March To The Stars

"The sergeant major is right," O'Casey agreed. "And if they think you're dead, and they're worried about the Empress slipping out of their control, they have to be angling for an Heir. Probably another one by New Madrid."

"And if they don't get an Heir and mother suffers a tragic accident anyway?" Roger asked. "Uncle Thorry, right?"

"The Duke of San Cristobal, yes," O'Casey agreed. "But—"

"But he's damned near senile, and never bothered to have children," Roger completed. "And after him?"

"At least a dozen claimants," O'Casey said. "All with more or less equal claims."

"Jackson's not in that group," Roger amused. "But he's close. And given his position of advantage ..."

"It's probable that the Throne would fall to him," O'Casey said. "But whether or not he could hang onto it would be another matter. Given all of the other competing heirs, it's almost as likely that the Empire would simply dissolve into warring factions. The rival cliques are still out there, you know, Your Highness."

"Arrrgh." Roger closed his eyes and rubbed his face. "Julian, what's the dateline on the first news story that said Mother was something like 'alive and recovering'?"

The sergeant did a quick scan and pulled up an article.

"Nice word choice, Sir. 'Alive and should fully recover from her wounds.' Two months ago. Three days after the attack."

"Now those must've been some tense days," Roger said with a lightness which fooled none of them. "And I thought being on Marduk was a bad thing. We have seven months."

"Aye," Pahner agreed. "The child must be born of her body."

"Which means she at least has to be alive when the can is cracked," Roger said.

"Well, technically, yes," O'Casey said. "But, it's possible—"

"Under other circumstances, maybe," Roger cut her off. "But not these. If she dies before they have an acknowledged Heir to the Throne, then—like you just said—odds are the entire Empire could fall apart on them." He shook his head. "No, Eleanora. For right now, she's their trump card. With the child born and well, proven to be of her genetics, while she's still alive to confer legitimacy on their regime, they're covered. Then Mother dies, Jackson becomes Regent, and from there he can do as he wishes. But she has until the child is born to be relatively safe. Which means we only have seven months until my mother's life probably isn't worth spit."

"Agreed," Pahner said. "At the same time, Your Highness, we have to get through our other problems before we can do anything about that one. We'll just have to cross that bridge when we come to it."

"Indeed, Captain. Indeed." Roger sighed sadly. "Well, if it were easy, they wouldn't pay us the big bucks."

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Harvard Mansul was lurking just outside the conference chamber when the meeting broke up.

The journalist rarely asked the prince any questions, preferring to pump the junior Marines and the Mardukan mercenaries, who were more than willing to share their stories. And, of course, he had not been invited to attend the command staff meeting, itself. But he was getting hours of video of the prince, and it was begi

She stepped out of the meeting room just as Mansul started to dart off after Roger, and she stuck out an arm and grabbed him before he could get away. He looked at her in some surprise, but the chief of staff had developed remarkably sinewy arms during the trek across Marduk, and he was wise enough not to resist as she dragged him back into the now empty room.

"We need to talk," she said pleasantly.

"Yes, Ma'am," the photographer said. "I'm trying to stay out of the way."

"And you're succeeding," she noted. "And I know that this is a heck of a story. But it's not necessarily one the IAS can publish when we get back."

Mansul sighed and nodded.

"I understand that. But do you know what the prince intends to do? Is he going to contact the Empress when we return? How are we going to return?"

"That's ... not settled yet," O'Casey temporized. "But ... You do understand why we've got to start excluding you from some meetings?"

"I understand," Mansul repeated. "But this isn't just a good story, you realize. This is history unfolding. And what history! I mean, this is the best story in a thousand years! He could play his own leading man!"

"What do you mean?" the chief of staff asked.

"Come with me," Mansul said, and took her arm. "I want to show you something."

He led her out of the door and towed her down the corridor, asking the occasional guard for directions to the prince.

They finally found him out on the battlements, conferring with the local Shin leadership. The skies, as always, were gray, but the brilliant pewter cloud glare of Marduk's powerful sun was near zenith and the day was bright—hot, and almost dry at this altitude. The prevailing wind in this area came down from the glaciers up-valley, and on some days it built up to a near-gale. Today it was ru

"There," Mansul said.

"What?"

"That's what I brought you to see," he replied. "Nobody sees it. I want you to look at the prince and tell me what you see. Take your time."

"I'm very busy, Mr. Mansul," the chief of staff said. "I don't have time for games. It's Prince Roger."

"This isn't a game, Ms. O'Casey," he said seriously. "Now look."

O'Casey looked at Roger. He was talking with the Gastan and one of the other Shin warlords, accompanied by Pahner and Kosutic, the still barely mobile Cord, a group of Vashin and Diaspran bodyguards, and Dogzard.

"I see Roger and company," she snapped. "What about it?"

"Describe him," Mansul said quietly. "As if you were writing the article."

"A tall man ..." she began, and then, suddenly, stopped.

A tall man, darkly ta

"Oh ... my ... God," she muttered.

"Now you understand." The journalist's whisper was an odd mix of delight and something very like awe. "This isn't just the story of a lifetime. This is the story of a century— possibly a mille

"That's ..." She shook her head, trying to clear the vision. "It's just Roger."

"No. It's not," the journalist said. "And, trust me, you aren't the Ms. Eleanora O'Casey I had a passing view of at the palace. You've survived, Ms. O'Casey. Sure, you were protected, but are you ready to tell me you're the same person you were before this tremendous trek?"

"No, I'm not." She sighed at last, and took one more look before she turned away. "But it's still silly. I don't care what he's become, he's still Roger."

* * *

"This is silly," Roger muttered. "I take it back. There is such a thing as too much overkill."

They were observing the Krath siege lines from the top of the western wall, trying to determine if there was anything Roger's force could add to the defense. Pahner had dragged all the senior commanders, along with the main "battle staff," up to the battlements with them for a good hard look. And it didn't look good.