The Last Immortal : Book One of Seeds of a Fallen Empire

by Anne Spackman

  * * * * *

  Secretary Theodalix Alton squirmed in a stiff-backed chair in Orashean’s vast, elliptical, uncomfortable council chamber. Alton seemed to be counting the tessellated navy tiles on the wall beyond the Fer-innyera rather than listening to him.

  A few hours before, Enessa Fulten had sent me a message in Selesta that Orashean and his council were holding an important meeting, and that one of the topics on the agenda was a cut in Orian aid, specifically food aid. But Ambassador Ai-derian Suraeno was ill and unable to attend. The meeting had been called with such short notice that no other acredited Orian representative could replace him in time, but when Ai-derian learned that Sargon was in Inen, he had decided to send him to the meeting in his stead, even though Sargon didn’t have Ai-derian’s political experience.

  Sargon requested that I should accompany him on the grounds that I was a respected neutral agent in these affairs. I agreed to go, not expecting Orashean would grant permission to attend the meeting when the request was passed to him. Orashean agreed however, and unexpectedly sent a message inviting us to meet him outside the Inen Aegle Spaceport.

  We waited more than three hours before Orashean’s shuttle landed from Ernestia, where he had been visiting governor Halkin to discuss the matter of trading food supplies to Orian in exchange for ores used in the production of space explorer probes. Ernestia was Tiasenne’s finest agricultural city, located in the fertile Derrian plains about 2,000 nariars from the capital. Sargon had begun to pace impatiently by the time Orashean stepped from the platform, convinced Orashean had given us a conservative estimate of his arrival time in order to dissuade us from attending the meeting.

  However, the Fer-innyera seemed relieved to see us, as though everyone were under his control as long as he could physically see them. At the same time, he threw me a chastising look, one a doting father might give to a naughty child. Sargon’s irritation skyrocketed, but he kept silent.

  It seemed that once we were again safely under his supposed control, the Fer-innyera no longer considered us his primary concern. For over an hour we sat idle in the conference room while his council debated social problems and the application of various proposed social programs, the unification of Ochnar and nearby Kestor as a combined production and distribution center of consumer goods, and budget cuts in funding of the Interplanetary Science Organization.

  Finally the topic of conversation turned towards the proposition which had kept Orashean in Ernestia. The Nayin agricultural center on Orian had reached record yields. Thus, Orashean reasoned, Orian no longer needed to trade ore for shipments of Tiasennian food surpluses.

  Alton, whose attention had wandered further in the last discussion, straightened up when Orashean asked him to present the report diagrams, and then the meeting would adjourn for an intermission during the meal hour.

  After Alton finished explaining the last of the figures of his report, Orashean and his council left for the nearby cantina and opulent lounges of the leisure center.

  Sargon hadn’t said a thing about what had happened the day before, but I was afraid he was going to.

  “We should go, too,” I suggested before he could say anything.

  “I’m not hungry,” he said, shrugging.

  “That may be.” I shrugged. “But Orashean has been known to hold business meetings at the dinner table, too.”

  “You’re saying I have a lot to learn about politics, is that it?” He laughed. “All right then. We’ll just go check up on him.”

  When the meeting reconvened an hour later, Sargon was in a good mood. We had met the Fer-innyera at his table, where Sargon had successfully turned the topic of conversation. The others followed suit and began to recall old escapades from their youth. Orashean himself told us some humorous stories from his boyhood in rural Wysteirchan in the days before the interplanetary hostilities became a matter of public concern.

  The felicitous atmosphere carried over a bit into the first part of the reconvened meeting. Even Orashean let down his guard. Then he turned to discuss Ernestian aid to Orian and proposed a decrease in the shipments to only half of their present size.

  I had to admit that his argument sounded convincing, but he had neglected one important element. There was no doubt Orian was nearly self-sufficient. But Nayin still needed the vital Ernestian shipment. I couldn’t understand why Orashean would decide to cut off that aid at all, much less without giving Nayin any warning. A mindlink would expose everything I wanted to know, but I no longer risked making mindlinks. I had no intention of forgetting my own self and developing the multi-personality effect that had destroyed Hinev.

  But why did Orashean want to cut off the aid? I kept wondering. After all, according to the figures, he was producing more explorer probes now than ever before. He had to need the Nayin ores to do that.

  But in a moment’s superficial probing of his mind I discovered what Orashean had been hiding. He wasn’t manufacturing as many probes as he had claimed. Violating every treaty in the last hundred years, he was diverting the precious ores to the production of comet fighters, notorious Tiasennian stealth space fighters.

  The comet fighters had once been Tiasenne’s chief guardians against Orians attempting to colonize Tiasenne. They had been banned in the Hollin-Morzenko treaty in return for the Orian agreement never to attempt colonization without permission. Of even more importance, it seemed Tiasenne no longer needed the Nayin supply of tinter ore since a large deposit had been discovered two months ago not far from Ochnar, on Tiasenne.

  Orashean had been violating the treaty for years—so why was he working so hard and fast now to build up his secret army of comet fighters? After all, Orian had achieved a reasonable level of prosperity. They didn’t need to colonize Tiasenne within Orashean’s lifetime. What was he worried about?

