Hidden Empire (26 page)
Estarra stared through the fungus-reef chambers to the shadowy greenness of the jungle, as if expecting to see the worldtrees
dancing for joy. Even without such a miracle, though, the delight on Beneto’s face seemed reward enough.
“How were the Roamers?” Idriss asked. “We know so little about their culture.”
“I doubt you accomplished much with them,” Sarein said sourly. “They probably tried to entangle you in a marriage alliance.”
Reynald smiled at his sister. “Don’t underestimate the Roamers, Sarein. In fact, that may have been our largest mistake of
all. They seem very open to closer ties with us. One of their leaders, Cesca Peroni, is quite captivating.”
“They want our green priests, I bet,” Sarein said.
“Actually, they refused my offer.” He enjoyed his sister’s surprise. “The Roamers prefer to keep their secrets and don’t really
want any green priests.”
“That’s a switch from what we usually hear,” Idriss said under his breath.
“I suggested we might arrange for direct deliveries of ekti to Theroc, without going through approved Hansa intermediaries.
Think of the cost we’ll save.”
“Think of how upset the Hansa will be,” Sarein said, alarmed. “Do we want to invite so much trouble and ill will, considering
that we don’t use much ekti for ourselves anyway?”
“Still,” Mother Alexa said, plucking a slice of pair-pear from a tray, “every step of independence benefits us in the long
run.”
T
hen the nauseating effects of the stunner wore off, the pounding in Raymond’s head masked the fact that he was lying on a
plush, warm bed. He slowly returned to consciousness and noticed that he seemed to be floating. His body was surrounded by
slick sheets, lying on a comfortable gelatin-filled mattress. His fingers twitched, his thighs clenched.
Raymond opened his eyes, and the flood of light sent sledgehammers of pain into his skull. He groaned deep in his throat,
but it came out only as a faint sound. The last thing he remembered was the blond-haired man threatening him with the stunner,
his professional-looking companions hustling Raymond toward the unmarked vehicle.
Kidnapping him!
He sat up and forced himself to endure the wash of nausea. Someone had taken him here. Was it a group of perverts out to snatch
any young man—or had they been after
him
in particular? Why would anyone be interested in a poor kid with no prospects and a family that could barely make ends meet?
His family! Now he remembered the flaming wreckage of his apartment complex, the barricade lines and security troops, the
fire-suppression engineers and their copters dumping extinguishant foam all over the smoldering remains.
There’s nothing left inside but ashes and dental work
.
When the orchestra of ragged nerve endings quieted to a mild clamor, he opened his eyes again and looked around him. He lay
in a small chamber without windows. The walls held fine tapestries; delicate vases stood on pedestals in the corners. A basin
filled with trickling water made quiet music.
He needed to know what had happened to his mother and brothers!
He smelled faint perfumes and noticed several stubby candles—real candles—set into small alcoves. He eased himself from the
sloshing bed, which tried to wrap itself around him. The light seemed to come from everywhere, a muted illumination from the
fabric of the wall itself. He couldn’t understand where he was.
A door opened from a corridor outside the room. Standing on the threshold was a lean, suave-looking man with hair the color
of new steel. His active gray eyes and smooth skin challenged any estimate of his age. Beside him stood an old-style Teacher-model
compy with a dull body casing.
The man studied Raymond with a calculating smile, but the compy spoke first. “My estimate of the duration of the stun pulse
was accurate to within ten minutes, Chairman Wenceslas.”
“Excellent, OX, considering you had to guess so many important parameters.”
Recognizing the man’s name, Raymond clamped his mouth shut to prevent himself from making indignant demands. Such protestations
would make him look foolish and helpless, and these people would tell him whatever they wished, whenever they wished. Warily,
he bided his time, meeting the Chairman’s intent gaze.
Wenceslas gave Raymond a thin-lipped smile. “Very good, Peter. You’re exercising some restraint already, even without training.”
He turned to the compy. “OX, you will have a very good student here.”
Raymond’s head still pounded. “Who’s Peter? My name’s Raymond Aguerra. I live—”
Wenceslas held up a well-manicured hand.
“Peter
is the name we have chosen for you. It’s best if you get used to it from the start.”
The old Teacher compy came forward with heavy but precise steps. “I am aware, Peter, that the aftereffects of a stunner are
physically unpleasant. I have an analgesic injection, or if you prefer, a sweet-flavored syrup containing the same medication.
I would not want discomfort to distract you from the important business Chairman Wenceslas wishes to discuss with you.”
Raymond recoiled at receiving medication from these people. He still didn’t know why they had brought him here or why they
were interested in him. But again, he bit back an outcry, thinking his situation through. He had been here helpless in this
chamber, stunned unconscious. They could have poisoned him or drugged him at any point. Why would they wait for him to wake
up and then drug him again? Who would benefit, if he insisted on remaining miserable?
After a careful pause, he said, “Which one acts faster? I need to get rid of this headache.”
OX came to the side of the bed. “The injection should take effect almost immediately. I will try to make it as painless as
possible.” The small compy reached forward with a metal hand. Before Raymond could even look down, a tiny needle danced out
of the fingertip and into his arm. Raymond was more startled than hurt by the act. He rubbed his arm, but could feel no residual
sting. As the Teacher compy had promised, the pain began to diminish within seconds.
“My name is Raymond,” he said again, drawing a deep breath. “Why have you brought me here? What do you want?”
