The View from the Imperium (36 page)

“You have to give me a copy,” Scot begged. “Aren’t you my best friend in the entire universe? How can you hold back such a treasure from your loved ones?”

I grinned lazily, crossing my feet on the end of my rock chaise longue. “I knew you would be gagging for one. It’s mine. But I will tell you what I will do: I will let you have an edited version. A few of the best stories.”

“No!” Jil said. “The whole thing!”

I put my hand to my breast in mock outrage. “I can’t give away all my material on the first day back! When I have squeezed every drop of original laughter out of my collection, I will share it with everyone. But not yet.”

“Oh, you spoilsport!” She threw a bite of bread at me. One of the trained ducks that floated on the rippling water sailed over and nibbled it up. “Tell us some, then!”

I knew they would come around, since the truth was nearly all of them would have preferred to have stories told them than listen to or read the entire file themselves.

“Very well,” I said, propping myself up so I could see the eager faces of my audience. “This was the first one I found, and still consider my favorite.”

I stretched out the Uctu anecdote as long as I dared, judging by the anticipatory glints under their lowered eyelids to ensure I was keeping their interest. When I came to the words, “fire extinguisher,” I caught them all off guard. In fact, they laughed so hard they couldn’t even retain their customary bored expressions. I captured a wonderful spit-take from my cousin Erita that was so wonderfully explosive that I ordered the camera to stow it in my secret file immediately. They applauded so long I was almost embarrassed.

“More!” they clamored. “More!”

“He’s not supposed to be the entertainment,” Scot protested. “
We
are supposed to provide it. This is his celebration.”

“But we were together for months, darling,” Jil said. “He’s the only one who did something different.”

“Scot, it is my pleasure to be able to tell these to a new audience,” I said, proud of the warm reception. “I don’t mind a bit.”

“Well, if you’re sure . . . ?”

“Hand on heart,” I assured him.

“More!” Nalney bellowed, slapping the water with his palm.

I nudged my memory for my best stories. I could have called for my pocket secretary, but it would have detracted from my performance to have to refer to notes. Fortunately, the flood of quips and anecdotes that sprang to mind was more than enough to keep the merriment going for a long time. The laughter rang off the painted ceiling and caused the birds to explode upward from the fountain’s surface. This was indeed a wonderful welcome home.

* * *

My skin was wrinkled into a remarkable representation of prune-skin and my throat’s lining shredded to fibers by the time our delightful evening concluded. I was full of contentment as well as the most exquisite delicacies, not to mention my mother’s vintage wines. I had been admired and fussed over, and it felt wonderful. My cousins bade me affectionate and damp farewells as we staggered with some difficulty toward the resort’s courtesy skimmers that would take us to our limousines at the front gate.

“Wait!” Scot cried, wriggling into my transport at the last moment through the narrow window. He landed on top of Nalney, who was sprawled limply on the seat across from mine, considerably the worse for wine. “Thom, come and see me tomorrow, all right? I need to talk to you.”

“I already said that I would, on the way to Jil’s village. What is it about?”

With an expression I could not identify, Scot opened his mouth to speak. But trouble interrupted him.

I thought I had heard the faint noise of protest during the party, but had dismissed it as unimportant. There were often partygoers who had had a little too much good cheer and became argumentative as a result. I had been one myself at times. The management was always careful to prevent interruption of their most honored guests during a private function, but true soundproofing was impossible where there was the passage of atmosphere.

Bodies landed upon the soft awning of our skimmer and struggled to get inside. I could not see much of them by the pale amber lights studded about the interior, but if I was not utterly mistaken, they were wearing rented evening attire.

“Out, curse you!” Scot sputtered. “This is a private car.”

The eldest and most indignant of the invaders glared at us. His face was suffused with red to the point where even with sufficient lighting I would not have been able to ascertain his original complexion. “You worthless pieces of dung, you spoiled my daughter’s wedding!”

I fixed an eye upon him. “I don’t believe we are acquainted, sir. Please leave our transport at once!”

