Tsar Wars: Agents of ISIS, Book 1 Page 20
Eva looked quickly over to Natalia, afraid this action may have added to the girl’s stress—but instead of flinching, the girl seemed to have hardly noticed. Perhaps ruthlessness did run in her genes.
They reached the side of the rostrum without further incident, and spent a moment watching the debate on the floor. “What do we do now?” Natalia asked.
“We wait for your cue; you don’t want to spoil your entrance, do you?”
“What is my cue?”
Just then, Judah’s voice came through Eva’s wristcom. “I’m in the control room. Blip me when you’re ready.”
Eva sent back, “Entering stage left, 30 secs.”
A few moments later, the house lights all went dark. Eva gave Natalia a squeeze. “It’s showtime. Remember your line,” she whispered.
There was no spotlight, but Judah improvised the nest best thing—a bright white projector light right where Natalia would walk onto the rostrum. As the girl took a deep breath and started forward, Eva said, “Break a leg, kid.”
The girl froze. “What?”
Eva cursed her own stupidity. Putting her hands on Natalia’s shoulders, she leaned forward and kissed the girl’s forehead. “You’re already my tsaritsa,” she said. “Now prove that your theirs, too. The show must go on.”
Natalia walked slowly onto the stage, her gaze focused on some spot no one but she could see. The projector light followed her as she walked several meters out. Then she stopped, turned, and faced the seats before her, even though they were lost in the darkness. The silence was dead still.
The room had gone into a general hubbub when the lights went out—but as people saw Natalia walking slowly to the rostrum, a stillness quickly descended on the chamber. Some people gasped, others gaped. You could almost hear people holding their breath.
Natalia waited for a second longer, then spoke out in a voice more commanding than even she knew she could do. “The reports of my death,” she said, “are greatly exaggerated.”
CHAPTER 17
The Resurrection of Natalia Ilyinishna
Natalia’s declaration was greeted by thunderous silence. The minds of the assembled dvoryane were already grappling with Kuznyetz’s startling announcement; this new blow to their established reality shocked them into complete paralysis.
But not Kuznyetz. “I object!” he cried. “This brash young woman may bear some superficial physical resemblance to the late, lamented Velikaya Knyaghinya, but her unheralded appearance here is an affront—”
Abatsu cut him off brusquely. “Her claim,” she drawled, “would seem to have as much validity as your own. The Velikaya Knyaghinya’s fingerprints, iris patterns and DNA are all readily verifiable. It will take but a few minutes to ascertain the truth of her claim.”
Hoy Lin-Tao of Lyra was on his feet in a moment. He looked, not at Abatsu, but directly at Natalia. “Your Majesty, may I have the great honor of being the first to swear my oath of fealty to you?”
Natalia felt as though her heart were beating at a thousand per minute, but her face remained icy calm as she gazed serenely at the audience. She gave the slightest nod, but said nothing.
Now Nkosi Wettig rose to his feet. His deep bass voice echoed through the room. “Da zdravstvuyet Natalia Ilyinishna! Da zdravstvuyet tsaritsa!”
There was more silence, and then a couple more people stood up. “Da zdravstvuyet tsaritsa!”
And more people stood to echo the cry. “Da zdravstvuyet tsaritsa! Da zdravstvuyet tsaritsa!”
Even some of Kuznyetz’s allies, sensing which way the wind was blowing, joined in the chant. “Da zdravstvuyet tsaritsa!”
The chanting went on for five straight minutes, and grew so loud that the ceiling and walls shook. When Abatsu finally managed to restore order she entertained the motion that the meeting confirm Natalia’s ascension to the throne. It was passed by acclamation.
And Natalia didn’t have to utter another word throughout the session.
* * *
The next two months were such a whirlwind of activity that it made Natalia’s flight for survival seem like a walk in the park. Whenever she turned around there was something critical that needed her instant attention.
The levels of government and lines of authority were drawn up. Until the tsaritsa reached her majority upon her twentieth birthday, the Speaker of the Duma would serve as her Prime Councilor; after that she could name whom she pleased. If, in this period, the tsaritsa and the Speaker disagreed on a decision, it would go before the full Duma for a final vote, subject to override by the Sovyet Knyazey.
Yevgheniy Kuznyetz tried to board his space yacht and leave Earth immediately after the Sovyet Knyazey. Officials at the spaceport refused to let it depart, and local politsia took all its passengers and crew into custody to await trial. Many of Kuznyetz’s allies also tried unsuccessfully to flee; only a few managed to escape the net.
