustered around the bunk with eager and excited looks on their faces. He stared at them, a flustered look on his face as he turned to look down at their Squadron leader sipping his beer.

"That's not sex!" Jaimez accused, looking at one of the others, "You said they were having sex!"

Katz tilted his beer and chuckled, "You really think I'd have sex in here with you lot about?"

Firlotte wasn't listening. He scrambled from the bunk. Tangled in one of the blankets, he thumped to the deck. Picking himself up and tugging his hat back on, he shot Katz an accusatory look as he sped from the room.

"You're in trouble now," One of the pilots jibed.

"Bastards," Katz shot at his men as he got up and grabbed his jacket, intending to go after him.

"What's going on in here?" Masconi demanded, as she stepped aside to allow the fleeing Technician past. She surveyed the group of guilty looking pilots clustered around Katz and she rolled her eyes, "You go get him," she said pointing to Katz, shaking her head at the squadron, her hands on her hips looking like a disappointed mother, "Have you got nothing better to do?"

* * *

Darien sat reading, down on one of the low couches, light music playing in the background as he tried to relax, increasingly more difficult since they were now

squarely behind Amsus lines and there were a hundred and ten different things he should be focusing upon that required his attention.

It took a great deal of effort to remain sitting down, allowing his crew to deal with ship's operations without the benefit of him leaning over their shoulders checking their progress for the umpteenth time. He turned the page of the photo book, studying the relics of the so called 'Peligian' exhibition in the old Imperial museum, gone now, destroyed by the Amsus. All that remained were the digital scans and photos of the vast collection.

He scratched his head, yawning as he scooped up his coffee mug, returning to his own private obsession. It was a way for him to take his mind off of the ship, off of his worry for Elias, and dwell instead upon a complex puzzle that intrigued him.

He got up from the couch rubbing his head as he walked through into his sleeping quarters, and the bathroom beyond them.

He ran the cold water, standing staring at it as he let it wash over his hands, splashing some over his face as he tried to scrub his eyes. Feeling suddenly more tired than he had ever felt in his life, gripping onto the edge of the sink, he felt his knees begin to buckle, and a shadow of darkness descended over his vision.

He sank down towards the deck, resting his head against the cold metal of the washbasin, trying to let the wave of dizziness pass over him. Taking long breaths, he sat down, tucking his knees up and under his chin.

It happened from time to time; it was nothing, just blood pressure or something. He always waved it off, just another thing to add to the mountain of stress he was under. He picked himself up slowly, feeling exhausted, walking back towards the bed and lying down he took another deep breath as he stared up at the ceiling wondering how he was going to pull everything together.

He opened his eyes to look at James standing at the foot of his bed, concern on the Fida'i's face.

"You have to stop doing that," Darien said, lying back on his pillows and sighing, "Creeping around the ship going where you please..."

James said nothing, he just continued to stare, worry replacing the concern.

Darien shook his head, closing his eyes; he didn't feel like arguing with the stubborn assassin.

* * *

Katz climbed the ladder up into the Raptor riding piggyback on the Excalibur's rear fantail deck, looking at the dark frigate, before he closed the hatch behind him, climbing from the lower bay up into the main crew lounge of the ship, stopping in the shadows of the gangway watching Firlotte sitting on one of the couches, remote control in his hand.

He was flipping through the channels of the entertainment screen. He chose something loud and vaguely music-like as he tossed the remote back onto the coffee table, sitting angrily, staring at the screen, unaware that his secret hang-out had been discovered by the one person he was trying to get away from.

Katz crossed his arms, leaning against the bulkhead, smiling at the technician a moment, "You know, I liked their first album better than this one," he said, nodding to the band screaming about being forced into bankruptcy of the soul, typical Orion death metal...

Firlotte jumped, standing up and looking over at him, "How'd you...?" His shock faded as he replaced it with another accusatory look, "What do you want?"

Katz straightened up and walked over to the small kitchenette, poking in the cupboards till he fished out some cocoa he'd stashed there and a bag of semi-stale mini-marshmallows, "I used to hide here all the time during my first tour of duty, quietest place on the whole ship," He popped two cups into the microwave and set it running, "That and it has its own TV."

