Queet turned to Alexander with a questioning look. "Sir?"
Alex nodded.
Turning to Lister, Queet said, "Lock her in her quarters, Chief. No one comes or goes without my permission."
The Petty Officer nodded, and motioned with his blaster. Claudia obeyed, stepping through the hatch without a word. As the last of Claudia's escort disappeared from sight, Queet turned, and snapped to attention. "Captain Edith Queet, commanding the Imperial Cruiser
Neptune,
at your service, sir."
Alex smiled. "At ease, Captain. Thank you."
She obeyed, already liking his style better than Claudia's. For months she'd been working with Swanson-Pierce, feeding him information, but hoping she would never have to come into direct conflict with Claudia. They'd agreed to move against her only if Alexander were found. But eventually it became clear that Claudia would do anything to take the throne. Then Claudia had discovered Swanson-Pierce and Lady Linnea, leaving only Captain Queet to make the final decision. Strangely enough, when Swanson-Pierce was no longer there to guide her, the same Academy training Claudia was so fixated on provided Queet with the answer. Ironically it was in the form of a maxim originating with Claudia's own grandfather, and drummed into every cadet: "An officer's ultimate duty is to the good of the Empire regardless of personal cost." Thinking about that made her feel better as she moved off to restore order to her ship. The damage was considerable, and that made her mad, but what could she do? Chewing out the Emperor didn't seem like a good career move. As she strode down the corridor Queet allowed herself a rare smile, much to the shock of a passing tech, who wondered if she'd smiled at him.
For a moment Alexander allowed his eyes to rove the wardroom. The price of victory had been very high indeed. It looked like a butcher's shop. Mangled bodies lay everywhere. Sadly enough the marines had died defending the Empire. His empire now. His marines. Knowing nothing of the issues involved, the marines had simply done their duty for Claudia, as they would for him. Of course, if it hadn't been for Phil, Rico, and McCade, those same marines would have happily sealed him into an old lifeboat and sent him off to die in space. He sighed. It didn't make much sense.
Over to one side, McCade and Rico were helping two medics load Phil on a stretcher. The big variant had collapsed. As always, full augmentation had left him drained, plus he'd lost a lot of blood. He'd probably sleep for about sixteen hours. Meanwhile, the rest of the wounded had been loaded onto auto stretchers, and the worst cases were already headed for sick bay. As they took Phil away, Rico went along to make sure his friend received good treatment, and McCade watched them go. He knew he should feel bad about the marines, but he didn't. He was just damned glad his friends were alive.
As the last of the stretchers were rolling out, Alex spotted Linnea. Her auto stretcher was gliding toward the hatch under the control of a rather plump young doctor. "Linnea!" He rushed to her side. Looking down, he felt heartsick. "My God, what have they done to you?"
Her beautiful face was pale and drawn. Her eyes fluttered open and she managed a weak smile. "Welcome home, Alex, we need you." Then her eyes closed again and her head fell to the side.
Alex looked up at the doctor, who smiled nervously, and shook his head. "She'll be just fine, sir." Under Claudia's orders the doctor had been present during Linnea's interrogation. Now it appeared her brother was suddenly in charge, and he was obviously concerned about Lady Linnea's health. What would she tell him? The doctor felt himself start to sweat.
Alex found he had to clear a lump from his throat before he could speak. "Good. Lady Linnea is to receive your personal attention. God help you if anything happens to her."
The doctor nodded, and started toward the door, jerking to a stop when Alex held up a restraining hand. Whirling around Alex said, "The naval officer who was with Lady Linnea, Swanson-Pierce, where is he?"
"Over here," McCade answered. "At the moment he's out of it, but I suspect he'll survive to make my life miserable."
"Him as well," Alexander admonished the doctor. "I want reports on their condition every four hours."
By now the doctor was quite pale. He nodded nervously, steering Linnea's auto stretcher himself, and urging the medic in control of Swanson-Pierce's stretcher to hurry up. He didn't understand what was going on and didn't want to. Safety lay in the direction of sick bay, and he unconsciously urged Linnea's stretcher to greater speed.
McCade was lighting a cigar when the Emperor walked over to join him. "Well, Alex, or should I say 'Your Highness'? The empire is yours. Wear it in good health."
The Emperor laughed. "It may be mine, but I don't think it's possible for you to say 'Your Highness' and mean it. So let's agree that you'll always call me Alex instead." And with that the Emperor held out his hand to the bounty hunter.
McCade stuck his cigar between his teeth and shook the Emperor's hand. "It's a deal, Alex."
The Emperor looked serious for a moment. "I'd say 'thanks,' but thanks isn't good enough, Sam."
"Then just make sure Swanson-Pierce comes through with my bounty," McCade answered with a grin. "He may be an Admiral, but he's still a bastard."
"The empire could use more bastards like him," the Emperor countered. "Which brings me back to my earlier offer. I could use you, Sam. I know you don't trust the Imperial government, so why not become part of it? I'll give you any job you want. That way you make sure we don't screw up."
McCade blew a stream of gray smoke toward the overhead. "Thanks, Alex, but I wouldn't fit in."
The Emperor shrugged. "All right, Sam, I respect your wishes. Nonetheless, I owe you one. Don't hesitate to call it in."
"I won't," McCade assured him. "Just out of curiosity, what will you do with Claudia?"
The Emperor smiled as his grandfather and father had before him. "Why, turn her loose, of course. All my opposition will flock to her, and then I'll be able to keep an eye on all of them at once."
McCade shook his head in amazement. "It's obvious you're the right man for the job."
"It's in the genes. Well, I'm heading down to sick bay. You coming?"
"In a few minutes. I'll catch up."
"See you there." And, with a cheerful wave, the Emperor was gone.
McCade stepped over to the bar and punched in a request for a Terran whiskey. While he waited, he took a deep drag on his cigar and then crushed it out. He knew, deep down, that in spite of everything, all they'd managed to do was buy a little time. Under Alexander's leadership, war with the Il Ronn would be delayed, but not prevented. The forces pushing both sides toward it were just too powerful.
With a gentle hum the autobar produced his drink. Turning his back to the rest of the room, he faced the mirror and lifted his glass. The man he saw there looked older but not, he decided, that much wiser. Nonetheless he was alive. Thanks to some very good luck and some very good people. "To you, Cy, may you always win. To you, Spigot. And to, you, Pollard, wherever you are. And, finally, to you, Sara, I'm coming home." And with that he drained the glass to the very last drop.