Galactic Empires

by Neil Clarke

  She thumbed the privacy field and turned to Vesper. “Where is he, then?”

  “They’ve taken him to the local Imperial Shrine for safekeeping. Once he Announced, word spread fast.”

  They’d watched this one for some time. The Mission had seen the potential in his humble birth, in the calloused hands of his lowborn parents, in the scraps of data they’d fed into the matrix. By age seven, they’d known he would match in the high ninetieth percentile. Now at fifteen, he was easily the youngest to score so near the ideal and the second youngest to Announce before reaching his majority. She’d seen some of his paintings, some of his poems. She’d heard a snippet from a song a year earlier. Now, she reviewed his results and charted them on the divine matrix.

  “At the moment, he’s only a ninety-eight three,” she said out loud.

  “Only?” Vesper asked. “Has there been higher?”

  She nodded. “When I was an Initiate years ago we saw a ninety-eight six.”

  His surprised look and indrawn breath made her smile. “A ninety-eight six? I’ve never heard this.”

  “There are many things you’ve not heard,” Tana told him. “And you have not heard this either . . . from me.” She raised her eyebrows in gentle warning.

  Vesper nodded to show agreement. “What happened to him?”

  “Her,” she said. “This one was a girl.”

  He scowled. “A girl?”

  “Yes. A young woman. Quite rare, I know, considering our understanding of the matrix. And in answer to your question: she died.”

  “No surprise there,” he said. “The disappointed can be quite unforgiving. And the unforgiving can be quite brutal.”

  Tana nodded. “True. But this one never Declared. She Announced and then took her own life shortly after her Consideration.”

  She wasn’t sure why she told him this. By the letter of the law, it was a breach in the Mystery. But by the spirit, Tana felt drawn to the young man. Or perhaps, she thought, it’s been too long since I’ve trusted anyone outside the Mission.

  Vesper seemed surprised. “Took her own life without Declaring? That seems odd.” He chuckled. “Why?”

  “I think,” Tana Berrique said, “she saw something the rest of us couldn’t see at the time.” Now she hinted at heresy and treason and backed away from the words carefully, studying the sudden firmness of the captain’s jaw, the tightness around his eyes.

  He looked around, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. The question hung out there like forbidden fruit and she knew he would not ask it.

  She patted his leg in the way she thought a mother might. “Pay no mind to me, young Captain. I’m tired and eager to be done with this work.”

  He relaxed. Eventually, she closed her eyes and meditated to clear her mind for Consideration. The yacht sped on. Somewhere in her silence, she fell into a light sleep and woke up as the atmosphere gently shook her.

  He waited in a vaulted chamber in the lower levels of the Imperial Shrine. Captain Vesper’s men took up their positions around the shrine, supplementing the Shrine Guard. A duo of Initiates accompanying the shrine’s Pilgrim Seeker escorted the Missionary General through room after room.

  “We are honored to have you,” the Pilgrim Seeker said.

  “I am honored to attend,” Tana said, following the proper form. “Though I face the day with dread and longing.”

  The Pilgrim Seeker nodded, her eyes red from crying. “Perhaps he will Ascend.”

  “Perhaps he will not,” Tana Berrique said. “Either way, today will be marked by loss. For one to Ascend, another must Descend.”

  “In our hope, we grieve.” The Pilgrim Seeker quoted from an obscure parameter of the matrix. “And we are here.”

  They stood in a small anteroom, watching the boy in the chamber through a one-way viewscreen. He sat quietly in a chair. A plain-clad couple stood near the door. The man had his arm around the woman. They looked hopeful and mournful at the same time.

  “His parents,” the Pilgrim Seeker said.

  The Missionary General felt anger well up inside her. “He’s very young,” she told them. “Who encouraged him to Announce?” “He did it himself, Mum,” the father said. “And how did he know?”

  The mother spoke up. “We didn’t even know ourselves. I swear it.”