"You didn't answer my question," Firlotte turned down the music, sitting again, this time making sure the coffee table was between him and the fighter ace, "What do you want?"

Katz sighed, "I want you," he said turning back, "selfishly, I like my gifts unwrapped..."

"Yeah?" Firlotte asked, "You gonna video tape it for the rest of your friends to laugh at?"

"I wasn't putting the moves on you in my bunk, I knew they were out there." Katz replied calmly, pulling the hot chocolate out of the microwave and handing one to the technician, standing waiting patiently until Firlotte accepted it, albeit grudgingly.

"If you knew they were going to be there, why didn't you give me some kind of warning?" Firlotte asked, sipping the hot cocoa and almost burning his tongue. He turned a little red as he coughed and blew on the surface of the liquid.

"Look I'm sorry, I didn't think it was going to be a big deal, you know what this ship is like, everyone's into everyone else's business. The whole ship knows you're falling for me..."

Firlotte stared in dumbstruck wonder at the fighter jock, "When have I ever said I was falling for you? I'm not, you're a total dick, I've even gone out of my way to tell you I'm not interested in you in that way... Just 'cause you kiss me doesn't..."

He was livid and his tongue was running a mile a minute, so Katz did the only thing he could think of to shut him up. He kissed him.

Firlotte turned a deep shade of purple, "Stop kissing me!" he was so mad he was beginning to vibrate.

Katz sat down on the edge of the small table and set his hands lightly on Firlotte's knees, looking into Firlotte's smouldering eyes, "You never stop me."

"I would've thought no was a pretty good indication that I didn't want you doing it..." Firlotte mumbled petulantly.

"Why not?" Katz's eyes gleamed as realization dawned on him.

Firlotte opened his mouth, and immediately clamped it shut. There was no way he was falling into that one. He instead turned colours again, this time to a bright red that made his ears almost glow.

Katz reached out and lifted the front of Firlotte's tee shirt, running a finger up the boy's treasure trail to circle his belly button.

"I am not going to sleep with you!" Firlotte declared again, resolutely, "I'm still angry..."

"You're incredible," Katz said absently ignoring Firlotte's protests, just lightly touching his skin and stirring the coarse hairs sensually, mesmerized by the fluttering of the technician's tummy as it quivered.

"Shut up!" Firlotte blushed again, but his hands made no move to stop Katz's fingers, his head rolling back as his eyes closed slowly, sighing, "You're such an arsehole."

He gasped, his tummy contracting as Katz's lips brushed it, a shiver going through his thin frame as his toes curled and a rush of intense sensations coursed through him. His slender hands curled instinctively around Katz's head as he tried to pull him back.

"S-stop..." he pleaded, "Please... stop..."

Katz stopped cold, looking up worriedly, "You okay?" he asked, his eyes wide with worry.

"T-too much," Firlotte gasped, "I-" He gasped for air and tried to get control of his widely spinning mind. He wasn't, wouldn't, couldn't seriously be considering... He stood up, "I- I should go..." He thumbed a gesture behind him at the gangway, backing up a step and falling over the coffee table with a thump. He picked himself up and swallowed, darting a glance at Katz who had risen to watch him go.

"Okay," Katz said simply.

"No," Firlotte said with a sigh, taking two steps forward and kissing Katz deeply, running his hand up his back passionately. He drew back panting for air and shaking his head, "It's not okay..." he said as they kissed again, Firlotte having to pour every ounce of self control he had left into pulling himself away from that kiss, he stumbled again, panting, "But that's all you get... we're... not... doing that..." They kissed again, "again..." Firlotte sighed as he felt Katz's arms wrap around him.

"No!" Firlotte pulled back setting his jaw tightly, holding up his finger as he fought to adjust his ruffled clothing, "We are not... no... no way!" he fled towards the gangway, leaving Katz with a confident smirk on his face as he sipped his cocoa.

