The View from the Imperium

by Jody Lynn Nye

  “Not at all, my lord, not at all!” the old man said, beaming. “My tattoos follow the color scheme of my sixteen-times-great-grandmother Genilla . . .”

  Each of the councillors was eager to give me details of their history. Children wore stripes of color over the bridges of their noses from their naming ceremony at one month of age. When they reached their official adulthood, at the onset of puberty, they chose their permanent designs.

  “Too early, what?” I asked, recalling what I had been like around that despicable time of my life.

  “Not at all,” said the First Councillor.

  “Don’t any of you come to regret your choices?” I asked, curiously.

  “Of course not,” said the old man, whose name was Bruke. They were horrified at the thought.

  “May I record yours?” I asked. “It would be a great favor.” They agreed. I set my Optique to capture their images from several different directions. The serene look on Parsons’s face said that he approved.

  We sat down for the luncheon. Parsons and my staff were at the table adjacent to mine with the elderly gentleman and another older man with yellowing skin under his rather elaborate tattoos. They listened through my viewpad and two hovering cameras. Redius blinked at me with amusement. I occupied the hot seat among the most challenging guests. First Councillor DeKarn sat at my right hand, and a very attractive woman my mother’s age, Councillor Nineteen, at my left. Sgarthad, partnered with the governor’s wife, sat across from me.

  “So you are a cousin of the emperor,” Sgarthad said, expansively, toasting me with a cup of wine.

  “One of many,” I said. “Shojan and I share a number of ancestors. He is a Kinago, of course. One of the founding families of the Imperium. It’s in your history books.”

  “Your history books,” he said. “I am from the Trade Union.”

  “Do tell,” I said, hoping I didn’t look as if I had heard it before. “What are you doing here? Er, trading?”

  Sgarthad chuckled. “More than that. These good people have taken me into their bosom,” he said. “We are making friends and opening ourselves to commerce and culture with an eye toward forming a permanent bond between us.”

  “Not too permanent, I trust,” I said. “After all, this territory is within the realm of the Imperium.” I addressed my other tablemates. “We—that is to say, the emperor hopes you will also take him to your bosom.”

  “I am afraid you are a little late,” the governor said, with a tentative glance at Sgarthad before he spoke. “The Trade Union has become a good friend to us.”

  “And I am not unaware of history,” I said. “I am just saying, what about all the maps? They show the Cluster as part of the Imperium. I would hate to see that change. You can’t be cruel to all those cartographers!”

  “They will cope,” Sgarthad said, flatly. “The Cluster does not wish to be associated any longer with the Imperium. That time is past.”

  “I would rather hear it from the citizens of the Cluster itself,” I said, firmly. I regarded the governor and each of the councillors intently, giving them my most wistful expression. “I hope I can expect the same courtesy, to allow me to become your friend.” Yuchiko’s mouth spread in a beaming smile.

  “You won’t be here long enough, will you?” the captain asked, quelling the governor before he could reply. “You have to get back to your busy life.”

  “I haven’t a thing in the world to do except what the emperor commands,” I said, with more than a hint of truth. “Governor, councillors, I hope we may have a discussion over the coming days on the subject. I am keen to discern your views, and I wish to offer you mine—those I represent. After all, I am His Majesty’s observer.”

  “Well, you know, it has been a long time,” Yuchiko said, timidly. “That time is past.”

  I cocked an eyebrow. How curious that the governor should echo his visitor’s precise words. “Plet?” I whispered.

  “I am on it, sir,” said the voice in my ear. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her eyes dip to her lap, and her fingers went to work on her viewpad.

  “Lord Thomas,” said Councillor DeKarn, firmly, “you are correct. You do have the right to be heard. We would be honored if you would address the full council tomorrow. All eight systems have the right to hear you. We all wish to hear the emperor’s plans for our future.”

