A Confusion of Princes (2 page)

Even after I was brought up into consciousness, I was often returned to the dream state in order to aid recovery from the surgeries that bonded Mektek enhancements to my bone and flesh.

Once my organic body met the requirements and the Mektek enhancement was done, I spent most of my time in the sometimes nightmarish mental space where I learned the particular Psitek capabilities reserved for Princes, the arts of domination and command, and the more ordinary techniques of mental communication, shielding, and so forth.

I’m not sure if you can call this a childhood, now that I think about it.

From the age of ten to seventeen, I was fully conscious, being taught more mundane things by various priests, and I played with holographic friends and the mind-programmed children of servants. It was always my games we played. From very early on, I knew I was a Prince, and very special, and in my own mind absolutely certain to rise even higher and become Emperor in time. Everything reinforced this, and in fact for some time I thought I was the only Prince in the whole galaxy, a willful misapprehension that persisted to some degree even after I had been taught that I was one of millions.

This was because even though I had been told of the existence of other Princes, I had not yet met any. Nor did I know when I was going to, until one day I awoke with the familiar mental voice of my tutor, Uncle Coleport, whispering in the back of my mind. (I called him ‘Uncle’ because that is the mode of address for male priests. Female ones are called ‘Aunt’, but of course there is no familial relationship.)

:Prince Khemri. This is the day of your investiture, the sixteenth anniversary of your selection. Your Master of Assassins awaits an audience:

I opened my eyes and smiled. It was the first time in my life that I had been addressed not as ‘Prince Candidate’, but ‘Prince’, My remaking and training was complete. I would commandeer a sleek, deadly warship, probably a Verrent corvette or something similar, and go out into the Empire and immediately make my mark.

Or so I thought.

As I was dressed by my valet, a mind-programmed thrall, I reviewed what I knew about the investiture of a Prince, which was surprisingly little. The first step was to be assigned a personal court, and the most important member of that court was the Master of Assassins. He or she was directly assigned by the Imperial Mind and so could be entirely trusted. My Master of Assassins would help me select my other staff and vet them, an essential process. If a Prince could not depend upon their court, they would not long survive.

I met my Master of Assassins in one of the temple’s reception rooms, a chamber of pleasant waterfalls paying homage to a past Emperor’s love of water features. It was a favoured spot for punishment details, and as was often the case, the sound of the falling water was being suppressed by the work of novices who stood in the pools up to their waists, blue pulsing in their temples as they flexed their Psitek strength. I had been there once when the rumble of a waterfall suddenly cut in, and I saw an unconscious novice float by and be sucked under where the flowing river met a bulkhead. The priests also undergo harsh training, sometimes with fatal results.

:My name is Haddad <>. I am sent by the <> to serve you, Prince Khemri:

Haddad was also a priest. All the assassins are priests of the Emperor in Hier Aspect of the Shadowed Blade. Unlike most of the other Aspects, assassins do not specialise in any one of the trinity of Imperial teks; they are generalists who use all teks in the service of their Prince.

:Greetings, Uncle Haddad. I accept you, and bind you to my service:

‘Good, Highness,’ said Haddad. ‘Speak aloud. What weapons are you carrying?’

‘None,’ I replied. I was surprised.

‘We are in a temple—’ ‘We are in a
reception room
of a temple, Highness,’ said Haddad. ‘It is not covered by the general truce. Have the priests here trained you with Bitek weapons?’

‘No. . . ’

‘Any weapons?’

‘Sword and dagger, hand blaster, nerve-lash, the basics for duelling,’ I said. Haddad was looking around, moving about me, an ovoid instrument that I did not recognise in his hand. I presumed it was some kind of weapon.

For the first time in my life, I was becoming nervous, and already the euphoria of becoming a Prince was fading, to be replaced by an emotion that I had never really felt before and was slow to understand.

Fear.

‘Slowly back away toward the inner door, Highness,’ said Haddad. He had stopped circling and was now intent on one of the waterfalls, watching the novice who stood there, supposedly shielding us from the noise of falling water.

