by Scott Meyer
The transport drifted inland, floating over meticulously manicured green spaces. Lakes, trails, and bridges cut through a dense but obviously well-managed forest. Occasionally there were clearings covered in an even coating of grass, and in these spaces there were invariably a number of people engaged in some group recreation.
Wollard felt the transport bank and turn, and as the ship tilted, his view out the window panned upward, showing him what Prindle was changing course to avoid: a vast, gleaming city. It rose out of the forest, a thick mass of individual spikelike spires, each one a mammoth building. Any one building would have been the largest on Apios, much larger than Palace Koa, but they were lost in a mass of equally tall, graceful towers, sharing the same basic design vocabulary, all of them connected by a dizzying web of bridges.
Prindle brought the craft in on a spiraling trajectory, slowing as the radius of the turns grew tighter. Wollard looked down between the towers and saw rivers of vehicles, all traveling in perfect synchronicity.
The craft slowed practically to a stop, then landed on a flat surface several hundred feet above the ground, affixed to the side of one of the larger towers.
In the cockpit, Prindle shut down the transport’s engines and flipped a few switches, one of which opened the passenger hatch. He spoke into the intercom, saying, “This concludes our flight. We have reached our final destination, the Central Authority, Scrutiny Division. Please exit the craft to your right and proceed inside, where you will receive further instructions. Thank you, and good luck.”
Prindle waited a full minute, then rose from the pilot’s seat and opened the door to the passenger compartment.
Wollard was still in his seat, waiting. “Where are we?” he asked, cheerlessly.
Prindle was disappointed. He had hoped that Wollard would be docile enough to simply do what he was told without explanation, but that clearly wasn’t the case. Now Prindle would have to deal with him.
Prindle sat in the seat across the aisle from Wollard and said, “Like I said, we’re at the Central Authority, Scrutiny Division.”
“This can’t be the Central Authority,” Wollard said. “It’s all wrong.”
“Reality doesn’t conform to your preconceived notions, so you figure it’s reality’s fault. Typical.”
Wollard said, “I was always told that the Arbiters worked out of one austere building, and that the rest of the planet was allowed to exist in a state of natural equilibrium.”
“All true,” Prindle said.
“It looks like a vacation resort.”
“Yes,” Prindle said. “Humans pushed nature, nature pushed back, humans kept pushing until nature gave us what we wanted, and thus, equilibrium was attained. Why should this world be any different from every other world humans have inhabited?”
“But, but,” Wollard sputtered, “this city—”
“Is one building,” Prindle said. “Every single structure is connected. You can get to anywhere from anywhere without ever going outside. As such, the Arbiters consider the Central Authority to be one building, which has had extensive additions.”
“It’s not very austere,” Wollard pointed out.
“The Arbiters call it austere, because they feel they deserve even better. Come on, you were a Master of Formalities. You’ve worked for the Arbiters for years. You can’t be surprised to learn that they like to twist the meaning of their words until they almost snap.”
Wollard looked out the window. “So, it’s a lie. This whole time, it’s all been a lie.”
“No,” Prindle said, “it’s been something worse, a misleading truth.”
“So,” Wollard asked, “what happens next?”
“You get out of my transport and go through that door.” Prindle pointed to a large open archway that led from the landing pad into the building. Guards stood just inside the arch. They wore black body armor with a stripe pattern painted on the chest plates that suggested the lapels of a Master of Formalities’ formal blacks. Their helmets were molded in such a way as to suggest meticulously oiled and combed hair.
“What happens after I go inside?” Wollard asked.
Prindle said, “It’s not for me to say.”
Wollard stared at him, unblinking.
Prindle said, “I really don’t know.”
Wollard still had not blinked.
“I’m just a pilot. I have no way of knowing what will happen in there.”
Wollard blinked once, slowly.
“But,” Prindle said, “I have reason to suspect that you’ll be taken into custody by those two guards, processed, then scrutinized, which is the whole reason you’re here.”
