by Bob Mauldin
The woman sat gracefully in a chair at the side of the desk and looked critically around the room. “Uncluttered, functional without being pretentious. It becomes you, Minister do’ Verlas. I could be comfortable here.”
Rentec, desperately trying to find a proper response, looked around the room as well. “Thank you, Doma kep Parrasine,” he said, switching from equals mode of address to junior-to-senior. “But someone else put all this here.”
“Nonsense! I supervised the entire move. Everything is as it was in your old office,” she said authoritatively.
“Please, Doma,” Rentec begged. “This is all... I mean, I don’t understand. I’ve tried to do the best I could, of course, under the circumstances, but...”
“There are those who use the intelligence of those around them to their best advantage. For reasons of their own, they see in you one who can be of great help in advancing the cause of the matriarch. There are also those, Minister do’ Verlas, who see in you the potential that was seen in your father before you. If I may suggest, you should read the correspondence on your desk. I’ve taken the liberty of sorting it into descending order of importance.” kep Parrasine stood up and walked toward the door. “I’ve also taken the liberty of reprogramming your comm unit with all the codes you’ll need to reach me or anyone else you should think necessary. Call me if you have any questions, sir. Your office should settle into proper operating mode by this time tomorrow. Now, I have other matters to attend to. If you will excuse me?”
Rentec nodded in shock and watched as kep Parrasine pulled the door closed. Several seconds went by before he looked down at the stack of messages on his desk. The first was in the same conspicuous blue ink that sel Garian was fond of using—so fond, in fact, that it had become her personal trademark. Fear slowed his hand as it reached out of its own accord and picked up the single piece of paper. He read, “Minister do’ Verlas, at your convenience, please contact my office and arrange an appointment. For the Matriarch, sel Garian.”
Hand shaking, Rentec set the paper down as if it were about to explode and reached for the comm unit sitting at one side of his desk. Running through the menu, he found that kep Parrasine was indeed right. Any number he might possibly need was already programmed into it, including the matriarch’s personal number!
Scrolling down until he found sel Garian’s name, he pressed the button and expected that he would be shuffled through several layers of bureaucrats before getting to speak to the infamous Policy Minister. Nothing could have surprised him more than to hear her distinctive voice answer.
“I... I’m sorry, Minister sel Garian. I expected to get a secretary. I was to make an appointment.”
“Why not now?” the mechanical voice grated. “You have the time.”
Rentec felt as if he’d stepped into a thitura’s nest. The six-legged creature was the size of a small house pet, but the venom of this tenacious pest was almost always fatal, and it never attacked directly, coming at its victims from unexpected directions until either it or its target was dead. And he’d voluntarily walked in there!
Sweat beaded on his forehead as the little old woman read aloud from a paper on her desk. “do’ Verlas. Mother: Kirel, of the kep’ Ligera clan. Father: Tira do’ Verlas, Minister for Spatial Affairs before you. ‘Highly intelligent and capable but unmotivated unless challenged,’ it says in your secondary school transcripts. We’ll see what we can do about your motivation, young Rentec. And you will rise to the challenge. Of that I am certain.”
Frozen in place by the carnelian gaze of the second-most powerful woman in the Shiravan Polity, Rentec could only fight to keep his breathing as even as possible. Don’t let your enemies see your fear, he remembered his father telling him on more than one occasion. They will use it to break you. Buoyed up by the thought of his father’s advice, gone now for over three turnings, Rentec’s chest eased slightly and he looked back, outwardly calm, into eyes whose depths he couldn’t fathom.
“It had been decided,” sel Garian said after a short pause, “that one of the things needed in this war is a more youthful viewpoint. Another is a spirit of adventure that seems to be sadly lacking in most Shiravans these days. It’s most surprising to me to find that combination in a male. But we are speaking of the do’ Verlas line. If we wish to win this war rather than become slaves to the Korvil, daring action must be taken.” She stared at the young man who was squirming in the chair before her. “It has therefore been decided that you will be transported to the summer estate of the matriarch, there to become an adviser in matters that require a more youthful frame of mind.” The words seemed to be forced out of the woman’s mouth by someone else. “You will be expected to arrive no later than one week from today. Will that give you enough time to set your ministry in order and appoint a new underminister with more youthfulness and vision?”
“Of course, Minister sel Garian. May I ask what criteria other than youthfulness and vision are required? And from where may I choose a new underminister?”
“The decisions will be yours alone, young Rentec,” he was told. “You may choose anyone you wish. The matriarch and I will be watching to see how you handle this assignment, and I believe we will all learn much. Now. I have many cords to pull this day. Go. Be inventive.” She waved a hand at the door, and Rentec stood to leave. “Oh, and do’ Verlas.”
“Yes, Minister?”
“I would advise you to be more diligent about reading the correspondence that is sent to your office. Someone goes to the trouble to send it. It is rude to ignore it, don’t you think?”
“Yes, Minister.” Heart pounding, Rentec closed the door on her brooding gaze, feeling as if he’d barely escaped with his life.
