by John Scalzi
“So you are playing the two Wu cousins against each other,” said Tinda Louentintu, who was the chief of staff for the Countess Nohamapetan. She said this in the imperial suite of the Racheline, Hubfall’s most exclusive and secure hotel. She said it there rather than in the offices of the House of Nohamapetan because there was currently a cuckoo in that particular nest, a thing that would need to be addressed presently. The Racheline was an exquisite address, the imperial suite was gorgeously laid out and appointed, and the whiskey, which Assan took care to sip very slowly, given how much alcohol was already in his system at the moment, was almost impossibly fine.
“I’m not exactly playing them against each other,” Assan said. “I’m allowing them both to think they are using me to spy on the other while I decide which of them I ultimately want to back in their run for emperox.”
“That could turn out poorly for you if they compare notes,” Louentintu said.
“For them to do that they would have to stop loathing each other for longer than fifteen seconds. My family is close to the Wus, just like it has been for generations. I’m of an age between Jasin and Deran and grew up socializing with both here in Hubfall. No one outside of the family knows them better than I do. Neither of them is in much danger of having a sudden fit of affection for the other.”
“You find it useful to keep them at cross-purposes.”
“You say that as if it was me doing it,” Teran said. “My family has a saying: ‘No one hates a Wu like a Wu.’ It’s a miracle when anyone on their board of directors agrees on what to have for lunch, much less their actual business. I’m not putting Jasin and Deran at cross-purposes. But I’m not against using their cross-purposes to my advantage, either.”
Louentintu nodded. “Which is why you’re here, Lord Teran.”
“Yes. You have to know that no matter what, Grayland is on her way out. If she’s actually having visions, she’s not stable. If she’s not, then she’s playing a game in a moment of crisis that’s partly of her own making. For the good of the Interdependency, she has to go.”
“If you say so.”
“Ah, but it’s not me saying so,” Assan said. “Or not just me, anyway. The other houses are nervous about these changes in the Flow and what Grayland might use them as an excuse for, in terms of their business and monopolies. The parliament is convinced Grayland is about to institute martial law. Even the church is unsure what to do with Grayland now that she’s imitating Rachela. Changes are coming. That much is obvious. And I think everyone agrees that when that change comes, we need stability right at the top. In the imperial seat.”
“The House of Nohamapetan has already stood out once against the emperox,” Louentintu said. “It was not to our advantage.”
Assan shook his head. “No. Forgive me, Minister Louentintu, but the House of Nohamapetan has not stood out against the emperox. One of its members has. And while that member may have acted unwisely, it’s also clear they had a legitimate complaint. The imperial house had agreed that the next emperox would marry a Nohamapetan. Then the emperox backed out of the deal. She shouldn’t have. It’s an error that should be corrected. And can be corrected.”
Louentintu raised her eyebrows at this.
“That is, if the House of Nohamapetan is willing to make a deal, with one or the other of the Wu cousins now currently aiming at the throne, and to back it up with their resources, and the resources of their friends.”
“When?”
“Soon, I would think. The emperox’s scientist has given us a timetable.”
“And what do you get out of it?” asked the third person in the room, reclining on the couch, who until this moment had been silent.
“How do you mean, ma’am?”
“How I mean, Lord Teran, is that I am not stupid,” said the Countess Nohamapetan. “I know why Jasin and Deran Wu are caught up in this. It’s because a Wu must be emperox, and they are foolish enough to want the job, even now, as things are apparently falling apart. And it’s clear what you think our interest should be, since you are clearly hinting at a political union between our house and whichever Wu floats to the top of this enterprise. What I want to know is what your interest is. You are already the director of the House of Assan’s business affairs. You are already on the executive committee. You are already a lord. You have all the power you will ever have. What else is it that you want?”
Assan smiled. “Not for me,” he said, and then pulled out his tablet and opened up a photo. Two small children were there, smiling up at the photographer. Assan showed the photo to the countess.