  I would have sworn that she had told me shortly before that she favored independence for the Castaway Cluster. Then I sensed the roiling hostility I had felt when I first arrived. It was not meant for me, but for the man seated opposite. From the grimace Sgarthad wore, she had just tweaked his tail. She was terrified to do it, but brave enough to try. A-ha, I thought. I recalled my father enjoining me to discover not what they wanted, but what they feared. All was not the calm pond surface it appeared. This was an important fact. I made a note to include it in my report.

  “You must be present, too, Governor,” the attractive woman at my side added.

  “I would be delighted,” Yuchiko said. Sgarthad cleared his throat. The governor turned to him. He dipped his head like a chided schoolboy. “It is only courteous to our guest. I will maintain my own opinion, of course.”

  I vowed to use that indecision to help sway the Cluster back into the Imperium’s fold. My mother would be proud of me if I managed to promote the cause of unity. And, of course, I would continue to observe.

  By the purple cast of Sgarthad’s complexion, I perceived that I had pushed the subject as far as I could for the time being. I turned the table talk to my favorite subject, photography.

  “You are right, Thomas,” Plet said. “A Grid pundit, endorsed by your distinguished friend there, quotes Captain Sgarthad as saying, “That time is past,” in reply to the question of Imperium ties. Several times, in fact. The phrase is a favorite of his.”

  “Most amusing,” Redius said in an undertone that I heard through the miniature receiver above my ear. “Not know their own minds. But they know his.”

  Chapter 30

  The following morning I arrived on time for my speech with Parsons, Oskelev and Nesbitt in tow to the low, brown stone building that housed the Castaway Cluster council. I was surprised how humble it looked after the other centers of planetary and system government that had been pointed out to me on my tour from the spaceport. Plet and Anstruther had remained on our ship engaged upon research, but we all remained linked through the scalp implants. They would hear and see everything that I did. I felt quite well-protected.

  The First Councillor swept down on me and tucked her arm into mine. Her minder stuck as close to her as Nesbitt and Oskelev did to me, both of them with weapons displayed in their belts. Parsons, in midnight blue, trailed behind us, exuding calm. Redius waited with our transport outside, making certain no alterations were made to the vehicle in our absence.

  “I look forward to your speech,” DeKarn said, in a quiet voice. “It will be broadcast through the Grid and the local media. I hope you are willing to give interviews to the local opinion reporters. They will want to ask you questions. Have you sent out copies of your text ahead of time?”

  “I rather prefer it to be a surprise,” I said. “Is it . . . customary?”

  She smiled. “No, but it saves time of transcription, that’s all. Afterwards, there will be a rebuttal from a few of our members. By the way, you will be speaking in Performance Central, our city-state’s main auditorium. This way.”

  I nearly whistled as she led me into a red-walled concert hall that must have housed at least two thousand beings. The stage below looked like a dinner tray. It was surrounded by a troop of soldiers in dark green jackets, tan trousers and brown boots who at this distance looked like toys. Other brightly colored miniature figures moved to and fro in the lights. Mine were not the only cameras floating around. As I appeared, dozens of small spheres came to hover around me like satellites. Their owners turned keen faces in my direction. I smiled and waved at all of them. “I thought I would be addressing only
the forty councillors and the governor.”

  The First Councillor shook her head. “Word spread last night. The clamor for seats was so great we had to move you from our chamber to this space. Fortunately it was available today. You don’t mind, do you?” she asked anxiously.

  “Not at all,” I promised her. The more people who heard the emperor’s message, the better.

  “I don’t like this,” Nesbitt said, low enough that I heard it only through bone conduction. “How can I cover this whole space?”

  “We only need to cover him,” Oskelev pointed out. “Who’s going to shoot at him? Those guys? I bet they only meet once a year for target practice.” She aimed an elbow toward the troop of soldiers. Close by, I could see how young they were. They saw me looking, and threw their shoulders back and assumed serious expressions.

  “I’d bet on the two of you over that entire squad,” I said, proudly. “Or either of you.”

  “C’mon, Thomas!” Nesbitt said, his face as red as the walls. “I mean, my lord.”

