We Few

"Talbert." Roger nodded. "Killerpillar. We figured out how to avoid them, and the poisons turned out to be useful." He shrugged. "You should have stuck around. You didn't even get to the Mohinga."

"The Mohinga?" Raoux's eyebrows rose. "That's a training area in Centralia Province. One nasty-assed swamp."

"We had one of our own." Roger looked at Despreaux. "Before Voitan, remember?"

"Yes," Despreaux said. "I thought it was bad. Until Voitan gave a whole new perspective to the word 'bad.'"

"Hey, you got to save my life. I still remember that really clear view of your butt. I thought I liked you before, but all I could think about all the time was what that butt looked like."

"Hell of a time to think of that!" Despreaux said angrily.

"Well, it was a very nice-looking butt." Roger smiled. "Still is, even if it's a bit... rounder."

"Fatter."

"No, not fatter, very nice..."

"Excuse me." Raoux folded her arms. "You guys want to get a room?"

"So, are we going to get your support?" Roger asked sharply. His smile disappeared, and he turned his head, locking onto her eyes. "From the Association?"

"Associations," Raoux said, turning slightly aside. "Plural."

The prince's expression, the way he moved and looked at her, reminded her uncomfortably of a bird of prey. Not an eagle, which had a certain majesty to it. More like a falcon—something that was no more than a swift, predatory shape wrapped around a mind like a buzz saw.

"We just call ourselves the clans," she continued. "Raider Association. Special Operations Association. Empress' Own Association. Lots of intermingling, what with people like Tomcat."

"All of them?" Roger asked.

"Why do you think I'm here?" Raoux countered. "I was never in the Pretty-Boy Club."

"And are we going to get the support?" Roger pressed.

"Probably. Marinau was a holdout, probably because he knew you. But if he can sit through that... briefing from Hell, I don't think he'll hold out for long. People change."

"That's what we were talking about," Roger said quietly. "I was just explaining to Nimashet that none of us got off Marduk alive, not really. Not the people that landed. We've all changed."

"Some for the worse," Despreaux said in a low voice.

"No," Roger said sternly. "You're my conscience, my anchor. You can't be my conscience and my sword. I've got people who can hold guns and pull triggers, and I can find more of them, if I have to. But there's only one you, Nimashet Despreaux."

"He's got a point," Raoux said. "And don't sweat combat fatigue—not after what I just watched. Anyone ever got hammered big time, it was you people. You've earned a change of duty assignments, and you've got your part to play."

"I suppose," Despreaux said.

"So what, exactly, are you bringing to the table?" Roger asked.

"Wait for the others," Raoux replied.

It didn't take long for Marinau to leave the room, as well, and Catrone followed shortly thereafter. Of the three NCOs, only Catrone was smiling.

"Christ," he said. "I wish I'd been there!"

"You would." Raoux shook her head. "You like nightmares."

"Okay, I'm convinced," Marinau said. "I kept looking for the special effects. There weren't any; that was real."

"As real as it gets," Roger said, his face hard.

Marinau cleared his throat, shook his head, and finally looked at the prince.

"I'm in," he said, still shaking his head. "But do you think you could have shown just a little bit of that when I was in charge?" he asked plaintively. "It would have made my job... well, not easier. More satisfying, I guess."

"Maybe I shouldn't have always shucked my guards when I went hunting," Roger said with a shrug. "But you all sounded like flar-ta in the woods."

"I'll tell you a secret," Marinau said, shame-faced. "We all figured it was your guides doing the hunting, and that you were just showing off and bringing back the heads. Shows how wrong I can be. And I'm man enough to admit it. I'm in."

"Raiders are in," Raoux said.

"Special Ops is in," Catrone said. "But only if we get a chance to get stuck in with some of those Mardukans. And I want the Earl of New Madrid. I'm going to spend the rest of my natural life torturing him to death. There's this thing you can do with a steel-wire waistcoat and a rock—"

"We'll discuss it," Roger said sternly. "Okay, back to the conference room."

"Here's the thing," Catrone said, when the playback had been turned down. Roger left the video playing, though, as a less than subtle point. "You know who the Strelza were, Your Highness?"

"No," Roger said.

"Yes," Despreaux, Kosutic, and Eleanora replied.

"What am I missing?" Roger asked.

"We got it on our in-brief to the Regiment," Despreaux told him, frowning at a distant memory. "Russian troops."

"Okay, ever heard of the Praetorian Guard?" Catrone asked.

"Sort of." Roger nodded. "Roman."

"Both the same thing," Catrone said.

"Not exactly," Eleanora said. "The Praetorians were originally Caesar's Tenth Legion, and—"

"For my point, they are," Catrone said, a

"Okay," Roger said.

"And both of them ended up deciding that they got to choose who was Emperor."

"I begin to see your point," Roger said.

"The Empress' Own is weeded really hard," Marinau said. "You can't just be able, you have to be... right."

"Pretty boys," Raoux said with a smile.

"That, too," Marinau agreed with a shrug. "But pretty boys thataren't going to be kingmakers. In a lot of ways, we're deliberately... limited. Limited in size—"

"And never up to full strength," Catrone interjected.

"And limited in firepower," Marinau continued. "Home Fleet can take us out anytime."

"If they want to kill the Empress," Roger said.

"True. But the point is that we can be taken down," Marinau said. "For that matter, garrison troops from outside NorthAm could do it the hard way, if they were prepared to lose enough bodies. As that bastard Adoula demonstrated."

"Some of this was deliberately set up by Miranda MacClintock," Catrone said.

"Who was one seriously paranoid individual," Marinau added.

"And a scholar," Eleanora pointed out. "One who knew the dangers of a Praetorian Guard. And while it's true you can be taken out, you're also the only significant Imperial ground force allowed on this entire continent. The brigade that attacked the Palace was a clear violation of Imperial regulations."

"But Miranda set up other things, too," Catrone said, waving that away. "This, for example." He gestured around himself at the facility. "You notice we're surrounded by skyscrapers, but none of them are here?"

"I did notice that," Roger agreed.

"Deliberate and very subtle zoning," Catrone told him. "To prevent this facility from ever being discovered. And you don't find out about some things until you've left the Regiment."

"Ah," Kosutic said. "Tricky."

"Some stuff has gotten passed down," Catrone said. "In the Association. Keywords. Secrets. Passed from former commanders and sergeants major to former commanders and sergeants major. Some of it's probably been lost that way, but it's been... pretty secure. You're out, maybe you've got some gripes with the current Emperor, but you've got this sacred trust. And you keep it. And you're no longer in a position to play kingmaker."

"Until now," Eleanora said, leaning forward. "Right?"

"Asseen," Catrone said, ignoring her and looking at Roger. "Are you Prince Roger Ramius Sergei Alexander Chiang MacClintock, son of Alexandra Harriet Katryn Griselda Tian MacClintock?"