Both d'Alemberts looked interested. A hypnotic block was a form of mental conditioning that prevented a person from remembering-except under the most illegal of inducements-the information that was within the block. It was an expensive and cumbersome treatment, and was only worth doing to hide information of the most crucial sort.

  The Head noted their expressions. "I see it's piqued your curiosity, too. Yes, the chief of the local branch was also wondering why someone would go to all the trouble and expense of blocking that information. Certainly it wouldn't be merely to cover up the details of a jewel robbery-and besides, there hadn't been any thefts that major in the area for quite some time.

  "The chief started to intensify her questioning. She used everything at her disposal short of nitrobarb and got the block open just a crack-but it was a vital crack. A phrase Winsted had heard had stuck in his mind: ŕ time bomb against the Princess."'

  Both Jules and Yvette tensed. Their loyalty to the Crown was so deeply instilled that the mere mention of treason chilled them to the bone. The fact that the Princess happened to be a friend of theirs added to the sensation of horror.

  "Of course," their boss went on, "that added a whole new dimension to the picture. Treason is something that's anathema to all of us, or we wouldn't be in the Service. The chief on Kolokov overreacted, I'm sorry to say. She beamed a message directly back here to me, which was the exact proper thing to do, but then she got a little impatient. Before I could reply-with Helena gone, I was backlogged with work-she took it on her own authority to give Winsted a shot of nitrobarb."

  Yvette nodded. She was trained in the use of that drug, the most powerful truth serum yet discovered. It was impossible for anyone to lie or cover up facts under its influence, even people under hypnotic blocks. Unfortunately, the drug had a very bad side effect-namely, a 50 percent mortality rate. It was this fact that had placed the drug on the proscribed list; mere possession of it was a capital offense, though that did not stop a lot of people on both sides of the law from using it.

  "Unfortunately," the Head continued, "she was not an expert and could not even spot Winsted's allergy to it. He died writhing in agony thirty minutes later, and she learned nothing further from him."

  Again Yvette nodded. She had administered nitrobarb herself on a couple of occasions and knew exactly how tricky a thing it could be. For someone not completely trained in its use it was almost the equivalent of putting a blaster to the suspect's head and pulling the trigger.

  "I couldn't fault her motives," the Head said, his voice calm and level. "But I had to reprimand her, anyway. Her rash action has placed the Princess in jeopardy. If she had waited another day or two, we could have dispatched an expert to either dismantle the block or use the nitrobarb in a more judicious manner, and we would have learned more, if not all, of the story. As it is, we've blown our one lead and we're back in the dark once more. You now know as much as we do."

  "A time bomb," Jules mused. "But that's so general a threat. Haw can you be so sure that it will happen during the Progress?"

  "I can't," the Head admitted. "I can only go on hunches and guesswork. There may be nothing to the threat at all, just something Winsted heard mentioned as a possibility. But, of course, we have to act on the assumption that the threat is real. If so, where could such a bomb be? The Imperial Palace or any of the various courts are out; they're so well guarded it would be next to impossible for anyone to sneak a time bomb in there. And remember, it was specifically said to be against the Princess. The only certain way of getting her and not someone else would be to place the bomb in her rooms; again, our security is too tight for that.

  "But in just seven days she goes on her Progress, to a place where the security is less stringent. If anyone were going to use a time bomb, that would be the place to do it."

  "I presume the Baron's castle at Cambria has been checked out?" Jules asked.

  "Top to bottom. Most discreetly, of course-we didn't want to alarm the Baron and Baroness. Nothing was found, which only means that the bomb hasn't been placed yet. We'll need continual surveillance to make sure it never is. That's why I want the two of you along you've got sharper eyes and quicker reflexes than anyone else available."

  "Why not just cancel the Progress?" Yvette asked. "That would be the simplest way, yes. But not necessarily the smartest. Remember, it was only a fluke that brought about this discovery, so that we know a tiny smidgen of the enemy's plans. Hopefully, he doesn't know that we know yet; Winsted was probably just a small cog in the plot and won't be missed. If we cancel the Progress now, our opponent will know we suspect something, and he'll change his plans. We might not learn about the next one until it's too late. We have to go with what we've got."

