Lord Boggond picked up the glass on the lectern and drank slowly, surveying the room.

The Royal Theater was packed for his talk, just as he’d wanted. Except he knew that most of the people present tonight had showed because they’d been told to attend by their employers. Areg Sebi and Nollan Dreggo had filled this same room without the tiniest announcement in the Orogate Daily.

There was nothing for it. The populace would always hate those who held power and idealize those who contended for it.

Good thing Sebi and Dreggo were gone!

With less than a year until the Endorsement Vote, it was highly unlikely that a credible, serious candidate would come out of the blue and sway the people’s hearts. Achlins Ghaw was a remote possibility, but Voqras was onto him. Hopefully, he’d be able to silence Ghaw without resorting to another assassination or execution. The bodies were beginning to pile up.

Lord Boggond put his glass down and raised his hand, to command attention. “People of Eia.”

The room grew quiet.

“Since I became caretaker governor, we won the war, kicked the invaders out of Eia and began to rebuild our realm. If you endorse me as your governor this year, I will make sure that Eia prospers again like it had before the war.”

He paused to let his supporters cheer and chant his name. But before he realized what was happening, boos and heckles sounded from the back of the room, from the sidelines, and even from the front.

“We’d already won the war when you got the job!” someone shouted.

“We’re still as poor as a year ago!” another voice chimed in.

“My children don’t have enough to eat!” a woman cried. “My husband is dead, and I’m too sick to work. We survive thanks to our neighbors. The vestals help us, too. But I’ve seen nothing from the government.”

Lord Boggond turned toward the woman. She stood up, unafraid to be seen and identified. Her thin face and sunken, red eyes spoke of despair.

“My boss is going under.” A man not far from her stood up, too. “A bunch of us will lose our jobs. No one has money to buy our goods anymore. How will I provide for my family?”

People around him grumbled sympathetically.

“It’s worse than during the war,” the man said. “Whatever you’ve been rebuilding, Your Grace, I haven’t seen it.”

“Murderer!” someone yelled from the back. “The Liberator will rise and punish you!”

Lord Boggond peered into the crowd, trying to single out the man who’d said that. Voqras and one of his cyborgs stepped forward, scanning the room.

And then the humming set in. Scores of people droned aggressively, with their mouths shut tight to make it harder to detect them. Just like they’d done at Sebi’s public flogging.

The cyborgs closed ranks in front of Lord Boggond.

“It might be wise to leave now, Your Grace,” Voqras said, glancing at him over his shoulder.

He was probably right.

But if Lord Boggond left now, he was going to lose this room’s vote. Not just that of Sebi’s diehard supporters, who were already lost anyway, but of all the others, too. And there was no guarantee Ultek would be able to rig the vote with the LOR Certified Observers breathing down his neck, recounting the votes and double-checking everything.

No, Lord Boggond couldn’t leave now.

He needed every single one of those undecided, teetering people on whom Yemella’s propaganda machine seemed to work.

Speaking of whom. Lord Boggond craned his neck and surveyed the area backstage. There she was, her spotty snout peeking from the curtain gap. She raised her eyebrows in question. He gave her a small nod.

Stepping out, she marched to the front of the stage. “Your attention, please!”

Her voice was shrill and loud enough to hush the room. Even the humming ceased.

“Before we wrap up His Grace’s talk,” she said, “I’d like to invite some very special guests to come up here to relay their message.”

She pointed to a group in the first row, waved encouragingly, and began to clap.

One by one two boys and two girls between the ages of five and eight mounted the stage.

“Meet students of the Public Primary School Number 24,” Yemella said before pointing them out. “Kari and Dnek are from menial families. Zoddya and Heirrod are proficient class. They’ve traveled with their teacher all the way from the Frontier Zone to address you today.”

One of the girls carried a huge bouquet of flowers, which she handed to Lord Boggond, bowing prettily. He pressed a hand to his heart and kissed the top of her head before accepting it.

“What is it you’d like to tell us, children?” Yemella asked them.

The older boy stepped forward.

Was that Dnek or Heirrod? Oh, for goodness sake, who cares.

“We’re here to tell you what our school has been doing for Eia’s recovery,” the boy said.

He rambled on about the afternoons and Aheya-days that he, his classmates, his teachers and the parents spent planting trees and helping government contractors repair the damaged school building.

The money for that project had been provided by LOR, but the boy wasn’t going to say that. Nor was he going to mention that his school was the only reconstruction project Lord Boggond had launched with the LOR money. There were better—more strategic—uses for it than fixing sewers and roofs.

And Lord Boggond was the only one who saw the big picture.

When the boy was done, the younger girl recited a silly poem she had composed to the glory of Eia, earning a round of enthusiastic applause. Before the group left the stage, they sang Eia’s anthem. The performance was well-practiced, the children’s voices clear and harmonious, and their eyes bright with genuine feeling.

The room gave them a standing ovation.

While the audience clapped, Lord Boggond thanked everyone for their support and went backstage with the children, followed by the cyborgs and Yemella. After that, the children were dispatched to their hotel, and Lord Boggond and his entourage loaded into his vehicle.

“Good job, my dame,” Voqras said to Yemella.

She squirmed a little, visibly pleased. “You’re too kind.”

“Yemella is a professional,” Lord Boggond said, knowing how much his praise meant to her.

The cyborg nodded. “Governor Horbell would’ve said the same thing, and he excels at propaganda.”

Yemella’s snub-nosed face expanded into a coy smile. “I have other tricks up my sleeve, Captain. All manner of tricks.”