“Charming,” the countess said. “And relevant how?”
“Relevant because one of them will marry the child of the next emperox.”
An unknowable play of emotions crossed over the countess’s face as she processed his words. “That is ambitious of you, Lord Teran, to plan that far ahead. Considering our civilization is coming to a sudden close.”
“Not all of it. Just most of it. There’s still End. Which your son Ghreni is attempting to gain control of, and which Nadashe sent a ship full of marines to in order to help him do so. It’s the one place in the Interdependency where humans will be able to survive in the long run. Your children planned to secure it, and make the House of Nohamapetan the new imperial house. Well, that didn’t go as planned. So it’s time to go back to plan A: Marry an Emperox. I’ll help you do it.”
“And all you want is the throne.”
“Yes. Eventually. You can have it first. Which is what you want. Ma’am.”
Assan saw the Countess Nohamapetan look over at her chief of staff, who nodded almost imperceptibly. Then her eyes came back to him. “Tell us more, Lord Teran.”
“To begin, which Wu would you prefer, ma’am?” Assan asked. “Jasin or Deran?”
Chapter
7
Kiva Lagos was in the middle of receiving some perfectly serviceable oral when her tablet pinged. She glanced over and saw it was Bunton Salaanadon, her executive assistant. Kiva considered not answering it, because she was busy and because she had told Salaanadon not to bother her unless the world was on fire. But then, because there was a possibility the world was on fire, and also because the oral was serviceable rather than full-attention-requiring spectacular, she picked up the tablet and answered it, voice only.
“Is the fucking world on fire?” she asked. From below, her partner looked up, quizzically, and gave Kiva a look that she interpreted as, Should I hold up? Kiva gave a motion with her hand, signaling that the oral should continue. Kiva’s partner got back to it.
“It depends on whether you consider an imperial summons a fire-bearing situation, ma’am,” Salaanadon said.
“What? Explain.”
“The Countess Nohamapetan has asked for, and received, a priority audience from the emperox regarding the disposition of the local activities of the house businesses. Specifically, she is asking you be removed from your position. I assume the emperox thought it only fair that you be allowed to offer your opinion on that, Lady Kiva.”
“When is this audience?”
“Two hours from now, ma’am.”
“Then I’m going to need a ride.”
“I’ve already arranged for a pickup at your apartments and a priority seat on the Xi’an shuttle. Since you explicitly have an imperial summons, you will have priority seating and clearance. An imperial escort will greet you when you arrive, and I’ve already filed the paperwork for expedited passage through security.”
“No firearms when I go, got it.”
“Yes, that would be advisable, ma’am,” Salaanadon said. Kiva was never sure if he ever really knew when she was being sarcastic or not and assumed he just chose the straight man lifestyle as a defensive choice.
“Will it just be the three of us?”
“The audience? I understand the countess will be bringing her lawyer. Ms. Fundapellonan. You met with her the other day, you may recall.”
“We’re acquainted,�
�� Kiva said.
“Should I have one of our lawyers join you for the meeting?”
“I’ve got this,” Kiva said. “Just make sure my ‘receipts’ file has been updated. I may need it.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“When is the car picking me up?”
“It will be at your apartments in fifteen minutes. Unless you would like it to arrive sooner.”
“No, that works,” Kiva said, disconnected and then refocused herself on the perfectly serviceable oral she was getting.
“You should probably check your messages,” Kiva said to her partner, after she came.
“Why is that?” asked Senia Fundapellonan.
“You’ll see.” Kiva went to her bathroom to go stop smelling like sex.
“You could have told me about this when you got the call,” Fundapellonan said when Kiva emerged from the bathroom, no longer having the whiff of being perfectly adequately serviced.
“You were busy.”
Fundapellonan waggled her tablet in her hand at Kiva. “This is slightly more important.”
“That’s a matter of opinion,” Kiva said. “And anyway, you’re not running any later because of it.”