  "What about following up with an investigation on Kolokov?" Jules suggested. 'Maybe we should try to find out what Winsted was doing there."

  "I've already thought of that," said the Empire's master strategist. "The Circus is already on its way there; I trust your father and the rest of your family to find out what we need to know. But I want the two of you with the Princess. You're the best I've got, and she'll need your brains and agility on her side."

  "Time bombs come in all sizes, shapes and colors," Yvette said. "And we won't have the faintest idea of what we're looking for."

  "Exactly," their boss said with a grimace. "Winsted, remember, was an expert at working with miniature components. It's quite possible that he was called in on this job because of his talents-in which case, the bomb could be quite small indeed. It might be a small article by itself, or it could be a small part of some larger thing. You'll have to suspect everything that comes in contact with the Princess. You'll be given some sensor equipment that may help, but it'll be impossible to use it on absolutely every object. You'll have to go largely on instinct."

  "Edna knows we'll be along, doesn't she?" Yvette asked. "Certainly. I couldn't hold anything like this back from her. She had to okay the plans, as did her father. In fact, Edna said she's looking forward to meeting the two of you again, though she wishes the circumstances were more pleasant."

  "So do we," Yvette agreed.

  "What are our cover identities to be?" Jules asked. "You'll both be part of the Princess's official retinue of bodyguards; only you and she will know you're anything more."

  Jules shook his head. "I'm not sure if that's the best way. Uh, not that I mean to question your plans or anything," he added hastily.

  "Question away. You're the one who has to do the actual work. I trust your instincts. If you can think of a better way, I'll be happy to hear it."

  "Well," Jules began hesitantly, "if the bomb isn't in the castle now, it'll have to be brought in."

  "My brother has a way with these brilliant deductions," Yvette said, smiling.

  Jules ignored her interruption. "Whoever brings the bomb in knows that the Princess has bodyguards as a matter of routine. He will already have taken them into account, and will have some plans for eluding them. We might have a chance to see more if we're in a less official capacity. "

  The Head thought on that for a second. "What do you suggest, then?"

  "The whole purpose of the Progress, really, is for the Princess to meet some commoners so that she can select her future husband. There will be many men there about whom we know very little."

  "Actually, we know more about them than we do about most people. They've each had to undergo a thorough computer screening before they were picked. Theoretically they're all beyond reproach."

  "Again, can we take that chance? It seems to me that they might be the weak link. They would have the best opportunity to bring in a bomb and place it near the Princess."

  "And since the candidates don't know one another yet," Yvette said, picking up on her brother's reasoning, "you could pretend to be one of them and keep an eye on them."

  "Exactly," Jules agreed.

  "And I could be a lady-in-waiting," Yvette went on. "It sounds an awful lot more pleasant than `bodyguard,' and I could be just as close to her, if not closer. No one would suspect a thing."

  The Head smiled. "I knew I chose the right people. In less than half an hour you're already taking charge and making this case your own. Yes, your suggestions make excellent sense and we'll follow through on them immediately. Work up whatever cover identities you want and I'll see that they're substantiated." He peered at their faces and noticed that there was still the slightest hesitation in Jules's face. "Anything else?"

  "Well, on something like this, I'm not sure the two of us could cover absolutely everything. Would you mind if we brought in more help?"

  "Who do you have in mind?"

  Jules looked to his sister. "Do you think Vonnie and Jacques would be interested?"

  "Mais oui! They'd be delighted." Her eyes narrowed as she smiled at her brother. "And, of course, you would have no great objections to working with Vonnie."

  "None at all," Jules grinned back, then turned to the Head. "Yvonne and Jacques Roumenier."

  "A good choice," their superior nodded. "Both topnotch agents. Of course, with her being your fiancee I'd almost suspect a little nepotism..."

  "Like with you and your daughter? Sorry, sir, but Vonnie is about the best for the job."

