It would be far better, reasoned the PCC, to let Banion and his organization draw off SOTE’s resources. In the meantime, the PCC would quietly build an organization of its own, unnoticed and unthreatened. If Banion were caught, the real organization would still go on, and even flourish as SOTE relaxed, thinking its enemy was gone.
Of course, there was always the chance Banion might succeed – and if he did, he would feel he owed no allegiance to the PCC. That would merely be trading one emperor for another, a game the PCC had already played to its own dissatisfaction. The PCC would have to find some way of controlling Banion in case he proved difficult.
It was with this in mind that the PCC sought and eventually found Aimée Amorat, “The Beast of Durward” – and Banion’s mother. She’d been an actress originally, chosen by Duke Henry Blount of Durward as a lure to ensnare Stanley Nine. She became the royal mistress and, though she eventually married Duke Henry to legitimize Banion’s birth, everyone knew whose child the boy really was. When Stanley Nine produced his legitimate heir, Aimée Amorat disappeared with her son and gave him over to foster parents to raise. Then she herself disappeared, surfacing only when Banion was in his teens to tell him of his heritage and give him the Patent of Royalty. That had started him on his upward climb – but neither he nor SOTE, who were both looking for her, were able to find her.
She had used her abilities as an actress to disguise herself and hide from the authorities, and she’d used her charms as a seductress to bring herself to a position of considerable power. She was, when the PCC found her, the head of a financial empire that encompassed more than twenty planets. Many of the businesses she ran were legitimate, though the most profitable of them had strong underworld ties. She steered her organization with a strong, efficient hand that the PCC admired – but there was no limit to her ambition, and that made her vulnerable to the PCC’s own brand of seduction.
At first the PCC did not tell her its secret. It contacted her by letter and teletype, pretending to be an important person within the Imperial administration who needed to preserve his anonymity, but who wanted to use her skills to build his own organization to the point where it could overthrow the Stanley dynasty. Aimée Amorat was naturally intrigued at the possibility of regaining power in Imperial circles, and entered into negotiatons with the PCC. Eventually she agreed to help her unknown ally build the most effective underground network the human race had ever seen. In return, the PCC agreed not to interfere with her son’s conspiracy. If Banion succeeded, she would intercede with him and the two organizations would merge to rule the Empire. If Banion failed, the PCC promised her a high position, possibly even empress, when their own regime took over.
Thus began a long and profitable relationship. The PCC was repeatedly surprised at how skilled and efficient Aimée Amorat was when backed with the proper financing and inside information. Her native talents, which had captivated an emperor and. nearly toppled a dynasty when she was only in her early twenties, had been enhanced by the experience of several more decades. What her aging body lost in physical beauty, her calculating mind more than made up for in animal cunning.
From that point, the conspiracy expanded rapidly. Money was never any object; by carefully doctoring financial records, the PCC was able to “borrow” money from certain funds for investment elsewhere, making profits that were quasi-legitimate and returning the original seed capital to its sources before any of it was missed. In emergencies, the computer could simply alter records so that no one would know anything was missing at all. People placed a naive faith in computer records; if ever an error was spotted, it was invariably attributed to human causes.
The PCC realized that if it was going to challenge the established government, it might need to make a show of force, and so began a program to build up an alternative navy. Part of this could be done simply by shuffling paperwork. If the Imperial Navy contracted with a construction company for ten new ships, the order would be changed to twelve. Payment for the additional two would come from the conspiracy’s burgeoning treasury. When the ships were delivered, the computer would give the Navy orders to transfer the additional ships to another port, where they’d be quickly forgotten and eventually picked up by conspiracy crews. Official records would then be changed back to ten ships, including the tax records of the construction company. Everyone profited from the arrangement: the Navy got the ships it ordered, the construction company got money for its work, and the PCC got to build up its unsuspected fleet.
This system had a beautiful simplicity, but it was too slow. The PCC did not want to push its overproduction too rapidly for fear of tipping its hand – so eventually it went into the construction business itself. It established bases in the vast emptiness of interstellar space and made certain their locations were never listed on any official government charts. These bases were built and staffed by people who thought they were working on legitimate, but secret, government projects, and they began the complex task of manufacturing spaceships for the conspiracy’s use at a greatly accelerated pace. The PCC got some of the weapons it needed by doctoring the invoices and inventories of official munitions suppliers, but also established a base on the airless world called Slag to meet its ever-increasing need.
But spaceships and weapons were not the full solution; the PCC also needed experienced crews to handle them. To this end it began encouraging pirate operations. This allowed the organization to build up a reserve of manpower, it gave the crews practice at space fighting, and it further enriched the conspiracy’s coffers. It also served the purpose of keeping the Imperial Navy so busy with brushfires it didn’t have time to think about any deeper problems.
Through all this building program, Aimée Amorat proved indispensable. She had the mobility the PCC could not have. Human beings depended very much on personal contacts in their business dealings, something impossible for the PCC. Aimée Amorat gave the conspiracy that personal contact, with a commanding presence that led many to think it was she who ran the conspiracy. Her mind, as calculating as any computer, often reflected the PCC’s own ideas, and she often gave it advice in dealing with the mysteries of human psychology.
There came a point at which the PCC could no longer hide its identity from her. It knew far too much and had far too much control over things to be a mere human, and Amorat was becoming suspicious. After a lengthy debate with itself, the PCC finally decided to trust her with its secret; it was in her best interest, after all, to keep the secret to herself. And so, at last, a human was told the truth.
At first Amorat reacted with shocked skepticism – but the more she thought about it, the more she realized that the explanation had to be correct. She even began to see the advantages to herself. She’d always been worried that her secretive partner might try to grab all the glory from her once they’d won the throne, but now she knew that wouldn’t happen. The PCC couldn’t sit on the imperial throne, and would need someone to rule as a visible symbol of Empire; that someone might as well be her or her son. The PCC would administer all the boring, routine functions of state, while she would be free to enjoy all the perquisites that came with the title of Empress. She would wear the glamorous clothes and have servants cringing before her, listening attentively for her slightest command. She would be the one admired, respected, feared by trillions of people across the Galaxy. What would it matter who made the bureaucratic decisions? She would have all the power she needed. After a few days of thought, she agreed wholeheartedly with the PCC and the true coalition was begun.
Amorat’s only weakness, from the PCC’s viewpoint, seemed to be an increasing tendency toward impatience. Time and again she took needless risks that nearly exposed their position, simply to shave a little time off their operations. The PCC chided her on the subject several times, until at last she exploded. The computer could afford to wait, she accused. It had plenty of time. She did not. She was in her sixties now; while still in good shape for a woman of her age, she knew she would have little, if any, time to enjoy what she’d worked so hard to accomplish. She was becoming bitter, and was not the least bit reluctant to show it.