Damned If You Do

Isaiah Friedman looked up at the social engineering construct—or SE construct, as it was usually called—with eyes akin to a parent watching their child walk upon the graduation stage. It had done much for the intergalactic community in the three short years since its activation. It had stifled conflict, prevented insurrection, and boosted economic growth. As its principal architect, Isaiah couldn't help but be proud of its accomplishments, even if it was just a machine. 

And now it was going to help them again. 

His assistant, Barry Goodwin, let out an exacerbated sigh as he finished feeding the newest field reports into the large slit at its base. Isaiah couldn't blame him. They had reams upon reams of paper documenting the most recent intel gathered by their spies and fly-drones on Mericostia. It was likely a long and arduous task.  

Seconds later, the SE construct's screen lit up. A series of emerald characters—indecipherable to anyone but Barry and himself—flashed upon the light-blue monitor. 

"Okay," said Isaiah, "let's see what we've got here." 

The two silently studied the SE construct's analysis for approximately ten minutes, their foreheads furrowed as they studied the complicated web of Mericostia's body politic. 

"It appears that the SE construct has identified Frederick Surbin as a weak link," said Barry. 

Isaiah nodded contemplatively. "Yeah," he said, his voice trailing, "I saw that too…" 

Frederick Surbin, one of the seven Surbin brothers. The Kingdom of Mericostia consisted of eight planets—seven ruled by a lord of King Machavariani's choosing and the central world—the namesake of the kingdom—ruled by the monarch himself. And it just so happened that King Machavariani chose his close friends of the house Surbin to rule the other fiefdoms. It was a decision driven purely by sentiment, for even a fool could see how it made him vulnerable. 

Of them all, it was Frederick, the youngest of them, who the King loved most. They were about the same age and had spent their childhoods together. And, per the fly-drones they had buzzing around the King's castle, he was a frequent guest of honor. 

"That's interesting," said Barry. 

Barry's words tore Isaiah from his contemplation. "What," he asked. "Something I missed?" 

  "Well," began Barry, "according to the construct, there's an 87 percent certainty that Frederick's in love with the King's consort, Princess Nastya. Apparently, they were teenage sweethearts. They probably would have married if Frederick hadn't been sent to Earth as an ambassador to the UN years ago. While he was away, she met Machavariani. After a six-month courtship, the two married, probably at the suggestion of her father, who recognized the opportunity for more power. But, based on our fly-drones’ facial analysis software, the SE construct doesn't think he's moved on. In fact, it predicts that if Nastya were to initiate advances, he would readily reciprocate—an 84 percent certainty!"

Barry turned and flashed Isaiah a thin, mischievous smile. "Perhaps that's where we should twist the knife." 

Isaiah snickered. He knew there was a reason he kept Barry around. "A betrayal like that—King Machavariani would have no choice but to execute them. At least if he wants to keep his honor. But I doubt Frederick's brothers would react well to that. Do you think that Princess Nastya feels the same way?"

"Let's see." 

At Barry's command, the SE construct displayed information on Princess Nastya. 

They only studied the information briefly before a harsh, malignant laugh burst from Isaiah's mouth. "Well, would you look at that—she's a poet. And of her many works is a piece titled Forbidden Love, which she has written in her diary, kept hidden even from the King himself. I wonder who that's about?" 

"I understand your optimism," Barry said, "but look at the last line: But I dare not act on this love, a wish never granted. I am a princess, a wife to a king. I must grow where I am planted. She may love Frederick, but her duty takes precedence over her feelings."

A slim, snakish smile spread across Isaiah's cheeks. "But we have ways of lowering a person's inhibitions."

* * *

King Machavariani's serving staff was surprisingly easy to infiltrate. Once the original employee was incapacitated by a pinch of tranquilizing fluid slipped into her coffee by a fly-drone, all Katie Limerick had to do was take her uniform and enter the castle. Nobody, not even the King's guard, batted an eye. It was typical of elites to ignore their underlings, to treat those who served them as less than invisible. In King Machavariani's case, it would be his downfall. 

Once Katie arrived, the King's head butler—a bald, hook-nosed man named Baldrick Flax—assigned her to set up tables for the banquet that night. The King was to have Lord Sabastian Surbin, brother of Lord Frederick, for dinner, and, as usual, it was to be a grand occasion.  

