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CHAPTER 13

Emperor Charles, still unconscious, was unceremoniously dropped onto a wide mattress in a modestly decorated and furnished prison cell deep in the bowels of a high-profile prison block on Detention Station Romeo-Seven.

"Corporal, wake him up," said an officer, and a medic stepped up to fit a hypospray syringe to the royal wolf's neck. With the pull of the trigger and a hiss of vapor the emperor made a soft groan and stirred.

"Now give him the steroid."

The medic replaced the cartridge on his syringe with a new one and fitted the head to Charles' left bicep and injected the stimulant. The drug took only several seconds to reach the emperor's brain. With a violent jerk and a half bark, half gasp he sat bolt upright with hackles raised and every muscle tense.

"What in the Gods' names is going on!" he shouted to the half dozen soldiers wearing the uniforms of Imperial Marines standing above him, some with rifles trained on him. His keen eyes crossed their grim faces one by one before leveling on the most senior present, a major by rank. Standing, his bed sheet still wrapped haphazardly around his waist, he stepped forward haughtily with all the proud arrogance of his high birth. "Major, I demand an explanation. Now!"

Defiantly, the officer stared down the young wolf. "Charles Navarre," he said, using the emperor's given name, "I will give you an explanation, but only as a courtesy from one wolf to another. Effective immediately, under the direction of the High Council, you have been stripped of your imperial title and interned under suspicion of treason to the Lupine Empire."

"This is absurd!" Charles roared, making even the major step back a pace. "Under what authority do they dare violate my royalty?"

"Article seven, paragraph three of the Handshaw Accords of 2119 states that if, in times of Imperial crisis, the emperor should fail to defend-"

"I know damn well what the accords state! Don't you dare repeat the old codes to me," he growled. "Where is the Speaker of the Council?"

"Out on business. He cannot be disturbed at this time."

"I am the emperor, Gods damn it! He will come when I command him to."

The officer sneered, infuriating the already irate wolf. "I'm afraid you failed to understand me earlier, Mr. Navarre. You are not the emperor any longer."

Charles howled in fury. "You son of a-"

He swung a fist at the officer in a blind rage, but the experienced soldier blocked it easily, delivering a solid blow to the wolf's chest that knocked the wind from him and sank him to his knees, gasping and sputtering for air.

"I think you better have a seat, your majesty. You seem a little out of breath," he said, and a round of chuckles was shared around the room.

Charles propped himself on his paws in a labored crouch. "The courts...huff, huff...will never approve of this," he gasped.

The officer walked to a panel on the wall on pushed a button. A telenet screen flickered to life, showing a chaotic scene. The headline at the bottom read "Martial law prompts riots across empire" in big, bold font.

"Have you not heard," said the officer in a self-righteous sneer. "Martial law has been declared. I'm afraid the civilian courts have been suspended for the time being. And the military courts? Well, I have a feeling they're going to be tied up for a very long time."

Walking to the cell door he directed the security personnel to exit.

"I suggest you get comfortable, my lord. You're going to be here for a long time," the major said before following his marine's out, the heavy slam of the cell door echoing through the room for a painfully long time.

***

Admiral Hartford was on his way to the Mourning Son's shuttle bay, a copy of his new orders from the admiralty in paw, when he ordered the adjutant managing his luggage to proceed to his transport without him. He'd be along shortly after taking a slight detour to the ship's bridge.

"Captain Philips," he said when he found the white wolf at the commander's station on the command bridge. "In private, if I may."

Standing, the white wolf allowed the admiral to pull him to the side, but not before making mention of his recent promotion.

"Actually, Hartford, it's Flight Admiral Philips now. The admiralty has given command of the Second Fleet to me."

Chris Hartford smiled good-naturedly and nodded. "Well then, admiral. I'm afraid I can't offer you formal congratulations, so my saying it here will have to do for now. I've been recalled to the provincial office to resume my gubernatorial duties," he said, tapping the computer tablet in his paw. "The investigation into Commander Banks' capture has been cancelled."

Admiral Philips nodded, though an irritated frown pulled at the corners of his muzzle. The investigation had reached a dead end. It didn't help when Cadet Elijah Gardner awoke in the infirmary one day, completely normal and thoroughly confused. He had no memory of the last several weeks. "Yes," Philips said, "it's unfortunate but the resources are no longer available."

"Yes, I understand that. But I trust you'll inform me if anything develops?"

"Certainly, Admiral Hartford."

Chris hesitated for a second, his instincts and practical suspicions telling him he shouldn't expect a call from Philips anytime soon, if at all.

"Very well," he sighed. "Good luck, admiral."

"And you as well, sir," Admiral Philips called to the wolf as he strode from the bridge.