On the other side of the door, the little old woman recognized a pivotal moment for the entire Shiravan race, her nervousness betrayed by one claw-like finger tapping a steady beat.
“It would seem, cousin,” Pardo do’ Nallen said admiringly as he looked around the new office, “that this war has done well by you already. Rumor has it that your star is rising rather quickly.”
“Remember,” Rentec said with asperity, “fast-rising stars burn hotter, and hotter stars have shorter lives.”
Catching the temper of Rentec’s last statement, Parlo chose to ignore it. “So, cousin, what did you have in mind when you invited me here? Knowing you, it wasn’t to show off your new decor.”
“Are you happy in your post at Defense, Parlo? Do you have enough to keep you busy?”
“Strange questions, Rennie,” Parlo returned, using Rentec’s childhood nickname. “Why do you ask?” The caution in his voice was mirrored by the narrowing of his eyes.
“What would you say about moving from Defense to Spatial Affairs? I realize that now wouldn’t be a good time to change ministries under normal conditions, but these aren’t normal times. We haven’t spoken since sel Garian’s announcement,” Rentec said, alluding to the deeper nature of the revelations of that night, “and I was wondering if you’d be willing to move over here as my underminister.”
“Are you serious? Of course, I would! But it would mean that I’d have to move into Quillas proper,” Parlo mused aloud. “That could pose a problem. Living space is at a premium, right now, you know.”
“I believe I can get around that, Parlo. All you need to do is agree to the transfer, and the position is yours.” Rentec slid a piece of paper across the desk. “Sign at the bottom and my secretary will take care of all the necessities, including finding you an apartment befitting your new position nearby.”
As Parlo reached for a stylus to affix his signature to the document, he said, “You had this ready in advance, Rennie. How did you know I would agree?”
“I didn’t, cousin. You were just the first one I asked,” Smiling sheepishly, he pulled a slim stack of papers out of a drawer. “Seven other names were under consideration. You do need to know that as underminister you’ll have to fill in for me when my duties take me awa
y from Quillas, which, as it happens, will be almost immediately and quite often.”
“Sounds quite sinister, but I’ll take the gamble. You have yourself a new underminister,” Parlo said, signing the document on the table before him.
Rentec smiled slightly in remembrance of his recent conversation with sel Garian. “Sinister could be a very apt word, cousin.” He picked up his comm unit. “Doma kep Parrasine, would you come in here for a moment?”
“kep Parrasine? As your personal secretary? What are you hiding from…?” Parlo choked off the sentence as the woman walked through the door.
“Yes, Minister?”
“If you would be so kind, Doma, I need this forwarded to the Ministry of Defense,” Rentec said, handing her the signed document. “Also, would you see about finding an appropriate apartment for our new underminister?”
“At once, Minister,” she said deferentially. Turning to Parlo, she said, “Welcome to the Ministry of Spatial Affairs Underminister do’ Nallen.”
The lack of stature of the Ministry of Spatial Affairs in the past had kept Rentec from having a reason to visit or be invited to any of the matriarch’s personal holdings. Now, with the ascendancy of his ministry, Rentec was treated as if he’d been a visitor for turns. A full day before the deadline imposed by sel Garian, Rentec took a private suborbital reserved for his ministry’s use to the matriarch’s summer estate halfway around the planet from Quillas. He’d argued as violently as possible to keep the suggested retinue down to a size that wouldn’t embarrass him, but kep Parrasine’s eyes bored into him with a focused look.
“You’ll need to make an impression when you arrive, Minister,” she said not unreasonably.
It is apparent to me, at least, he said to himself stepping onto the tarmac after the half-hour flight, that I’ve already made an impression in some corner or other.
After a week of dealing with kep Parrasine, his perverse nature came to a head. “I’m not at all sure that I care to have been thrust into the spotlight like this.”
“It is the matriarch’s opinion that you, Minister do’ Verlas, are the proper person at the proper time to make a difference in the course of our history. It is not for you to gainsay her.”
“Was it the matriarch’s decision or sel Garian’s?” he retorted with a vigor that was not his normal manner. “My ‘youth’ is not necessarily an advantage here, you know.”
“Again, that is not your decision to make, Minister,” kep Parrasine put a less than subtle emphasis on his title.
He fumed silently as he watched a valet, secretary, two runners, and baggage handlers deplane after him and kep Parrasine. “You will be happy to know that after this excursion, you won’t have to deal with a kep Parrasine again for a while, Minister, since I’ll be staying here after your visit. I’m not unaware,” she added tartly, “that I, as well as the rest of my family, are held in less than the highest esteem by some because of our military, and that causes unease amongst many Shiravans. You’d be well advised, also, Minister, to keep in mind the fact that at this time in our history, we need a militancy that has been absent for more generations than I, personally, care to count. People like sel Garian are needed to deliver our entire race from the ignominy of slavery to the Korvil—that is, the survivors, at least. And much as you’d wish it otherwise, you are one of those who will stand beside a kep Parrasine and a sel Garian to deliver our people from that fate. Now, Minister, put on a less antagonistic face, if you please. We are about to be in the presence of those who will report every word to the matriarch.”