* * *

The gathering had been small, to start, a few members of the Imperial news services that were on the station covering the war effort invited to a conference to meet the 'rescued' Prince. But word had slipped out, and citizens and Imperial officers, curious to see him for themselves had come down, were filling the conference room and spilling out into the concourse beyond.

"He looks very compelling," one of Evans's aides commented, standing beside him on the upper tier looking down over the concourse.

Evans nodded. The way the young Prince carried himself, meeting people and talking, it was as if he'd done it his entire life. There was a natural charisma about the youth, a kind of movie-star charm that appealed to people; it warmed them to see that the young man was a real person.

"I still think a military uniform would have suited him better," another aide remarked, taking notes and eyeing the Prince's simple, dressed-down appearance with distaste.

"He needs to appear as one of them," the first aide countered, defending his choice of deep red golf shirt and black ball cap, a white stylised rose embroidered upon it, "They need to relate to him before we start to present him as the liberating hero."

Evans ignored their chatter, studying his charge closely as he mingled with the people from Sentinel Station. The transit hub was an ideal place for the first social engagement; word would spread, as the people dispersed back along their journeys, relating stories of meeting the young Prince and bringing the news of his return with them to the various colonies.

There was no denying that the young man was extremely intelligent. Every so often, the Prince would cast a glance up towards the grey-suited MI officers collected on their upper platform watching his performance, and study them with the same kind of attentiveness Evans would expect from one of his own men. He was a VonGrippen, there was no doubting that.

He wondered what kind of plan Rikard had up his sleeve, and exactly how he was meant to control the construct that was obviously all too aware of what was going on. He needed to carefully consider his options, and try to anticipate where his master expected him to be positioned. The young Prince would be a handful, but then Evans knew how to keep people in check.

He smiled coldly down at the Prince, who returned the same cold smile before he moved on to shake more hands.

* * *

Darien sat on the low couch staring at the news report in shock. The Excalibur was cruising behind Amsus lines ready to make its next series of jumps to link up with the House Kardiac transports. The damage to the ship was minimal and being repaired as the ship took stock of its situation.

His command staff had assembled for the daily news packet, received from an outbound Orion transport that gave them some word of what was going on back at home. The date stamp on the packet marked it as about five days old.

Commander Durnham was the first to break the silence. "Prince Edward?"

Lauren leaned on the edge of Darien's desk, watching the candid video shot of Elias moving through the crowd. Looking like a young film star, or entertainer, dynamic energy that was undoubtedly Elias poking through moments of decorum and dignity where he shook hands.

"He's almost convincing..." she commented, as he nodded to a group of young girls screaming and jumping up and down as if they had met a music idol. The Prince flashed a shy smile, his hat brim coming down in a way that shielded his eyes that was definitely reminiscent of the Elias they all knew.

"Almost?" Colonel Mayfair inquired. The Colonel was wearing civilian clothing, flat out refusing to don his uniform. Since the Amsus boarding action, an uneasy truce had existed between the Karin Marines on ship and the members of House VonGrippen. They were in enemy territory, out to rescue Imperial troops; there was no room for partisan politics and he had given Darien his word that he, and his men, would do their duty, but they weren't going to join his House.

The Colonel walked down into the recess between the two couches and nodded up to the floating holographic image. "He looks pretty damn convincing if you ask me."

"That's because he is the Prince," Kyr chimed up from his seat. The doctor seemed agitated, grinding his teeth, "At least from a biological standpoint."

"And what?" Nazzien inquired, "Suddenly there's an heir to the Empire? People aren't that gullible..."

"You'd be surprised." Masconi spoke up, uncoiling herself from the doorway, gesturing to the news feed, "like it or not, General Iver has set our young friend up to be the next Emperor, and there are plenty of people out there who'll follow him simply because of the name. Archduke Walker's reign hasn't exactly been a stellar success..." She looked over to where Darien was sitting, his arms folded, staring up impassively at the young man.

"It goes far beyond House politics," Mayfair agreed, "given the right circumstances, he could be the catalyst that unites the Empire behind a common cause..."