Wollard looked at the guards, then at Prindle, then at the guards again.
“So, they take me, I’m processed, then I get scrutinized?”
“So I gather.”
“How long does processing take? A day, two days?”
“A few minutes.”
“What?” Wollard cried. “I was told I’d have time to prepare a defense!”
“How long was your trip here?” Prindle asked.
Wollard’s eyes and mouth all grew larger and rounder. He inhaled deeply, as if preparing to do some professional-caliber yelling, but he stopped short when Prindle held up his hands, signaling a preemptive surrender.
“I’m just the pilot, and I’ve only told you the truth as I know it. Being angry with me won’t help either of us.”
Wollard remained motionless, eyes bulging, mouth open, ready to bellow. He held that position for a full three seconds, then exhaled, seeming to deflate as he did so. He sagged back into his seat, a beaten man.
Prindle shook his head. “I’m sorry. I truly am.”
Wollard moaned, “It’s not your fault.”
Prindle said, “True, but I hate giving people bad news. That’s why I tried to avoid talking to you at all.”
52.
The palace staff stood in their customary positions in the courtyard, awaiting the arrival of Lord Kank, ruler of the Cappozzi, and his Master of Formalities.
Lord and Lady Jakabitus and Master Rayzo stepped out of the palace’s ceremonial entrance, followed by Migg and Phee. The Jakabituses and Phee all took up their customary places, but Migg bowed to Her Ladyship, then strolled over to where the staff was standing. Caught off-guard, Phee had to rush to catch up and follow her mentor.
Migg stopped in front of the staff, and took a moment to look at them before speaking.
“You all look marvelous,” she said. “Very professional, which is good. Lord Kank is well respected, and his people are in a position to be powerful allies to Her Ladyship in the ongoing war.”
Migg paused to make sure the importance of the situation was not lost on the staff. Convinced that it was not, she continued. “As I told you this morning, the Cappozzi are a stoic people. They value the ability and willingness to endure hardship. As such, their behavior may seem unusual, but I have no doubt Her Ladyship can count on you all to maintain the proper decorum. Are there any questions?”
A moment passed in which none of the staff gave any indication of speaking, so Migg bowed, thanked them, and returned to Lady Jakabitus’s side.
They stood waiting for only seconds before the customary vibrant red vapor trail appeared high in the atmosphere, miles away, in a straight line from the palace gates. The line descended and flared before abruptly shifting in color from glowing red to billowing white.
The craft pulled out of its dive, leveled off, decelerated, yawed sideways, and coasted through the palace gates. This was Lord Kank’s personal transport, and while it was the same basic size and type as Lady Jakabitus’s personal interstellar transport, it had been subjected to an aggressive redesign. Where Her Ladyship’s transports were all graceful curves and gleaming surfaces, this craft was all sharp edges, finished in shades that varied from matte
to dull.
The ship silently slowed to a halt, and Migg bowed again to Her Ladyship and proceeded to the halfway point to await Lord Kank’s Master of Formalities. Phee started to follow, but Lady Jakabitus stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.
“Is there a problem, Your Ladyship?” Phee asked, slightly alarmed.
“Phee,” Lady Jakabitus said quietly. “That little speech Migg just gave the staff, warning them what to expect. Is that a common practice?”
Phee said, “I don’t know that common is the word I’d use, Milady, but it is within the bounds of proper form.”
“Wollard never did that.”
“No,” Phee said.
Lady Jakabitus looked at the staff, standing at attention, looking comfortable.
“Why didn’t Wollard ever do that, Phee?”
“Wollard felt that people behave the way they do in the hopes of creating a specific impression. He felt it would be rude to do anything to interfere with that.”
“So if someone wanted to surprise us, Wollard felt it was poor form not to let them?” Lady Jakabitus asked.
“Yes, Milady—or impress us, or delight us.”
“Or offend us. I understand. I’m certain our visitors have appreciated Wollard’s lack of interference. Particularly Hennik.”