Lord Boggond chose not to dwell on the sexual innuendo in her voice or on the way she ogled the cyborg’s sculpted chest. She never looked at him that way. Then again, she was such an unappealing female that even if he hadn’t lost his libido after the poisoning episode in his teens, he wouldn’t have wanted her to lust after him.

“Why do they call you ‘hive cyborgs’?” Yemella asked Voqras, batting her lashes.

“Because we connect our brains through a powerful machine to multiply our analytical capacity,” he said with pride.

A machine kindly provided by Horbell. Lord Boggond smirked.

But Voqras’s attention was on Yemella. “Our official name is ‘modified cyborgs.’ We’re also called ‘winged demons’ on occasion.”

She pressed her palms to her cheeks. “Ooh—sexy.”

“That said, we’re just bionic Ra-humans.” Voqras shrugged. “The only difference between us and LOR’s glorified Enforcers is that we’re more advanced.”

“That’s not how LOR officials describe you in their briefing notes,” Lord Boggond couldn’t help interjecting. “I just received another one advising all member realms to ban facilities like the one where you were modified and to ‘de-hive’ all of you.”

“Why?” Yemella asked.

“The League of Realm says they’re becoming a threat to peace in the galaxy.”

Voqras waved that off. “With all due respect, Your Grace, you should know better than to believe everything the League of Realm says.”

Lord Boggond’s commlet pinged.

It was Ultek, demanding—again—to be involved in Ghaw’s “elimination.”

“I hope Captain Voqras will find a better solution,” Lord Boggond said, hesitant to go into the details in front of Yemella.

“Even so, I want to be a part of it,” Ultek said.

Lord Boggond knit his brows. “You’ve been on edge lately, Zorom. Something wrong?”

“You tell me, Your Grace.” Ultek sounded defiant. “Ever since you hired Voqras, I feel like I’m being sidelined.”

“Nonsense.”

“We had a deal, remember? I make sure you get endorsed and you give me the army.”

“I haven’t forgotten.” How could he? The man reminded him almost daily. “Why do you want it so much? It’s not like you don’t have enough power as it is.”

“Are you backpedaling on me?” Ultek raised his voice. “It’s the army that I want. It’s what I’ve always wanted, and you know it.”

Lord Boggond said nothing.

He didn’t like Ultek’s tone, and he itched to remind him of his place. But he wasn’t alone. Not to mention that he was exhausted after the public talk.

“Your Grace,” Ultek said, “think twice before you drop your longtime loyal ally for someone you don’t really know. And don’t underestimate the damage your loyal ally could do if he’s betrayed.”

“Are you threatening me?” That was rich, Ultek talking of loyalty and betrayal.

“Of course, not.” There was a brief pause. “Actually, yes. I am.”

“You’ll have what you want,” Lord Boggond said placatingly. “Just be patient.”

He muttered “over” and hung up.

They rode in silence until they dropped Yemella off.

As they continued to the Governor’s Palace, Lord Boggond turned to Voqras. “Was Heidd in the Frontier Zone the whole time?”

“You don’t trust him, Your Grace?”

“I do. But… what with his ties to Areg Sebi, and the way he looks out for Nyssa… I just want to be sure where his loyalties lie.”

“According to the tracker I placed on his vehicle, the commander didn’t return to the Central District until after we stormed Fort Crog,” Voqras said.

“Good.” Not.

Lord Boggond needed leverage to get Heidd to resign on his own. It was the only way to avoid questions and unrest in the military.

“Isn’t Chief Ultek more of a problem than Commander Heidd?” Voqras asked. “He’s turning policemen into brutes. People hate him, and by extension, the entire police force.”

Lord Boggond angled his body toward the window.

Voqras spoke again. “If he gets the army, because I know that’s what he wants, you can kiss it goodbye. Your officers are paid peanuts. Less than a private in Teteum. Your soldiers march in boots with holes in them. The only thing that holds Eia’s army—and its defenses—together is Heidd.”

Surely, Voqras was exaggerating. It was the soldier in him talking. And his ambition to take Ultek’s place as Lord Boggond’s number two.

“Then there’s his little hobby of abducting young women,” Voqras plowed on. “It’s becoming troublesome, isn’t it?”

“I need him,” Lord Boggond snapped.

“You don’t.”

Lord Boggond spun toward him. “Who do you think you are, Voqras?

“Forgive my outburst, Your Grace. But from what I’ve learned about Ultek so far, I bet he’s told you he has enough dirt on you to take you down if he went down.”

That was exactly what Ultek had said.

“Is it related to the Sebi case?” Voqras asked. “To his father’s accident? To Nollan Dreggo’s disappearance? Or does it go back all the way to Governor Iorasu’s sudden heart attack?”

The fucker was perceptive.

Voqras tut-tutted. “Chief Ultek has you by the balls, Your Grace.”

“You’re forgetting yourself, cyborg.”

“I’m sorry.” He bowed his head. “I’m just trying to convey that I can help you get rid of him if you wish. He underestimates my abilities. We can use that. We should be able to—”

“There is no ‘we,’ Captain,” Lord Boggond said dryly.

The cyborg’s face tightened.

“Even if—hypothetically—your theory was correct,” Lord Boggond continued, “I don’t mind it. I can live with my balls in the clammy hand of a moron who depends on me and whom I can manipulate.”

Voqras’s shoulders fell on a defeated sigh.

Lord Boggond arched an eyebrow. “Why should I transfer them into the iron grip of Horbell’s winged demon?”