Cain nodded, more uneasy than awestruck.

Basil surveyed the stunned crowd, looking very satisfied. “That should keep those annoying anti-Hansa protesters quiet for a while. Have there been any further incidents?”

Cain struggled to bring his thoughts back to the present. “Always, Mr. Chairman. The resistance groups are becoming more organized.”

“Then find them.”

Kulu and Andropolis were on their feet, congratulating each other. “God has certainly shown his will tonight,” Andropolis said with a satisfied sigh. “Who could question it?”

34

King Peter

When Celli delivered Nira’s announcement on Theroc, Peter turned pale. “KingRory? It can’t be.”

Estarra glanced at him, sharing his confusion and uneasiness. Peter knew that the Queen understood, although no one else did — except for Basil. Damn him! This was a lower blow than he could have expected, even from the unstable Chairman.

Rory. How could he possibly still be alive?

First Nira said the Chairman had kidnapped the Mage-Imperator and tried to force him to renounce his alliance with the Confederation, torturing him with isolation to break him. And now he had hauled out Rory. long-dead, sweet Rory. It was not possible.

“Oh, Basil is an evil bastard,” he said. “Describe it to me again, Celli. Every minute. And describe the young man.”

Surprised by his reaction, the green priest repeated Nira’s message, and Peter nodded slowly to himself, feeling sick inside. “Excuse me. I need some time alone. Estarra and I have to talk.”

The Queen was already on her feet, and Peter followed her into their temporary quarters. When they were alone, he rested his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. “Everyone else thinks that was just a political announcement, finally putting a replacement king on the throne, but Basil knew it was vastly more personal to me. He intended to twist the knife. It’s his way of threatening me.”

Sitting down, Estarra cradled little Reynald in her arms and leaned back so that she could nurse the baby. “You think it’s really your brother? Could it be a trick?”

Peter tried to work it out in his mind. His whole family had been killed almost ten years ago when their apartment building exploded — the result of sabotage conducted by Hansa henchmen to clear away all connections to Peter/Raymond. They wanted no one who could challenge his identity with any sort of genetic proof.

And now King Rory could not be a coincidence. Basil had made that perfectly clear by insisting that Nira send the message.

Estarra tried to sound sensible. “The very idea that your little brother could still be alive, held out of sight all these years, is absurd.”

Peter drew a deep breath. “And yet if anyone could be so insidious, it’d be Basil.”

“But if he really had a secret weapon to keep you in line, why would he wait until now? You could just denounce this new King Rory — explain that he must be a complete fake. That would take away whatever hold the Chairman thinks he has over you.”

Peter shook his head. “If I chose that course of action, I would be forced to denounce my own rule. I’d have to admitI’m just a street kid given a makeover and thrust into this position. Whether Rory’s my brother or not, I’m as much a fake as he is.” He paced around the room. “No, it’s less obvious than that. Basil will use him as a subtle hostage. As long as Rory behaves, the Chairman has exactly what he wants — a figurehead, as I was supposed to be. And if I have even a shred of hope that Rory is who I think he is, then Basil will think he has me under his thumb.”

When Reynald finished nursing, Peter took the baby from Estarra to burp him. Afterward, he held his son, looking down at the small face that had such sweet features, a blend of his own and his wife’s. Peter thought of his brothers, Carlos, Michael. Rory. Yes, Rory. He felt a swell of love in his chest, a clear sense of loss for his family and the simple yet endearing life he’d had — all destroyed by Basil’s schemes. Was it possible that the Chairman had saved one small piece as a human shield?

“Basil’s ploy isn’t going to work, is it, Peter?”

“No,” he answered quickly, then added in a softer voice, “At least I don’t think so.”

35

Tasia Tamblyn

When the eleven EDF battleships arrived at the Osquivel shipyards, Tasia remarked to Robb, “They’re damned lucky we’ve got a green priest to forewarn us. Otherwise, I might have opened fire the moment they showed themselves.”

“Admit it, Tamblyn — you’re happy to see them. And Admiral Willis, too.”

Tasia relaxed her stern expression. “Damn right, I am. And we sure as hell could use someone who knows more about command than either of us does.”

“So, you’ve been faking it all along?”

She clapped him on the shoulder. “Never with you, Brindle. Let’s send out the welcome wagon. With all those weapons and ships, we could go on a real bug hunt!”

When the two of them formally presented themselves aboard theJupiter, Tasia looked around the bridge with fond nostalgia. Willis had put on her best uniform and told all her officers and crew to make themselves presentable: polished shoes, razor-edged creases, neatly combed hair. Tasia wasn’t sure why the Admiral felt the need to impress anyone, since the Confederation was in no position to turn down the offer of functional warships.

Willis returned Tasia’s salute. “I swear, I never thought I’d see you two alive again.”

Tasia dropped all pretense of formality and gave her a quick hug. “Glad to see you, too, Admiral — and doubly glad to be on the same side again.”

Robb, brought up in a more rigid military family, settled for a warm handshake. “I prefer combat duty to being held prisoner among the hydrogues, ma’am.”

“Well, I did bring the hydrogue derelict back here to deliver to Kotto Okiah, in case you have further pie-in-the-sky ideas,” Willis said.

“No thank you, ma’am. One excursion down into a gas giant was enough for me.”

Leading them into her ready room, the Admiral ran her eyes up and down their grease-smudged jumpsuits. “Your uniforms could use a bit of attention. Is this the look of the Confederation military these days?”

“Roamers and colony volunteers don’t need costumes to know which side they’re fighting on,” Tasia said, feeling defensive.

“We haven’t had time to design new uniforms,” Robb admitted. “In fact, I don’t even know what rank we should call ourselves.”

“Sounds like you need an organizational chart,” Willis said. “Though I shudder to think about imposing that kind of structure on a Roamer-based society.”