Phee said, “Milady, I feel I must—”
“That will be all, Phee,” Lady Jakabitus said, stopping her cold. “You may go join your mentor.”
Phee thanked her, then double-timed it across the courtyard to join Migg. While she had been talking to Her Ladyship, the Cappozzi transport’s hatch had opened, and Lord Kank’s Master of Formalities had emerged.
Lord Kank’s Master of Formalities was neither a tall man nor a thin one. His hair was oiled and styled in the traditional manner and was gray at the temples, as was befitting a man of his age. His formal blacks were, of course, impeccable. There was nothing remarkable about him at all, save for his eyebrows, which were noticeable from a surprising distance. They were chaotic thickets of tangled, wiry hairs, extending in every possible direction from his brow ridge. His eyebrows overshadowed and dominated the rest of him, as if he weren’t so much a man as an eyebrow delivery system.
Phee approached as Migg completed the formal greeting.
“I acknowledge and return your greeting,” the visitor said. “I am Novich, Master of Formalities to Lord Kank, undisputed ruler of the planet Cappozzi.”
Migg returned Novich’s bow. That done, Novich stepped deftly to the side, flourishing toward the transport like a magician revealing a surprising number of live birds or foam balls. On cue, Lord Kank emerged.
Upon first impression, one might describe Lord Kank’s demeanor as severe, but one would only do so in a whisper. He was an older man, but far from elderly. He was bald save for a single, one-inch wide, ruler-straight line of pewter gray hair that extended from one temple to the other around the back of his head and an impeccably trimmed beard. His head and facial hair were styled and groomed extensively. He clearly had to spend a great deal of time and effort on it; yet for all that work he was still, unquestionably, bald.
He wore a thick dark gray suit that lacked ornamentation, but boasted enough different layers, pieces, folds, pockets, and creases to make even Lady Jakabitus’s most baroque uniform look clean and simple in comparison. He moved with great dignity and purpose, but with very little speed.
Migg bowed deeply and said, “Welcome, Lord Kank.”
Lord Kank nodded and thanked her.
As Novich had done, Migg stepped to the side and flourished back toward Lady Jakabitus. Lord Kank walked over to Her Ladyship, and Migg introduced the members of the Jakabitus family individually, then the palace staff as a group. Novich thanked them all for their hospitality.
With these introductions out of the way, Migg and Novich faded into the background, and Lord Kank and Lady Jakabitus took the lead.
Lord Kank looked at Rayzo and Frederain, smiled knowingly, then said, “I was under the impression that you had adopted a Hahn.”
Lady Jakabitus said, “Yes. We did take Lord Kamar Hahn’s son, Hennik, into our household.”
“But he is not here,” Lord Kank said.
“No,” Lady Jakabitus said. “Hennik is not available.”
Kank nodded, as if this was perfectly understandable, but said, “Why not, if I may ask?”
Lady Jakabitus’s smile became a bit brittle. She said, “Hennik is being kept separate from the rest of the family at the moment. There have been difficulties with his assimilation into life here.”
Again, Kank nodded, this time more vigorously. “Please,” he said, “allow me to explain my interest. I have had dealings with Lord Kamar Hahn, and have found him to be, without fail, acutely disagreeable. I can only assume this Hennik is much the same. When I heard that you, Lady Jakabitus, had voluntarily chosen to not only spend time in the presence of a Hahn, but actually adopt one into your family, I thought, This is someone who does not shy away from adversity. This is someone I must meet.”
Lady Jakabitus thanked Lord Kank with genuine gratitude. She clearly had not been prepared for anyone to understand what she and her family had been through. Then she offered Lord Kank a tour of the palace before lunch was served, if it pleased him.
“Of course,” Lord Kank said. “And tell me, will the Hahn be joining us at lunch? I’m quite anxious to meet him myself.”
53.