Admiral Philips returned his attention to the preparations of the fleet's defense capabilities and newest upgrades that Admiral Royce had ordered installed and operational. So far the Second Fleet was mission go.

"Admiral Philips, every ship in the fleet confirms ready status," said Captain Palsy, the Mourning Son's newest commanding officer.

"Very good. Notify me as soon as the fox makes contact."

"Aye, sir."

Today was the date Lokagos had promised to return, and the white wolf had no doubt the foxes would demand an explanation of them for the recent announcement. Admiral Royce had expected such, considering their broadcast would certainly be monitored by their enemies. In fact, the plan for imperial overthrow may not succeed without it. Talk among the upper levels of government and military of imperial corruption and decadence was nothing new to history. The High Council was firm in their agreement that Charles was far too weak to rule. Impudent and foolish in his youth the emperor cared more for his loins and comforts than the affairs of state, and his ideals had begun to diverge from those of his own Council.

The High Council convened in secret to invoke the Handshaw Accords, a set of statutes passed by the Imperial Council of 2119 giving the High Council authority to forcibly depose the emperor if found incompetent or unable to perform his duties by an official impeachment trial before the whole Council convened by the High Courts.

It was a shame, in a way, that Quinn Gilder had to die. The old wolf was a war hero by his own rights and an honorable wolf of integrity. An eternal shame, though Philips, that such integrity could be snuffed out in an instant. But he was an avowed loyalist, and his disapproval of overthrow could not be tolerated.

The origin of the statutes was a curious affair in imperial history, one that Admiral Philips knew well. Emperor Handshaw had been born the eldest son and heir to the great Emperor Edward. He had the unfortunate fate of being born premature, however, and suffered brain damage. Following the unalterable tradition, however, the eldest prince was crowned in 2117 at his father's death and the empire quickly fell to chaos under the 'Mad Emperor,' who was prone to bouts of insanity and made ill-founded decrees that nearly bankrupted the empire. Emperor Handshaw was removed from office under the command of the Council and replaced by his young brother Shackleford after he was obliged to sign the Handshaw Accords drawn up by the Council.

Politics often proved to be stranger than fiction.

It was just after lunch when Captain Palsy called him in his office.

"Admiral Philips, we're being hailed from an unidentified source."

The white-furred wolf half-jogged, half-ran to the bridge.

"Inform Admiral Royce," he commanded the communications officer as he passed by his station and up to the bridge's main viewer. "Put them on screen."

The face of a disheveled and very displeased red fox appeared, an angry scowl on his muzzle. His eyes seemed sunken and glassy with exhaustion. Admiral Philips almost smiled openly at the sight, but kept on a professional façade.

"Minister Lokagos. You have been expected."

"Do not play coy with me," the fox said evenly. "An explanation is owed for the insulting and hostile policy your government has recently enacted. You realize we will consider this an invitation to war."

"I'm afraid I am in no position to discuss the diplomatic policy of my superiors to you now, though I've been instructed to extend an offer of joint negotiations between our two races."

The fox's small black nose seemed to twitch in momentarily consideration. "No negotiation will be heard unless the complete and safe release of every member of our kind held prisoner by yours has been agreed to. Nothing less will be acceptable."

Group Commander Bufort, the Mourning Son's executive officer, stepped to the admiral's side and said quietly, "I'm sorry to interrupt, sir, but High Admiral Royce wishes to speak with the fox."

Philips nodded, and the main screen was split to show his commander beside the minister. Admiral Royce wore a comfortably neutral expression and nodded once to the fox.

"Minister Lokagos, I believe?"

The fox's ears flicked once to acknowledge the claim and retuned with a slight nod of his own. "Admiral Samuel Royce."

"Let me be frank with you, minister," the admiral said tactfully. "We are prepared to give you what you want with the guarantee that any hostile actions against our empire will be averted and our requests are adequately met."

Lokagos glared suspiciously at the grey wolf. "And those requests are...?"

The wolf grinned lightly, satisfied that he'd caught the fox's attention. "With all due respect to the Vulpine Confederation, minister, we are concerned that the aggression you've shown thus far is indicative of a pattern that we cannot risk continuing. What is to say that after freeing our slaves you don't continue to assert your strength over us?"

"What use have we for any sliver of the Lupine Empire, admiral," Lokagos asked heatedly. "There would be no benefit to us in occupying one cubic light-year of your territory."

"That's good to hear. But we want guarantees, namely in the way of technology. Weaponry, shielding, transportation. Something of yours that would better our defense in the future, and justify the loss of millions of unpaid laborers, which would frankly be an economic disaster."

"Impossible!" barked the fox, anger in his voice and face. "We cannot consent to breaching our security like this!"

