To have more subjects willing to allow me to interpret their lines of fate and star charts? To see their reactions at the revelations I had for them? I could hardly contain my eagerness.
“Yes, I would be happy to,” I said. “By all means, tell them yes! I would be delighted to include them in my studies.”
“Next rest period?” he asked.
“I will be ready and waiting,” I said.
How I kept my mind on my tasks, I do not know. To be able to add numerous living subjects for my study was just what I was hoping for. I checked my own fortune on the tarot program in my viewpad. The Chariot appeared. It warned me to keep my impulses in check. Not so easy, considering the delights that were surely to come.
CHAPTER 15
After mess, during which the conversation centered on a passionate discussion about the relative merits of three different bands from the Uctu Autocracy versus a similar number in the Imperium, I went back to my cabin to retrieve my tent and other impedimenta.
It took me a few minutes to rummage around for all the things I wanted to bring with me. I heard a bit of noise in the corridor. When I opened my door, I was met by a party of solemn-faced junior officers and noncoms.
“Hello,” I said, glancing from face to face. “Is there something wrong? Am I in some kind of trouble?”
“No, sir,” said the first, a wiry rating with huge dark eyes. “We just wanted to get in line right away.”
“For what purpose?” I asked.
“To get a reading from you, sir.” The others nodded vigorously.
“Ah! You must be Allen’s friends. Well, my cabin’s too small for a group of this size. Come down to the recreation center.”
“Aye, sir!”
A few of them reached out to assume my burdens. I ceded my bundles and led the way. They followed me to the lifts like a file of ducklings.
Upon my arrival in the entertainment center, a group of people sprang to their feet. They were mostly junior officers, but I saw the insignia of a senior officer or two. Allen came forward from amid them.
“Can I help you set up? Or is there some mystical reason not to touch your gear?”
“None at all,” I said. “Everything I have brought with me is ordinary. In fact, if you will put up the tent, I will get everything else prepared.”
“Hey, we were here first!” said a woman to the people at my back.
“We got in line with him at his cabin,” said the rating behind me. He looked rather smug.
“We’ve been here all this time! Ensign Allen said we were first!”
“Too bad!”
“You want too bad? Just wait until you’re back in Ordnance, cleaning and testing a thousand slugthrowers!”
I was surprised at the avid expressions on the crewbeings’ faces. I had certainly touched a nerve of some kind. I held up my hands.
“Friends! Friends, please! There’s no need to fight. Or take pre-emptive revenge. Allen, start a roster. I will speak to everyone, if not today, then over the next few days. How does that suit you?” There were a few ‘yeahs’ and a good deal of unhappy muttering. “If you’re not in a receptive frame of mind, how will you absorb the wisdom of the ages?”
That produced in them a more positive outburst. I retired to my tent, which had risen from the rec room floor as though by magic, and put on my robe. In its cool shadow, I surveyed the crew milling around Allen, demanding that he place each of them higher on the list than his or her fellows. Although I was interested in the outcome, it would probably interfere with the natural progression of things if I removed myself from the scene. I closed the flaps of my tent and waited. The noise outside rose to a crescendo, then died away to irritated asides and a few last threats.
It was not long before my first seeker entered.
“Hello, midshipman,” I said, as the crewman sat down. His name tag identified his last name as Polenti. He had fine bones overlain by deep brown skin. “What is it you want to know?”
“Uh, I don’t know. What’s going to happen in my future?”
Aha, I thought, a blank slate!
I did like being an authority figure. My natural aplomb and dignity lent my predictions, spurious as they were, gravitas that they probably would not normally enjoy. My clients, for so I came to think of them, came full of hope and departed feeling that sensation of wonder that one would associate with any transformative experience. All grist for the mill of my study. I found that some methods of divination gleaned better results than others with regard to my audience. Anything that involved physical contact drew more credence than those that did not. The more support material that was involved in a reading, such as charts or books, the more questions a subject was likely to ask. Group interpretations were never as successful as one-on-one meetings. I found, and my findings were borne out in my readings, that multiple subjects usually felt deprived of attention, except in events like séances. Summoning spirits, as it required their participation as well as physical contact, made them feel more invested in the outcome.
The sittings were not without drama, however. Midway through the third hour, I heard voices raised outside of my cloth enclosure. I popped my head out to see what was going on.
The generously-sized room, suitable for small concerts or a full game of arena football, was packed to the walls with people, all talking intently. Out of their midst burst a man and woman, arguing at the tops of their voices. I recognized the woman as one of my subjects from the first hour, a first lieutenant and physiotherapist from the sick bay. He wore a similar rank badge. She spotted me and came over to grab me by the facings of my robe.
“You started this! You told me that my palm said I would have three children! Now he says he doesn’t want a family!”
“I didn’t say that,” the man sputtered. “I said we’d talk about it once our deployment was over.”
“How old do you want to be when they start school?” the woman countered. “You want to stand or be in a hoverchair at their graduations?”
“They? Who’s they?” the man asked, his eyes wide with rage. “There isn’t any they.”