The staff returned to the kitchen in a rush. Barsparse and Ebbler had planned ahead for the formal reception, but they still had to execute a full meal in an unfamiliar cuisine. Ebbler was the first one through the door. When he came to a screeching halt, Barsparse couldn’t stop in time and ran into his back.
Barsparse didn’t ask why Ebbler had stopped. She saw the reason as clearly as he did. There was a large man in the field uniform of Her Ladyship’s army standing in the kitchen, his back to the door.
Barsparse cleared her throat and said, “Can I help you?”
The man turned around.
Despite the fact that the man was now much taller and heavier, and a livid scar like a river delta started on his forehead, went around his left eye, and ended on his left cheek, Barsparse and Ebbler both instantly recognized him.
“Gint?” Barsparse asked.
“Yes, Chef,” the man said in a deep, gravelly voice.
The rest of the staff filed into the kitchen, at first excited, then confused. Umily came in last, looking at the floor.
Gint shouted, “Babe!” He lurched forward, a blur of high-speed muscle. He grabbed Umily around the waist with one arm and pulled her off her feet in one smooth motion. Her toes hung a foot above the floor, and the front of her body was mashed tightly against the front of his. He kissed her with such force that he risked bruising the roof of her mouth.
The kiss seemed to go on forever.
Glaz cleared her throat.
Shly laughed.
Barsparse said, “Welcome home, Gint.”
After a moment, she said, “Gint?”
Umily put her hands on Gint’s shoulders and tried to push herself away from him. Gint used one hand to hold her face to his, the other to keep her waist locked to his own.
Glaz and Barsparse exchanged a worried look, then Barsparse barked, “You are in a professional kitchen, Gint. Have some respect.”
At that, he finally let go of Umily, who fell to the ground and barely caught herself before her knees buckled.
Gint stood ramrod straight and said, “Yes, Chef! Sorry, Chef!”
“This is neither the time nor the place for that,” Barsparse said. “Is that clear?”
“Yes, Chef!” Gint blurted. Then he glanced down at Umily, who was still trying to steady herself, and said, “There’ll be plenty of time later.”
Umily turned beet red and looked at the floor
again.
“Well, Gint,” Glaz said, “I’m certain I speak for everyone when I say we’re all very happy to have you back, safe and in good health.” Glaz started, realizing she may have made a terrible faux pas. “I . . . I’m sorry. I hope you’re in good health.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” Gint said. “Thank you, Ma’am. I’m in the best shape of my life. Every time the Hahn scum killed me, Her Ladyship’s science corps brought me back stronger,” his eyes drifted over Ebbler, his old friend, as if he were looking at his own former self. “Much stronger,” he concluded.
“Well, good,” Glaz said. “In honor of your return, we’ve given Umily the next couple of days off so you two can, uh, catch up.”
Umily cringed visibly, not that Gint noticed. He was being addressed by a recognized superior, and was looking straight ahead.
“Thank you, Ma’am. That’s very kind, Ma’am. But if it pleases you and the chef, I would like to get right to work.”
“Pardon me?” Glaz said.
“I’m here, Ma’am, because I work here, and that’s exactly what I intend to do. I don’t like to sit still. I am Chef Barsparse’s sous chef. Work comes first, then pleasure.”
“Well that’s very . . . diligent of you, Gint, but I’m afraid there’s a bit of a complication. You see, while you were away, Ebbler became the new sous chef.”
Gint guffawed, then cast his eyes over Ebbler, slowly surveying him from the tip of his head to the ground.
“I see,” Gint said. “No problem, Ma’am. Just allow Ebbler and me to discuss things alone for five minutes. I’m certain we can work this out among ourselves.”
Kreet, and only Kreet, looked delighted.
Barsparse said, “That won’t be necessary. Glaz, if you approve, I’ll use them both for the next few days, until we make a final decision on how to move forward.”
“That sounds fine to me,” Glaz said. “Gint?”
Gint took another long look at Ebbler before muttering, “This is acceptable.”
“Ebbler?” Glaz asked.