  Tana frowned. “Very well. I will give him Consideration.” She lowered her voice so that only the parents could hear. “I hope you know what price this all may come to.”

  The mother collapsed, sobbing against her husband. He patted her shoulder, pressing her to his chest. When his eyes locked with Tana Ber-rique’s she saw fire in them. “We didn’t know. Have done with it and let us be.” Now tears extinguished their ferocity. “If we had known, don’t you think we’d have fled with him years ago?”

  The despair in his words stopped her. She felt their grief wash over her, capsizing her anger. She forced a gentle smile, too late. “Perhaps your son will Ascend.”

  “Perhaps,” the father said.

  She drew a palm-sized matrix counter from her pocket and thumbed it on. She felt it vibrating into her hand, ready to calculate his responses and add them into the equation as she gave Consideration. Tana Berrique nodded to the Pilgrim Seeker, who opened the door into the chamber. She walked into the room and stood above him. He sat, eyes closed, breathing lightly.

  One of the Initiates brought a chair and set it before the boy, then left. She sat, placed the matrix counter on the floor between them, and waited for the door to whisper closed. When it did, she smiled.

  “What is your name?” she asked.

  The boy opened his eyes and looked up at her. “I would like a privacy field, please.”

  She flinched in surprise. The counter chirped softly, flashing green. Ninety-eight four, now. “A privacy field? It’s not done that way.”

  His eyes narrowed. “It’s done any way you say it is, Missionary General Tana Berrique. This is your Consideration.”

  Surprise became fear. The green light flashed him a solid ninety-eight six now as his words registered against the equation. She waved to the hidden viewscreen and a privacy field hummed to life around them. “You know a great deal for someone so young.”

  The boy laughed. It sounded like music and it washed her fear. He leaned forward. “Perhaps I’m not so very young,” he said.

  “That’s what I’m here to Consider,” she told him. “May I follow the form?”

  He nodded.

  “What is your name?”

  “I am called H’ru in this incarnation.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “This incarnation?” she repeated.

  “Yes.”

  She watched the counter. He was nearing ninety-nine. “And your other names?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “Are they important?”

  “They may be, H’ru. I don’t know.”

  He shook his head. “They are not.”

  Tana changed the subject. “What led you to Announce?”

  His young brow furrowed. “I was told to.”

  “By your parents?”

  He chuckled, the brief laugh ending in a secret smile.

  “By one of the Families?”

  The smile faded. “By myself,” he said.

  She shook her head, not sure she heard correctly. The counter did not chirp or hum, no light flickered from it. “Could you say that again?”

  “I told myself to Announce,” he said.

  She felt her stomach lurch. “That’s not possible.”

  “Ask me. Return to Pyrus, wake me, and ask me yourself.” His smile returned. “After you are finished with the Consideration, of course.”

  “The Regent would never allow it. And even if he did—” She suddenly realized she had lost focus, lost composure, spoken aloud. The counter still did nothing. She scooped down, picked it up to see if it still hummed. It did.

  “I’ve stopped it,” he said.

  “How?” she asked.

  “I willed it to st
op and it stopped.”

  “What else can you will?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “We’ll not talk around circles, Tana Berrique. You do not need a counter to know who I am.”

  She let the air rush out of her. He was right. She didn’t need it to know. The four before had been betrayed by either humility without strength or arrogance without power. Their equations had tested the matrix, to be sure, but they could not Ascend. After Declaring, the house-factions and bloodfeuds had undone them and they’d died on the run from followers turned vengeful from disappointment and fear. But this one was different and it shook her.

  “You’ve not met me before,” he said. “The others were near but false. Except for one.”

  She nodded. She blinked back tears, fought the growing knot in her throat.

  “You’re wondering why I took my life before,” he asked. “It’s what you told the Captain on your flight in. I saw something the rest of you could not see at the time. But you see it now, don’t you?”

  She nodded again and swallowed.

