The fifth guard also had his weapon out and was using it. But he could not get a clear shot, since his target was covered by the body of the dog. The blaster bolt burned its way uselessly into the already- dead animal, while the invader’s reflexes helped him recover quickly. After hitting the floor he rolled to his feet again in one continuous motion, stunner beaming. The fifth guard dropped, as did the second dog. The man in black was now alone in the room with the safe and the valuable piece of parchment it contained.
Speed was what counted now. Though he was almost certain that none of the guards had had the time to set off an alarm, he couldn’t afford to bet his life on it. Racing over to the safe, he gave it a quick scan and learned that it was a combination type, wired all over with alarms. The man worked swiftly to neutralize the alarms; when that was done, he used magnetic scanners to guide him through the combination.
When the last tumbler clicked into place, he gripped the handle tightly. Opening the safe would probably set off some sort of alarm, no matter how many he’d disconnected. But that wouldn’t matter once he had the document, the two personal rocket tubes on the back of his belt could take him out the window and away from here before any possible pursuit could be mounted. With a sigh of relief, then, he yanked down on the handle and swung the magnisteel door open.
He had time for just an instant of astonishment as the blaster beam from the ceiling, triggered by the opening of the door, turned his body to a charcoal powder. The charred remains of the expert agent lay in a tidy heap in front of the totally empty safe.
The second man was dressed in robes of crimson satin, the long flowing sleeves of which were edged with three centimeters of white nohar fur – the rarest and most expensive kind in the Galaxy. The satin draped softly over his tall, spare frame, giving him a majestic – if somewhat satanic – appearance. His red satin skull cap, embroidered with gold, clung tightly to his thick mane of black-turning gray hair.
He turned his head leisurely as the messenger brought him the decoded note, then held the folded piece of paper in his hands for a moment, not even bothering to open it. His long, tapering fingers – which were almost invisible beneath layers of ruby and diamond rings – caressed the smoothness of the paper. He dismissed the messenger and at last opened the missive. The news it contained brought a smile to his sharp features – a smile that would have chilled the heart of anyone observing it. The man unconsciously brought a hand up to his chin to stroke his black goatee as he thought, That’s one more, Zander. You don’t have too many left, you know. Then the game will be mine.
He put the note down on an ornately carved solentawood table beside his chair and picked up the large piece of parchment that had been resting there. In one corner was the colorful achievement containing three gold dragons on a purple background, a bar sinister and thirteen spots on a field of blood. Idly his eyes roamed over the wording of the proclamation beneath the crest:
‘Be it known to all people of the Empire … Banion is the true son of my flesh … Prince of Durward, and all its dominions … legitimate heir and successor…’
There was no need for him to read the proclamation in detail – he had long since committed the short but important message to his memory. Taking the Patent from its special vault was a dangerous luxury, he knew, but holding it in his hands gave him such a feeling of power that it could warm even the coldest of nights.
This, however, was far from a cold night. No matter what the temperature outside, the news of this SOTE agent’s death provided the warm glow of triumph. Handing the Patent to his most trusted vassal to return to its vault, the man in red stood up impatiently.
Time, he thought. I’ve waited so long and worked so slowly. I’m not as young as I once was, can 1 wait until the Plan is finished? Will l live to see that glorious day Mother prophesied?
This room, lavishly decorated though it was with brocade curtains and silken tapestries, was not soothing enough to the frustrations of his delayed dreams. With long, catlike strides he exited impulsively from the room. He pressed his hand against the secret panel – which was coded to his prints – and a section of the wall slid back to reveal a private elevator tube. A cushion of air solidified under his feet as he stepped in, and dropped him safely and efficiently to a depth of more than fifteen meters below ground level. He left the tube and found himself enveloped by the eerie dark ness of the Planning Room.
Walls, ceiling and floor of this room were all black, a total black, a blackness that greedily absorbed all light like some ravening beast. It was a blackness that hurt the eyes to see. But the room itself was not completely dark, for in the center – floor to ceiling – was a sphere seven meters in diameter. Inside the sphere glowed countless thousands of pinpoint lights, scattered seemingly at random a three- dimensional scale map of human-occupied space. The globe towered over the man’s head, an enormous symbol of his vast ambitions.
Blue was the color of Empire, clean and unsullied. Red was the color of his own network. White was unexplored territory, mainly around the edges. Key systems that he controlled were flashing green. There were two yellow dots – Durward, to the top right, and Earth, dead center.
There was still some blue, primarily around the periphery. He dismissed those with a mental wave of his hand. Mopping up operations, he thought; a nuisance rather than an obstacle. The central core, too, was blue, stretching from Newhope and DesPlaines on one side to improbable Purity on the other. It was a comparatively small volume, and shrinking fast. He came in here at least once a week to check on his progress, and the results were most gratifying. A time-lapse film would have shown a crimson fire devour- ing the Empire, its tongues of flame licking at the few remaining strongholds.
Soon, the man thought as he stood dwarfed before his towering creation. Very soon now. Patience will win. And it’s your move, Zander.
The third man was dressed in gray, a conservative suit so nondescript that no one would have looked twice at it – which was the whole idea, since the man’s job demanded a maximum of anonymity. He was not an old man by any means, though his bald head and the lines and wrinkles on his face seemed to give evidence to the contrary. His most outstanding feature, though, was his eyes. No amount of outward cover could mask the brilliance that dwelled behind them.
He sat in the middle of his richly appointed office while around him a building hummed with activity. Computers whirred as programmers typed their input and analysts argued over the results. Clerks moved files from one desk to another, doing their part to keep the river of paperwork flowing dutifully upstream until it reached someone with the authority to make a decision.
Eventually all the paperwork would, in one form or another, cross the large desk of the man in gray, and he would take the responsibility for all decisions. But at the moment, all his attention was riveted on the note that had just been delivered to him by a young, dark-haired girl.
He read the note over three times, not wanting to believe what it said. Finally he looked up at the girl. ‘Are they sure, Helena?’ he asked.
‘He mussed his contact time by a full thirty hours. There’s no hard evidence, of course, but we can only suppose that an agent of that caliber would find some way to get in touch in that time- if he were still alive.’
‘Damn!’ The man in gray crumpled the paper into a ball and threw it hard against the nearest wall. His eyes dulled momentarily. ‘How many does that make?’
‘Eighty-nine,’ the girl said grimly.
The man leaned his elbows on the desk and buried his head in his hands. Eighty-nine men and women that he and his predecessors had sent to their death, all for a piece of paper. One stupid piece of paper that just happened to control the fate of the Empire.
‘It’s not your fault,’ the girl comforted. She walked around the desk and put her delicate hands on the man’s shoulders. ‘I don’t know all the details of this matter, but it’s obviously a lot tougher than anyone ever thought it would be.’