Tsar Wars: Agents of ISIS, Book 1 Page 19
Eva got off the chair ands curtsied before her. “Your Majesty,” she said.
Natalia stuck her tongue out. “Don’t start fawning now. It’s way too late for that.” Then she grew more serious. “I won’t be anybody’s ‘Majesty’ until the Sovyet says I am. We’ve got to get there fast. Elena tells me it’s already started.”
They rushed down the back corridors again, with Natalia cautioning Lady Elena not to tell anyone about her reappearance. They found Judah pacing nervously beside the huvver by the back door where they’d left him. Natalia and Elena embraced and kissed. Then Eva and Natalia joined Judah in the car and they drove off to the convocation.
The car’s guidance system gave them the route to Novaya Duma, a five-story building occupying an entire city block. The façade was impressive, with massive marble columns rising ten meters up, but the car couldn’t get near it because the building was cordoned off by an army of politsia as well as militsia from several different sectors. Some of them were from Kuznyetz’s kavalergard, and Judah knew they would fire on sight at anyone resembling the tsaritsa. It was a good bet that some men in other uniforms were members of other dvoryane’s forces allied with Kuznyetz, and they’d have similar orders.
“There’s a back entrance,” Natalia said. “That’s the best way to get me in, but how are we going to get past all the oprichniki?”
Judah smiled grimly. “Ilya Uzi says a good diversion is worth a battalion of allies.” He pulled the car up to a spot half a block away from the hall. “You ladies get out here and leave the rest to me. I’ll blip you when it’s all set. Take some of the guns with you.”
“Already ahead of you, bubbe,” Eva said, gathering up some of the weapons they’d liberated from Judah’s former companions. The women got out and Judah drove rapidly away.
Natalia looked quizzically at Eva. “Who is Ilya Uzi?”
“Sort of like Santa Claus. He doesn’t exist, but we haven’t had the heart to tell Judah yet. Follow me.”
* * *
Remarkably, the Sovyet Knyazey had actually started ahead of schedule. The chaos surrounding the succession had stirred so much turmoil that everyone arrived early to get the proceedings started. And once everyone was present, there seemed no reason to delay things any longer.
There were cameras throughout the hall to cover the events from all possible angles. The cameras were for recording only, not broadcasting the event live. The theory was that the ordinary citizens didn’t need to be bothered with the excessively boring procedural details—nor did they need to be privy to any squabbles, disputes, insults or other embarrassing moments that might occur in the heat of debate. A heavily edited version would be distributed later, showing only the “relevant” details.
As tradition demanded the session was presided over by the knyaz of Solar sector, which comprised only mankind’s original solar system. At present that was Knyaghinya Miyoshi Abatsu. Solar sector was largely a ceremonial honor, since it was a direct protectorate of the crown, but it was still historically significant and highly respected.
Abatsu called the Sovyet to order and gave the official pronouncement of the tsar’s death. She then spoke of Natalia’s death as well, and the fact that there was no further heir apparent to the throne. These facts were already known to everyone present, but it set the formal background to begin the meeting.
The Herald-Chancellor next gave a formal recitation of the Sokolov lineage, including a detailed description of the relationships among current living descendants That list was dismayingly small and exceedingly tenuous—which was why so many people within the hall harbored their own secret or not-so-secret ambitions for the post.
As the Herald-Chancellor finished, Abatsu rose again to give the traditional call for nominations—but before she could begin, Yevgheniy Kuznyetz stood up. “Before we continue,” he said, “I rise to raise a point of information. The Herald-Chancellor’s enumeration is significantly incorrect.”
Based on the information he’d gotten from Judah, Nkosi Wettig had already warned Abatsu that this might be coming, so she received the comment implacably. It was new information to many others, however, and a stir of whispers flowed throughout the hall. “Explain yourself,” Abatsu said calmly.
“The Chancellor-Herald’s recitation omitted all mention of Knyaz Nikolai, twin brother of Tsar Vasiliy.”