I hesitated for a moment. Now that I was finally a Prince, I was reluctant to take any more orders from a priest. But there was something in Haddad’s voice, and after all, he was my Master of Assassins. . . I started to retreat toward the inner door that led into the temple proper.

The novice in the closest waterfall moved. His hand came out from under a sodden robe, ready to throw a small silver box. But before it left his hand, Haddad fired his weapon. A blindingly bright bolt of energy shot across the chamber, shearing the novice in half.

‘Back!’ shouted Haddad as I stood watching in disbelief, still several feet from the door. His voice cut through even the sudden roar of the waterfall. ‘Back!’

The small silver box rose from the bloodied water to hang in the air, and it opened like a flower to reveal a central stamen of pulsing red that was pointed directly at me. Haddad fired again, but the box jinked away, and the energy bolt missed it by a hair.

I turned and dived for the door, a door that exploded in front of me as the silver box delivered its payload directly above my head. I rolled away from the smoking, molten remains of the doorway and twisted around, thinking that I would see the silver box reorienting itself for another attack.

Instead I saw it struck by Haddad’s third shot, my additional eyelids and visual filtering automatically adjusting so that I was not blinded forever by the brilliance of the nanofusion implosion as the box’s power plant overloaded.

Haddad picked me up, and together we ran to one of the other doors and entered the temple. A Priest of the Aspect of the Mending Hand coming the other way bent his head to me before leading his gang of acolytes onward to repair the damage caused by the would-be assassin.

‘How did . . . who would . . .’ I started to say, the words I wanted not coming readily to my tongue despite the efforts of internal autonomous systems that were trying to steady my heartbeat and restore calm.

‘We will talk in your quarters, Highness,’ replied Haddad. ‘They are safe. For now.’

My chambers in the temple were one of the things I was looking forward to leaving behind. Already in my imagination I had planned far more extensive and luxurious accommodations. I knew as a Prince I could commandeer such things, provided they were not already the property of another Prince or protected under the authority of a Prince, a temple, or the Emperor Hierself.

But I was glad to enter the simple living chamber that day. I sat down in the single chair as Haddad stood before me, and we both looked at each other, though of course Haddad kept his eyes down, as was only proper.

I had not seen an assassin before, or at least had not recognised any, for Haddad looked no different from any other priest. The priests of each Aspect had their own distinctive formal robes, but they rarely dressed in them, usually adopting simple tan-coloured robes or shipsuits, one-piece coveralls like the one Haddad wore now.

He was tall and spare of frame, and looked to be around forty or fifty years old. His skin was lighter than my own, and more yellow than brown. His head was shaved, to reveal the transparent panels that ran from his temple to the back of his ear, the mark of a full priest. I could see the sheen of blue cooling liquid pumping around his brain, indicating that he had some Psitek activity running, though I could detect nothing with my own Psitek abilities. He had one natural eye, the iris a deep brown colour, and one Bitek replacement, which was entirely green, without a pupil, and obviously specialised, but I did not know its type or purpose.

I wondered what he thought of me and how I measured up. He would have served Princes before me, as assassins were transferred by the Emperor every ten years. Haddad might well have been Master to other newly hatched Princes about to embark on their careers.

I was taller, faster, and stronger than the priests, the novices, and the mind-programmed servants I had lived among, but now a faint shadow of doubt crept in as Haddad stood before me. Perhaps I was not much of a Prince. Maybe I would be not quite as fast, or strong, or tall as the others. I might even be ugly, for I had the face I was born to have, Princes being forbidden to change their appearance, apart from enhancements or necessary repair. I had never thought of this, because I had never shared the company of equals, or even those who might venture an unbiased opinion.

:What was that silver box . . .:

I began to send, but Haddad interrupted.

:Mindspeech not recommended:

‘There are too many people within the temple and the outer grounds who can eavesdrop on mindspeech in close proximity,’ said Haddad. ‘I am blanking the aural receptors and other devices in the room, so it is best to speak aloud.’

‘Good,’ I said, trying to act as if I was in command and Haddad was acting on my instructions. But it did not sound like that, even to me.

