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Imperials should be. Satha had luxuriant shoulder-length brown hair, a shapely body that was only partially concealed by a diaphanous gown, and perfectly formed bare feet. She brought her hands together in front of her chest and lowered her forehead until it came into contact with them. “The cars are here.”
    Usurlus said, “Thank you,” rose, and took a thin leather briefcase with him as he crossed the study to the point where an oval mirror was set into the wall. Appearances were important within the upper reaches of Uman society, especially on the home world of Corin, so good looks were something of a necessity. Usurlus knew he was vain—and why not? The man who stared back at him had artfully tousled blond hair, gray eyes, and an aquiline nose. Women liked him, as did men, which made his sex life wonderfully complicated.
    It was important to be careful, however. The key to success was to look good, but not too good, lest one unintentionally overshadow the Emperor. Because even though Emor was in good shape, he wasn’t especially beautiful to look upon, even after plastic surgery! So, by wearing a plain red-edged toga, a pleated kilt, and open-toed sandals, Usurlus hoped to fall well below the level of sartorial elegance Emor was known for. “You are very handsome,” Satha said, as their eyes met in the mirror.
    Usurlus smiled. He was genuinely fond of Satha—and she knew it. “And you are very beautiful!” the Legate said sincerely. “Wish me luck.”
    “I do,” Satha replied seriously. “Be careful. . . . You have enemies.”
    “Most of whom are wildly incompetent,” Usurlus said dismissively. “I plan to be home for dinner. Will you join me?”
    The question was a formality, of course, since a slave could hardly say no, but Satha was genuinely pleased. Her hands came together, and her forehead made contact with them. “Yes, master. It would be my pleasure to do so.”
    Usurlus gave Satha a peck on the cheek, left the study, and entered the hallway that led out to the public areas beyond. The elegantly furnished great room was large enough to hold a hundred people, which it frequently did whenever Usurlus had to throw a party. A robot that looked exactly like Usurlus was waiting and fell into step next to him as sliding glass doors parted company to let the “twins” pass.
    The doors closed with a discreet whisper as the two seemingly identical men stepped out onto the carefully landscaped veranda and made their way around the rooftop swimming pool to the landing pad, where two air cars sat waiting. One was for Usurlus, the other for his body double, making it that much more difficult for potential assassins to score a kill.
    Four of the Legate’s bodyguards were present, including Vedius Albus, the ex-legionnaire who was in charge of overall security. He was a hard-eyed man in his midforties who, having served the 33rd Legion with distinction for twenty-five years, had left Imperial military service to spend the rest of his life with his family on Corin. A decision Usurlus was grateful for since Albus had saved his life on two occasions. “Good morning, sire,” the ex-legionnaire said soberly, as the contingent of bodyguards came to attention.
    “Good morning, Vedius,” the real Usurlus replied cheerfully. “How’s Olivia? Well, I hope.”
    Olivia was Albus’s wife, and even though the bodyguard knew that Usurlus was being polite, he also knew that most men of his employer’s rank wouldn’t know her name, much less inquire as to her health. “She’s doing well, sire,” Albus said, as the doors for both air cars swished open. “Thank you.”
    Two bodyguards followed the body double into the first car, while Usurlus, Albus, and an ex-legionnaire named Livius took seats in the second vehicle and strapped themselves in. Both Albus and Livius wore plain togas, secured by metal pins in the shape of the Usurlus family crest, each of which included a secure two-way com device that could be