In the light of his department’s failure, Edward Foundry resigned as Commissar of ISIS. After surprisingly little debate, Nkosi Wettig was re-appointed Commissar; he immediately began the long and painful process of weeding out incompetents and reorganizing the hierarchy so failure would not occur on such a catastrophic level again.
Probably the hardest task was to re-establish order between the stars. The Imperial Navy had suffered mammoth losses in the recent fighting. Some of the rebel ships surrendered almost instantly on hearing of Natalia’s installation as tsaritsa, hoping to receive mercy for their parts in the rebellion. Others kept on fighting knowing there could be no forgiveness for their crimes against innocent civilians. Still other ships decided to withdraw into space and become pirates, preying upon interstellar commerce for their survival.
In all it took nearly three years of continuous activity at many shipyards throughout the Empire to bring the Navy back to its former strength. Rebuilding was also a major activity on numerous planets that had been devastated in the fighting. The total cost in rublei could never be properly computed, and the psychological and emotional destruction were beyond comprehending.
Rebuilding was also a civilian preoccupation. Many worlds had suffered devastation and death at the hands of rioters and rebels. Sector and planetary treasuries were badly drained by rebuilding efforts. The imperial government established a banking and loan system to redistribute funds and assure that poorer worlds weren’t beggared by the staggering costs of restoration.
And then there were the trials. Justice needed to be doled out in large ladles-ful, and there was plenty of guilt to go around. Levels of guilt had to be determined and sentences distributed accordingly. Young though she was, Natalia could have set the noble houses running red with blood from the executions of traitors, but her advisers urged her to go slow. Kuznyetz and his lieutenant Pavel Lubikov, as well as Graf Federico and dozens of other high-ranking dvoryane, received trials before a High Court of Justice and were condemned to death. Kuznyetz’s daughter Marya talked quite freely and named dozens of other conspirators; this spared her life, and she was merely exiled permanently to the planet Gulag, a world without all the physical comforts she’d grown used to. Knyaghinya Teodora was deemed innocent of all charges; she retained her title and Scorpio sector for the rest of her days, and since she had no other children, the sector would revert to the crown for reassignment upon her death.
The major officers of the ships that had bombed civilian populations were executed as well. In all, over four hundred executions resulted from what became known as the “Pretender’s Rebellion,” and close to three thousand people were exiled to Gulag—one of the greatest population influxes in its history.
* * *
Judah and Eva stayed on Earth for a week after the Sovyet Knyazey. Nkosi Wettig put them up in special quarters within the Orion Hall of State. Neither had been to Earth before, and took this opportunity to do all the corny tourist things around Moscow. Eva also took the chance to put the “good behavior” of the past few weeks well behind her; she seldom returned to their lodgings
before nine in the morning—and for once, Judah refused to worry about her.
But after a week they started getting itchy. The longest breaks they ever had were when they were “on the road,” traveling with the Ville between worlds, and even then they practiced, worked out new routines and helped out their fellow performers where needed. Not having something specific to anchor their lives to was surprisingly tiring. Even Eva’s gadding about began to feel hollow; taking a break from doing nothing wasn’t nearly as relaxing.
Six days after the Sovyet Knyazey, Judah and Eva were called in to the office of Nkosi Wettig. As they entered the large room, they froze at the sight of Tsaritsa Natalia sitting in a comfortable chair facing the door. They hadn’t seen her since that day, and were amazed at the changes a single week had produced. She no longer looked like a deer caught in the headlights; her face was the picture of serenity and self-control. She looked as though she’d matured three years in those few days, but she still smiled warmly when she saw them.
Eva recovered her equilibrium first. “Being tsaritsa agrees with you, sis.”
Natalia’s smile never wavered. “I shouldn’t have worried you’d become all shy and formal.”
“Not a chance,” Eva said. “Not in private, at least. I had too much fun being the level-headed bitch.”
Judah, though, was still somewhat reserved. “I hope your life has settled down into a happier routine.”
Natalia made a sour face. “People have gone back to curtsying and bowing. They speak in careful, reverent tones. I almost miss being on the run for my life.”
“Really?” Judah asked.
Natalia laughed. “Of course not. It’s wonderful to be pampered—only now I can appreciate it, having had to live without it.”
“I’ve watched you in the news,” Eva said. “People didn’t really know you before, but after almost losing you—and seeing the alternative—they really adore you now. Seems like the press is following you everywhere.”
“Even into the bathroom, if I’d let them,” Natalia said with a pretend grimace. “But you know all about what I’ve been doing from the newscasts. What about you two? Are you enjoying Earth?”
