The View from the Imperium

by Jody Lynn Nye

  “That doesn’t seem like enough,” I said.

  “It is your brief, my lord,” Parsons said firmly. “Do not forget that.”

  “I can do more,” I replied, just as firmly.

  I was not alone for long, as I had feared. A sea of eager faces swarmed toward me, led by Councillor DeKarn and her bodyguard.

  “These are some of the opinion press,” she said, smiling as she gestured toward them. “They have expressed a wish to interview you, my lord. I told them you would make a fascinating subject. Will that be satisfactory?”

  “Why, yes, of course,” I said.

  “Will you excuse me, sir?” Parsons asked.

  In spite of my woes, I felt a thrill of excitement. I kept my face neutral as I said, “of course, Commander.”

  Parsons slipped away so gracefully that even knowing he was departing I believe that the hosts and their watchful guards did not see in which direction he went. I felt pride, and determined that I would do my part for the honor of the Imperium, as he would do his. I was not going to take my defeat lying down. I would make myself charming and indispensable to my hosts. I planned to use the gift of ages to sway these folks to the Imperium’s cause. I could not be less than me. Otherwise, why would my mother and Parsons have caused me to come here?

  “Who has the first question?” I asked.

  The reporters, all species, ages and sizes, bore down upon me, shouting questions and sending them to my viewpad. I pointed toward a tall woman with a basketweave pattern in yellow on her narrow face.

  “Lord Thomas, is it true that the Emperor . . . ?”

  I basked in the attention. As each person made his or her inquiry, I made firm eye contact, until I was certain that I had charmed them to the best of my ability.

  At her direction, I escorted the councillor through the halls and into the museum next door. Our parade of questioners followed us, just kept from making bodily contact with me by the combined efforts of Oskelev and Nesbitt. “You will understand so much more of our history,” she assured me.

  “It would be my pleasure,” I said.

  The reporters followed us through the halls and into the museum next door. I paused frequently near the dusty cases and exhibits to answer more questions and pose for pictures. I made many witty remarks. It was a much more satisfactory encounter than the unhappy scene in the hall.

  My questioners, most of them young, were literate, curious and enthusiastic about getting the story. I must admit their facial tattoos and designs distracted me. I found myself enunciating more clearly than I needed to, as if the tattoos would interfere with their ability to comprehend standard language. In fact, their pronunciation was clear as air, if a trifle old-fashioned.

  “I see, sir,” one earnest teenager decorated in multicolored animal patterns said, “but at no time until recently was a direct message from your government received.”

  “Yes, well,” I was a little tired of answering that question. “I can only speak for the emperor who sent me. He wants to correct the wrongs of the past . . .”

  “They’re following us,” Oskelev whispered, as my teenaged inquisitor made way for another reporter.

  “Well, I certainly hope so,” I said, waving and smiling at the visitors who crowded into the museum through the front entrance and joined my throng. “We are here to be seen.”

  “No, those bare-faced ones. Check your pad. They’re in red.”

  “It means nothing until they attempt to interfere with our progress,” I muttered. I turned ot the crowd and picked out an insectoid reporter with chrysanthemums etched on both cheeks. “My good . . . Cocomon! I believe that you were the next one with a question.”

  “I would like to pose for an image with you,” the blue insectoid replied, his mandibles clattering with excitement.

  “Gladly,” I exclaimed, holding out an arm. He or she—I was not yet adept at recognizing the genders—came to stand beside me and the bit of wreckage.

  My hostess’s own pocket secretary buzzed, and she consulted it. Her cheeks under the blue skin art reddened, but she put it away without replying.

  “Should you reply?” I asked. “If you please.”

  “Oh, no,” the First Councillor said, with a brave smile. “It is nothing important.”

  She continued to encourage me to speak to various people who approached or buzzed me on my viewpad. One of her fellow officials, Councillor Six, a tall young man almost as au courant to fashion as I was, sidled through the crowd to join us, chivvied by his guard. Six bent his head to consult with her. They exchanged a flurry of words, the only phrase of which I could hear was “not encouraging him.” Madam DeKarn withdrew, her cheeks pink.

