had his doubts about that but took comfort from Veneto’s lighthearted tone and felt the lump in his stomach start to dissipate. As the two men entered the audience chamber, Ophelia was on her feet, speaking with an admiral. Having received his orders, the officer bowed and backed away. When Ophelia turned in his direction, Hanno was struck by both her beauty and the cold clarity in her eyes. She was a very different person from her brother—and a very dangerous one. He bowed.
“Good morning, Tarch Hanno,” Ophelia said. “And thank you for coming on such short notice. Please have a seat.”
Four chairs circled a table. Ophelia took the one that was lit in a way that would accentuate her beauty. Hanno chose the seat directly across from the empress and waited for her to sit down before doing the same. “So,” Ophelia said as she settled into her chair, “you’re wondering why you were summoned. And given how busy we are, I’ll cut to the chase. I need someone with your talents to run a new department. One that will help shape the empire during the coming years.”
Hanno felt his heart beat faster. Here was what he’d been hoping for. A position of real power. “I am honored, Highness. How can I be of service?”
“I would like you to become Director of the Bureau of Missing Persons,” Ophelia replied.
Hanno felt his spirits plummet. The empress laughed. “You should see the expression on your face!” she exclaimed. “Never fear, Tarch Hanno . . . I’m not asking you to track down runaway teenagers. Far from it. No, the Bureau of Missing Persons will be in charge of locating individuals who represent a threat to the empire, but for one reason or another, have not been found. Not so far, anyway. Although I’m sure that you and the forces I will place under your command will be able to find most, if not all of them, and do so expeditiously.”
Hanno’s mind was racing. If he understood Ophelia correctly, she was asking him to complete the purge. An unpleasant task, perhaps, but a necessary one, lest someone try to overthrow the new government. It was the sort of task that would enable him to strengthen the Hanno family’s ties to the empress and line their pockets at the same time. “I see,” he said gravely. “And how many missing persons are there?”
“Three thousand, two hundred, and thirty-six,” Ophelia replied. “Scattered across more than two dozen planets. That’s a large area I know . . . But I can provide you with twenty-five human case officers and five hundred synth trackers.”
“And when we find a missing person?”
“They’re missing,” the empress said with a smile. “Make sure they stay that way.”
IMPERIAL PLANET ESPARTO
The one-story building designated as Receiving Facility 7654 (RF-7654) was located adjacent to Elysium’s largest spaceport so that Cat—no, McKee; she had to start thinking of herself as McKee—and the 289 provisional recruits, or PRs, housed inside had to listen to the barely muted roar of engines at all hours of the day and night.
A third of what the PRs called the tank was devoted to rows of bunk beds, which were divided by gender and a yellow line painted onto polished duracrete. Tables and chairs, all of which were bolted to the floor, occupied the center of the space. An open assembly area was located adjacent to that.
When not engaged in some sort of official activity, there was no discipline to speak of, and that allowed the strong to prey on the weak. Something they did primarily for the fun of it since all of their personal belongings had been confiscated and nobody had anything to steal other than Legion-issue toiletries, a scratchy towel, and two sets of olive drab fatigues.
The lack of military discipline struck McKee as strange until she noticed all the cameras mounted around the enormous room. Was their purpose to monitor the mayhem and ensure that it didn’t get out of hand? Or were the PRs being tracked and evaluated
“Good morning, Tarch Hanno,” Ophelia said. “And thank you for coming on such short notice. Please have a seat.”
Four chairs circled a table. Ophelia took the one that was lit in a way that would accentuate her beauty. Hanno chose the seat directly across from the empress and waited for her to sit down before doing the same. “So,” Ophelia said as she settled into her chair, “you’re wondering why you were summoned. And given how busy we are, I’ll cut to the chase. I need someone with your talents to run a new department. One that will help shape the empire during the coming years.”
Hanno felt his heart beat faster. Here was what he’d been hoping for. A position of real power. “I am honored, Highness. How can I be of service?”
“I would like you to become Director of the Bureau of Missing Persons,” Ophelia replied.
Hanno felt his spirits plummet. The empress laughed. “You should see the expression on your face!” she exclaimed. “Never fear, Tarch Hanno . . . I’m not asking you to track down runaway teenagers. Far from it. No, the Bureau of Missing Persons will be in charge of locating individuals who represent a threat to the empire, but for one reason or another, have not been found. Not so far, anyway. Although I’m sure that you and the forces I will place under your command will be able to find most, if not all of them, and do so expeditiously.”
Hanno’s mind was racing. If he understood Ophelia correctly, she was asking him to complete the purge. An unpleasant task, perhaps, but a necessary one, lest someone try to overthrow the new government. It was the sort of task that would enable him to strengthen the Hanno family’s ties to the empress and line their pockets at the same time. “I see,” he said gravely. “And how many missing persons are there?”
“Three thousand, two hundred, and thirty-six,” Ophelia replied. “Scattered across more than two dozen planets. That’s a large area I know . . . But I can provide you with twenty-five human case officers and five hundred synth trackers.”
“And when we find a missing person?”
“They’re missing,” the empress said with a smile. “Make sure they stay that way.”
IMPERIAL PLANET ESPARTO
The one-story building designated as Receiving Facility 7654 (RF-7654) was located adjacent to Elysium’s largest spaceport so that Cat—no, McKee; she had to start thinking of herself as McKee—and the 289 provisional recruits, or PRs, housed inside had to listen to the barely muted roar of engines at all hours of the day and night.
A third of what the PRs called the tank was devoted to rows of bunk beds, which were divided by gender and a yellow line painted onto polished duracrete. Tables and chairs, all of which were bolted to the floor, occupied the center of the space. An open assembly area was located adjacent to that.
When not engaged in some sort of official activity, there was no discipline to speak of, and that allowed the strong to prey on the weak. Something they did primarily for the fun of it since all of their personal belongings had been confiscated and nobody had anything to steal other than Legion-issue toiletries, a scratchy towel, and two sets of olive drab fatigues.
The lack of military discipline struck McKee as strange until she noticed all the cameras mounted around the enormous room. Was their purpose to monitor the mayhem and ensure that it didn’t get out of hand? Or were the PRs being tracked and evaluated
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