Fortunes of the Imperium

by Jody Lynn Nye

  “Maybe later,” Nesbitt said, his cheeks turning red, although I could tell he was interested. Other diners peered around to look at us. The others looked a bit embarrassed, as if I might find out secrets about them they would prefer not to have revealed.

  “Fear not,” I said, fanning the cards between my hands. They flew in a twinkling, colorful arc. I had practiced for a month to create that effect. “If I learn anything, it will be as though I was your doctor. All matters remain confidential between us.”

  “Not here, my lord,” Plet said. I read urgency in her voice.

  I scanned my crew’s faces, and recorded the apprehensive expressions thereon. In my eagerness I was being insensitive. I put the cards back in their silk-lined repository.

  “My apologies,” I said, truly chastened. “You’re right. It’s best done in private. When we have the chance, you shall sit in the marvelous silk tent that I have had made, and wait until you see my robes! They were made for me by the imperial tailor. He told me he had not had so much fun in years! I have also considered robes for seekers, those who come to me to have their future foretold. Not much historical documentation is available as to appropriate wear for querents, but there’s little as satisfying as starting a new tradition.”

  “Have you read your briefing about the mission to the Autocracy?” Plet said, interrupting me in full spate.

  I was not troubled by her abrupt change in subject. Humans born under the sign of the Space Traveler were apt to multitask.

  “I fear not,” I said. “At the moment every word seems to spread across my entire field of vision. There wasn’t time to listen to audio transcription before all of you rescued me from my medical cocoon. What does it entail?”

  Plet frowned.

  “Perhaps you should review it when you can focus.”

  “Give me the overview,” I pleaded. “I hate waiting.”

  “Reports from the frontier between the Imperium and the Autocracy indicate that the Autocracy is blocking groups of ships from entering the jump points, often for weeks or months, then suddenly granting permission. There is no reason given for the sudden change in policy, though it came only a matter of months after the installation of the new Autocrat, Visoltia, two years ago. Our ambassador consults frequently with the Autocrat, but the impasse remains in place. But there is a more troubling matter. At Way Station 46, the most direct frontier crossing from the Core Worlds, a spate of smuggling was reported. Nine ships that were granted leave to enter were all found to be carrying contraband. Ordnance and ships.”

  “Really?” I asked, astonished. “All of them?”

  “So it would seem.”

  “How very odd that they would not think they would be suspected. They are all incarcerated?”

  “Awaiting trial,” Plet said, then hesitated. I picked up on her natural distaste for mentioning the consequences.

  “I am aware of the penalties for smuggling weapons of war,” I said. “It is a terrible shame.”

  “The traders plead that they are innocent,” Plet said, “although the evidence is overwhelming that they did commit the crime.”

  “But how was it that their smuggling was not detected, in spite of their spending months on the customs space station?” I asked.

  “If we knew that, there would be no need to investigate,” Plet said.

  “How right you are,” I said.

  “Speaking of investigations,” Anstruther began, then blushed crimson as we all turned to her.

  “Do go on,” I said, gently. “I have been out of touch long enough in my medical confinement!”

  She glanced from me to Plet, as if asking permission to continue.

  “Well, from the news reports, two crime syndicates that are known to be operating in the outer systems had a gang war right there on Keinolt!”

  “Very troubling,” I said, although I fancy my avid expression gave the lie to the austere statement. “What was the outcome?”

  “Broken up by law enforcement,” Redius said. “Nothing.”

  “But that isn’t terribly interesting,” I said.

  “One gang had a run-in with a number of civilians in Taino,” Nesbitt added.

  “Tell me everything!” I commanded them.

  “Well, it happened on Sparrow Island,” Anstruther said, with the awed expression of someone who had never been there. “Some aristocrats were threatened by the criminals. Alleged criminals,” she corrected herself.

  Sparrow Island was a favorite haunt of my relatives. This sprawling resort was constructed as a playground for the moneyed and highborn. The management catered in particular to the nobility. Some of the restaurants, bistros, pools and suites were reserved for our especial use. I had most recently secured a season’s pass for a four-room cabana on a rocky promontory overlooking a booming wave pool. Woe betide the interloper who tried to make use of it in my absence, something of which the management was well aware. It occurred to me, though, that it might be fun to bring my crew there—on an evening when none of my cousins were around, of course.

  “What exactly happened?” I asked, torn between alarm and delight. “If anything serious had happened, you wouldn’t be so keen to discuss it, would you?”

  “Well,” Nesbitt said slowly, but, I believe, honestly, “we might.”

  “It wasn’t too serious,” Anstruther said. “There wasn’t a fight.”

  “Pish tosh,” I declared, priding myself on an archaicism that I doubted few of them had heard. “Then what? An exchange of fleering glances? A fight over an attractive mate? Some primeval chest-beating? An indecent proposition?”

  They looked at one another. At last it was Plet who retrieved the most detailed news item to be had, and forwarded it to my viewpad.

  “A Very Refined Brawl,” said the headline.