"Or be the wedge that drives it apart," Darien said, finally breaking his silence as he stood, staring sadly into those shy blue eyes of the life size hologram in the middle of the room, "We need to put a stop to this before it gets out of control."

"I'm not sure that's possible," Masconi said, shaking her head, "It's not going to matter to most people if he is real or just a construct, he's something for them to believe in, and at a time when they feel the Senate is letting them down, and Walker von Karin appears more and more impotent..." she looked apologetically over at the Colonel, "Sorry..."

Mayfair motioned, "I understand where you're going with this," he said, agreeing with her before he turned back to Darien, "She's right, it's out of the box, and try as hard as we like, it's not going to go back in easily."

Darien shifted in his seat. "We're technically in a House war against House von Karin," he looked over at Mayfair before continuing, "More aptly we're struggling against General Iver's insurgency."

"Agreed," Mayfair nodded firmly, "And if he's seeking to over throw my Highlord, I need to stop him."

Darien stood, walking up to the full sized hologram of the man he loved, smiling and gesturing as he talked even though Kit had thoughtfully muted the broadcast, "I didn't count on it being him..."

"He doesn't remember who he is," Kyr insisted, frustrated that he'd been unable to stop it, "He probably truly believes he's Prince Edward."

"Bonnie Prince Charlie here's going to cause a lot of problems for the Imperial Senate if they choose to stand against him," Mayfair said, walking around the hologram and pouring himself another coffee from the carafe, looking back over his shoulder.

"How will Walker stand?" Masconi asked, sitting upright restlessly, "Will he back him?"

"Walker's met Matt Elias," Darien said quietly, "he's not going to convince the Archduke that easily, the question is how Iver has explained the Prince's return to the Senate..."

"Sir," Commander Durnham broke in, "Perhaps you should check the next news feed."

The image changed to an aerial shot of Karin City and the burning smoke rising from one of the principal towers. The correspondent was talking at a rapid pace and Darien leaned forward to catch what was being said.

"The Head of the Senatorial Defence Committee has been killed in an apparent assassination in Karin City." The reporter repeated, "The blast, which reports say killed about nine people and injured 100 others, may have been a bomb. It went off beside Mister Sanchez's downtown offices, causing widespread damage."

"The killing comes at a time of rising tension between the Military and Senate over the failing war effort."

"Mr. Sanchez ran and won his Senate seat soon after the formation of the new Empire. He was one of the principal founding fathers of the new Imperial Senate and a respected, senior member of the Imperial Government."

"It is still unclear what caused the massive explosion, but a little-known group calling itself the Nazari Isma'ili sect, led by the renegade Highlord, Darien Taine, has issued a statement claiming the killing, saying it was a reprisal for the thousands of Imperial lives lost on the battlefront because of Senatorial inaction," the reporter paused, "The authenticity of the statement could not be verified."

"Turn it off," Darien said, closing his eyes as he walked back towards his desk.

"How the hell could you organize an assassination when you're stuck on a ship behind enemy lines with Iver blocking all ship to shore transmissions?" Lauren demanded angrily, "They can't be serious."

Mayfair folded his arms and glanced at Masconi. Both of them had served with Darien a long time, they knew his methods and his motives; both of them knew full well that he wasn't capable of such a diabolical move.

"He's ensuring that I stay away," Darien remarked, turning his head back to his crew, "he's hoping that if he can turn the people against me, I won't come after him." Darien paced slowly, his hands folding in the small of his back as he moved to and fro, "We need to reach House Kardiac and inform them of what's happening, and then we need to find a way back into the Empire."

* * *

Rikard watched with mild interest as the same news broadcast displayed before him. He had found that in the years after the fall of the Empire he had come to miss sensational stories. The Amsus lacked any kind of imagination when it came to the media. They permitted only the facts and offered no supposition, no overglorification of information to bias a piece, only exactly what happened, how it happened, with none of the frills and drama a human being liked.

For example, the discovery of a Prince long thought dead, or the assassination of a top government official by a war hero, wouldn't have been nearly so interesting if delivered by an Amsus reporter.