“I have to order a cab to the shuttleport and then catch a shuttle.”
“Just come with me.”
“And you don’t think that looks at all bad, you and I taking a car from your apartment, together.”
Kiva shrugged. “It’s not like the countess doesn’t already know we’re fucking.”
Fundapellonan blinked at this. “What?”
“I assumed she told you I like to fuck around, so you should get with me to see if I would say anything useful while we banged.”
“Is that what you really think is going on here?” Fundapellonan asked.
“Isn’t it?”
“Well, yes,” Fundapellonan admitted. “But you’re not supposed to think it.”
“Just because I like to fuck, doesn’t mean I’m stupid,” Kiva said.
“If you knew this was a setup, then why did you…?”
“Screw your brains out?”
“Yes.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because it’s totally insincere?”
Kiva squinted at Fundapellonan. “Do you get out much?”
Fundapellonan was flustered at this. “Apparently not?”
“It’s just sex, for fuck’s sake.” Kiva said. “I wasn’t planning to fucking propose. You offered, you’re cute enough—”
“Thanks,” Fundapellonan said, dryly.
“—and I haven’t gotten laid that much since Marce Claremont traded up to the emperox. And it’s not like I was going to say anything to you about my business.”
“You mean, our business.”
“Well, that’s what today’s meeting will be about, anyway,” Kiva said. “My point is, it was a safe enough opportunity to get laid.”
“I don’t know how to feel about that,” Fundapellonan said.
“It’s not like you didn’t get anything out of it,” Kiva pointed out.
Fundapellonan smiled at that. “True enough.” She paused. “This is the first time I’ve ever done something like this.”
“Had sex with someone because your client told you to.”
“Yes.”
“How was it for you?”
“Mostly okay?”
“Well, good,” Kiva said, and patted Fundapellonan’s shoulder. “Because you’re about to get fucked by me again, this time in front of the emperox.”
* * *
The Countess Nohamapetan was definitely someone who wanted all the bells and whistles and shiny fucking spangles, so her audience with the emperox was held in the formal receiving room. It was cavernous enough that you could probably land a shuttle in it, although Kiva supposed, given who was both asking for and giving this little farce of an audience, any snippy quips about a shuttlecraft would not be appreciated.
Kiva glanced over at the Countess Nohamapetan and was not impressed. The countess, conspicuously ornate, had overdressed for this particular emperox. Grayland had been overdressed exactly once in her life, at her coronation, and since that event had included a bombing and the murder of Grayland’s best friend, it hadn’t been exactly a sterling moment in fashion history. The countess’s advisors might have told her that Grayland preferred a more understated look. Either they hadn’t, or the countess had ignored them, and now she was looking like a grenade went off in a drawer of metallic ribbons.
Kiva’s own attire was rather more subtle, a formal suit of merchant black and gold with a pendant that showed off the colors of the House of Lagos: red, yellow, light and dark blue. Kiva thought the formal suit made her look like a waiter or a fucking servant, but it wasn’t up to her what to wear to see the emperox, so she just dealt with it.
The emperox herself, as Kiva recalled, preferred a suit rather more like Kiva’s than whatever sad monstrosity it was that the countess was wearing, tailored exquisitely (because it would be, wouldn’t it) and in the dark imperial green that shouldn’t have looked good next to Grayland’s skin tone, but managed to look just fine anyway. Being emperox meant everything looked good on you, maybe. A nice perk of an otherwise thankless fucking job.
Kiva, the countess, and Senia Fundapellonan—who was wearing the same nice, conservative suit that Kiva had peeled her out of earlier in the day—all stood in front of the dais that held the throne Grayland would perch upon. Neither the dais nor the throne were particularly ridiculous, which meant they were out of place in the room, but in keeping with Grayland’s own sensibility.
From well behind the dais, a door opened and Grayland entered the room. She did it without handlers, which Kiva understood to be increasingly her custom. She accepted bows and handshakes from Kiva and Fundapellonan, and a more elaborate curtsey-bow-whatever-the-fuck-it-was from the countess. Then she stepped up the dais, sat herself into the throne, and smiled.