“We want you to reach your potential, young man,” Wenceslas said. He came forward to sit on the end of Raymond’s bed, folding
his hands in his lap in an oddly paternal mannerism. “We have a great opportunity in store for you, something that will benefit
you in ways that you’ve never imagined, and it will also give the Terran Hanseatic League a solid future.”
Raymond turned away, glad to feel the aches and the muscle spasms receding. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Do
we have any word about my mother, my brothers? I saw the fire.”
“There were no survivors, young man. The apartment complex was a complete loss.”
OX said, “Allow me to offer my sincere condolences, young Peter.”
“My name is Raymond.”
“Your name is Peter,” said Basil. “Now please listen while I explain. The first thing you must accept is that you are not
who you were.”
OX walked over to a bureau in the corner of the room and returned with an ornate, gold-framed looking glass. With a steady
metal hand the Teacher compy held the reflective surface in front of Raymond so that he could stare in shock at his appearance.
His hair was now completely
blond
, a strawcolored yellow that extended all the way to the roots. His eyebrows had a different tint, above eyes that were a
startling greenish blue instead of the deep brown he had been born with. He saw no evidence of contact lenses or implants.
His eyes had been
changed
, and he was willing to bet that his hair and eyes had been genetically altered, not just colored. He was at a loss for words.
“It’s really quite a remarkable resemblance to our King Frederick, don’t you think?” Wenceslas said. Raymond had never actually
studied the King’s facial features other than stylized likenesses on posters, placards, and a few old-fashioned currency notes.
OX withdrew the looking glass and bustled back to the bureau. Raymond glanced around the chamber again, just to avoid looking
at the Chairman or the compy. He noted two shadowy figures outside the door. Guards, probably. His room had an overstuffed
sitting chair, a tray with luscious-looking tarts, and a decanter of juice. His stomach growled.
Wenceslas gave a signal to OX. The Teacher compy brought over the refreshments.
“You are being held in a hidden chamber beneath the Whisper Palace,” the Chairman said. “Soon, you will have access to everything
you could possibly want. OX will help you learn history, philosophy, politics, as well as the subtle nuances of court etiquette
and your eventual responsibilities.”
“What responsibilities?” Raymond sipped the tart red juice, then gobbled a honey-soaked wafer, perhaps the most delicious
pastry he had ever eaten.
“Prince Peter, you are the son and heir of King Frederick. Obviously, the public will notice the family resemblance. When
you are ready, we will introduce you into the public eye. The populace will accept you.”
“Prince?” Raymond nearly spilled his remaining juice on the coverlet. “Crimson rain, I’m not a Prince! I’ve never even met
King Frederick. I—”
Wenceslas smiled strangely. “We create our own truth around here, young Peter. Don’t worry about that.”
“But what happened to the real royal family? I’ve never even heard of Prince Peter before now.”
“That is because he didn’t exist before now.” The Chairman folded his hands, interlocking his fingers. “We have always kept
the royal family a private matter in order to give the Hansa room to do as we like. We have plenty of flexibility.”
The man poured himself a glass of juice. “King Frederick’s real wife died more than two decades ago. Over the years, he’s
had numerous concubines and a few bastard children, but none of them has the potential we need. Certainly no true leadership
qualities.”
Raymond looked at the Chairman, disbelief growing as the realization sank in. “You want
me
to replace the King?”
“After you have been properly trained,” OX said.
“We selected you from among hundreds of potential candidates, Peter. The Hansa is convinced that you are someone the public
can cheer and love.”
“But it’s it’s not right!” Raymond insisted.
Wenceslas looked at him calmly. “That’s exactly how King Frederick took the throne many years ago, and King Bartholomew before
him, and King Jack before him.” Raymond reeled, and the Chairman continued. “We have been watching you for years and selected
you from many candidates. Honest, young man, we believe you are our best hope.” His expression became sadder. “Unfortunately,
the terrible fire that destroyed your home has forced us to move now. We would have preferred a more comfortable and orderly
introduction.”
Raymond had trouble accepting the massive shift to his understanding of the world. “But… what will happen to Frederick?”
“After the efficient transfer of leadership, the old man will have his features altered and we’ll send him into a comfortable
retirement on Relleker. King Frederick has served quite well for almost half a century, but his mind isn’t as sharp as it
was. Truly, I think his heart is no longer in it. We need someone vibrant and viable to bring energy back to the Hansa.”
“I can’t believe this.” Raymond stared at the metal mask of the Teacher compy. “Someone will know. You’ll be caught.”
Basil Wenceslas smiled. “Who could possibly know? Forgive me, young man, but Raymond Aguerra was a nobody. With your features
altered like this, who would even dream of making the connection? After the terrible apartment fire, everyone will believe
you died in the disaster, just like the other unfortunate victims.”
Raymond blinked back tears, and his throat trembled as the ache in his heart began to turn numb. His mother would have said
that this sudden opportunity (and, yes, he always looked for opportunities) was his reward in the face of such incredible
sadness. She would probably have read him a printed Unison pamphlet with similar platitudes. He would have given almost anything
to have his family back, but he could not spurn this chance. Never in his life had such a tremendous possibility presented
itself to him.
The Chairman’s winning smile showed dazzling teeth. “Look at this as a way to bring a silver lining to this dark cloud of
tragedy. We’ve already rewritten the past, and we need you, young Peter, to help us write the future.”