  "You should let an older man finish a sentence. I was about to say, `but knowing you that's impossible.' Besides, the Roumenier family has turned out agents almost consistently as good as the d'Alemberts. When the families are that good, who minds a little nepotism? Sure, have them come along. They can fill the bodyguard posts that you two were originally scheduled for, and both of you can handle your own disguises."

  He reached into a drawer of his desk and pulled out a medium-sized box. "This contains sensor equipment that might help you spot the bomb, as well as bookreels of the dossiers on the candidates the Princess will be meeting. Maybe you can find some clue in there that our own people missed." He handed the box to Jules and went to the bar to pour himself a glass of water; it was too late at night, and he had too much work still to do, to fog his mind with alcohol.

  "I know you realize this already," the Head concluded, "but I can't stress it enough. The safety of Crown Princess Edna is of the utmost importance. In two years, when her father plans to abdicate, she will be crowned Empress Stanley Eleven. She is the only child of her parents. If anything should happen to her, it would throw the entire succession into doubt. Theoretically there are other people in a neat line-I'm one myself-but that procedure has fortunately never been tested. If a crisis should arise, the entire Galaxy could dissolve into civil war. Keep that in mind-and keep Edna safe."

  He raised his glass in the traditional Service salute: "Here's to tomorrow, fellows and friends. May we all live to see it!"

  Chapter 3

  Arrival at Rockhold

  "If any one of these guys is a traitor," Yvette said with disgust, "I'll eat this entire bookreel."

  The two d'Alemberts had stayed up the entire night viewing the files on the commoners the Princess was scheduled to meet less than a week from now. With time so short, there was little of it they could waste.

  "It would be hard to find a more loyal lot," Jules admitted, munching on an apple. Thirteen commoners, each the pride of his respective world. Screened by computer for only the best qualities-or whatever the computer programmer thought the best qualities were. But they're all honest, all loyal, all intelligent...."

  "All handsome," Yvette put in. "Really? I didn't notice."

  "Someone had to. You don't expect a princess to hobnob with a gaggle of wumpmugs, do you?"

  "Eh bien, so what does that prove?"

  "It proves that you may have a bit of a problem blending in with such a group."

  "Vonnie hasn't complained about my looks."

  "Vonnie's lapses in taste are her own affair. But seriously, you will have a bit of an identification problem. There are thirteen male candidates, one from each inhabited planet in Sector Twenty-Nine. While none of them knows any of the others, they do know that there should only be a baker's dozen of them. They can all count to fourteen; how will you explain the extra one?"

  "Simple. I'm from Julea, an experimental colony that's just getting started. We're not much yet, just a few thousand people, mostly agricultural types. Nothing exciting, which is why they haven't read about us in the newsrolls. I'll play a real rube-not overly bright, a little slow on the uptake.... "

  "Typecasting."

  Jules was used to his sister's friendly jibes, and paid it no notice. "If one of the candidates is our bomber, I may be able to lull him into a false sense of security."

  Yvette nodded slowly. "It may work. But if our bomber isn't in your crew, I may have my work cut out for me. I'll have to stick with Edna every second-which won't be easy, considering these events are designed to let her be alone with as many of the men as she can. How else is the poor girl to find out anything about them?"

  "She can read their dossiers, like we have. They're so complete I feel as though I've known each of these men all my life."

  "And speaking of getting to know them, mon f rere, hadn't you better light a fire under your tail? The candidates will be assembling on Ansegria by now, and you don't want to be too late or you'll arouse suspicion."

  "Au juste. I'll take the Comet and flash on out there, while you can follow along with the Princess's party. I'll leave the minor details up to you. You can message Vonnie and Jacques and tell them to meet you on Ansegria-it's faster than having them come all the way to Earth and then leaving again immediately. Oh, and you'd better send word along to the Baron and Baroness that we'll be there under cover-part of a routine precaution, tell them. No point in alarming them unduly."

  "Will do. Now--get moving, and good luck."