Nkosi Wettig now rose to speak. “There was ample reason for that omission. As part of the Great Compromise, the Eighteenth Sovyet Knyazey declared Nikolai guilty of treason and permanently removed from the line of succession. He was executed shortly thereafter.”
“But that same declaration made no mention of Nikolai’s wife and son,” Kuznyetz countered.
“When a person is removed from succession, it removes all his descendants as well,” Wettig argued.
“All of his subsequent descendants There has been ample case law in probate matters to show that previously recognized descendants may still inherit. I cite the precedents here.” His list of examples was instantly downloaded to everyone’s wristcoms.
“This is irrelevant,” Abatsu declared. “No such descendants exist.”
“On the contrary,” Kuznyetz said, standing up taller and straighter. “I am Pyotr Nikolayevich, the sole legitimate heir of the Sokolov dynasty.”
A shockwave expanded rapidly through the hall. Kuznyetz’s allies had already been informed of this fact, but it was still brand new and shocking to most of the assembled dvoryane. The buzzing of conversations in the audience swelled like an approaching swarm of bees. Kuznyetz just stood there silently for several moments, the hint of a self-satisfied smile on his lips.
Abatsu stood coolly at her podium, letting the hubbub run its course before calling for order. When the sound level had dropped low enough that she could be heard throughout the hall without shouting, she continued, “Why should this council accept such an outrageous claim?”
Kuznyetz’s smile broadened a bit. “I offer certificates from five different independent and highly respected medical laboratories attesting that my DNA proves a strong and incontestable genetic link to the Sokolov line.” Those reports were also downloaded to people’s wristcoms.
Abatsu didn’t even bother to look at them. “You realize, of course, that on a matter of such importance this council will have to perform its own testing.”
“Certainly, madam,” Kuznyetz said, bowing his head. “I place myself completely at the council’s disposal.” He paused just for a second. “I feel, in all fairness, that I must point out that, while I have plenty of time to place at this council’s disposal, the Empire as a whole does not. In just the past few days we’ve witnessed the unspeakable horrors that can befall a leaderless Empire.” He failed to mention, of course, that he himself was responsible for many of those horrors.
“That’s true,” one knyaz spoke up. “In just the past three days, two planets in my sector have reported bombings from space, leading to millions of casualties.”
There was a general murmur of assent throughout the hall.
“The Empire dares not remain leaderless for too long,” one of Kuznyetz’s allies said. “It will fall apart without the glue a tsar provides.”
Abatsu looked calmly out over the gathered dvoryane. “I’m sure that’s a fate we will not suffer,” she said. “There are no doubt many within this very hall who would nobly volunteer for the position.”
“At this time I suggest the name of Hoy Lin-Tao of Lyra for consideration,” someone else said. “He has decades of experience ruling the largest single sector of the Empire.”
“There are many noble families represented here,” Kuznyetz said, ignoring that suggestion, “but none that can match my lineage.”
“That’s true,” said another of Kuznyetz’s stooges. “I propose we consider Knyaz Yevgheniy of Scorpio for elevation to the Sokolov throne.”
Before anyone else could speak, though, the entire hall went dark.
* * *
Judah ha
d no idea, when he drove off, exactly what sort of diversion he would create. But he had a car with diplomat-level clearance and he had some stingers, all of which were great diversionary tools. As Ilya Uzi frequently said: Improvise.
His first thought was to crash the car into the building, but he rejected that immediately. With all the high-level dignitaries inside, a frontal assault would bring the meeting to an instant halt and lead the security force to evacuate the building. That would never do; he wanted the Sovyet to be in session when the tsaritsa made her surprise appearance.
The car’s comm unit could broadcast on the emergency frequencies of Kuznyetz’s kavalergard. They were the ones most in need of distraction, and Judah knew exactly the sort of call they’d respond to without alerting the Moscow politsia.
