The Return of the Emperor

by Chris Bunch

  "Are you sure,” Solon Kenna pressed, “that we can't do anything more?"

  "Maybe you can,” came the answer. “I'm not sure. But right now, why don't you just stick tight. Enjoy yourself. I'll get back to you."

  The Eternal Emperor shook the hand of one singularly happy politician.

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  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  THE KEY TO the Kingdom looked unimpressive—deliberately so. It was a small moonlet, one of dozens larger and smaller, orbiting around a Jovian planet. The system was notable for only two reasons: it was completely without commercial value, and it was two steps beyond nowhere.

  The moonlet had been constructed several centuries before. An asteroid was chosen for its size and worthlessness. Deep space crews were paid to excavate patterns across the asteroid and to install cables in those patterns. The excavations were filled in. The first crew was paid off and informed that their work had been part of a classified Imperial project. Then a second crew was brought in to construct a small underground shelter and, a few klicks away, an underground dock, hidden from line-of-sight to the shelter by a high ridge. Into the shelter went generators, supplies, and several elaborate and undescribed coms. The second crew was paid off. Somehow, as time passed, the beings who had worked on either crew got the idea that the classified project had been a failure, just another unspectacular research pan-out.

  Drone tugs moved the asteroid to its chosen location around the gaseous giant and nudged it into orbit. Later Mantis teams, who were not told of the asteroid's existence, were sent in to provide security monitors in the system.

  There were four other “keys” scattered around the universe, their location known only to the Eternal Emperor. They all had the same purpose.

  The coms were set to accept only the Eternal Emperor and contained every screening device conceivable, from DNA pattern to pore prints, even to include the specious Bertillon classification. If anyone else entered the shelter, the corns would melt down into incomprehensible slag.

  The coms were linked to a ship, somewhere in ... another space ... and to the roboticized mining/factory ships around it. On signal, the recommendation from the ship would be changed. Transshipment of AM2 would begin.

  The long trains of robot “tankers” could also be controlled from the moonlet. Under “normal” circumstances, such as The Eternal Emperor having died accidentally, they might be routed to the conventional depot worlds. Or, under differing circumstances elsewhere. To reward the faithful and punish the heathens—or vice versa, depending on what the Emperor decided was the quickest, most expeditious way to regain control.

  The Eternal Emperor crept into the system. He was in no hurry whatsoever. He repeatedly consulted the elaborate pickups he had requested be installed in the ship donated by the grateful Kenna. If any of the sensors showed any intrusion into the system—a lost mining ship, a drone, or even a wandering yacht—there was only one choice. Instantly abort and move to whichever moonlet was convenient for a secondary command site.

  There was nothing reported by any of the out-system sensors. The Emperor chanced an arcing sweep over the system itself. Nothing. Emboldened, he reentered the system and closed on the gaseous giant. All pickups were clean.

  He came in on the moonlet on the hemisphere opposite the shelter and nap-of-the-earthed to the dock. Its ports yawned—again, pickups clean—and he landed.

  The Emperor suited up, made sure the suit's support mechanisms were loaded, and started for the shelter.

  Halfway up that ridge, he muttered under his breath about being too paranoid. It was not easy staying low on a nearly zero-gee world. He had no desire to “pop up” into range if anyone was waiting at the dome, or to punt himself into orbit. Not only would jetting back be embarrassing, but he would be too easy to pick up if he was walking into a trap.

  A few hundred meters from the shelter's entrance—just another slide-blocked cave—he stopped. He waited a full six E-hours, watching. Nothing. The way was clear.

  The suit's environment system whined, trying to stabilize the temperature and recycle the sweat pouring from the Emperor's body. His fingers unconsciously touched his chest. Under suit, skin, and muscle the bomb waited.

  He unsealed his pistol's holster and took a tiny com from his belt. He slid a wand-like probe out. In a rush, he went across the open space to the slide area. The probe was inserted into a nearly invisible hole, and the Emperor touched a button. After a moment, the slide opened. The Emperor could feel the vibration under his boot heels.

