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in the vicinity. And, besides, doing things like shooting holes in targets—or even in other people—was what the empress had
guardsmen
for.
    Unhappily for those chauvinistic sticklers, Sharleyan Tayt Ahrmahk
liked
guns. The recoil from the guardsmen’s rifles was undeniably on the brutal side, and the standard pistols were a bit too big and too heavy for her slender hands to manage comfortably. But Seahamper and Captain Wyllys Gairaht, the official commander of her guard detachment, had both known her since she was an imperious child-queen. They knew exactly what sort of force of nature she was. When she’d expressed a desire for weapons better sized for her not-quite-petite frame, they’d quickly commissioned just that. Besides, Merlin suspected that they found the notion that their charge could shoot considerably better than the vast majority of her guardsmen rather comforting.
    He certainly did.
    Now he spent a few more minutes watching through his distant remotes as Sharleyan methodically demolished her own silhouette.
    She’s going to need a bath before this evening’s council meeting
, he reflected with an inner chuckle, watching her smear the powder grime on her forehead as she wiped away sweat.
And when she sits down with the councilors, not a one of them would believe what she looks like right now!
    He smiled as he watched her guardsmen watching her accuracy with obvious, possessive pride, then, regretfully, turned his attention elsewhere. He was still a little surprised by how homesick he was for Tellesberg, but the city had been his home for almost three years. That was actually much longer than Nimue Alban had lived in any one spot from the day she’d graduated from the Naval Academy on Old Earth until the day of her death. Besides, home was where the people someone cared about lived.
    Unfortunately, Merlin had already discovered that no one—not even a PICA who could (at least theoretically) go indefinitely without sleeping—could possibly keep track of everything
he
had to keep track of. He needed to know what was going on in Tellesberg, and on a personal level, he needed an occasional “fix” of watching over the people he and Cayleb had left behind when they sailed. Yet he couldn’t afford to let himself spend
too
much time doing that, however tempting it might have been.
    â€œDo you have that summary from Chisholm, Owl?” he asked over his built-in communicator without ever moving his lips.
    â€œYes, Lieutenant Commander,” the AI hidden away in “Nimue’s Cave,” the distant cavern where Nimue’s PICA had lain concealed for so many centuries, replied.
    â€œThen I suppose I’d better take a look at it, too, shouldn’t I?” Merlin sighed.
    â€œYes, Lieutenant Commander,” Owl replied obediently.
    â€œWell, go ahead and begin the transmission.”
    â€œYes, Lieutenant Commander.”

. III .
House of Qwentyn,
City of Siddar,
Republic of Siddarmark
    â€œIt seems we’re all present, gentlemen. Please, be seated.”
    The half-dozen men in the private dining room looked up as one when their host stepped through the expensive, paneled door and smiled at them. Answering smiles were notable for their absence.
    If the immaculately groomed, silver-haired man was perturbed by the taut expressions of his guests, he allowed no sign of it to cross his own face. He simply stepped forward, with the assurance that went with both his age and his stature within the Siddarmarkian business community.
    His name was Tymahn Qwentyn, and he was probably the wealthiest private citizen in the entire Republic of Siddarmark. At seventy-three years of age (sixty-six in the years of Old Earth, although no one in Siddarmark was even aware that a place called “Old Earth” had ever existed) he remained vigorous and actively engaged. It was said, not without reason, that there was not a business transaction in all of