SImp

It was a small thing—it was quiet. I looked over toward the bed. Sir James was on his way to this closet!

"James," her voice was pure sugar as she drawled out his name. Sir James stopped and looked back over his shoulder. She gave a wiggle that was invented in the Garden of Eden or maybe just outside. Sir James stopped and returned to her, almost as if he had no will of his own. Frantic, knowing that he would return—eventually— I tried to think of a way out; suicide was a top contender, knowing the Duke's base desires and his ability to drag out torture—but I wasn't about to return to my maker until he dragged me, kicking and screaming, to the other side of the veil. It wasn't until I sat back against the wall, slumped over in despair that I noticed—a faint breath of air was coming from the back of the closet.

[Imp!] I shouted, sub-vocally. [Scan this wall!]

[Cool your Jets, Larry,] he advised. [I have already checked it.]

[Well check it again; I felt a draft coming from under the wall.]

A few centuries, subjective time, later Imp said, [It was a most stubborn door; I could not talk it into opening. However, I may have talked it into ignoring events—for a time. Try pushing against the wall and see if you can open it now.]

With a lack of conviction, I pushed hard against the back wall and fell on my face as it effortlessly swung away. A short landing led to a set of stairs. Shutting the door behind me, I slowly started down the stairs.

Imp chuckled, [It didn't even know that you had passed through.]

The stairs led to a small but unbelievably complex communications center. The room looked clean, so I walked to the center and turned around once, for Imp's benefit. The senses of my implant, in many respects, are more sensitive than mine, but Imp could still gather a lot from my natural senses. Finding a wide leather chair in front of a large Com display, I sat while I waited for Imp to finish his scan. While waiting, I pulled up a database on the display and entered my name. The gist of the entry amounted to, harmless. There was a reference flagged, so I followed it. Now I had no doubts, there on the monitor:

Norman Young (agent for the Council of Fifty)

Imploded Aug. 17th '72

Discovered Caribbia connection

Softly Imp said, [Lawrence I'm sorry about your dad, but now you know beyond a doubt.]

[I think I have always known, but it's still a shock.]

[You are going to have to continue the quest, yourself. There is no outside connection here; all the communication ports are read-only. I—"

Interrupting Imp, I said in despair, "Can't you do anything?"

[Please, let me finish. I have placed a virus in the memory bank; if they ever make a two-way connection, I'll get a complete dump.]

[But that could take years,] I wailed.

[Then the next step is yours, isn't it?]

Looking up at the display, I programmed the computer for a rapid display of all data. Even if my vision wasn't capable of seeing that fast, Imp could capture and analyze most of it.

[Someone is coming!]

[Oh Imp, not now! We haven't even started.] I said with a sobbing catch to my voice as I uttered that last word.

[Yes, Right now! I have already programmed the Com for complete restoration; the system will be back to standby, by the time they arrive. ETA, one minute and thirty-four and two-hundredths seconds. Probable party, Sir James and Lady de Winter.]

Sourly I said, "That much I could guess. Any suggestions?"

[My scanners indicate no known exits, other than the stairs and I fear that will not be helpful at this time.]

[No kidding, Einstein. So what should I do—hide under the desk?]

[That appears to be your only alternative; I will try to think of something better.]

Grumbling to myself, about machines that take things too literally, I crawled under the desk. I could hear them, as I scrunched into the space. Luckily it was deep, and wide enough that I could lay down full-length. My only hope was that they would not expect anyone else to be here, and would not be alert to the possibility. Two pairs of legs slid into view; one was hairy and blocky, the other sleek and smooth. I could smell the musky odor from their recent friendly violence.

"My Lord," said a voice that dripped honey. "What is your wish concerning Specialist, Serina T'gerr?"

"She is doing well in the competitions?"

"Yes, My Lord . . ." She stated, as she rapidly manipulated the Com's sensor fields. ". . . See, she has won. Serina had the highest rating of all the contestants, a nine-point eight nine; no one has ever had a higher unarmed rating, excepting yourself and the Captain of Imperial Guard."

"Excellent I have been testing her and manipulating her for over a year now, the computers forecasted that she is the perfect tool, and my tests have reassured me of that, her winning was my final test. She will do well as the new head of the Ninjas. My agents have also reported that she is ideal for this spot; just the right combination of brains and ability plus a ruthless disregard for life, and Serina has every reason to hate the Emperor. He caused her family to be wiped out root and branch; she only escaped by pure luck.