  He walked into the cavern. The door slid closed behind him. Lights glowed on. He checked a panel. Again, no intrusion. The heaters were on full blast, and atmosphere was being dumped into the shelter. Very good.

  He walked to a door, palmed it, and the door slid away. Inside, there was a small bedroom/kitchen/living suite. He closed the door behind him and glanced at another panel. Atmosphere ... ninety-five percent E-normal. Temperature ... acceptable. He unsealed his faceplate.

  He felt hungry. The Emperor hoped that he had provided adequate rations. He would eat, then activate the com. He walked to the com room entrance—and the world shattered! He was greeted not by gleaming, waiting readouts and signal gear, but by cooled masses of molten metal.

  Instantly the signal began, in his brain:

  Exposure ... Trap ... Discovered ... Self-destruct! Self-destruct!

  Another part of his brain:

  No. Wait. Trap not confirmed. Too much time. Cannot recommence program without terminal damage to goal! Return to stand-by! Program override!

  The bomb did not go off. Not even when the storeroom door opened and a voice said, “My security operatives were not as sophisticated as they believed."

  The Emperor saw a space-suited figure, tall and gaunt. An arm reached up and opened the suit's faceplate.

  It was Kyes.

  Again, the order ... and again, somehow, the command was overridden. “I am the only being in this system—besides yourself,” Kyes said.

  The Emperor found he could think once more. He said nothing, very sure that his voice would crack if he spoke.

  Kyes waited, then continued."Your progression here—and to return to your throne—is clever. It reminds me a bit of an Earth-legend I read. About a human named, Theseus, if I recall correctly."

  "It could not have been that clever,” the Emperor managed.

  "Not true. For anyone to look for you, let alone find you, requires beginning with an insane belief: that you did not die. And then incredible resources."

  Kyes indicated the destroyed com sets.

  "My apologies for the ineptitude of my personnel. Although I am sure other stations besides this one exist. The resumption of the AM2 shipments can still begin—although that is meaningless to me."

  The Emperor considered that. The situation was becoming ... not familiar, exactly ... but it appeared to be within understanding and possible control. First assumption: Kyes was planning to cut a deal and betray his fellow conspirators. No. He had said that AM2 was meaningless. Kyes wanted something else.

  "You said you and I are the only beings in this system. To ask the obvious question: What is to prevent me from simply shooting you and escaping?"

  "Why would you do something such as that?” Kyes asked in astonishment. “Revenge? Hardly a sensible motive, let alone Imperial. Especially considering that our attempt to ... alter the chains of power ... failed."

  Failed? Instant analysis: Kyes's previous statement that “you did not die,” and now this. The situation was improving—Kyes had not understood everything.

  "Even if you desired to indulge your whim...” Kyes lifted a transmitter from his belt. “Standard vital-signs transmitter. If it ceases broadcasting, my support team will move in. I do not think that you could escape their net."

  "You are making some large assumptions, Sr. Kyes. I have been known to indulge myself on occasion. Privilege of the purple and all that."

  "True. At fi
rst, when I established where you were headed, I thought of an ambush—while I remained safely in the wings. Tranquilizer guns ... gas ... whatever. Instantly immobilize you, hold you in a drugged state until mind control could be accomplished. But I did not think any plan I conceived would work. You've slipped through too many nets in the past.

  "Besides ... if I offered you violence, you would be almost certain to reject my offer."

  "I am listening."

  "First, I offer you my complete, personal loyalty and support. I will do anything—either from within or without—to remove the privy council.

  "I am not trying to convince you that my assistance would in any way decisively ensure the outcome which I see as inevitable. But I could make their downfall happen much more rapidly, and probably decrease the amount of havoc they can wreak as they are destroyed.

  "Once your Empire is restored, I offer you my continuing loyalty and support."