He locked the car’s controls into the local traffic grid and programmed it to drive through the streets around Novaya Duma in a semi-random pattern. With traffic this crowded, the car would move slowly with it, giving Kuznyetz’s oprichniki plenty of time to spot it. Their attention would be mostly trained on it.
Judah called in to the kavalergard leaders. “Code Phoenix! Code Phoenix! A black limousine has been spotted circling Novaya Duma with the Velikaya Knyaghinya impostor inside. Serial number R677ZZ157F. Intercept at once.” He repeated the message a second time, grabbed up the three remaining stingers Eva hadn’t taken, opened the door of the car and jumped out. The car was traveling slowly enough through the thick traffic that he had no worries of hurting himself.
He quickly blipped Eva and ran straight for the front doors of the hall. By the time he reached them, they had opened to disperse a swarm of kavalergardy from Kuznyetz’s and other dvoryane’s groups, like angry bees defending their hive. Judah stood out of their way by one of the enormous columns as they rushed past, then slipped unnoticed into the building behind them.
He’d never been in this hall before; it was a parliamentary hall rather than a theater which he was more used to, but it still had many similarities to the large theaters he’d been in throughout his career. They all had features in common. He was currently in an enormous lobby. Nothing important would happen here; everything of interest, at least to him, would be taking place behind the scenes. He ran around the periphery, looking for the “Staff Only” signs that would lead him to the backstage labyrinths.
The first such door he came to was locked. He used his Zionian strength to yank it open, but it was merely a supply closet. He moved on quickly.
He came to a broad, sweeping staircase and bounded up four steps at a time. Control rooms, lighting and sound booths were nearly always at the upper levels, where the people running the event could get a good view of what was going on. A control booth would be a good place to monitor all the action, and he was willing to bet that was one place the rebellious forces would establish a headquarters. Ergo, that was where he needed to be.
He made it up to the third floor level before he was challenged. One guard at the end of a hall, in a uniform Judah didn’t recognize, shouted, “Hey, you! Show your authorization!”
Judah obliged by pulling out one of his stingers. He’d already set them on a low level charge that wouldn’t leave any permanent damage. He fired once, and the man fell. Judah kept on running.
He went up one more floor and saw a small sign saying “Control Room” with an arrow pointing to the right, so he turned that way. A door at the end of the passageway was labeled “No Admittance,” which he translated as “Come this way.” He rushed through at top speed, ready for anything he might find, up to and including a pair of stone-cats.
He’d hit the mother lode. A small squad of kavalergardy stood around in the hallway, guarding a single door. Judah shot the two nearest on a dead run before his momentum carried him into the mass of guards like a bowling ball. He ran straight into them, and the mass of his Zionian body knocked three more to the ground. Unfortunately, in the crowded hallway he didn’t have room to maneuver around the bodies the way he would on a stage, and his feet tangled up with the people he’d knocked down. His lightning reflexes, though, let him curl up and roll like a ball to the other side of the group. He was back on his feet just as the rest of the guards were pulling their weapons.
He had little formal training in martial arts combat, but his strength and agility more than made up for any deficiencies. With one bounding leap he whirled and kicked one militsioner squarely in the jaw. The woman went down as Judah landed on one foot, pirouetted around and caught a second opponent in the temple. Even a Zionian love tap was enough to bring down any ordinary person.
A beamer ray sizzled past him, but he was moving too fast to let anyone get a good shot. He felt alive now and in his element. No more skulking secretly through back passageways or being subservient to villains. He was a fury unleashed for the good of the Empire, and it felt good. With kicks and jabs he brought the enemy down, until no one was left standing. He barely paused for breath before yanking open the control room door and seeing how many foes lay beyond.
There were only three, but his stinger only had two shots left before it gave out. He knocked the third occupant against the wall, head crashing hard enough to crack the plaster. Then, suddenly, he was alone and all was quiet around him.