So Katie got to work, unconcerned about how she would go about her mission. After all, as Isaiah assured her: "The way will be prepared for you. All you need to do is get in and lay low until the opportunity arrives." 

She was straightening out a cloth around a table when another server—a thin girl with tan skin and bright, blonde hair—tapped on her shoulder. "Excuse me," she said shyly. "Baldrick asked me to roll some more tables out. They're pretty heavy. I was wondering if I could get you to help me."

Katie shrugged. "Sure."

Katie finished setting up the table and followed the women out of the main hall. They rushed through the castle's convoluted corridors until they reached the storage room where the tables were kept. 

Katie opened the door and peered inside. "Oh," she said as she stared into the empty room. "There's nothing her—" 

Before she could finish her sentence, Katie felt a shocking impact against her back. Immediately, her body went numb. Like boiled spaghetti noodles, her legs were loose and flimsy. Her knees buckled, and she fell face-first to the floor. 

Above her, she heard the woman enter the room and shut the door behind her. She felt her tight grip on her shoulders. Then, with the same roughness a construction worker moved a bag of concrete, she turned Katie over. 

"What," began Katie. She paused, somewhat surprised that she could still talk. "What did you do to me?" 

"Just a stun blast," the woman said, brandishing a chromium-plated pistol before her. "It'll only paralyze you for thirty minutes or so."

"And why did you do this to me?"

The woman glared at her. "I'm an agent of Sheehan Girshick—"

"Oh, so you're a traitor, like her," Katie said, her words chosen to agitate the woman even further. 

It worked. The woman's eyes widened and began to pulsate with a throbbing fury. "If trying to prevent you from starting a war makes me a traitor, I'll gladly take the title." 

Katie tensed her features to hide her befuddlement. How does this bitch know my mission here? 

The woman pressed a finger to her temple. "Be mindful of your thoughts," she said, "for even those aren't hidden from me." 

"You're a telepath," Katie said. 

"An astute observation," the woman said derisively. 

"But that still doesn't explain how you know," said Katie. "My superiors are mentally trained to repel any telepathic intrusion into their minds. How did you bypass that barrier?" 

The woman snorted out a cocky laugh. "Men are so predictable," she said. "Show them a pretty face and a little cleavage, and suddenly, their mental faculties begin to deteriorate. To Barry Goodwin's credit, he only slipped for a second. Still, a second was all I needed to learn everything you UN types are planning." 

"So you know everything," Katie asked. 

"I know everything," the woman said with a snarl. "I know that you plan to start a civil war within the Kingdom of Mericostia. I know that you plan to slip what essentially amounts to a date-rape drug into Princess Nastya's wine tonight with the hope that it will cause her to bang Lord Frederick." 

"Then you also know what will happen if I don't succeed," Katie said. "The Kingdom of Mericostia will continue to grow. Soon enough, eight planets won't be enough for it. They will begin a campaign of conquest across the UN-allied worlds, and many will die. The SE construct gives it a—"

"Oh, you guys and your SE construct," said the woman. "That machine isn't God. It doesn't know everything." 

"It knows enough," Katie retorted. "It knows that all peaceful options are unlikely, with the highest probability of peace at a mere 7 percent. You know that. You read Barry's mind, for heaven's sake." 

For the first time in their conversation, the woman's composure faltered. Her gaze lingered on the ground, and her shoulders hunched. "Yes, I do know that," she said uncertainly. "But it's just a machine. It can only work based on the inputs you give it. If the people operating the SE construct want war, war is the only solution it will provide." 

"That's a lot of assumptions to make," said Katie. "The SE construct has been correct 97 percent of the—"

The woman's harsh demeanor suddenly returned. "Did you know that children will be on the front lines," she said furiously. 

Katie's words stammered clumsily out of her throat. "W-wha… What?"

"Your superiors didn't mention that, did they," she said. "Yes. Children will be on the front lines. Once the House Surbin's forces begin to dwindle, they will put children in mechs and force them to fight. They will start with orphans first, but eventually, they'll start taking kids from their parents." 