‘You did well to evade the flower-trap’s sunbeam, Highness,’ said Haddad. ‘However, you must take it as a warning of things to come. A Prince or number of Princes are aware that you have ascended, and they seek to remove you before you become even a potential threat.’

‘What? Already?’ I asked. While I knew about competition between Princes, at this stage I thought it was more chivalrous and I had no idea it was so . . . well . . . lethal. ‘I haven’t done anything yet! I haven’t even connected to the Imperial Mind!’

‘It is because you have not yet connected to the Mind,’ said Haddad. ‘If successfully killed now, you are permanently removed, with no chance of rebirth. One fewer Prince to contend with, and the Emperor’s abdication is only two years away.’

‘That makes it even more foolish of them,’ I said. ‘When I become Emperor, I certainly won’t forget or forgive these attempts on my life!’

Haddad didn’t even blink at this remarkably naïve assertion.

‘I suspect they do not recognise your true potential at this stage, Highness,’ said Haddad. ‘It is simply a common and accepted strategy to remove any newly ascended Prince candidates as an opportunity kill.’

‘It’s a pathetic strategy,’ I muttered. ‘I wouldn’t do it. Where’s the honour in taking out a new Prince?’

Haddad was silent, no doubt thinking that either I was a soft idiot or I would soon change my tune.

For my part, I was bottling up a sudden rage at the priests who hadn’t told me that I might be assassinated straightaway and had neglected to inform me that the Emperor’s abdication was so close. I was aware that the Emperor abdicated every twenty years, and one of the ten million Princes of the Empire would ascend the throne. But I did not know how this came about, though I presumed the existing Emperor chose their heir, and I had not known the next such abdication and ascension was only two years away. I would have to work fast to do some glorious deeds and make myself known so the Emperor would choose me to be hier successor. Which was annoying, since I wanted to just look around the Empire a bit first, in my own ship. Though I supposed some adventures might come my way in any case.

‘The priests should have told me about all this,’ I said after a few moments of silence.

‘It is an intentional part of your education, or lack of education, Highness,’ said Haddad. ‘The winnowing begins as soon as you are made a Prince. Approximately thirty-two per cent of all ascending Prince candidates do not last past the first hour out of their childhood temple.’

My internal chronometer said I had been a Prince for all of thirty-five minutes. If I made it through another twenty-five minutes, I’d be ahead of the statistical curve. . .

‘Our first priority must be for you to connect to the Imperial Mind,’ said Haddad. ‘This will have three positive results. Firstly, it will remove the possibility of permanent death, and so the benefit of assassinating you will reduce, possibly enough that any plans already laid will be postponed. Secondly, it will allow you to access resources and information necessary for your protection and future plans. And thirdly, you will be able to call upon the Mind to witness, and this will make blatant breaches of the law against you more unlikely.’

‘What?’ I exploded. This was getting worse and worse. ‘Blatant breaches? You mean a Prince could act against the Imperial Law?’

‘It is a question of the potential benefit versus the potential punishment,’ replied Haddad. ‘There are also ways and means of obscuring the Mind’s viewpoints and capture of information so that it is not entirely clear whether a breach has been committed or not—’

‘I’m going to go and ask Uncle Coleport some serious questions,’ I interrupted. ‘With a knife.’

‘There’s no time for that, Highness,’ continued Haddad, as unruffled as ever. ‘Do you have any possessions you need to pack?’

‘What?’

I was stuck thinking about what Haddad had just told me. I had been taught that the Imperial Mind watched over everything, that it knew everything, and that Imperial Law was always followed to the letter. Though of course Imperial Law was not for the ordinary citizens of the Empire. They had to do whatever their ruling Prince decreed. Imperial Law was for Princes, setting down how the authority of a Prince worked with other Princes, the precedence of Princely commands, and so on.

‘Possessions . . .’ I repeated slowly. Though my mind was supposedly as accelerated as my body, I did not find my thoughts coming quickly.

I looked around my living chamber and through the doorway to my bedroom. All my clothes were brought to me, fresh and new, each morning. Information flowed to my mind directly, or sometimes via secure pods that were also brought to my rooms. Practice weapons came from the armoury and went back there at the end of a session.