Judah sat down in the central control chair, closed his eyes for a few seconds and let his adrenalin stop pumping. Then he opened his eyes and stared down at the board. It was simple by theater standards, since it didn’t have to control spotlights, curtains, scenery or special effects; It was barely a meter long and half a meter front-to-back. It might have been imposing to any newcomer—but Judah had been dealing with sound and light boards since he was seven. Novaya Duma was simple by comparison—just house lights and rostrum lights, some special controls for projectors and a wide bank of controls for microphones all over the hall. There were only a few standard ways of doing each, and Judah was familiar with them all. He leaned back studying the board, spending a couple of minutes figuring out which controls operated which areas of the building.
He was so intent on mapping out the board that he almost didn’t hear the sounds of people approaching the booth from behind him. He swiveled his chair around and had a new stinger pointed at the entrance, ready for more fighting.
There in the doorway was Lady Hasina, leading a bunch of her own fighters. She had a stinger of her own pointed straight at Judah, and for a second both of them froze while they recognized one another.
Finally Judah broke the tense silence. “Well, it’s about time you showed up,” he said. “I was beginning to think I’d have to do everything myself.”
* * *
Eva and Natalia waited in the shadow of a building across from the back of Novaya Duma. Natalia was extremely nervous that her entire future, and that of the Empire, rested on the events of the next few minutes. Eva was also nervous—not for herself, but for the young girl she’d come to love.
“I don’t even know what to say to them,” Natalia said, a slight quiver to her voice.
Eva smiled. “Don’t worry, I know a killer entrance line for you.” She told it to Natalia, who just looked perplexed.
“Is that all?” the girl asked.
“Trust me. You’ll bring down the house.”
Judah’s blip came through just a minute later. No use letting Natalia stew any more over what was going to happen; she was shaky enough as it was. “It’s showtime,” Eva said, taking the girl’s hand. “Let’s go.”
They walked leisurely across the street, weaving their way deliberately through the paralyzed traffic. Eva kept them at a slow, dignified pace; running would only attract more attention. Some of the drivers paid them no notice; others looked curiously. Only a few stared in disbelief.
They reached the back entrance and Eva opened it confidently, like the hundreds of other stage doors she’d opened in her life. Inside, the backstage area was dark until her eyes adjusted from the outdoor light.
When their eyes adjusted they could see a small e
ntry hall and a long, dim corridor ahead. The corridor had at least a dozen doors off of it. But before they could move forward, a man approached them. He wasn’t wearing a uniform of any sort, so Eva assumed he was just the backstage doorman. “Can I see your pas—” he began, then suddenly froze as he got a good look at them. His eyes went wide and his mouth dropped open.
“Do we really need passes?” Eva asked.
“N-no, ma’am,” he stammered.
“Would you be a good lad and show us to the side of the stage?” Eva asked next.
“Certainly.” He started to turn, then got tangled in his own feet and nearly fell. “This way.”
He led them through the typical backstage maze, ignoring all the closed doors. Eva kept one hand in her pocket, holding one of the captured stingers. They passed a number of people moving to and fro, Many of these people were so intent on their own jobs that they didn’t see the small group—but a few did, and stopped to stare. None of them was wearing a uniform, though, so they were just ordinary aides and assistants. Eva knew how to handle stagehands.
A woman in uniform came out of a cross corridor—the same type of uniform Judah was wearing. The woman, on alert after Judah’s diversionary call, had a stinger in her hand. She was surprised to see someone who looked like Natalia, and fired immediately. Fortunately, marksmanship had never been a prime requisite for the kavalergard, and her shot went a little wide.
Less than a second later, Eva had her own stinger out of her pocket. Aside from the few shots at very close range at the Farallon spaceport, Eva had never handled a stinger before—but a stinger didn’t require pinpoint accuracy; as long as you hit some part of your target, the victim went down. The uniformed woman dropped unconscious to the ground.