“We are ready to hear you, our dear Countess Nohamapetan,” she said. Kiva noted the use of the royal “we,” which was the first time she had personally heard that from Grayland; when she’d met her before, Grayland was all “I” and “me.” That said, the last time she’d seen Grayland, the emperox was getting over being attacked with spaceships. It was possible she was not entirely herself.
The countess did whatever that fucked-up bow-curtsey thing was again. “Let me begin, Your Majesty, by assuring you of the unending loyalty of the House of Nohamapetan. I am aware—we as a house are aware—that you have recently had ample reason to doubt the sincerity of this loyalty. I understand that the only way to regain that trust is to earn it again, slowly and with difficulty. It will be the mission of my house to do so. And in earnest of that mission, and as the first small step in recompense, I am pledging all Nohamapetan in-system profits this year to the Naffa Dolg Foundation.”
Kiva almost choked on her tongue at this bullshit. To begin, the countess fucking well knew that she couldn’t pledge those in-system revenues to anything; they were under Kiva’s control, and she had the final word to how they could be used. Since Kiva had been in control of Nohamapetan’s local businesses, all revenues had been placed into accounts that Kiva had made accessible to the Ministry of Revenue as a sort of permanent audit. The only way the countess could do anything with the revenues without Kiva’s consent was for the emperox to give back control of local operations. Which was something the countess undoubtedly knew as well as Kiva. So either this was the opening gambit to removing Kiva, or it was an attempt to make Kiva the asshole of the day. Which would also be the opening gambit to removing Kiva.
To continue, Naffa Dolg, the emperox’s childhood best friend and first chief of staff, was fucking murdered on the emperox’s coronation day by a bomb that was almost certainly but not yet provably planted by some asshole working for the Nohamapetan siblings, the asshole children of this asshole countess. Whether the countess herself knew about the attempt at the time or not, she certai
nly knew about it now. Just like she knew the bomb was meant to kill Grayland.
So basically the Countess Nohamapetan was currently saying to the emperox, “I’m proving my loyalty by offering money I don’t have to the charity named for your friend, who my kids accidentally slaughtered when they tried to fucking assassinate you.”
Which struck Kiva as an interesting way to try to win favor with the emperox.
Either the countess was laughably oblivious to the insult she was offering to Grayland, or she was daring the emperox to make something of it. Kiva, remembering both Nadashe and Ghreni Nohamapetan from her college days, doubted that the countess was that oblivious. She might currently look like a glittered chicken, but she wasn’t stupid.
So this had to be a test of some sort or another, one that the countess thought she was administering to the emperox. To see if Grayland was oblivious, perhaps. Or to see how the emperox would react to what amounted to a bald-faced slap against her and her beloved friend. Or maybe the countess just wanted to see what she could get away with, and what the emperox was willing to take from her. Or maybe she just thought Grayland was a fucking idiot.
Kiva glanced over to Fundapellonan, whose face was pleasantly blank. Kiva wondered briefly whether her recent lover might have suggested this particular course of action to her countess. She doubted it. Fundapellonan didn’t seem to have the sufficient level of gutstabbery in her soul to pull a stunt like this. Kiva’s eyes went back to Grayland, who took this all in and processed it.
Go on, Kiva thought. Fucking ask me about this.
“Your pledge moves us, Countess,” Grayland said. “It is a reflection of the quality of your soul, and we are glad to know it.”
And then, after that absolute fucking masterpiece of saying, Oh, I see you, bitch, and making it sound like a compliment, the emperox turned her attention to Kiva. “We wonder what Lady Kiva, as the countess’s in-system director, has to say regarding this remarkable offer.”
Watch this, Kiva thought, and began. “No doubt the countess has the best of intentions, Your Majesty, but I regret to say that this year our in-system profits will be close to zero.”