  “It is kind of you to be concerned,” she told Six.

  “I am not concerned only for him, but for you,” he whispered hotly.

  I was no fool. I had figured out the large Trade Union personnel were handlers, not guards. This place was under siege. I knew the affection for Sgarthad was in a large part feigned, but they were too afraid to admit it. I was in a position to give them an alternative to love, even if I no longer had my pictures of the emperor. After all, I had history on my side, not fear. I was well-protected, and I could take care of myself. My position in the royal family caused people to underestimate me. That worked to my advantage. I would not, however, endanger anyone else in my pursuit of information.

  I bowed to the councillor. “Thank you so much for guiding me today,” I said. “Perhaps you would like to retire? I can go on by myself. I know how to return to my ship.”

  “Oh, no,” Madam DeKarn said. She squeezed the tall man’s wrist. “I will be careful,” she said. Looking doubtful, the younger councillor retired. I could tell that he and his minder were unsatisfied.

  We moved from one gallery to another. The cloud of small cameras increased in size, as did the crowd around us. The docents stationed in each room looked worried at the mass of beings migrating through as though we were a herd of gnus. I smiled at each to put them at their ease. They returned the expression faintly. Thus far, my questioners had shown respect and patience with me and one another. Madam DeKarn guided me toward a glass-sided pressure lift.

  “The next level up has displays of our most famous exports,” she said.

  “I can’t wait to see them,” I assured her courteously.

  “Hey, watch out!”

  A couple of large louts in coveralls pushed by me, almost sending me flying into a diorama. Nesbitt caught me before I struck it.

  “You okay?”

  “I am,” I assured him. I frowned. My assailants had seen me clearly, but they behaved poorly nonetheless. Not even the habitués of the wharf pubs in Taino ever took direct physical action. I realized with a start that they lacked tattoos. More Trade Union staff. I set my jaw. They would not distract me from my errand.

  The councillor seemed to be more frightened than ever, but she kept going as gamely as if we were off for a picnic. She beckoned a stout, tawny-skinned woman forward.

  “Lord Thomas,” she said, “please allow me to introduce Srikai Mseda, a frequent broadcaster on the main Grid news feed.”

  Mseda marched toward me, hand out, with an ambitious and purposeful gait. “Lord Thomas, this is a pleasure.”

  I beamed. “Thank you. What would you like to know?”

  “You’re not just here as an observer, are you?” she asked. “I mean, the emperor has plenty of diplomats. Why send a cousin?”

  A good question. I bowed to her. “To let you know he is serious about hearing your concerns,” I said. “Forgive me if I repeat myself. I am sure I have said the same thing in the last two or three hours?”

  Mseda checked her personal communications unit. “Three times. Why should we believe it now?”

  “Well, how many official visitors have you had from the Imperium?”

  “Counting you, one,” Mseda said. “There was a rumor of another visitor, but we never saw her. Do you have any comment on that, Councillor?�
��

  I had the feeling DeKarn was waiting for such a question. The silver-haired woman steeled her spine, but favored Mseda with a warm smile. “The Imperium ambassa—”

  In between syllables, Madam DeKarn’s eyes rolled up, and she collapsed. Mseda and I caught her as she was falling and set her on the ground. I clutched Madam DeKarn’s hand, feeling for a pulse.

  “Call for emergency medical transport!” Nesbitt bellowed. Mseda tapped the center of her device’s screen, which lit up red for emergency.

  Oskelev dropped to her knees at DeKarn’s other side. “I have first-responder training,” she said. She listened to the councillor’s chest and lifted her eyelids. “She ought to be okay in a minute, folks,” she said.

  DeKarn’s eyes fluttered open. She looked up at me and grabbed my arm. Mseda leaned over her, viewpad at the ready.

  “Give the lady her dignity,” I said sweetly.

  Looking chagrined, the reporter put the device into her belt pouch. DeKarn murmured something. I leaned close to hear.

  “Don’t let them,” Madam DeKarn whispered.

  “Let them what?” I whispered back.

  The councillor’s coarse-faced guard tried to push me back, but Nesbitt elbowed him. “Back off, friend.”