  “Good morning!” boomed a deep voice. Captain Sgarthad bore down on us like a benevolent thundercloud. His uniform seemed more golden than before, glowing in the exaggerated light. At my side, Councillor DeKarn cringed. I decided to meet fire with fire.

  “Good morning!” I replied. “Here to view the spectacle?”

  Sgarthad seemed surprised. “Why, I’m part of it, my dear fellow. I am an interested party. You’ll make your speech, and one of the councillors and I will give our responses.”

  “Oh, really?” I asked, rising to the challenge.

  “Yes,” Councillor DeKarn said hastily. “It is customary.”

  “Ah,” I said, bowing to her. I did not want her to be any more alarmed than she was. “Then let us proceed.”

  The yellow-complected councillor stepped forward. The tall, narrow screens behind him lit up with sunbursts and a flag of the third system in the Cluster hoisted itself in its midst. “I am Councillor Vasily Marden from the New Rome system. It is my privilege to bring to you today a guest from the Imperium, Lord Thomas Kinago.” Uproarious applause met this announcement. I stepped forward, buoyed on waves of good will.

  Marden stood down to a podium on the left of the stage. Sgarthad moved to occupy the one on the right. It was not my imagination: the spotlight on him was more powerful than that on me. Well, we will see who gets more attention, I vowed.

  “Gentlebeings, I greet you,” I began. “I am proud to stand before you today . . .” My speech was based upon several that were in the archives of the diplomatic service. I admit that I had borrowed freely of phrases that I felt reached directly into the hearts of listeners more eloquently than any I could spin myself. I hoped that no one in the audience had had access to the same files.

  “I have heard some of you say that the Imperium has neglected you over the last two centuries. It’s been rather hard to keep an eye on you, I must say, what with your large, dark neighbor the black hole impeding the view, but I assure you that such is not the aim of our emperor—your emperor, Shojan XII.”

  I touched my viewpad. The audience gasped. The first picture of Shojan filled those screens behind me. His noble, calm eyes surveyed the onlookers. He was the very epitome of masculine beauty and gravitas. Even though he was my cousin, I found him impressive. I glanced at my neighbor. Shojan compared over-favorably against Sgarthad, whose chiseled cheekbones were suffused with angry red. I could almost see the thunderstorm gathering upon Sgarthad’s brow like an ancient mythical god.

  “As Shojan began his reign, six years ago,” and here I changed to the official coronation portrait, “he vowed to pay heed to the needs of all parts of his new realm. He deployed his ambassador to your starry shores, but alas, she has not been able to make his case to you in person. I hope in coming days, I will be able to answer any questions you have, and I hope you will answer mine. I am here as an observer, but also as a loving subject of His Imperiality.” I flicked my control again and again. I told a few of my favorite stories about Shojan, a few intended to show his humanity, others to point out his wisdom and compassion, and coupled every tale with a fresh image. Each new picture elicited open cries of astonishment and pleasure. Parsons, at the far left edge of the stage, nodded in approval. “I know that once you feel secure that he intends to follow up on this promise of protection and acceptance, that you will reaffirm your ties and join us of the Core Worlds and the rest of the sectors as parts of the Imperium under his most noble aegis.” To couple with that declaration, I intended to show my very favorite picture of Shojan, the one I had taken just before I left home.

  I flicked the control. The lights went out.

  Loud declarations of surprise erupted from the audience. I clutched my viewpad and gawked into darkness. What had happened? Had I done that?

  “Oof!” I exclaimed into a mouthful of fur as the breath was squeezed out of me.

  “Quiet,” Oskelev said, against my chest. “Nesbitt, you there?”

  “Ready,” the other ensign growled, pressed against my back. “You okay, Thomas?”

  “I am all right,” I said. “What happened?”

  “Great void, the power!” cried Councillor Marden. I heard a good deal of bustling and swearing. Very shortly, the lights came on again.