“As if you won’t?” Rentec’s perversity kept surprising even himself.
“Be careful, Minister. Even my patience has limits,” kep Parrasine warned.
The ride from the landing field to the matriarch’s personal summer holdings went past some of the most beautiful sugar-sand beaches on the planet, and Rentec marveled at the sight. The Stala Mountains ran almost a thousand miles north to south, bordering those beaches until they doglegged west, leaving a fertile plain which the des’ Harras clan had held title to for over two thousand turns. It was here that the matriarch chose to settle in the summer to avoid the heat that afflicted Quillas City.
Rounding the final bend in the mountain range, Rentec saw for the first time the shimmering buildings constructed of the fabled gava stone mined only in the Stalas. The operation had made the des’ Harras clan rich many times over in the past millennia, and the reason was most obvious here. The last rays of the westering sun illuminated the scene, causing the buildings to glow with an internal light all their own—the property of gava stone that made it the most expensive and sought-after building material on Shiravi. Gava stone was highly prized for its reaction to light and heat. A single stone, big enough to be set into a ring or pendant for a man or woman, could cost a week’s pay, a sculpture, or a king’s ransom, and here was an entire city of the stuff.
Rentec’s suborbital grounded at a private landing field not far from the glowing, fanciful structures, and he self-consciously led the group of people with him (at kep Parrasine’s nearly subvocal direction) toward the waiting transport. Seating himself, Rentec looked out a window toward the ship and saw the baggage module being transferred to the transport. Glancing out the other side of the vehicle, he saw the city shimmering in the distance, situated to catch the full effect of the setting sun.
Rentec found himself in a suite of rooms with a valet arranging his clothes, his discomfiture growing with each passing moment. “Leave. Now.” he said irritably. He wandered around the suite aimlessly, wishing Ramannie were there for him to talk to. The reason for their spat was now forgotten, a thing of the past, and his feeling of isolation continued to grow until a chime sounded, calling him to the door.
The liveried attendant showed no surprise when Rentec opened the door. “The matriarch’s compliments, Minister do’ Verlas, and would you attend her at your earliest convenience?”
“Would now be an inopportune moment, ther’a?” he asked, adopting the informal mode of address.
“Your request has been anticipated, Minister,” the woman said, “and the matriarch awaits your arrival.”
““Very well, ther’a. If you would be so kind as to lead the way?”
Apprehension growing with each step, Rentec copied the sedate pace of the attendant as she led him without interruption past several obvious guard stations into the private apartments of the matriarch. An interminable wait followed as she disappeared to inform the Shiravan ruler of his presence.
Rentec truly hadn’t known what to expect, but the last thing he did expect was to find Linnas des’ Harras, Matriarch of the Shiravan Polity, sitting on the floor giving a language lesson to one of the aliens—the shorter female he surmised from his one look weeks earlier.
“Rentec do’ Verlas, Minister for Spatial Affairs,” the attendant said formally.
“Come,” the woman on the floor said without preamble. “Sit here and help me, Minister do’ Verlas.” She patted the floor beside her. “I wish to introduce you to Maggie Spencer. We seem to be having some difficulty with our language lessons, as usual. Perhaps you might be able to help?”
Rentec sat down slowly beside the leader of the entire Shiravan Polity and asked, “If I may, Your Grace, what are you trying to teach... her?”
“‘Her’ is proper, I think. I do believe her to be the female. I want her to learn that this,” she said, setting a cup of water down on the floor, “is called a ‘cup,’ but we seem to be running into a barrier.”
He picked up the cup and looked at the alien long and thoughtfully. The long, yellowish fur on her head fur was disconcerting, as were her features, but he could see the intelligence behind the eyes. A vivid blue, they were causing him to stare unabashedly.
“I had the same reaction,” the matriarch said. “Not a proper color for eyes at all.”
Rentec continued to study the alien female. She had two eyes on the front of the hea
d, indicating predatory ancestry, ears on each side providing directional hearing, a single nose in the proper place but deformed into a lump, along with a mouthful of teeth that indicated an omnivorous heritage—not altogether unlike his own race. Physical differences could be attributed to different evolutionary tracks, but all in all, the similarities were enough to make him think the problems were not insurmountable.
“How are you describing this, Your Grace?” he asked holding the cup out to his ruler.
“I set it on the floor and say ‘cup,’ of course.”
“I see several things that one not familiar with our language could imagine from your actions, Your Grace,” Rentec started.
“Name two,” she challenged him.
“The idea of ‘cup’ versus the idea of ‘water’ for starters,” he said. “Then there’s the concept of ‘place on floor’ or ‘place cup on floor.’ May I?”
“By all means, do.”
Rentec looked at the alien and poured the water onto the floor. He reached out and patted the wet spot with one hand, saying, “Water.” Holding the cup up at eye level, he tapped it with a finger. “Cup,” he said distinctly.
