by M. D. Cooper
<’My’ Empress?> Diana asked.
A smile graced Diana’s lips as she realized that the AI was poking fun at her. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had done that.
Tenna sent an affirmative thought, and a moment later, Prelate Ryse swept into the room. He was a large man, over two and a half meters tall, and he had a personality to match his size: boisterous and always ready to laugh or holler. Diana felt a sort of kinship with the man, though she was of the opinion that he could use some smoothing over.
“My Empress,” he said in a deferential tone when he reached her dais and bent over in a shallow bow. “Thank you for agreeing to see me on such short notice.”
Try no notice, Diana thought before replying. “Of course, Prelate, though an unanticipated visit is rarely cause for celebration. Usually such things herald dire news.”
“Oh, nothing too troublesome,” Ryse said as he straightened and his hazel eyes met hers. “I wanted to talk to you about our move against the Hegemony. I know you plan to launch one of the offensives from within my quadrant, which has not concerned me overmuch. However, I’ve just received the proposed plans from Admiral Melan, and he intends to use Spica as his main staging grounds.”
Diana nodded equably. “I read the same report not long ago. It seems reasonable to me. With the pushes the Hegemony has made in recent years, Spica now lies only forty light years from the border with our enemy.”
“I’m well aware of that,” Ryse’s baritone rumble filled the room. “It is my quadrant capital, after all.”
Her eyes narrowed as she regarded the man before her. That he was pushing back on a military buildup in his capital system surprised her. She’d suggested to Admiral Melan that he do so specifically to assuage any fears Prelate Ryse may have over the war being initiated on his doorstep.
“What is your objection?” she asked.
“It makes Spica a target,” the man declared, spreading his arms wide, fingers splayed. “The Hegemony may decide to make a preemptive strike.”
“Prelate.” Diana shook her head. “You’re not thinking along the lines of modern warfare. Yes, if we had to send our fleets through the dark layer to reach Spica, word would reach the Hegemony, and they would have time to prepare. But we’re not doing that. We’re going to use the Transcend’s jump gates to assemble our fleet. If, by some chance, the enemy learns of that, the news will precede our armadas by days, not weeks. Additionally, they won’t know where we’re going to strike. They’d be fools to launch an attack on Spica under those conditions.”
“And retribution?” Ryse asked.
The empress shook her head, wondering why the man was being so obtuse. “There won’t be any retribution. We’re going to drive a thousand daggers into our enemy. They’ll be bleeding from so many wounds that a counterattack will be the last thing on their minds. And if they come to Spica, then more the fools they. A new armada will already be massed there by the time the first one strikes.”
“Empress, I—”
“Prelate, the economic boom your capital is going to see will be beyond measure. I’ve already diverted significant resources to building defensive platforms, repair and refit facilities, and new shipyards in your quadrant. The other prelates are nearly up in arms at the benefits you’ll see from this—all at their expense, I might add.”
Ryse nodded, and a small measure of tension left the man. “Oh I know. Bella has been reaching out to me hourly. Frankly, I’m looking forward to returning to Spica just to get away from her.”
“You stand the most to lose if we do nothing, and the most to gain if we succeed. What is really the problem?”
Ryse glanced at the Impera Protego standing at ease around the room’s perimeter, and Diana snapped her fingers, initializing a privacy shield and filtering the audio from the guards’ helmets.
“It’s Bella and Fiona,” Ryse said in a low voice. “I fear they’re going to make a move against me because of the unbalanced benefit my quadrant will receive.”
The empress’s brows knit together as she regarded the man, wondering if this was his real concern, or just another probe.
“They wouldn’t dream of moving against you,” she assured him. “Not at a time like this. My retribution for such an act would be swift and permanent.”
“If you could prove they were behind it.”
“Do you think they’d kill you?” Diana asked. “Regardless of what they plan—if they’re planning anything at all—once the war begins, there’s no stopping it until either the Hegemony or Scipio capitulates or falls. And if they ruin things, the Transcend will withdraw its jump gates. Those give clear benefits to all the quadrants, war profiteering or no.”
“I don’t think anyone is war prof—”
Diana swept a hand before her to cut him off. “Oh, come now, Ryse. All four of you are hungry for the technology the Transcend has promised. It will strengthen the empire beyond measure…. The benefits to us are immense.”
“Except it’s our people’s blood that will be spilled to defeat the Hegemony.”
The man’s expression took on a pitiful cast, and she wondered why he suddenly cared about his people so much. Granted, of the four prelates, Ryse probably was the most in touch with his populace—though that wasn’t saying much. In moments of honesty, Diana admitted to herself that she too had no idea what the common citizen of the empire wished from life, or what they would really like to see their nation become.