"Then I'm afraid we're at an impasse," said Royce. "If you cannot give us what we want then we will keep that which belongs rightfully to us."

"Then we will take it by force," growled the fox.

"Watch what you say, fox!" barked the grey wolf derisively. "You forget who holds whose life in their paws! Intimidate us all you wish, but if you advance into our empire prepare to find more than you bargained for!"

The transmission between the Mourning Son and the fox was terminated.

"Admiral Philips! Return your fleet to the Radon boarder immediately and join the Third and Seventh Fleets."

"Yes, sir," said the white wolf, and the main viewing screen went blank. "Sound general quarters, Captain Palsy."

"Aye, sir!"

Walking to the comms station the admiral opened the fleet-wide net as the battle stations siren sounded on the Mourning Son's bridge.

"Second Fleet, this is Admiral Philips. General quarters has been ordered. Prepare to jump to relay coordinates beta-gamma three." Closing the signal he turned to the ship's commander. "Captain Palsy, the bridge is yours. Take us out of here."

Captain Palsy nodded, keeping most of his attention on his bridge crew.

"All decks reporting general quarters, captain," said the tactical officer.

"Jump reactors at sixty percent capacity...seventy...eighty...ninety..."

The entire universe seemed to explode in a flash of light and a sudden calm enveloped the bridge as the entire fleet, ship by ship, was transported lightyears away.

"Sir," said the comms officer. "The Melville is hailing us."

"Put it on screen."

"ILS Mourning Son, this is Captain Wilkins of the ILS Melville, Third Fleet," said the wolf on the viewer. "We're presently standing by for further instructions."

"Captain Wilkins," interjected Admiral Philips.

"Yes, admiral," asked Wilkins.

"Inform Admiral Clarks that all wolves must be at general quarters. We're going to high alert."

***

Scott Banks couldn't sleep or eat, and hadn't for the better part of two days. The wolf had done nothing but toss and turn on his prison cell's too-small bed during that time. The walls were the same cream-white as the rest of the ship; completely void of feature for the eye to catch, leaving Scott's attention to wander its surface aimlessly. The walls themselves seemed to radiate light, casting no shadows. Even the door would disappear into the endless expanse of cream-white when it closed. That being the case, the wolf had spent unknown minutes-hours-staring at an untouched tray of food that a guard had brought in for his dinner, and while his stomach growled at him in anger his mind couldn't will his body to get up.

With a deep sigh he rolled over to stare blankly at the wall nearest to him, curling his legs up to his chest and covering his paws with his tail like a young pup.

The visions and dreams that once scarred his past had returned in full force, as did the familiar anxiety and post-traumatic stress, something he'd secretly spent months in therapy for after Jessica's death. He'd hoped to have forgotten the pain, and for a time he almost had. But the silver fox had undone in a single day what had taken him years to accomplish. Every inch of his body ached and sudden bouts of upset would make him shiver and groan uncontrollably.

Exhausted beyond belief his eyelids fell closed. In that solitary silence, just as any number of times that day, his once buried memories found the surface.

He was in the west field with John cutting barley-or maybe it was rye-when Sarah sent him an emergency call from the house. Jessica, his wife of two years, had been in an auto accident and was at Grey Haven Central Hospital. With profound panic and dread he rushed to Grey Haven as fast as he could, his heart pounding harder and harder with each minute that passed by as he flew his vehicle far faster than was legal, not caring about the consequences. When he reached the hospital reception desk his greatest fear was realized when the grim-faced secretary called an orderly to escort him not to a recovery room, the intensive care unit, or even the emergency department...but the morgue.

Jessica was lying still on a flat table made of cold and unforgiving steal and plastic. There was a cloth over her entire body, and the coroner asked Scott if he was ready to identify the body. When he nodded silently, eyes wide, the coroner folded the top of the cloth up to uncover her head and Scott gasped.

Her eyes were closed and her black nose dry. Rigamortus had drawn her skin and fur into a permanent frown, not at all the sweet smile she usually wore. Quiet tears fell from his nose as he put a paw to her forehead. Oh gods, she felt so cold. As he looked down at her he could see that much of the fur on the opposite side of her face and neck was gone.

Scott gripped the sheet, but the coroner moved to stop him, telling him he advised against uncovering her. Scott growled angrily and yanked the cloth away, revealing a horrifying scene. Her right half was severely burned beyond recognition, the fur gone and the flesh beneath a deep red, even charred black in some places. Scott's legs trembled as they threatened to collapse from under him. The coroner insisted that she didn't suffer, but died instantly from blunt-force trauma in the vehicle collision. The burning was all post-mortem. Scott tried to believe that.