The former Imperial Chancellor smiled to himself, thinking about the chaos that was about to unfold within the Empire as the already fractioned sides split even further. The grand alliance was splintering under the weight of its own hypocrisy.

He looked back at the crumpled form on the floor before him, a battered old man that was again pleading for his life between shattered sobs. Rikard had no patience for him; his Praetorian stood ready to execute the pitiful excuse for a being the moment the former Chancellor had concluded his questioning.

"You received a letter," Rikard said, sitting in his chair easily staring at the holographic news feed. The young man standing there, brought back from the dead - all the great plans that hinged upon him had nearly been undone by the cowering man grovelling at Rikard's feet. "And the letter instructed you where to find my laboratory."

The man burst into a renewed set of sobbing as he nodded his head, his voice pitched into a whine, "I swear my lord..." he cringed as he corrected himself, "master, I didn't know it was your lab, the letter said only that I...I would find a treasure there..."

"And this letter was unsigned." Rikard said shifting his eyes over the boy's face, seeing his grandfather in him, mixed with the traces of the Imperial bloodline. "Did it not occur to you that it was a hoax?"

"I-I found the lab,' the man wailed, "And ..."

"And you knew exactly which container to open," Rikard said calmly, "It must have been a very convincing letter."

"The constructs weren't mature," the man sobbed again, writhing, "worthless..."

"I considered this construct extremely valuable." Rikard said calmly, causing a renewed sense of desperation in the man, now clutching onto Rikard's patent leather shoe and weeping upon them.

Rikard shook him off in disgust, "So what happened to the construct after you left the lab?"

"I... I sold him." The man cried, "We tried to raise him... my misses liked the boy, we never had... but he was too much, we didn't have much... and he was such a pretty boy..."

"Who did you sell him to?" Rikard inquired, standing up and listening to the man's feeble reply.

Satisfied that there was nothing more he could glean from the man, he gestured for the Praetorian to dispose of the waste. Straightening his excellently tailored business suit, he walked from the room. The Gorean ambassador would be arriving upon his Tradeliner shortly, and Rikard was curious about the enigmatic species, already contemplating a way to get Mister Xanatos onto his autopsy table.

He paused, looking up at the holographic display one last time as he chuckled, departing and calling for his secretary. He had important meetings to arrange and a prominent businessman such as himself couldn't afford to be late.

He paused, signing his customary morning briefs, giving each a cursory read before he moved on, stopping a moment to chuckle as he read the last meeting request. He looked up at his secretary. "Nazzien Kuriel?"

"He's one of our share holders, sir," the secretary apologized as she fished out a file, "He apparently wants to set up a meeting with you on behalf of..."

"Highlord Taine," Rikard purred, nodding over the file, "Make the arrangements and inform Nazzien that my time in this area is very limited, I will be here another," he glanced at his watch, "Five days."

"As you wish, Mister Denver." The secretary accepted the file back from her boss;"Also, I took the liberty of re-organizing your morning meetings to give you more time with the Gorean ambassador."

"Thank you," Rikard said with a genuine smile. While she wasn't an Inquisitor, she was definitely efficient, and he appreciated that.

* * *

She left Denver's chambers, crossing the deck, adjusting her glasses as she flipped through his papers, scanning each of them and committing them to memory. She'd worked for the Denver conglomerate for years under her boss's predecessor, a strong businessman that had shaped the former Imperial House's growth and shaped the new direction of the company as an industrial powerhouse.

The arrival of Nicholas Denver, with his bizarre publicity stunts and playboy attitude, had shocked everyone that had worked for the company. The board was uneasy with anything that drew too much attention to the conglomerate. It had survived and thrived by hiding in the background, allowing the galaxy to simply pass it by unnoticed while it bought key assets.

She would make her report and encode it back to the board, ensuring that she would encode a separate report that would make it back to her true master. His watchful eye was firmly fixed upon the events that were unfolding; he would be interested to learn of Denver's planned meeting with one of Taine's agents.