“Let me put this another way,” the empress said, suddenly weary of the man’s objections. “This is happening. I have decreed it, and it’s already in motion. There is no objection you can make that will sway me from my course.”
Ryse’s eyebrows rose. “And damn the consequences?”
“Stop playing games with me, Prelate.” Diana stood and took a step forward. “Action and inaction both have consequences. You control more stars than most empires—you know that all too well. I think it’s time for you to declare your unequivocal support for this war against the Hegemony.”
“My Empress?” The man’s eyes widened as he realized what she was demanding of him.
“Publicly.”
Silence followed the word, and Ryse’s lips thinned to near invisibility as he regarded her.
The AI sent a feeling of agreement.
“Very well,” Ryse finally spoke, cutting off Diana’s conversation with her AI. “I will make an announcement tomorrow before I return to Spica.”
Diana found herself suspicious of the man’s need to go there. She couldn’t forbid it, not without some dire need for his presence at the palace, but she wished there was some way to make him stay.
“Very well,” she said, taking a step back and sitting on her throne. “Is there anything else?”
“No, My Empress. I’ve monopolized enough of your time. Though….”
“Yes?” Diana prompted.
“Well, since I’m about to leave, and about to redeclare my undying support of you, My Empress, would you care to share dinner with me this evening?”
“I would love to,” she replied withou
t missing a beat, “but I have a prior engagement that I cannot break. I am sorry. Perhaps we can meet in the morning and break our fast together?”
As she spoke, the corner of Ryse’s left eye crinkled, just for a second.
My rebuff upset him. Curious.
“Of course, My Empress. Shall I have it organized with Chimellia?”
“Yes, Prelate. My sum adjut will see to it.”
“Thank you, My Empress.”
With those words, the man bowed and turned away from her throne, his long strides carrying him from the room in moments.
“I will, will I?” Chimellia’s voice came from Diana’s left, and she glanced at the woman who stood in one of the hidden doorways at the back of the room.
The empress shrugged. “Would you rather someone else manage my schedule?”
“Other than Tenna?” the adjut asked, sending another barely concealed barb the AI’s way.
Chimellia’s eyes narrowed. “Somehow I don’t think so.”
“Stars,” Diana muttered. “Would you stop it, Chimellia? I need both of you if I’m to get through this. Don’t make it a competition.”
“I’m not competing.” Chimellia’s voice was cool and aloof. “I care only for efficiency.”
“I suppose you’ve come to fetch me,” Diana said as she rose from her throne once more. “Which is good, because I’m all out of patience for visitors.”
“You’d be surprised,” Chimellia muttered. “And yes, it’s time to get ready for your date tonight.”
“It’s not a date,” Diana retorted.
The sum adjut nodded, every part of her posture—barring her eyes—signaling agreement. “Of course not, My Empress.”
NO CHANCE
STELLAR DATE: 10.06.8948 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: Imperial Palace
REGION: Alexandria, Bosporus System, Scipio Empire
“No, Janice!” Danny shouted from where he stood in the center of Petra’s office, waving all six of his arms in dismay. “We don’t have time for tactile feathers, we’ll use a holoprojection.”
“But, sir,” Janice protested from where she crouched at Petra’s feet. “What if they want to get…snuggly? The holo won’t have the right feel.”
The imperial costumer took a step back from Petra, his bushy brows furrowing as he regarded his subject. “I suppose, I suppose. But we can’t be late! No no. Janice, how long will it take to print out a full body sheath covered with feathers?”
“I can do it in pieces and affix it to the sheath she’s already wearing,” the costumer’s assistant replied. “Won’t take more than an hour.”
Petra wanted to add her voice to Danny’s, as the time before she had to depart was weighing heavily on her mind. Despite that, she knew that her best route forward was to remain silent. Having already given him incredibly short notice to dress her, she knew that any protest or suggestion from her would only throw the man into a fit, and delay things further.
Alastar’s tenor came into her mind a second later.
Petra considered a scathing response, but instead only pursed her lips and held still while Danny retrieved a set of wing mounts and walked around her.
Petra bit her lip as Danny placed the mount injector on her left shoulder blade, and she felt it numb her skin with a nanospray. Not that she needed it; her internal mods were more than capable of managing the pain—though the costumer had no knowledge of her advanced biotech.
“I’ve improved the design a bit since last time,” Danny said from behind her. “The wings will fold up better, and you’ll have more control, should you choose to fly again—which I hope you do. You have no idea the accolades I received when you and President Tomlinson used my costumes as you soared to the empress’s rescue.”