As he starred down at the creature he'd committed his life and love to he remembered the fight on the Stanza barely more than two years before. He could still feel the searing agony of second and third degree burns that covered his back and shoulders. His fur had grown back to hide the scars, but he could still smell the burned hair and flesh and wondered if Jessica had suffered the same fear and pain before she died.

Whimpering in rage and sorrow he held her in his arms one last time before the grave could take her from him permanently.

The prison door opened with a light whooshing sound, prompting the wolf to open his eyes. He stared at the near wall blankly, thankful in part for the interruption but no less willing to deal with another living creature.

"You haven't eaten anything, wolf," said a voice he recognized as belonging to the ship's commander, whose name he wasn't able to remember.

"I'm not hungry," he croaked.

Scott heard from behind, by the rattle of metal and dishes, what must have been the tray being lifted and passed from the room by someone unseen. "Take it out, guard," said the minister irritably. "Bring in some fresh food for his breakfast, and don't make me wait." Even in his exhausted state the wolf recognized strain and angst in his words.

"You sound tired," said Scott quietly, his tone even. "You should get some sleep."

The fox growled. "I would if I could, but your military has threatened to murder our kind in cold blood if we don't do something soon."

Scott sighed deeply. Far too many emotions coursed through him to burden himself with sorting any one out, so when he finally said "That sounds terrible" it was shallow and cold. "I'd suggest not letting them do it." It wasn't that he didn't care. He did. But what exactly did they expect him to feel or do about it? He had attempted to cooperate before, and look where it had landed him.

His words were obviously not what his visitor wanted to hear. With an angry bark and surprising strength the fox grabbed the wolf by the collar of his shirt and rolled him off his side and onto his back. Using the wolf's initial shock Lokagos drew in close to his nose and growled dangerously.

"Listen to me closely, wolf. You may not care about what happens to my people, but I guarantee you if anything does happen you will not be leaving my ship alive. Do you hear me?"

Scott's shock quickly turning to anger and the larger wolf easily pushed the fox away as he sat up, the sudden motion making the guard by the door draw a pistol and level it at him with a severe expression in his hard eyes. Scott ignored him, but kept his distance.

"And what if I told you I did care, fox!" Scott barked, his frustration boiling over. "Would you treat me any differently? Would you take just a little less from me next time or lie to me just a little less? What makes you think I enjoy this? Don't you think I want this to end every bit as much as you do?"

"Admiral Royce of your navy has demanded our technology in exchange for the slaves. He's holding them captive and has told their owners to kill them if need be."

"Why should I help you," Scott asked, his voice starting to crack with emotion. "There's nothing I can give you that you haven't already stolen from me. Except my life, and you've already threatened to take that from me! And I'd rather you do it sooner than later," he said lowly, the admission being surprising even to himself. "I've nothing left anymore. Everything I've ever had worth loving is gone. The least you could do is follow through with that promise and stop insulting me like this."

Scott sat down on the small prison cot and laid on his back to gaze waywardly at the ceiling. The agony of separation with his life-mate had pushed him to terrible lows, even to thoughts of suicide. He eventually recovered from those feelings after help from a psychiatrist and support from his surviving family, John and Sarah. But they were gone now. Free to live their lives without him suppressing their freedom like so many others have done.

Lokagos, exhausted and stressed, did not appreciate being ignored. Too much depended on what this wolf may know about his military and government. Too many lives were under threat to allow him to simply wallow in self-pity, and if he did not volunteer his knowledge willingly there were other ways to get what he needed.

"Alright," the fox said over a low growl. "If you will not cooperate then Sozo will be more than happy to probe you forcibly."

The wolf could tell from the fox's tone that the threat was not idle. His response was to turn his back on the fox and lie on his side.

"Have it your way, then!" barked Lokagos as he stomped toward the exit.

"Wait," said Scott, making Lokagos pause. Turning his head so he could look to the fox, the wolf licked his dried nose and breathed deeply. "John, my former slave, has always wanted to be an engineer."

Lokagos' brow furrowed in confusion. "What..." he said in a voice marked with suspicion.

"Sarah's cubs were taken from her shortly after they were born. Her son should be about thirteen years old by now. I tried to find her daughter, but she died while still young."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"They're both good creatures. They deserve far more than what I could give them. Will they be taken care of? And please, don't lie to me."

For a brief moment the minister was speechless. "Of course they will. All of them will," he said finally.

Scott nodded slowly before lying his head back onto the smooth cushion. "Thank you, minister," he said quietly.

Lokagos' jaw hung open as if ready to say something, but failing to find anything worth saying he marched from the cell. The guard he sent for food placed the new tray on the floor by the door and mentioned as much to the wolf. Scott didn't make so much as a nod. For the first time in almost three days Scott was sleeping soundly.

Frowning, the fox guard left, sealing the door behind him.