  Oskelev opened the first aid parcel hanging from the harness at her hip and ran the small white medical scanner over her.

  “She’s got something in her body,” the Wichu said. “Two somethings.”

  “Health chip,” Mseda said. “We all have them.”

  The Wichu fingerspelled something over the screen of her viewpad. I glanced at mine to see what she had said. She’s been drugged. I nodded. The second device might have been implanted by the intruders.

  By then, several of the untattooed guards had surrounded us. I had no doubt that they were the “them” to whom Madam DeKarn referred. I determined not to allow them to take her from me. I had witnesses. I would make use of them.

  “Can you stand?” I asked the councillor. She nodded. I assisted her to her feet. “Please allow me to take you home. Redius,” I said aloud, knowing he was monitoring me. “Closest entrance to my position.”

  “There in moments,” the Uctu declared.

  I smiled at my audience. “Will you excuse us? A medical emergency. This lady needs to return to her home.”

  The crowd murmured in the affirmative. I put my arm around the councillor’s waist. I felt her trembling.

  A green light suddenly struck me in the face. Crosshatching ran down from brow to chin.

  “What is that?” I demanded, holding up my free hand against the hot glare.

  “Back!” The lights hit Nesbitt. He thrust his gun toward the crowd, which recoiled. Oskelev leaped for the being holding the device, a thirty-year-old human in gray coveralls. He spun and ran. The Wichu went in pursuit, shouldering aside onlookers. Soon, she returned.

  “I lost him, sir,” she said. She held up her viewpad. “Got a picture, though. I’ll know him next time. Lieutenant, do you want to cross-reference with the population records?”

  “Scanning now,” Plet’s voice said in my ear. “Trade Union, sir.”

  “By Forn, could they be any more obvious?” I protested.

  Oskelev and Nesbitt helped me escort Madam DeKarn toward the doorway. Sgarthad loomed suddenly before us. His expression was one I could not easily read. He studied me curiously as if he had not seen me before and did not like what he beheld.

  “Hello, Captain,” I said cheerfully, maneuvering to pass him. “The First Councillor has been taken ill. Will you excuse us?”

  His expression changed instantly from fierce speculation to solicitousness. The stage had lost a fine artiste when he had chosen to go into commerce.

  “I am so sorry to hear that!” he boomed. He beckoned to Madam DeKarn’s minder, who bustled up to join us. “Wikely, make sure the emperor’s envoy finds his way to the lady’s home.”

  There was no way to avoid the additional company. Redius sat beside the local driver of our borrowed transport through the busy streets. Behind and above our vehicle, numerous private cars and air-vehicles trailed, their occupants still looking for the story.

  “I hate this,” Nesbitt said, riding backwards to keep an eye on them. “At least the traffic robots keep them from driving up beside us.” As we passed into the residential district, the air vehicles were forced to turn back unless they had permits for the area. Fortunately, none of them seemed to.

  I kept our guest’s mind occupied all the way to her quarters, telling her amusing anecdotes and jokes, chosen from the mental chapters of Stories I Would Feel Safe Telling My Aunts. After a few kilometers of constantly glancing behind her and at her guard, she began to relax, and even rewarded me with a soft chuckle. I could tell that in better times she would be an excellent audience. As we rounded the corner past a busy multi-story complex with shops in the ground floor level, she pointed to the third in a long row of tall, narrow detached residences.

  “There, if you please.”

  I hopped out of the skimmer before her guard could alight, and held out my arm to her. She stepped cautiously onto the pavement. Wikely crowded up behind us, no doubt seeking to overhear any confidences we might pass between us, but neither of us spoke.

  The high, semi-opaque panel door slid open hollowly. Madam DeKarn passed inside. I glanced past her. The chambers seemed oddly dusty for such a fastidious woman. An elderly, fluffy white cat trotted up and rubbed against her legs. She stooped to pick it up and buried her face in its fur.

  “Thank you,” she said, her voice thick. “I will be all right now.”

  “Are you certain?” I asked, concerned. “I can leave Oskelev with you to make sure you don’t have a . . . relapse.”