  “Your god, your Emperor of Ascending Light, has lain near death for too long while the Regent and his kin hold power in wait for another god to rise. But they intend no new Ascendant be found. They use this trick of Announcement, Consideration and Declaration to extend both hope and fear. But in the end, no one Ascends. The Dissents tear out the heart of the Empire and only strengthen the aspect of a few.”

  Her hands shook. Her bladder threatened release. She shifted on the chair, then pitched forward onto her knees. “What is your will, Lord Emperor?”

  He touched her hair and she looked up. He smiled down, his face limned in the room’s dim light. “Take your seat, Tana Berrique.”

  Mindful to obey, she returned to her chair. “My Lord?”

  “H’ru,” he said with a gentle voice. “Just H’ru.”

  Tana felt confusion and conflict brewing behind her eyes. “But surely when you Declare, you shall Ascend unhindered? How could they prevent you?”

  “They will not prevent me,” he said. “You will.” He paused, letting the words sink in to her. “And I shall neither Ascend nor Declare.”

  “But my role is Consideration. I take no part in—”

  “I will tell you to,” he said. “And because I am your Emperor, you will obey.”

  “I do not understand,” she said.

  “You will.” He patted her hand. “When the Regent calls you out, say to him S’andril bids you to recall your oath in the Yellowing Field. He will admit you to me. And I will tell you what to do.”

  She sat there before him for a few minutes, letting the privacy field absorb the sound of her sobs as he held her hands in his and whispered comfort to her.

  At long last, she stood, straightened her habit, and waved for the privacy field to be turned off. The counter stopped at ninety-nine three. She looked down at the boy. “This Consideration is closed,” she said. “You may do what you will.”

  The boy nodded. “I understand.”

  Without a glance, without meeting the eyes of the Pilgrim Seeker or the parents, she strode from the chamber, passed through the anteroom and said nothing at all to anyone else.

  Back at Pyrus, she spent her time gazing down on the garden while she waited for the Regent to call her out. No Declaration had swept up from Casillus and the pockets of ships, loaded with troops, continued to deploy strategically around that world and others while everyone waited.

  Captain Vesper finally came for her. She had not spoken to him since before the Consideration but she knew that he could see her unrest. He fell back into his official role though she saw his brow furrowing and his mouth twitching as unasked questions played out beneath his skin.

  She followed as he led her into the throne room.

  The Regent sat on a smaller throne to the left of the central dais and its massive, empty crystalline throne. To the right, his son, the Vice-Regent, sat. He waved the Imperial Brigade members away.

  After they had gone, he motioned the Missionary General forward.

  “Well?” he finally asked. “There has been no Declaration from Casil-lus. Then I learn that you made no report on this Consideration.” He scowled, his heavy beard, woven with gems and strands of gold, dragging against his chest. “What do you say for yourself?”

  “I say nothing for myself, Regent.” She intentionally left off the word Lord.

  “I find that highly unusual, Missionary General.”

  She shrugged. “I’m sorry you find it so.”

  “Can you speak about this child H’ru and his Announcement?”

  “I can. He Announced and I Considered.”

  “And?”

  Tana Berrique paused, not sure how to pick her way through this minefield. Lord help me, she thought, and I will simply be direct. She met the Regent’s eyes. “What do you want me to say?”

  “What I want,” the Regent said in a cold voice, “is to know when the Family warships and armies will either stand down or take action. Something that will not happen until this boy makes up his mind. We do not need another Dissent. We do not need another false god Declaring and moving our worlds into civil war.”

  She continued to stare at him. “I find it interesting, Regent, that you did not at any point mention wanting a new god to Ascend and bring all this uncertainty to a close.”

  His face went red and he growled deep in his chest. “If you were not the Missionary General,” he said in a low voice, his hands white-knuckling the sides of his chair, “I would have you killed for those words.”

  She smiled. “So you do want the new god to Ascend, for our Emperor of Ascending Light to sleep at long last, knowing his people are safe for a season?”

  “Of course I do,” he said. “We all do.”