Judah told her all about their sightseeing, and Eva gave a brief, highly bowdlerized version of her own adventures. The tsaritsa listened politely and did not interrupt, but Eva noticed her eyes were not completely focused on the here-and-now. Eventually she called her on it. “You didn’t come here to hear about our visits to tourist traps. What’s really on your mind?”
Natalia was still young enough to blush. “Sorry. You caught me. I was practicing my ‘pretend to be interested’ look. My teachers tell me I’ll need it a lot when I visit dairy farms and launch battleships. No, although I did want to see you again, I came here because Nkosi invited me. He has a favor to ask you.”
For the first time since the Bar Nahums entered the office, the new Commissar of ISIS spoke up. “I wanted to thank you both again for the wonderful jobs you did on behalf of the Empire. You’re both untrained and neither of you worked in an approved manner—but then I brought you on board because I was tired of by-the-book workers, so I have only myself to blame for that. Neither of you is temperamentally suited to the day-in, day-out drudgery of the ordinary assignments most ISIS agents have to do—but you each have unique approaches that my other people lack. I want you both to get some intensive training in ISIS techniques and then hire you on full-time as my personal field representatives. Trouble-shooters, if you will. What do you say?”
Judah’s eyes lit up. “Hell yes…uh, begging your pardon, Your Majesty. Except for the parts where I was scared to death, this was almost as much fun as dancing. I’d love—” He stopped suddenly and looked over at Eva. “Uh, that is, if my partner agrees. It’s not fair to her to break up the act.”
Natalia looked over at Eva. “Yes, I’ve been told you didn’t really want the job of saving my life.”
Eva had the decency to look abashed. “Well, everyone’s entitled to one mistake. It was nothing personal.”
“Yes, about that … I’ve looked up ‘tsouris.’ It is not a Greek word for sweet.”
“Whoever said it was?”Judah asked.
“A tsaritsa who remembers, who reads, and who looks things up,” Eva said. “I think we’re all going to be in trouble.” She paused. “Look, if it’s any consolation, I’m delighted I was wrong about the assignment. But as a full-time career … well, I really do love dancing.”
“And other things,” Judah muttered, barely audible.
“I’m afraid you have no choice,” Natalia said. Her voice and face grew very stern. “Eva Sarah Bar Nahum, you are hereby charged with multiple counts of assaulting my royal person, misappropriation of royal property, grand theft, and innumerable insults upon the royal dignity—not to mention kidnapping of civilians and destruction of property. I have witnessed all these crimes personally. How do you plead?”
Eva knelt on one knee. Her voice was equally sober. “Guilty, Your Majesty. I do claim exigent circumstances—”
“Silence!” the tsaritsa commanded. “The assaults on me alone are treason, subject to capital punishment. I have no choice but to sentence you accordingly. You are hereby condemned to ten years of hard labor at the discretion of the Commissar of ISIS.”
Eva hung her head. “As Your Majesty commands.”
“I’m sorry,” Natalia said more gently. “I’d rather keep you on in the palace as my personal dance instructor, but I admit I’ll feel a lot safer if you’re out in the field, protecting the Empire.”
“Well, at least one of us will feel safer,” Eva said in a mock growl.
The tsaritsa hesitated. “There’s one more thing I’ve been curious about, and I can’t just look it up in a reference book. I was hoping the two of you could help.”
“If we can, Your Majesty,” Judah said.
Looking particularly at Eva, Natalia said, “Whenever I was tired or discouraged, you’d prod me on by saying, ‘The show must go on.’ I know that’s an old show business expression, but I keep wondering why? Why must the show go on in the face of insurmountable obstacles? Why?”
Judah looked as though she’d whacked him between the eyes with a baseball bat. It was an expression he’d heard all his life growing up in the Ville. It was part of every atom in his body, infused deeply into his soul. It was like asking a fish why it swam—because anything else would be inconceivable.
But Eva had no such problem. “That’s simple,” she said with a smile. “The show must go on because the show is Life—and Life must go on.”
§ § § §
Read the entire Agents of ISIS series by Stephen Goldin:
1: TSAR WARS
2: TREACHEROUS MOON
3: ROBOT MOUNTAIN
4: SANCTUARY PLANET
5: STELLAR REVOLUTION
6: PURGATORY PLOT
7: TRAITORS’ WORLD
8: COUNTERFEIT STARS
9: OUTWORLD INVADERS
10: GALACTIC COLLAPSE
For more details, visit Parsina Press at http://parsina.com/isis.html.
Read more about the author at his Website, http://stephengoldin.com/.