A half dozen of the guests were already down, some were screaming in pain others were dead. I saw an ecclesiarch sprint across the dancefloor at full tilt, robes hitched up. An autogun round snatched off his mitre but he dived into one of the corridors that led back to the food preparation area none the worse for wear. Apparently the Emperor did protect. One of the guests, a handsome man in false middle age lifted a hand and obliterated one of the gunmen with a greenish blast from some kind of digital laser before two rounds punched him in the chest and dropped him into the shallow waters. I levered myself up from behind the planter and aimed the las carbine. I tried for a moment to remember the Litany of Accuracy but gave up and just squeezed the trigger. Brilliant energy lashed out, far too high, I hit several paper lantern and sent them drifting to the floor in flames. Cursing I adjusted my aim, then ducked back into cover as autogun fire blasted cracks into the heavy marble.


There were perhaps a score of attackers, all similarly kitted and equipped, and they were rapidly spreading out to catch us in crossfire. They would have us in a matter of moments, would have already done so if Hadrian had not spotted them the moment they emerged from the water. A grenade bounced over my planter to clatter to the ground beside me. I shoved it with my mind, sending it spinning into the water a moment before it exploded in a huge geyser of spume. The nearest barge began to cant to the side and sink, spilling hundreds of goblets of champagne that had been arranged in a pyramid in an avalanche of glass and expensive liquor.


The doors flew open and a dozen men in the red and white uniforms of valets stormed in. Given the riot guns they carried, parking was a serious business here abouts. A blizzard of well aimed fire tore from the phalanx of men. For a moment I thought our assailant’s body armor would save them, but Hadrian had briefed his men well. The riot guns fired saboted solids that smashed our attackers from their feet, crippling more often than killing as the flak plates crushed ribs and organs. Within a handful of seconds it was over, though the high pitched screaming of the wounded continued.


“ Clear Admiral,” the leader of the valiant valets called. Up close he had a hard bitten look and I recognized him as a genuine Arbite. Most of his men were probably local law enforcement, but he was the real deal.


“The rest of my men are securing the site, we aren’t sure how they…”

“Sir!” one of the valets called and we all turned to see two of the prisoners were convulsing, greenish white froth spattering from the corner of their mouths. I whirled to our own prisoner and was horrified to see the same twitching death theros. It was some kind of fail safe to prevent capture, a poison secreted in a tooth or otherwise implanted on a soldier. When the mission looked like a failure it had been triggered and all of our mysterious attackers were dying.

“Move!” I shouted, infusing the command with enough of my will that the valet between me and the nearest prisoner leaped out of my way, dropping his riot gun as he did so. THe weapon barked and blew a bunch of apline flowers to colorful confetti. I dropped to my knees and ripped open the jacket covering his armor. It took me a second to find what I was looking for. Reaching down I took hold of a silver amulet around the dying man’s neck and ripped it off. The silver was very cold to my touch and burned me as though the metal was ice cold. I tossed it aside and slapped the man hard. Black lines were spreading along his blood vessels and his skin was very grey.

“Look at me! LOOK AT ME.” Every eye in the room involuntarily jerked towards me, save Hadrian who was already looking at me voluntarily. I opened my mind and sketched a symbol on his forehead, then two fingers to certain points on the design. The dying man screamed and thrashed, trying desperately to break eye contact but writhe as he might his eyes remained locked to mine. The lights guttered and plants wilted. A timepiece in the pocket of a dead man began to chime and chime and chime before finally breaking with an audible crack. I yanked my hand away and the dying man’s eyes went slack, then blank.

“Holy Terra,” one of the valet/sanctioners muttered and spread his hands in the sign of the aquila. The dead man’s head now bore a shallow but exact imprint of my finger tips, down to the whorls of my prints. Hadrian’s eyes flicked from me to the other men.

“That will be all, spread out and see if anyone is left alive, help the civilians,” Hadrian directed. The knot of men dispersed to their tasks with the efficiency their profession bred.

“What was that?” Hadrian asked with an arched eyebrow.

“I think I might have something we can use… but not here, we need to go back to the hotel room.”


An hour later we were back in our luxurious quarters. I had refused to elaborate too much during the drive back, but had told Hadrian that I needed time to prepare my mind. That was sort of true but not in the way he probably imagined. I bathed in clear cold water and cleansed myself of both sweat and perfume. I washed my hair and brushed it, carefully delivering 600 strokes of an ivory comb. Finally I put on a simple translucent shift and joined Hadrian in our sitting room.

“Sit with me and I’ll show you what I learned,” I told him, and sat down cross legged on the floor. I reached out and touched his face. Our eyes met and there was a sudden flash.


The air was dank with wet stone. We were standing in front of a dungeon cell, its iron bars mortared into the stone Hadrian stood beside me, his clothing flickering oddly, now battle armor, now a tuxedo, now his swimming trunks. I was wearing a flowing white toga in a neoclassical style, with a laurel wreath around my head and a golden torch in my hand. Well I say ‘I’. Emmaline-who-explains-things was dressed that way. Two more Emmalines, their hair up in identical buns canted left and right stood before the cell, long pikes slanting in exactly opposite directions.

“Who goes there?” demanded Emmaline-who-guards-things.

“Who else?” I responded to myself. Hadrian was looking around, justifiably wondering what in the Emperor’s name was going on.

“Are we in your mind?” he asked. The attention of both Emmaline’s focused on him when he spoke. Half a dozen other Emmaline’s in various garb flickered in and out of existence around us.
“Sort of…” Emmaline-who-explains-things, I for the moment, responded.

“Help! Help me! I should be dead! Let me die! Let me die!” a terrified voice called. A man in sackcloth appeared at the bars, his features those of the mercenary I had touched, though in his own self image he was a little less battered and a little more handsome than his real life counterpart.


“You have his mind in your head?” Hadrian demanded.


“It wasn’t that hard,” replied Emmaline-with-false-modesty, suddenly standing beside Hadrian, her clothing in a conservative style but cut to show off every curve.

“That isn’t the point,” Emmaline-who-worries-about-things replied, running  her hands nervously through her hair.

“Let me out you crazy bitches!” the prisoner screamed, throwing himself against the bars with absolutely no effect.


“No,” said a half dozen Emmaline’s simultaneously. 

“Yes, I was able to take his mind before the poison claimed him,” said Emmaline-who-explains-things.

“We can interrogate him here but…” Emmaline-who-explains-things waved her hand at the various incarnations of me as they flickered in and out of existence.

“I think it might be easier if we went into his mind together… it won't be as clear but it won't be as distracting for everyone.”