The woman closed her eyes and sighed. This conversation was starting to wear on her. "I don't know how we prevent war," she admitted. "Perhaps it's unavoidable. But I know that a civil war fought by children isn't the answer." 

Katie opened her mouth for a retort but stopped when she saw a fly slip in from under the door. It buzzed about the room, making lazy curly-cues in the air until it suddenly flew up the woman's shirt unnoticed. 

Could it be, Katie wondered. 

There were thousands of fly-drones on Mericostia, each equipped with microscopic cameras that transmitted directly to the SE construct. But some of them were equipped with tranquilizing chemicals for emergencies like this. Could this be one of them? Katie could only hope. 

The woman's eyes widened. "No," she said, her voice dripping with shock. 

She frantically reached behind her and began smacking her back. But it was futile. She only made it two blows before her body suddenly went slack and fell to the floor. When she landed, the fly drone crawled out from her right sleeve and buzzed out of the room. 

Five minutes of silence lingered as Katie waited for her body to regain motion. Her fingers were the first to recover, and she wriggled them impotently for a while as the rest of her body caught up. Her arms were next. And then her legs. Grimacing, she pushed herself off the floor and wobbled clumsily to the door. By the time she returned to her duties, her gait was normal. It was as if nothing had happened.

* * *

Just as the banquet was about to begin, Baldrick approached Katie and, resting his hand gingerly on her shoulder, gave her her assignment that evening. "I'm entrusting to you one of the more vital jobs of the night," he began. "You will serve as Princess Nastya's personal waitress. Everything she needs—silverware, hors d'oeuvres, drink refills—will be your only responsibility. You will stand by her the entire night, waiting on each request. Can I trust you to do that?" 

Katie was astonished. She wondered how the SE construct knew Baldrick would choose her as the Princess's personal server. Was she his type, thus making it more likely that he would subconsciously favor her? Or perhaps he had a daughter or niece who looked like her. Whatever the case, Isaiah made good on his promise—the way was prepared for her. 

Katie nodded solemnly. "You can," she said as reverently as she could. "Thanks for trusting me with this duty. It's an honor."  

As Katie made her way to the banquet hall, she discreetly pulled the quartz gem off her ring, dabbed her left pinkie in the LSD-bremelanotide mixture hidden underneath, and pushed it back on. The concoction was a clear liquid. If there were any astute observers in the room—and, it being a banquet with wine and fine food aplenty, there likely were none—they would only notice a slight gloss on the pad of her finger. 

It didn't take long for Princess Nastya to request a refill of her wine. She turned toward Katie, her pointed chin held up in pompous expectation, and held up her glass—the unspoken signal for a refill. 

Katie grabbed the bottle and approached. 

Just as the lip of the bottle hovered over the glass, Katie paused, her mind dancing frantically as she considered the implications of what she was about to do. Once the Princess took in the drug, she, per the SE construct's analysis, would be 98 percent more likely to make advances upon Lord Frederick while the King was distracted with the festivities. There was an 84 percent chance Lord Frederick would reciprocate, and there was a 90 percent chance that King Machavariani, upon discovering them, would sentence both to death. 

If these conditions were met, civil war within the Kingdom of Mericostia was certain. The eight planets would destroy themselves, and any future conflict with the UN-allied territories would be avoided. She would save billions. 

But still, she could feel something holding her back. She thought of what the woman said earlier. Was it true? Would the Surbin alliance really put children on the front lines? Isaiah said nothing about that in their briefing, but that man was known for the secrets he kept. If it was true, how responsible would she be for their eventual deaths? 

And what of the children of the UN-allied worlds? Wouldn't some of them die if Mericostia attacked? What made the children of Mericostia more special than them? Wouldn't she be condemning them to death if she decided to defy Isaiah's orders?  

A warm sigh eked from Katie's teeth. She didn't know what was right. No matter how she tried to rationalize each decision, she was still left with a cold, sick feeling in her gut. Damned if you do, damned if you don't, she thought. 

"Excuse me, ma'am," the Princess said, a slight tinge of annoyance apparent in her voice. “Are you going to fill my drink, or not?"

A soft, fabricated chuckle escaped Kaite's lips. "Sorry, Your Majesty," she said. "I'll get right on that."