“If I may interrupt?” I asked, holding up my palms for silence. “I didn’t say . . .”
She rounded on me with a fingertip almost touching my nose.
“Did it say anywhere that he was going to break my heart?” she demanded.
“I must point out that a palm reading shows the potential, not necessarily the actual outcome of one’s life,” I said. “Our ancestors believed that the signs we were given were guidelines. Isn’t it more important . . . ?”
“No!” she said. The sclera of her eyes showed all the way around her very agitated irises. “Nothing is more important.”
“More important than me?” the man asked, outraged.
“I am afraid you did not take my reading as it was intended,” I said. “It was for entertainment only.”
“Since when are my future children for entertainment only?”
“Are you making fun of my partner?” the man asked, glaring. He leaned forward, intending to be imposing.
“Cease and desist at once,” I said, retreating and drawing myself up to my full height, which was several centimeters greater than his. “You!” I pointed to the woman. “You have the potential to be the mother of three children. You!” I pointed to the man. “If you have not had this conversation regarding offspring before, have it now. Give me your place and date of birth, and I will forward you comparative charts indicating whether it is even a good idea for you to continue in your relationship!”
Both of them recoiled, their eyes huge. Her hand crept over and clutched his. He put his arm around her shoulders.
“You’re not going to tell me to break up with him, are you?” she asked, her voice retreating into timid registers.
I smiled upon her benevolently.
“I would never impose my will upon you, madam,” I said. “The fates don’t dictate; they suggest. Go back and talk to each other.
And listen. This is not between me and you. It is between the two of you.”
I realized that the entire room was watching. I threw back the fullness of my robe’s sleeves and held up my hands in a sign of benediction.
“Go ahead,” I said.
The man didn’t hesitate. He pulled the woman away from me. Arms around one another, they retreated into the crowd and disappeared.
Satisfied, I went to sit down. A hand seized my arm.
“Just a minute, Lieutenant,” said a clarion voice.
I turned. The Wichu who had stopped me wore the insignia of a lieutenant commander.
“Yes, ma’am?” I asked.
“You’re not senior to these officers,” she said. “You can’t give them orders! Who do you think you are?”
I drew up to my full height and placed my hands upon the facings of my elegant robe.
“I am Lord Thomas Kinago.”
Her bulbous black eyes bulged in outrage.
“Not on this ship you’re not, sonny!”
“On every ship, ma’am,” I stated. “But you are correct. In the hierarchy of my mother’s navy, I am but a humble lieutenant. Still, they asked me to intervene.”
“When it sounds like you started the argument in the first place,” she pointed out.
I shrugged, the robe lending magnificence to my gesture.
“At least I got them talking again,” I said. “They had not had conversations vital to their relationship. I believe that I have put them on the path to a more harmonious future, separately if not together. I feel that my work here is done.”
The Wichu looked doubtful, but I could see that the force of my argument overwhelmed her objections.
“Well, all right,” she said. “At least nobody got hurt. Carry on, but keep it down! Keep this circus of yours under control!”
“I will, ma’am,” I promised. I turned back to Allen. “Who is next?”
Ship’s bells sounded, indicating the end of the rest period. Moans of disappointment arose from the clients still waiting for their readings.
“Never fear!” I called to the crowd. “Meet me here next rest period. I will resume with the list then.”
Allen gave me a thumbs up as I folded my tent and returned to my cabin. I went to my night’s rest well satisfied with my day’s work.
“Do you actually believe all this crap?” Oskelev asked, when we met for morning coffee in the recreation center.
I had seen little of my own crew during the past few days. Changing schedules to suit our temporary masters aboard the Bonchance had separated us widely. Once in a while I spotted Plet at the periphery of my waiting fans, but she never approached to speak to me. Anstruther was undoubtedly spending her free time reading manuals and improving her skills as a programming demon. I always admired her application.
“Of course not,” I said, cheerfully. I flipped out a shimmering red tablecloth on which I would project my palm charts over the table between us. “But it is great fun, isn’t it? And I am finding a goodly number of coincidences between my scrying and the true nature of my subjects.”
“Just good observer,” Redius said, with a speculative eye.
“I like to think so.”
“I dunno, Thomas,” Oskelev said, scanning the faces of those waiting nearby but out of earshot for my crumbs of wisdom. “I think they’re taking it pretty seriously. You’d better watch out. What’s Commander Parsons think?”
“Parsons has an uncanny manner of letting me know without a doubt when I behave in a way of which he disapproves,” I said. “If I have not heard from or seen him, he has little or no opinion of my activities.”
She and Redius departed for their morning duties. I took my place in the tent.
I could not help but credit Oskelev’s observation. My subjects listened to my readings with an outward air of disinterest, but their anxious questions told me otherwise. I could have said anything I wanted, and made a profit as a prophet. Many of my subjects asked if they needed to cross my palm with silver, in the form of Imperium credits, in exchange for my readings. I had to reassure them that they did not need to pay. I refused all gifts. I could see that my credibility would sink if it seemed I was spouting off their fortunes to enhance my own. In any case, I did not need their money, but I could see where unscrupulous and greedy fakes would prey upon the unwary and gullible.