  I read through the brief notice. Some newcomers to the city had reserved a few of the exclusive venues on Sparrow Island, but upon arrival yesterday had found them not as they had hoped. As the management was, as I knew, eager to please its clientele, it attempted to find them something suitable that was unoccupied at the moment. But it seemed words were exchanged among other important guests who shortly thereafter arrived on site, and some maneuvering had to be accomplished to accommodate all of those who arrived. Mr. Sted Banion, the manager of Sparrow Island, was quoted by at least one member of the press.

  “We always strive to give our guests the very best experience possible. We did not stop until all parties were satisfied with their visit.”

  I rather doubted that all parties were satisfied. The bandied adjective “important” meant relations of the Emperor. It might not be so stated, but was understood by society reporters and those who loved to read them.

  I also checked the links to the numerous cross-postings on my cousins’ Infogrid files. It appeared that five of them were among the civilians who were threatened. The intruders in question withdrew immediately, though not without harsh words for the management and the nobility who had confronted them. The nobility, in their turn, harangued the management for ignoring some of their own reservations in favor of the newcomers, thereby putting them into harm’s way. The management apologized in seventeen different positions of increasing humility. I fancy that a good deal of choice food and drink was offered to assuage the injured feelings and twisted limbs of my cousins. I would have expected no less of a venue that wished to remain on our list of favorite haunts.

  Those of the ruffians who could be captured were followed to their lairs and taken into custody, pending trial and, I hoped, deportation, though as citizens they were permitted to visit, even live on Keinolt, even if I wished they wouldn’t. The ringleaders had slunk away, not to be seen again. They had not left the planet, as far as law enforcement could detect. I spun a coin on my viewpad screen. No, they were still on-world. Of that I was certain.

  I posted my divinitive finding, suggesting that the search continue, and got a derisive message back from my cousin Xanson, who was skeptical abo
ut my newfound enthusiasm for superstitions. I sent a suitable pithy retort, which immediately garnered many thumbs up signs and smiles from our various friends and readers, and another sour reply from Xan. I riposted with what I felt was a palpable hit.

  “What a pity I was not there,” I said, swiping a hand to silence my viewpad as it tried to display for me all the posts that poured in following my latest entry.

  “Just as well you weren’t, sir,” Nesbitt said. “Honor of the force, and all.”

  I winced.

  “You have hit upon a spot that is still tender, my friend,” I said. “Honor of the force is and heretofore shall be my priority. Now, if anyone will help me to return to the Imperium compound, I shall meditate toward my recovery and prepare for our departure.”

  Oskelev rose first.

  “I better go, Thomas. No way I’m going to be late for my exam.”

  I raised both hands to her in benediction. They seemed slightly smaller already, though as large as leaf rakes compared to their normal size.

  “Good fortune follow you.”

  The Wichu snorted, the nostrils of her pink nose curled. “The harder I work, the luckier I am. See you later.”

  But I noticed that she tucked her lucky circuit carefully away in a chest pouch.

  CHAPTER 3

  Nile Bertu leaped out of the covered flitter as soon as it landed, bursting out of the hatch as if he was escaping from prison. His expensive suit, a shimmering example of the latest fashions anywhere in the Core Worlds, was creased and stained. He ripped the jacket off his broad chest and threw it to the side of the landing strip.

  “Better to go naked than to wear it now!” he snarled.

  His sister, Skana, emerged calmly in his wake. A more slender version of her brother, she had the same rusty-brown curly hair, the same short-lashed hazel eyes, and the same short, thick fingers. No one would ever call them beautiful, but no one would dare to call them plain in their presence. The penalties for disrespect like that were severe.

  It had taken several hours to fly to their estate from the center of the city. Nile had bounced all over the interior of the flitter, until she had dialed up a sedative for his next drink. It kept him out until just a half hour ago. Then he had started screeching about humiliation again. Skana had had hours to think about it, and put a philosophical spin on her feelings.

  Their majordomo Tuk, a Croctoid who was both secretary and head of security for their organization, extended a scaly paw for Skana to hang onto as she pulled herself out of the vehicle. She rolled her eyes and picked Nile’s tunic up from the floor.

  “It can be cleaned,” she said. Her brother spun to glare at her.

  “I never want to touch it again!” Nile shouted. He skinned out of the matching trousers and tossed them in the direction of the cool, shadowy grotto that housed their elegant in-ground pool. Skana started toward the pants, but a small cleanerbot shot out of a niche in the wall and gathered them up. It rolled over to her. She dropped the tunic on top of it, and watched as it fled into the warren of service tunnels that lay within the walls of their compound to be laundered.

  “So it didn’t go well,” Skana said. “We’ll do it again another time. But after I talk with that manager.”

  “He won’t be there next time,” Nile said, his brows drawn down. “I’m sending a team after him right now. They won’t even find the pieces.”

  “No, you don’t,” Skana said. “Your temper tantrum is what got us thrown out of there in the first place. I’ll override anything you order. So it wasn’t what we expected. We got a full refund.”

  “Half our guests were arrested!”

  Skana raised an eyebrow. “They should have known better! All of them have outstanding warrants. They didn’t have to get involved. All they had to do was to stay in their places and let me handle the situation. No one was going to ask any questions. The staff was coping.”

  “Up until she got involved!”

