Scattered Suns - Kevin J. Anderson [188]
Peter frowned at the implied threat. “I prefer OX’s instructional methods. He’s programmed to be a teacher, and he has more memories than he can hold in his head. That counts for a lot of experience, in my book.”
“Since OX allowed Prince Daniel to escape, I have doubts about his abilities as an instructor. This will help you learn about political realities...and consequences.” The Chairman walked briskly down the hall, his dress shoes clicking on the polished stone tiles. He had no doubt that the King would follow.
With another frown, Peter left his private chambers and walked beside Mr. Pellidor. He didn’t even dignify the broad-shouldered man with a glance.
They passed down empty halls and staircases and finally reached a lower-level infirmary chamber that smelled of disinfectants, sterile metal, and chemicals. There, on a hospital bed in the center of the room, lay the pale young Prince Daniel. The boy appeared to be in a coma, hooked up to medical diagnostics. Intravenous lines ran from his arms. His chubby cheeks looked sunken, though Peter had seen him only yesterday.
“What happened? Was there an accident?”
“Oh, no accident—I assure you this was entirely intentional.” Basil stepped forward to touch the intravenous tubes, then leaned over to stare at the false Prince’s closed translucent eyelids. The boy didn’t move or twitch.
“After Daniel’s foolish escapade, the Hansa committee met in an emergency session. We decided unanimously that we can no longer take the risk of further episodes of gross misbehavior. Therefore, we have drugged him. We will keep him in this comatose state, where I can be certain he is under control.” He fixed his gray eyes on Peter. “Too many mistakes have been made recently, and I will no longer tolerate it.”
Peter remained silent, letting the long moment draw itself out; it was a technique Basil himself had taught him. He knew exactly how dangerous the Chairman was. Finally, he said, “So why not just kill him?”
“Because he makes a better example this way, don’t you think? I suppose we could always awaken him if it becomes necessary. You see, we could easily do this to you.” Basil straightened and took a step away from the motionless Prince. He asked in a light conversational tone, “Now then, why didn’t you tell me Queen Estarra is pregnant? I’ve known since last Wednesday, but you must have known for at least a month.”
A current of ice water washed down Peter’s spine. He controlled his expression, refused to blurt out a denial. The Chairman wouldn’t have brought up the subject unless he had proof. Peter knew he would do better to see where Basil was going with this.
The Chairman paced the floor of the infirmary room. “The King and Queen are always monitored, Peter. We’ve taken several samples and verified our results. My first inkling came when you both were with me aboard the ship to Ildira. Nuances, slight differences in behavior. You didn’t think I was paying attention...but I always pay attention. We followed up with further tests obtained from your royal quarters.”
Peter remained silent. His mouth was dry, and his skin crawled with the reminder that even in their most private moments the Hansa was spying on them, sampling cells scraped from the royal bedsheets, monitoring Estarra’s menstrual cycle, probably even culling urine samples from the Palace’s plumbing. He found it repulsive.
Basil stepped close to him, very close. Peter had grown taller over the years, but the Chairman still seemed to regard him as little more than a street urchin. “We can’t allow this, you know.”
Trying to be strong, desperately wishing he had sent Estarra to Theroc before anyone had a chance to find out, Peter said, “You’re missing a key advantage, Basil. Imagine the excellent public relations we can get. The people will love it.”
The Chairman didn’t budge. “You miss the fundamental problem here. I didn’t give you permission.”
Peter sighed and let his shoulders