  Orashean smiled, reflecting with pleasure how he had been building up his secret force of space fighters and cruisers.

  Suddenly, I knew.

  In his enthusiasm, Orashean’s secret thoughts flowed forth.

  Orian’s atmosphere, precariously balanced to support life in its present state, was slowly becoming unstable as volcanic activity annually increased. Hinev’s explorers had discovered that long before there had ever been a Celestian colony.

  But a tenday ago, Tiasennian geophysicists working on a base in Orian had discovered that noxious gas emissions had been dispelled at the Northeastern Lapisian Ridge. They estimated that in approximately ninety-six years, Orian would become unlivable. Orashean had foreseen that his own life would end before the problem escalated, and he hoped to put off any attempts of colonization once the news inevitably broke out.

  As he saw it, if the Orians were allowed to colonize Tiasenne, then its resources would be stretched. People might become resentful once their comforts and livelihoods were threatened, and Orashean’s position might be put at risk.

  Anyway, why should he care about millions of Orians? He had never really liked them anyway, with their strange skin, more grey than any Tiasennian’s, and their permanently somber and often carnal attitudes. Why should he bother about their survival? Was it his fault that their world was dying? Why should he have to take care of them if their own leader couldn’t? The strongest are the fittest to survive, and we are strong, and so it is right that the weaker Orians should wither and die...

  I was so caught up in Orashean’s thoughts that it took me a minute to notice that Sargon had risen in his chair beside me. His face contorted with horror, and he stared in disgust at Orashean’s complacent smile. He was untrained in telepathy, it was true, but it was clear he, too, had read Orashean’s mind.

  “You can’t stop the shipments to Orian!” Sargon interrupted, seeming only a moment away from doing something violent. “Nayin depends upon that food!” Only with a great effort did he force himself not to articulate rage over the bleaker reality of his doomed world. If he said anything about that, Orashean might be provoked to launch an attack against unprepared Orian
, thinking that they already knew about his secret legion of comet fighters.

  Meanwhile, the others present shook their heads at Sargon’s unorthodox and so far as they knew, unnecessary outburst.

  “I’m afraid I already have.” Orashean said, blinking slowly several times as though to underline his own composure. “Governor Halkin and I decided it this morning. Neither Inen nor Ernestia can afford the shipments any longer. We have our own population to feed, too, you understand.” As the Fer-innyera prepared to move the conversation towards another topic, Sargon slammed his fist on the table.

  “I demand that aid—we have an agreement!” He shouted, outraged. “You can’t just take that part out of our treaty!” Sargon’s voice rang in the heavy air as all waited for the next move, but Orashean firmly resumed his discussion. Finally, when he saw that his words were of no use, Sargon jumped from his chair, sending it clattering back, in a vain attempt to reach Orashean. I was glad he had not yet learned to control his new abilities. If he had, I was sure he would have created an energy wave and incinerated Orashean then and there.

  Without that, Orashean was not so easily disposed of. The Fer-innyera knocked over a glass of water in his hurry to press a button somewhere below his seat at the conference table. A moment later, a dozen state guards rushed into the room.

  “Restrain that man!” Orashean pointed to Sargon, and several of the guards advanced to pin down his arms. The first three Sargon flung off easily, much to Orashean’s surprise. Immediately, two more lunged at him, but Sargon dodged adeptly aside and spun around, kicking a roundhouse and knocking one man to the floor.

  Sargon’s new strength didn’t surprise me, but it was clear that they would eventually bring him down as Orashean kept frantically crushing his buzzer.

  Force wasn’t going to solve anything, or at least it wouldn’t solve the main problems Orian was facing. There had to be a lasting way of stopping Orashean and his successors from condemning Orian to extinction.

  “Let him cool off in a cell for a while.” Orashean ordered once his men had wrestled Sargon to the ground, glaring petulantly at his captive, gloating over his victory. It seemed he enjoyed putting the Great Leader Beren’s nephew into his proper place.

  Sargon was dragged away ignominiously, his face terrible with righteous anger. His eyes met mine briefly—his in shock, mine full of anguish.

  “Let him go,” I said quietly to Orashean once the guards were gone.

  “My dear Alessia, shouting and threatening behavior are not permitted in this chamber by anyone.” Orashean countered placidly. “Leader Beren’s nephew will have to learn to behave himself if he doesn’t wish to get into more serious trouble. Now, shall we resume our discussion? Turning now to the Salingest sector, I believe we should consider—”

  “Excuse me,” I interrupted and got up from the conference table.

  “And where are you going, may I ask?” Orashean questioned in a threatening tone.

  “I’m going outside. And I suggest you let Sargon go.”

  “Oh?” Orashean said.

  “Yes. Take this as a warning. You, and not I, will be responsible for what happens if you don’t release him.”

  Orashean didn’t even have the sense to consider this seriously. “Why don’t you go see if you can teach him some civilized manners, Alessia. Then, we’ll see!” He called, and was regaled with laughter.