  Now she took her moment. “Very well,” she said. “S’andril bids you to recall your oath in the Yellowing Field.”

  His eyes popped, his face went white and his mouth dropped open. “What did you say?”

  “You heard me quite well. And I assume that you know what it means.”

  Shaking, he stood up. “It can’t be.”

  “It is.”

  His son looked pale, too, but clearly didn’t understand what was happening. Tana Berrique wasn’t sure herself, but she felt the power from her words and their hard impact.

  “He told me this day would come. He told me those words would come.” The large old man started to cry.

  “Father?” The son stood as well. “What does this mean?”

  “An old promise, son. Go gather your things.”

  Tana watched the son’s face go red. “My things? What are you saying?”

  “Our work is done,” the Regent said. “We’re going home now.”

  “But this is my home. You said so. You said—”

  In a bound, the old man stood over his son, hand raised to slap him down. The son buckled and cowered on the floor as his father’s voice roared out: “What I said doesn’t matter. We leave now and hope for mercy later.”

  “I’ll let myself in,” Tana Berrique told him.

  Behind the throne room, in his private bedchamber, the Emperor of Ascending Light lay beneath a stasis field, attended by scuttling jeweled spiders that preserved his life. Tana Berrique stood at the foot of the massive circular bed, her body trembling at the sight of him.

  He’d been a big man once, muscled and broad-shouldered, but the years had withered him to kindling. His white hair ran down the sides of his head like streams of milk spilled onto a silk pillow. His hands were folded around his scepter. She stepped forward and dropped to her knees beside his bed, thumbing off the stasis field to awaken him from long sleep. The spiders clattered and scrambled, unsure of what to do with this un-programmed event. The paper-thin eyelids fluttered open and a light breath rattled out.

  Tana Berrique bowed her head. “You summoned me, Lord.”

  “Yes.” His voice rasped, paper rustling wood. “Are my people well?”


  “They are not, Lord. They need you.”

  The tight mouth pulled, thin wisps of beard moving with the effort. “Not as such.”

  And she knew what was coming now. The reality of it settled in as she recalled the boy’s words. They will not prevent me, he had said, you will. “What would you bid me, Lord?”

  “Kill me,” the Emperor of Ascending Light whispered. One hand released the scepter and thin, dry, brittle fingers sought her hand. “Let it all change.” He coughed and a spider moved to wipe his mouth. “It is time for change.”

  “I don’t think I can.” She felt the tears again, hot and shameful, pushing at her eyes and spilling out. She wanted to drop his hand but could not. “I don’t think I can. I can’t.”

  He shushed her. “You can. Because I am your Emperor.” His lips twitched into a gentle smile. “You will obey.”

  Tana Berrique stood and bent over her god. She felt the sweat from her sides trickle forward tracing the line of her breasts as she leaned. She felt the tears tracing similar paths down her cheeks. She shuddered, bent further, and kissed the dry, rattling lips. She placed her hands gently on the thin neck and squeezed, the soft hair of his beard tickling her wrists. The eyelids fluttered closed. She kept squeezing until her shoulders shook. She kept squeezing while the spiders panicked and climbed over one another to somehow complete their program and preserve a life. She kept squeezing until she knew that he had gone. Her hands were still on the throat when heavy boots pounded the hallway.

  “Missionary General!” Captain Vesper’s voice shouted from outside, “Is the Emperor okay? The Regent’s retinue is packing for a rapid withdrawal and no one is telling me any—” She heard him clatter into the room. “What are you doing?” he screamed.

  She turned quickly to face him. Panting, eyes wild, face drawn in agony, the young officer pulled his sword. “What are you doing?” he asked again, pointing its tip at her as he took a step forward.

  “I’m doing what I’m told,” she said. “And by the Ascending Light you’ll do the same or watch all our Lord worked for crumble and decay.”

  He paused, uncertainty washing his face.

  “You already know, Alda.” She gestured to the bed. “He wanted more than this for his people.”