As the Princess turned a corner into another featureless corridor, she found herself discussing her situation with Audric, who followed her doggedly, occasionally glancing up to see if she was all right.

“Nanotechnology, uplifting inoculations, matter conversion, aliens that manifest dreams, two men with the skill to defeat a full-scale invasion… these are all things I never even dreamed of, and I’m one of the richest, most influential people on Terra. At first it seemed obvious, but now I wonder why on Earth these people need me? Surely, they could make better profit by trading their skills and commodities on any planet in the system. Is it not the case, Audric?”

“Plans within plans within plans,” a decidedly non-mustelid voice answered her question. “You think you are so very big and so very important, but you are just a little girl playing little games with little soldiers.”

The Princess followed the voice and saw Jean leaning against a wall, absentmindedly fiddling with a flexipad with motions that seemed almost erotic. Jean’s fancy costume and high-end haircut contrasted sharply with the bare surroundings.

“I find that those who refer to plans within plans within plans actually only have one simple plan, which they themselves are too dim to realize. Usually it’s either blackmail or a traitor in the camp,” the Princess said. “You don’t think I’m going to betray my father, do you? My family has a long and storied tradition of sons and daughters laying down their lives for the good of the nation.”

“Actually, the first stage of the plan is blackmail. The treason comes later. Or, as we call it at le tribunal du soleil, chantage. It’s so much more pleasant word than blackmail, non?”

“I find that I’m growing more tired of your presence with every passing second. Do your chantage and leave me alone. I’m in no mood for tiny people with giant egos right now.”

“Oh, it’s already done,” Jean said with an innocent smile. “Subtle, isn’t it? What would you say of our execution?”

“I’m all for it,” the Princess said bitterly. “Do I need to guess the contents of your dossier or would you kindly inform me of it, so that I can proceed to insult you some more?”

“But you already know, non? You look a little sadder than you did this morning. Maybe your petite amie is not feeling very well… hmm? Maybe you got a little glimpse six hours into her future this morning? Perhaps it spoiled your appetite a bit? Hmm?”

“How did you do it?” the Princess asked through clenched teeth.

“It wouldn’t be much of a chantage if I told you now, would it? But it is best to focus not on the how, but on the why. Let’s give the great wheel of plans a little turn, shall we, petite princesse?”

“Do you honestly expect me to do anything for you for the sake of a genetic clone that happened to serve me one night?” the Princess asked, trying to affect an air of mildly indignant indifference.

“We do, actually.” It was quite obvious now that the Jeans were much more experienced than the Princess in these matters. It was as if any reply she came up with, the siblings had already heard a million times before and already had a ready reply for at hand. “One night of service is often everything it takes to make slaves out of masters.”

The Jeans were right, but not in the way they thought they were right. Uncovering this small and useless crack in the Jeans’ plan gave the Princess a speck of consolation. They were good, but they were not perfect. She decided to try a more direct approach.

“When it comes to it, what keeps me from simply shooting you in the head?” She didn’t produce any weapons, but she assumed that Jean would know by now that even a naked aristocrat had at least one weapon on their person and a fully dressed colonel of the Old Brigade had enough weapons to arm a platoon in the very least.

“A bold move, though somewhat crude and childish. Consider this: we both have fancy anti-kinetic shields. I honestly don’t know how they interact with each other. For your consideration, as they say in the award industry.”

The Princess sighed. She knew how anti-kinetic shields interacted. It was possible to breach one, but it required an extraordinary degree of skill or brute force. She didn’t possess either.

“What do you want from me?” she asked bitterly.

“Is it not obvious?” Jean asked. “We want you to be a nice little girl and help us win the auction. If we win, your petite amie gets her antidote and lives happily ever after. If we lose, it’s le grand au revoir for your special little friend, the pretty Martina. So, are you ready to play chantage?”

The Princess considered telling Jean that she’d recorded the conversation, courtesy of Martina’s improvement of the Old Brigade uniform. She considered following this by asking what would happen when Von Schmidt learned his guests were responsible for the death of one of his maids and the debilitation of another in order to cheat in his game.

Then she changed her mind. It would be so much more satisfying to just show Von Schmidt the video and see firsthand what followed.

“Oh yes,” the Princess said grimly. “I am ready to play.”