“I’m just glad that you’re the best, Danny,” Petra replied. “No one else would have been able to create a costume so fast and have it work perfectly while also looking amazing.”
“Oh I know,” the man said without a modicum of humility.
Janice gave a soft snort from the 3D-printer, where she was inputting the parameters for the feathery skin that would soon be layered over Petra’s body.
Petra mused.
Petra grunted softly as she felt the wing mount sink into her bone, and then allowed it to interface with her nervous system through a carefully buffered connection. When Danny was done, the wings would feel almost like a second set of arms, which Petra had possessed several times in the past during other missions.
“What should we do with her face,” Janice asked, looking past Petra to where Danny stood attaching the second wing mount.
“Perhaps a beak?” the costumer mused. “I think it would complete the look nicely.”
“Please no,” Petra protested. “I want to be able to eat tonight.”
“Psh!” Danny slapped Petra’s arm. “You’re attending the empress. Your own desires and comforts are secondary. If I think you’ll look perfect with a beak, then a beak you shall have!”
Petra gave Janice an imploring look, and the costumer’s assistant winked before addressing Danny. “Well, they might want to, you know…”
“I’ve kissed with a beak before,” he countered. “It’s not that hard. Rather fun, once you get into it.”
“I’m not talking about kissing on the lips…” Janice drew the word out. “Lady parts aren’t too fond of pointy objects.”
Danny chuckled as he pressed the second mount into place. “You sure about that? I know some—”
“Danny!” Petra admonished.
“Core,” the man shook his head as he walked back around Petra, a smirk on his lips. “You make it sound like you’ve never had a unicorn before. I know better.”
She gave the man a cool glare in response. “I thought you never costume and tell.”
“Fine, fine.” He shrugged and strode to one of the crates. Bending over, he carefully lifted out a shimmering white wing. He cradled it in his arms while looking Petra up and down. “I wish you’d have let us swap out your legs.”
“No, I need to be graceful, not stumbling about while nerves reconnect,” she replied. “Besides, you’ve got me on these points, isn’t that enough?”
To emphasize, she lifted her right foot, brandishing the needle-fine point her foot came to before setting it back on the floor.
“A-grav en pointe is so passé,” Danny muttered. “I can’t believe you talked me into them. Talons would have been so much better.”
“We could add matching ones to the wing tips,” Janice suggested. “That would tie it together.”
“I suppose if we can’t do a beak…”
An hour later, the costumer and his assistant were finished with their work. Petra was now sheathed in a covering of soft feathers that glistened and shimmered in the light. Her face was thankfully exposed, though he’d put up a fight about the beak again before they were done.
In the end, the pair had added horns that swept back from her temples, rising half
a meter into the air. She hated to think of how hard it would be to get in and out of any vehicles, but knew she was getting off easy. Most people didn’t get any say at all as to how Danny dressed them.
The wings she bore were larger than the prior set, easily six meters from tip to tip, but they folded up in a way that the trailing features only brushed the backs of her thighs.
As Petra turned, watching her body in the holomirror, she knew that Diana would be enraptured by the form she presented. Hopefully that would be enough to ease them toward the sort of connection they used to have.
During the fitting, Alastar’s question kept reverberating in Petra’s mind: What’s your endgame?
The problem she faced was that she didn’t know…or at least, she didn’t want to admit it to herself. A real relationship with Diana was doomed. It always had been, it always would be. The empress was bound to Scipio, and Petra couldn’t wait to leave, to retire in peace somewhere far from war and intrigue.
But that was what caused her to want to be with the prickly empress more than anything. To provide the woman with something she’d never be able to get within her own empire: a true friend.
You have a funny way of going about that, though.
Though she frequently told herself she’d only been doing her job— and a very important job—she wasn’t always able to quell the guilt she felt over having lied to the woman she loved for so long.
Loved?
Petra wondered at that mental slip-up.
Even worse, she decided. Still love.
In trying to give Diana a true friend, she’d ended up betraying the empress in the same way everyone else had—she’d used the woman for her own means and then forced her hand.
I’m just as bad as the worst viper in her court, Petra thought, closing her eyes at the pain that realization brought.
That sadness threatened to fill her, until she latched onto the knowledge that Diana had been the one to propose this dinner.
Forgiveness is hard for her, but maybe it will actually come.
A small voice warned Petra that the empress might be using her, trying to rekindle the relationship for her own form of reverse control. But while that was just the sort of thing Diana would do under normal circumstances, Petra didn’t think she would in this case. Something about how hurt the empress had looked during that one brief moment the day before….
