A Forest of Stars - Kevin J. Anderson [241]
She had held him close. “You have to trust someone, Peter.”
“Yes, finally I think I can.” Estarra.
She was intelligent and capable—and no more happy about her situation than he was about his. Holding her close, Peter whispered more of the story about his little brothers, his hardworking mother, even his estranged father, who had abandoned the family and run off to Ramah. All of them had been assassinated, just to clear the slate for him. Peter felt moisture on the sheets, his own tears seeping into the pillowcase. Estarra brushed her fingers across his face, comforting him…
Now he stood on the dock with Estarra, admiring the gaudy banners. “OX, go aboard.” Peter gestured to the Teacher compy, who dutifully walked across the gangplank.
Several workers stood at attention at the bow of the processional yacht. Peter turned to wave at the prep crew. As a mob of self-important officials prepared to accompany the King and Queen aboard the boat, Peter touched his lower lip and pretended to have a sudden idea. He turned to the protocol minister. “Estarra and I would like to go aboard alone, just to have a look around in private.”
“Sire, that is most unexpected…”
Peter smiled reassuringly. “I promise, you can all come aboard in a few minutes—but surely no person here would begrudge a man a few moments alone and in private with his beautiful new bride? No chance for a stolen kiss tomorrow during the actual procession, is there?” He leaned close to Estarra. She giggled, clinging to his arm.
The onlookers chuckled and applauded. A few of the braver men even made catcalls from the back of the group. The public display of affection seemed like a sigh of relief in such tense times.
Peter looked beseechingly at the protocol minister. The man seemed befuddled by the change of plans, but obviously he saw how much the crowd approved. It was a chance to score points. “All right, we will allow it…but only for a few minutes. You are the King, Sire, and you must follow certain expectations of public behavior.”
Peter winked at him, grinning. “We won’t be scandalously long.”
Workers trotted down the gangplank and made proud welcoming gestures. “Be our guest on board, King Peter. You’ll find everything completely satisfactory.”
“I’m sure I will, with devoted men and women such as yourselves on the job.” Strutting confidently, Peter led his Queen across the gangplank. OX had already disappeared belowdecks into the engine room.
Peter took his time, an agonized few minutes studying the upper deck, admiring the pennants and polished gold and inlaid wood. Finally, he put his arm around Estarra’s waist and pulled her close, knowing that everyone was watching. Then they ducked out of sight.
Moving quickly and intently now, he and Estarra split up, opening cabinets, rummaging through onboard compartments, under the beds and tables. “We don’t know what Pellidor was doing, but too many other people have inspected the boat,” Peter said. “Whatever he’s done, it won’t be obvious.”
Following instructions, OX ransacked the engine compartment, analyzing systems, studying the apparatus, controls, components. Earlier, Peter had surreptitiously uploaded detailed programming into the Teacher compy’s already overloaded mind. OX now knew the exact specifications of the royal yacht, and he understood how to identify sabotage.
Peter kept track of the time, knowing they had only a few moments. Outside, he heard happy, good-natured whistles. He called quietly but urgently, “OX, have you found anything yet?”
The compy emerged from the engine compartment. “I have done a full and complete safety check on the yacht’s systems. A dangerous incendiary device was installed deep within one of the fuel coils.”
Peter knew he shouldn’t have been surprised. “What kind?”
“A plasma-ignition bomb, small but very powerful. It would have flash-vaporized most of the yacht, incinerating everyone aboard. You would not have survived.”
“Basil, you bastard. You deactivated it?”
“Yes. Your yacht is now completely safe.”
“Thanks, OX.” Peter took a moment to compose his expression.