  My friends stood facing outward with sidearms drawn. They had literally become my bodyguards, bracketing me with their own torsos. Parsons had moved in the pitch dark to stand over us. I had never felt so well-protected.

  “I apologize for the interruption,” Councillor Marden said, bustling up to us. “Are you well, sir?”

  “I am.” I straightened my tunic and cleared my throat. My friends moved back to their positions, but they kept the weapons out and obvious. “To continue,” I said, returning to the podium and beaming at the bemused audience. “His Majesty might be young, but you can see that he is already possessed of wisdom and bearing . . .”

  I thumbed my viewpad screen, but nothing happened. I glanced down at the small screen. The file was there, but it was empty. I flipped through my database, thinking that in the scrimmage in the dark I had jostled the control. I couldn’t find the picture. The contents of the file were not in the deleted section, nor in the archives, nor in the active roster. I went through all of my other files, thinking I had shifted the images of Shojan there, but no. All of them had gone.

  The audience became restive, but I was determined to find at least one other image to show. I searched all the folders and albums for at least one. I had a candid taken at a family event in the spring just before I left for the Academy. It was gone as well.

  I had a terrible, sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. Holding the viewpad close to my eyes so no one else could see, I even looked into the tiny, very secret niche storage in which I had hidden the spit-take of Shojan. It, too, had disappeared. I was devastated to the very fiber of my being. That opportunity would never come again. I was heartsick at the loss. I glanced at Parsons. His visage bore no hint of guilt, but why would he sabotage my files at any time, let alone this one, in which the emperor would be embarrassed by proxy?

  The most likely party was at my left. Sgarthad’s brilliant blue eyes glinted at me.

  “Lord Thomas? Is that the extent of your remarks?”

  “Er, no,” I said. I cleared my throat, straightened my tunic and threw my shoulders back. “And so, gentlebeings, I ask you to give heed to, er, my noble cousin’s plea to you . . .” I glanced down at the viewpad for my next line. At least the speech had not been lost.

  With the smooth flow of my presentation interrupted by the loss I found it difficult to carry on, but carry on I did. I knew from the half-hearted applause of the audience that it had not gone well.

  “Independence, my friends! We of the Castaway Cluster have had a long time to consider the question . . .” Vasily Marden began his oration, but his style of speech was so turgid that I found my thoughts drifting off after my lost pictures. A sharp whistle in my ear brought
me back to the present.

  “Look down!” Redius’s voice hissed.

  I glanced at my viewpad. He had sent me an image of myself with a stupidly blank look on my face. I plastered on a friendly and learned expression and forced myself to pay attention. At last, the councillor retired to modest applause.

  Even before he stepped forward, the room had risen in acclaim.

  “Sgarthad! Sgarthad! Sgarthad!”

  The Trade Union captain came forward, arms raised.

  “Gentlebeings!” he called. “We have heard the other speakers! Have you changed your mind about the direction you want to go in the future?”

  Myriad throats roared as one.

  “No!”

  “Let me remind you once again of the reason that I am among you. The Trade Union offers you status as a full partner, not a subject state, as the Imperium does. We won’t let you remain isolated, either, like those of your government who favor independence!”

  The event had changed to a pep rally, as one would experience at a sports match. The young people clustered at the foot of the stage were the cheerleaders, exhorting their fellows to cheers every time Sgarthad spoke.

  I had failed. The people had liked me, but Sgarthad had had more time with them. He had had plenty of time to convince them of his confederation’s point of view. He had more natural charisma than Marden and was less hesitant before an audience than I. The comparison with those of us who had gone before Sgarthad was overwhelming. He was cheerful and personable. Without the emperor, all I had to offer them was the status quo, and it had little new to excite the listener.

  Sgarthad finished his pep talk and was immediately mobbed by fans and supporters. I moped over to Parsons. My guards trailed behind me.

  “That was deliberate sabotage,” I said. “It could not be accidental.”

  “It is not, sir,” Parsons said. “That is a barrier that the next wave of envoys from the Imperium will face, once we send back the observations we are making.”