The Testimony of the Right Honorable Tubar Danak, Lord Chamberlain of the Skarsian Matriarchy
“And still no word from Her Eminence?” Captain Zosim indicated the negative. Not that it particularly impacted the situation in any way other than morale. The Matriarch was a fine warrior and head of state, but in situations like this, essentially a figurehead. It was His Holiness we needed. For so many years, we had relied upon the miracles of the Archon to protect us.
“This is no coincidence,” I realized. “The Archon was attacked. Our enemies were waiting for the moment when he’d be incapacitated to send in their fleet.”
“What do we do?” asked Zosim. I trusted the man insofar as he’d proven himself to keep a cool head in the face of terrorist attack during the Cu’ensali War. But he was captain of the palace guards. His knowledge of interstellar politics and battle strategies was sorely limited. I needed to reach out to more experienced advisors.
“Contact the Privy Council,” I directed. “We’ll have an emergency meeting in thirty minutes. In the meantime, I’m going back down to the beach.”
By this time, the strand was completely cordoned off by SSOps. I don’t much care for those people, but they are blindly and brutally loyal to Prince Michael. I pushed my way through the ring of operatives. His Highness, the unnamed Prince Consort, was still lying immobile in the same spot. “Every now and then he mutters something,” the troop leader reported. “Mostly, he’s unresponsive.”
He looked so innocent, almost peaceful. But every now and then, his brows creased momentarily, as if in worry or anguish.
I knelt by his side. “Your Highness? Do you know where Her Eminence is?”
His eyes blinked several times, then stared up into the sky. He whispered slowly, as if with great effort, “Stop. Molly.”
Molly? Molly!!!
I pulled out my datapad. “Get me the Warden of the MDD,” I snapped, as I raced back up the slope to the palace.
By the time I arrived, the Privy Council had convened. With me in the War Chamber were Sir Kaman, Secretary Claris and Lady Lorma. Battlequeen Escharton, Ta’al Erich, Wyrd Elma and Archbishop Venesti attended on holo from Eirelantra. I conveyed my instructions to the warden to check on the prisoner as I walked into the meeting.
“I have reason to believe that His Holiness may be down for the count,” I said. “We may have to deal with the invasion ourselves.”
There was a shocked moment of silence. “How do we do that, exactly?” asked Battlequeen Escharton.
“We fight,” replied Ta’al Erich dryly. “We have a fine battle fleet. We have trained commanders. To a certain extent, the defense grid will work on automatic. For once, the people of the Domha’vei will have to do this on their own – without divine intervention.”
“When she made me Secretary of Defense, the Matriarch told me that Admiral Whelan would handle everything,” said Escharton. “I’m a hereditary battlequeen with no combat experience.”
“Today will change that,” I said. “Rely heavily on Admiral Naveeta and General Lemkht. Ta’al Erich, I have a special mission for you: I want you to go to the surface and visit Molly in the Matriarchal Detention Dungeon.”
“Molly?” asked Ta’al Erich. “The Terran telepath? But how could she be…?”
“I don’t know. But in the past, the Archon’s only vulnerabilities have been telepathic. Elma, can you see anything concerning this?”
“It’s annoying. The Archon casts a shadow over my sight. I can only see little things at the periphery. Sometimes, it’s more instructive what I can’t see. I can’t see President Gweseki of CenGov, which is hardly surprising, under the circumstances. But also, I can’t see Payter Almiss.”
“Almiss?” said Venesti. “I haven’t heard that name in decades.”
“The last time I saw him, the Matriarch pounded his daughter Venahalee into the ground in a challenge over Kyrae,” said Escharton. “I wouldn’t consider him a friend, but I can’t see him having anything to do with this.”
“Maybe you can’t see him because he’s dead,” said Ta’al Erich. “We tend to forget that normal people age.”
“He was a little younger than I, so he’d be in his late eighties, early nineties,” said the Archbishop. “He’s got a good two or three decades left.”
“Molly is no spring chik-henn either,” said Escharton, “but I’ve heard that Earth’s telepaths were genetically altered for longevity. I suppose they wanted to make sure they got their money’s worth out of them.”
“It’s something to look forward to, this dying-off of one’s old enemies,” I murmured. “All we have to do is make it through the current crisis.”