  The Emperor snorted. “Riming one's coat,” he said “tends to be habit-forming."

  "That will not happen. Not if you fulfill your part of the bargain.

  "But that is as may be. You might choose not to be reminded of ... what has happened by my presence. In which case I accept exile, which in no way will lessen my offer to assist in any way conceivable.

  "However, I can offer something still more important. My entire species as your freely consenting—'slaves’ is not a correct word. But that is, in essence, what we would be if you can conceive of any slave leaping into chains. This, too, is easily achieved."

  "Your people,” the Emperor observed, “certainly would be welcomed if they chose to become total supporters of my Empire. Not, unless I am missing something ... easily achieved, as you just said."

  "You are wrong."

  "Very well then. What, specifically, am I to deliver?” the Emperor asked, although he was suddenly, sickeningly aware of what the answer had to be.

  "Life,” Kyes said hoarsely, almost stammering. “Immortality. You perhaps understand the tragedy of death. But what if it occurs at a preset, biologically determined time, a time when a being is at the full height of his powers and awareness? The tragedy of our species.

  "I want—and I want for my people—eternal life. The same immortality you have.

  "I offered to make a bargain. I will better it. I will now guarantee everything I said. As your subject, I ask for this gift."

  And Kyes awkwardly knelt.

  There was silence—a silence that lasted for years.

  "You poor, sad bastard,” the Emperor finally said.

  Kyes rose. “How can you reject this? How can you ignore my logic? My promises?"

  The Emperor chose his words carefully. “Logic ... promises ... have nothing to do with it. Listen to what I am saying. I am immortal. But—” He tapped his chest. “This body is not. You are asking a gift I cannot give. Not to you, not to any other being of any other race or species."

  Kyes's eyes were burning lances. “This is the truth?"

  "Yes."

  And Kyes believed. But his stare continued. Uncomfortable, the Emperor turned away. Again, there was the long silence. The Eternal Emperor reached deep into his bag of tricks.

  "Perhaps ... perhaps there is a compromise. I am willing to make a counteroffer. You help me destroy the privy council, and I will find the resources to commit to a research program, funded and supported as a Manhattan Project.

  "It might take generations. Such a program—if a solution can be found—will not help you or your generation. But that is the best offer I can make."

  He turned back. Kyes had not moved.

  "It is unsatisfactory,” the Emperor started, “compared to what—” He stopped.

  There was no response whatever from the Grb'chev. The Emperor moved out of Kyes's line of sight. Neither Kyes's head nor eyes shifted. The Emperor went to him and moved his hand across Kyes's field of vision. No response.

  Perhaps it was the shock, realizing that there was no Holy Grail for Kyes or his species. Perhaps it was less dramatic—he was far beyond his time.

  Kyes's mouth fell open. Digestive fluids dribbled from it.

  The Emperor quickly checked the vital-signs indicator on Kyes's belt. All physical indicators ... normal.

  He snapped his faceplate closed and hurried toward the exit, then turned back. The idiot that had been Kyes still stood as it had, held erect by the weight of his suit.

  "Poor, sad bastard,” the Emperor said again.

  It was the best epitaph he could manage—and the only one he had time for.

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  BOOK FOUR

  'MORITURITE SALUTAMUS'

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  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  THE SCHOLARS OF Newton wore a perpetual puzzled expression that an agro-world student once compared to a cow who had just had an inseminator's burly fist jammed up its behind. As the Tribunal neared its opening, Sten saw the puzzled look jump to open, smiling surprise. Kilgour said it was as if the fist had been replaced by the real thing.

  Never in its dusty, academic history had the thousands of professors who toiled on the university world been paid so much attention.

  When word was purposefully leaked of the events about to unfold, livie crews from all over the Empire raced to Newton to beat the expected privy-council crackdown. Newton's administration was nearly buried by requests for permission to attend, not just from news teams, but from political experts, legal scholars, historians, and the merely curious.