  Cambria was a coastal city bordering on the planet Ansegria's largest ocean. It was known primarily as a resort town, and was noted throughout Sector Twenty-Nine for the beauty and grandeur of its setting. It was replete with rolling hills and lush vegetation, blue skies, and always moderate weather. It was a large, sprawling city of low buildings and one-story houses spaced comfortably apart from one another. Its beaches were clean and unpolluted, with high, white cliffs coming sometimes to within fifty meters of the waterline. Sea birds flew constantly overhead, their raucous cries a part of Cambria's enchanted atmosphere.

  Rockhold Castle, home of the Baron and Baroness of Cambria, was located slightly outside the city proper at the edge of a high cliff overlooking the shore. It was an imposing stone edifice with a three-story building in the center, surrounded on three sides by a wide courtyard and only the barest indications of a wall, for form's sake. At the back of the building was nearly a full hectare of beautifully landscaped and terraced gardens. As the Baron and Baroness were fond of entertaining, there were plenty of accommodations within the castle itself for the number of guests the Princess's Progress would bring. The cost of the Progress was being defrayed by Grand Duke Manuel of Sector Twenty-Nine.

  Jules had left his private ship, La Comete Cuivre, at the nearest spaceport in Canyonville and had driven to the castle in the same Mark Forty-One Service Special he bad used for calling on the Head. Not only was the vehicle designed as both a ground car and personal jet, but it snugged neatly into place with the d'Alemberts' two-person starship -ensuring that they always had good transportation whenever they needed it.

  Being on the guest list, Jules was instantly admitted inside the castle's walls after a quick fingerprint and voiceprint check confirmed his identity. There were already a large number of cars parked in the courtyard, indicating that the rest of the candidates had already arrived. Jules parked his own car in the nearest available space, picked up his suitcase, and stepped out into the bright Cambrian sunlight.

  His clothing matched precisely the character he wanted to portray. It was not very expensive-his home planet was ostensibly poor and would not be able to outfit him as lavishly as the others-and was about two years out of style. The brown velvet slacks were baggy and came only down to just above his ankles, exposing a trifle more of the boots than was customary. The gold brocade shirt was a trifle too gaudy to completely match the pants, and the ruffles were slightly over ornate down the front. The sleeves reached only to the wrists, and had a tendency to ride up when he moved his arms. The leather vest was too tight, and cut slightly askew so that its fit was noticeably off. Jules's short brown hair was combed straight down over his forehead in a rustic manner. All in all, he was the country bumpkin spruced up for a date with his lady love, not half ready to be introduced to the Crown Princess of the Empire.

  Jules carried his bag up to the main door, which was opened by a gaunt bearded man with a dour expression. "Hi there, Your Honor," Jules grinned at him. "I'm John Dallum, the candidate from Julea. I think you're expecting me."

  "I am not His Honor, merely the steward," the man replied with an inborn sense of dignity. "His Lordship regrets that he cannot greet you in person, but has instructed me to show you to your quarters and introduce you to your fellow candidates." He made no move to take Jules's one overstuffed suitcase from him as he continued, "Follow me."

  Jules was led upstairs to the second floor and down a long corridor thickly carpeted and lined with paintings of various seascape scenes. The room he was shown to was small, perhaps, for a castle but large by his own personal standards. It had a full-sized bed with night stands and lights on either side, a long dresser with a large mirror, a walk-in closet that took up one entire wall, three chairs, a sensible booth, and a door that led into a private bathroom.

  Jules gawked admiringly. "This sure is some layout you've got here."

  "Thank you, sir. You will find the other candidates gathered in the day room." And the steward told him how to find that place, then left-ignoring Jules's awkward attempt to tip him.

  Confident, then, that his new persona would pass muster, Jules unpacked quickly and hurried down to the day room, eager to meet the other men-and, perhaps, the prospective bomber. He walked with quick, ground-devouring steps, the pace of a man made bold by his own ignorance. He walked brashly through the double doors into the day room, stopped and faced the thirteen other men with whom he was "competing."

 

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