Tsar Wars: Agents of ISIS, Book 1 (26 page)

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 entry 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.

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.”

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.