  “Well, what did you expect from a noble?” Skana said, flipping her hands over. “They’re overprivileged pains in the ass who go wherever they want and do whatever they want.”

  Nile stopped punching the air and stared off into space.

  “She was so beautiful,” he said, forlornly. Then he stormed into the house.

  Skana sat down at her little table beside the pool. Another ’bot brought her her afternoon cocktail. She arranged the skirt of her ridiculously expensive dark orange dress around her knees, and felt terrible that there was no one around to see it except their employees. She had wanted to show it off on Sparrow Island. Skana longed for people to admire their style and have them guess how much money they had. She wanted them to look at her and think she was somebody important. She knew it. Nile knew it. The hundreds of employees they had in teams spread out across fifty planets knew it, but society had no idea.

  She did feel resentment for their treatment, but not for the lords and ladies. She couldn’t blame them. They acted like they owned the planet because they did own the planet. Everyone else had to take second best in social situations. That was just the way things were, and had always been. People on Keinolt understood that.

  What shouldn’t have happened was for the stupid resort to double-book their reception rooms and the private bar that Skana had gone to so much trouble to choose. She had heard that the Double Rainbow gazing salon was a favorite of the aristocracy. That was why she shelled out absurdly large amounts of money on a deposit. It was up to the management to make their experience as wonderful as they expected. As they had paid for.

  She and Nile hobnobbed with the aristocracy at numerous events, such as fundraisers and charity showcases. They were part of the uppermost edge of society that stood just below the tier occupied solely by the Imperial family. The lords and ladies always treated her well, even recognizing her when they met again, but she knew it wasn’t as if they accepted her as one of their number. She was among them but not of them. That exclusion really bothered her more than it bothered Nile.

  He saw his ego being bruised in more ways than she could count, but each wound was shallow. For her, it cut deep. She could never be one of the real aristocracy, and they weren’t going to pretend otherwise. She and Nile, like others, had to make their empires where and as they could. As she and Nile had. As their grandparents and more distant ancestors had. They might not be as well born, but she would have bet they were richer than most of the lords and ladies. Far richer.

  The Bertus had a heritage of their own in which they took pride. The Bertu Corporation had been formed by their own great-grandfathers and great-grandmothers. Their primacy simply wasn’t based on, well, being the face of government, the uniting principle of the Imperium. It had fulfilled needs as and when they arose. Skana knew their income was illegal—most of it; they were branching out into legitimate enterprises—but the stuff that paid the bills and got them the best cars, the fastest ships, the fanciest jewelry, hangers-on, power and land, lots of land, was outside the law. It still had to be treated like a business and run like a business, or they were just as pathetic and small a concern as the aristocracy treated them. Since the death of their mother, they had taken over the empire left to them, and made it prosper. Both she and Nile had good sense and the tenacity to find opportunities and exploit them. Neither of them gave ground out of pity. They were rich and feared, but respected . . . ish. Occasionally they needed to issue a reminder to those who defied them. Skana never attacked without provocation. Nile was another story. He was hot-headed and occasionally impulsive. He had been known to take personal vengeance on rivals. It put him into danger of exposure. Being publicly humiliated in the courts would weaken their hold on those who were in thrall to the corporation. They could not afford that.

  She was worried, and with good reason, what Nile would do next. He had fallen in love at first sight with a noble. That was understandable, but stupid. He had tried to kiss the lady. That was absurd, but forgettable. He had threatened her, which was cr
iminal. The impulse could be put off as being said in the heat of the moment, but so many witnesses couldn’t be silenced. If the matter went to court as an assault, too much would come out in discovery regarding their business.

  When the authorities were called, Skana had bundled a protesting Nile into their limousine and ordered the driver to take off. Nile had raved, wanting to go back and reason with the lady, beg her to forgive him and accept him as her true love. Skana wanted to put poison in her wine. Something that took a long time to take effect, so no connection could be made between a very unfortunate incident and . . . a very unfortunate incident. It wouldn’t be much trouble. She had had to dispose of one or more of his girlfriends in the past. Nile usually had rotten taste in women. This time, he had chosen a winner, but one he had no hope of wooing, let alone bedding. Better if there was no chance of a second meeting.

  Never mind; she had other responsibilities to take care of.

  “Have we received the deposit from Otimbo yet?” she asked Tuk.

  The Croctoid extended his oversized viewpad for her inspection. Hundreds of items awaited her attention, but she was interested only in that one. She found it at the top of the list. Tuk was the best administrator they had ever had.

  “The deposit came while you were in transit. I sent a message with the details.”

  “I was taking a nap,” she said. “Nile wore me out with his nonsense.”

  Tuk curled his scaly lip. He understood.

  “The money has been allocated. Party drug Blute ready for shipment to the Leonines on your word.”

  “Give it,” Skana said.

  Tuk made a note and touched an icon. The word had been given.

  Fortified by another drink, Skana went through entry after entry on Tuk’s viewpad.

  “I didn’t know we were doing so well with the low-income housing on Paradil,” she said, approving of the bottom line.

  “It works that way when you use other companies’ materiel to build your stock,” Tuk observed dryly.

  “It was a steal,” Skana said, with a bark of laughter.