The popularity of my sessions in the recreation center only increased. With each day, I found a larger crowd awaiting my services. I was treated with a kind of reverence that almost outstripped the understandable respect for my noble rank. At breakfast and my lunch break, during my fitness regime and other personal duties, people went out of their way to speak with me. I had never felt so popular. If they asked for a reading, I referred them to Franklin Allen.
Allen kept those on the list in order, not allowing anyone to queue-jump, no matter how highly placed they were in the ship’s hierarchy. I refused to show any favoritism, lest my motives be questioned. Everyone received an equal share of my attention.
I broke off the next session in the third hour, to the great disappointment of my fans. I had fallen behind in my Infogrid entries. Countless personal messages and other notifications inflicted various forms of visual pyrotechnic in the seemingly endless scroll of entries. I needed to stop reading people’s futures in order to investigate my recent past.
With my cabin door sealed firmly behind me for privacy, I activated the communications console embedded in the top of the desk, and requested a download of my personal messages.
Interleaved beneath my comments on my studies to date, I found some insulting messages from my cousins, as I would have expected, but some responses, from noted scholars as well as numerous laypeople, consisted of high praise bordering on reverence. The saccharine tenor of those was, thankfully, balanced by two tart rejoinders from fellow debunkers of the occult. They, of all the readers of my essays and musings, saw what I was doing: an investigation of personalities rather than occult divination. I was pleased. I replied to several, recorded a fleering message to my cousins with sound effects and a derisive graphic, and wrote a detailed description of my most recent findings.
Having disposed of the professional, I turned to personal messages. My mother’s personal secretary, Admiral Leven Draco, whom I had grown up knowing as an auxiliary uncle, had forwarded her compliments. I knew what that meant. I was able to reassure Uncle Lev that my sojourn aboard the Bonchance had heretofore been uneventful. I even hinted that she would be proud of my accomplishments aboard. I sent it off with a clear conscience.
One of the message lines was marked, “Urgent! Read at once!” The print flashed and danced so it would be impossible to ignore. Concerned, I opened it. It was from Sinim.
“Please delete Lady Jil’s message of two shifts ago,” her note read. “I sent it to you by mistake. Please don’t be mad. Don’t read it. Thanks, Lord Thomas.”
Mad? I raised my eyebrows. I didn’t see why anything that my cousin wrote would anger me. But I also could not possibly let it go unread.
“Search ‘Jil,’” I told the comm unit.
Immediately, the mass of messages scrolled down a few hundred to my cousin’s unmistakable signature line, filled with flourishes, emoticons and graphics.
As a result of my growing popularity over the last several days, Jil and her friends had barely spoken to me. I believed that my dear cousin was jealous of the attention I was getting. I had to admit that the adulation rather made up for being banished from the captain’s table. In some cases, quantity was rather more appealing than quality.
Jil’s message, couched in the flowery terms of official diplomatic language—I sensed Banitra’s fine hand here, since Jil never could be bothered to learn the syntax—invited the captain and senior officers, indicated by name and rank, to an intimate little party to thank them for the courtesy that she and her company of friends had been shown. This putative soiree would be held in the hydroponics garden.
&n
bsp; I glanced at the chronometer in the upper corner of the large screen, and discovered that it was scheduled to begin within the next hour. My name had been included in the list of invitees, but some attempt had been made to scrub it out after the message was sent to me.
I frowned. I was a little hurt not to be invited, but it didn’t bother me overmuch. Jil had the right to amuse herself as she pleased, as long as she didn’t interfere with our mission, or my own fun. I had the time to dress and go up to the event. Perhaps I would. Jil should know that her mistakes were as open to exploitation as mine were. As I was about to rise from the console, a musical feminine voice came over the intraship network.
“Lord Thomas!”
I put a name to the vocal tone.
“Angie, is that you?”
“Yes, my lord,” she said.
“What may I do for you?” I asked, pleased. By their nature of constant connectedness through electronic media, LAIs were not limited to ordinary messaging systems. They were capable of interrupting ongoing streams or, indeed, communicating via paths not usually used for vocal transmission. They had been programmed to be considerate of the frailties of lesser beings such as humans with regard to sleeping times or work shifts. “Are you enjoying your interaction with the ship’s artificial intelligences? Some of them are very interesting people.”
“My visit has been fruitful thus far, Lord Thomas,” she replied. “I have many new acquaintances with whom I will be pleased to correspond in future. I have invaded your privacy because I have an urgent piece of information to give you.”
“Urgent?” I echoed. “Is it from Parsons?”
“No, sir. I hope you will not find it too difficult to accept.”
I became alarmed. “Well, out with it, Angie. Bad news doesn’t improve by keeping.”
If an LAI ever hesitated, she did then.
“I must tell you that all of the Leonine wine and Colvarin cheese have been removed from the secured refrigeration unit aboard the Rodrigo.”
I was appropriately aghast.
Fortunes of the Imperium - eARC Page 16