  “Oh, yes,” she assured me. She fixed her eyes on my face in a significant fashion. “Spending this afternoon with you has done me a world of good.” She passed inside. Wikely marched in after her and shut the door firmly in my face. I was thoughtful on the way back to our ship.

  “Have you found anything about the Trade Union’s motives?” I asked Lt. Plet the moment we were safely back inside the CK-M945B (Redius was right—I did have to give the ship a proper name).

  Plet slid her hand along the control on the side of her console. “I tapped into the minutes of the council chamber and saw the captain’s arrival. If it’s a hostile takeover, it’s the friendliest usurpation I ever saw, but it is still inexplicable. After that meeting, no official reading of the minutes has been done, and that’s odd for this group. They talk. They don’t get anything done, but they talk. You should see the dull material that is recorded and referenced over and over again.”

  “We are only here to observe, Lieutenant,” I said, stiffly. “That is something we have observed. Make a copy for the emperor.”

  “I have, sir.”

  “And a discreet backup or two.”

  Plet looked long-suffering. “Already done, sir.”

  “By Forn,” I said, agog with admiration. “it’s like having a younger version of Parsons at hand. You will go far.”

  “Thank you, sir.” She sounded pleased. A slight crease in the smooth brow denoted the puzzlement beneath, as she must wonder how far and in what direction I thought. I smiled. As I was ascending to a higher plane, there must also be supplementary replacements for such unique assets as Parsons. I would do a service to the espionage wing of the government to put them onto the existence of a mind like Plet’s, if Parsons had not done so already. Though she did not have his imagination, her powers of analysis and her efficiency were to be treasured. And Anstruther, too. I beamed at my companions.

  “Thank you all,” I said. “I am privileged to have such accomplished friends.”

  “We’re proud, too, sir,” Anstruther said, blushing.

  “What was that light that hit Thomas, Lieutenant?” Oskelev asked, getting back to business.

  “It was a kind of topographical measuring device,” Plet replied. “The pur
pose at present can only be surmised.”

  “Do they think you’re some kind of impostor?”

  “Him?” Nesbitt asked. “Why?”

  “My Infogrid file is an open book,” I protested. “I am afraid it might be more sinister than that.”

  “Like what?” Anstruther asked.

  “I abhor melodrama, but several scenarios suggest themselves,” I said, hating the possibilities, but I ticked them off on my fingers. “Am I to disappear, and messages be sent back home saying that I loved the Cluster too much to leave? Will transmissions of me stating that I abandon the notion of reunification with the Imperium and embrace the concept of the Trade Union taking over in the Cluster be broadcast across their Grid and our Infogrid?”

  The young ensign was aghast. “Well, we’d say that wasn’t true.”

  I gave her a sympathetic look.

  “Means he, we will not be around to contradict, either,” Redius said. She looked shocked. “Refer to Commander Parsons, when returns.”

  “I say step up security,” Nesbitt said. “No more going out in crowds, Thomas. No telling if those cameras bouncing around in your face are bombs or lasers.”

  “No,” I declared. “If Councillor DeKarn was brave enough to risk her life to put me before the people to give them an honest choice, I could not be less courageous in promoting the interests of my emperor. But I will not involve her further. It appears that the charismatic captain already sent her more than one warning. My brief is to observe, so observe I shall. I will go out alone—under protection, naturally—and continue.”

  The others burst out with their protests, but I was adamant. To my delight, Parsons agreed with me on his return.

  “Lord Thomas is entirely in the spirit of his assignment,” he assured my reluctant staff. “He should continue, if he can.” As he outranked them all, his word was law.

  For the next sixday, I brought my case directly to the people of Boske. I answered questions freely for whomever asked them. I might have been a hopeful candidate, for the number of pictures I posed for, babies kissed, speeches given and stores opened. I started to recognize some of my querents by sight and addressed them by name without prompting from Plet or my viewpad. Such retention, well-honed at a thousand family banquets, brought acclaim from reporters and beings on the street in the myriad Grid articles and opinion pieces. I made Anstruther collect all she could find of my appearances for my scrapbook. (I suspected she was keeping a copy for herself as well. I didn’t protest. A success for me was a success for us all.)