  Sten, Alex, and Mahoney scrambled like mad beings to set up a security system to sift through the millions of requests. The task was especially difficult, because the whole idea was to give maximum exposure to the Tribunal's proceedings. They managed to get it all in hand—plus hundreds of other details—before the public opening.

  Meanwhile, Dean Blythe, his faculty, and the millions of students who attended the many colleges that made up the university system, were besieged for interviews. No dull fact, boring reaction, or drab bit of color was too lowly for the news-hungry media. For a short time every resident of Newton was a livie star.

  The information hunger was particularly intense, because although Sr. Ecu had revealed the general purposes of the Tribunal—sitting in judgment of the privy council—he had kept the nature of the charges secret to all but the judges. Everyone believed the bill of indictment involved the AM2. In other words, conspiracy to defraud. Sr. Ecu could only imagine the surprise when the real charges were announced: Conspiracy to murder.

  Sr. Ecu had chosen Newton because of its long history and reputation for impartiality. He had expected, however, tremendous difficulty in getting Dean Blythe to agree to host the Tribunal. Instead, once the security precautions had been detailed, the agreement was quickly reached. It helped that Dean Blythe had been an Imperial general before he had taken up the life of a scholastic. More importantly, one of the first places the privy council had chosen for its budget cuts was Newton. Those cuts had been followed by a host of others as the Imperials trimmed and trimmed to keep the economic ship afloat.

  A hefty donation of the AM2 Sten had stolen smoothed the rest of the way.

  A huge auditorium was quickly prepared. A long court bench was installed on the stage for the members of the Tribunal. The backstage area was converted into offices for the legal support group. Outside and inside, potential security danger areas were plugged. Teams of guards were assigned to the livie-crew techs responsible for installing communication lines.

  Meanwhile the Bhor fighting ships spread out around the Jura System and its capital world of Newton, or began patrolling areas believed most likely for attack routes.

  In the midst of all that, the members of the Tribunal and their retinue arrived. Sten and Alex personally greeted each being and assigned the bodyguards who would shadow them from that moment on.

  Sr. Ecu had chosen three beings to sit as judges over the privy council. Despite the great danger involved, he had no s
hortage of volunteer candidates. The depression triggered by the privy council's actions had become so deep that many systems feared for their own survival far more than they did Imperial reprisal.

  The three systems he eventually drew from were among the most respected in the Empire—as were the beings who would form the Tribunal.

  The first to arrive was Warin, from the great agricultural worlds of Ryania. He was a big, ponderous thinking being whose heavily bone-plated skull hid a three-brain mental system capable of sifting through mountains of conflicting information. Warin was slow and to the point, but he always arrived with plenty of thinking ammunition. He was also completely open-minded as far as the crimes alleged against the privy council.

  The second was Rivas, from the distant frontier territory of Jono. Rivas was a slender, quick-witted human, noted for his ability to find middle ground where little existed—an important, much honored skill in the wilds of Jono, where there sometimes seemed more opposing viewpoints than people. He had warned Sr. Ecu that, although he despised the current actions of the privy council, he did not necessarily believe that they were all acting out of selfish motives. His opinion of Kyes, for example, was quite good. His previous dealings with the being had all gone well and had shown Kyes to be honorable.

  The final member was perhaps the most respected. Her name was Apus, and she was the Queen Mother of Fernomia. She was very old and cared not a bit that her title carried no royal authority. Her many daughters and granddaughters oversaw the billions of females and few million males who made up the populations of the Fernomia Cluster. Despite her age, her health was excellent, her six spindly legs sturdy, and her mandibles as fluid and flexible as when she had been young. She confessed to Sr. Ecu that she despised the members of the privy council—especially the Kraa twins, who some years earlier had cheated her people out of a fortune in mineral rights—but Sr. Ecu knew that would not affect the Queen Mother's impartial consideration of the evidence.