I had a projection run on her, and of all the possible candidates she was the only one that came even close to unity probability of success. Sound her out and if she agrees, which according to my private dossier she will, I will promote her to the head of the Ninjas. I will send her to the Crystal Cove resort ostensibly as a reward for winning the contest. There we can do a final check on her— her— "loyalty" to the cause. She can screen our Ninjas as she trains them before she takes up her new position. All we need is a few more Ninjas, and we can strike. Have you issued those special invitations for a leave on Caribbia?"

"Yes my Lord, none of them could resist such a generous offer; they will be there at the same time as T'gerr."

"T'gerr should have no trouble screening the ones we want, and we will be ready for our coup. It is too bad about the Emperor, but his policy of hiding from all public notice works right into my hands. I am already the correct build; with a little cosmetic surgery, I will be able to take his place. Of course, the honorable Sir James Rathsmor, the hero who saved the life of the Emperor by defending it with his own body after the first cowardly attack of the assassin's blade, will not survive his mortal wounds." I as the Emperor, when I have recovered from my "grievous wounds," will deliver the Duke of Paldonia's eulogy. Sir James emitted a deep chuckle, which held overtones of the macabre. Then he continued. "I should have been Emperor in the first place; I was born to greatness." The Duke said, fanaticism showing in his voice.

"Yes, My Lord—you will be. The universe needs someone of your vision, strength, intelligence, and charisma, to lead us. Not that weak, spineless wimp who is so afraid of his shadow that he won't even show himself in public." Lady de Winter said in a persuasive voice, filling his mind with false values. She had been moving her hand rapidly in the Com's sensor fields as she had talked, "Look at the chart, everything is coming to completion. And with your best Ninja, Serina, the new Captain of the Imperial Guard—"

[Imp, Serina will be guarding the Emperor himself!] I blurted.

[I know, now shut up! I need to listen.]

"—dies at the hand of T'gerr. By this time next year 'You will be the supreme leader of the universe—and as your consort, you will break with tradition and see that I receive the immortality treatment as well so that we can rule the empire forever side by side!" She finished passionately.

The Dukes wristcom beeped. He glanced at it, and then stood up saying, "I am due back at the palace, and must leave within the hour. Will the Lady de Winter join me for a quick plunge, to freshen up, before I must leave?" Sir James requested, bowing formally.

"Certainly, My Lord," she said, executing a flawless curtsy.

Thigh to thigh, arm to waist, they walked out of the communications center.

I didn't dare stay here any longer. The shielding was particularly effective here; my implants could not operate effectively. Anyone could be coming down those stairs at any moment and, now that the bosses were out of the way, most likely would.

I slipped up the stairs as soon as I dared. The hall seemed clear, so I walked out of the security room with my glass of water still on the tray. I was in the nick of time—I could see the ghost of someone coming.

Turning around, I slowly walked back the way I had come. A moment after; my ghost, wearing blue fatigues, the ray of silver strings on his collar and his cap proclaiming him to be a communications officer first class, strode into view. I stopped at the door and knocked diffidently.

Not paying me any more attention than a horse does a fly. The officer swatted me out of his way with, "She is entertaining the Duke out by the pool now." I nodded and started down the hall.

"One moment!" I felt chills running up and down my spine, like little mice with chilly wet feet.

"You're heading to the kitchen anyway, so I'll just take that glass off your hands." Without a word I presented the tray, he drained the glass in one long gulp. "Thanks, mate," he said, with a smile.

Not daring to speak—Imp had never heard the man that I was replacing speak and would not be able to make me sound like him—I returned his smile while executing a quarter-bow. Then I turned and walked down the hall turning at the intersection toward the kitchen. I looked out the corner of my eye. He was entering the decoy room that leads to the high-security com room as though nothing was out of the ordinary. A quick check of the floor plan indicated a Port near the front entrance. I had to return to the kitchen first. It was a necessary diversion, as my glass was now empty and I now had no apparent reason to be in this part of the building,—as before; I walked the halls with the perfect invisibility of the commonplace servant who is beneath notice.

[Imp, I have the opportunity to leave now, without anyone being the wiser, do you think the risk of walking to the Port without a disguise be justified?]

"You there!" A voice spoke sharply.