It seemed they had said all they came to say. They withdrew from our skimmer, but dragged us out of the vehicle with them. Two large men twisted their fists into the front of my drying robe and pulled. Before I knew it, I and my cousins were in the midst of a crowd of ill-dressed party-goers, all shouting at us. I was beset by a well-muscled young man, the worse for drink, who kept poking me in the chest. A small, elderly woman with a shrill voice berated Scot and banged upon his head with her blue beaded handbag. He shielded his person as best he could and struggled back toward the doors. At her cry, three men in hired suits leaped upon him. Scot fell to his hands and knees upon the enameled tiles of the vehicle pad. The men belabored him with their fists.

I pushed the hand of my chest-poker out of the way and sprang to my cousin’s defense. Two of them hauled him upward and held him so the third could pummel him about the midsection. I seized the shoulder of the right-hand immobilizer and spun him out of the way. Scot, listing sideways, tottered to his feet. I placed myself between me and the other two assailants. They seemed to take my interference unkindly, and turned their attention to me.

In spite of my sybaritic evening, I was not as impaired as I might have been, thanks to my need to be alert in my brief turn as a comedian. I grabbed the left wrist of the man on my left and the right of the other, and tugged them sharply upward, as I had once done with two Geckos. Thanks to physics, which worked the same here as on Smithereen, the two men, arms forced to an acute angle with regard to the other’s, were propelled forward and crashed into one another. They toppled to the ground. Before they could rise again and retaliate against me, I unwound their unspeakable cummerbunds from about their waists and secured their hands with them. They sat on the stones moaning.

“Thanks, old fellow,” said Scot. “You were a whirlwind! Is that what they teach one on the plebeian ships?”

I glanced back at my handiwork, a trifle shocked. The movements that disarmed my opponents had come naturally to me. I gave Scot a sheepish smile.

“All that drilling, out of sheer boredom, I assure you. What is wrong with these people?”

“I have not the inkling of a clue,” Scot said. “I didn’t waste a moment of the evening on strangers.”

Other cousins were in need of our aid. A stout, older woman in a horrible fuchsia evening gown made for Xan’s eyes with her fingernails curved. We both flew to his side.

It was unnecessary. Xan stepped toward her, not away. She ended up in an unwitting embrace, chest to heaving bosom. He dragged her toward the nearest light. Putting her at arm’s length, he gazed deep into her eyes.

“Now, you don’t want to do that, my darling,” he said, in a soft, passionate voice.

Her expression softened from fury to a dazed wonderment.

“No, I don’t,” she said.

Scot and I exchanged looks of puzzlement.

“She must know him,” I said. “You know our Xan, man of a thousand conquests.”

“Indeed,” Scot said, admiringly. “Although I would not have picked her as one of his typical choices.”

“Who knows?” I asked. “There are questions in this world to which I do not want to know the answers.”

Xan let the now quiescent woman go and went to extract Erita from an argument with three young women in matching gowns. We scuffled with a few more angry patrons.

Into the midst of the disturbance swept a number of vehicles bearing the logo of resort security. Numerous men and women dressed in uniforms both subservient and soothing in appearance sprang out and began to mingle with the crowd. I and my cousins were cut out of the herd and urged in the gentlest possible way toward one end of the patio, whereas the disgruntled mob was surrounded and contained. I was pleased that I didn’t have to employ any of the martial arts I had learned. There was no need for anyone to be harmed. The manager of the resort, an old friend of my mother’s, made toward us, his hands raised in a placatory manner.

“What is going on?” I demanded. “Mr. Banion, we are not accustomed to such ill-treatment on the very threshold of what has until now been our favorite haunt.”

“And will continue to be, I hope, please, Lord Thomas,” Sted Banion said, in hand-wringing distress. “We were delighted to host you today. There has simply been a small misunderstanding.”

“Small?” A large man in one of the ill-fitting hired suits came bustling toward Banion. His face was crimson with anger. “My daughter’s wedding has been in your schedules for a year! It cost us a fortune! And to have it suddenly cancelled by you this afternoon, with four hours’ notice? What do you call that?”

“Mr. Felash, please,” Banion said, turning smoothly to confront the angry man. Two security guards came to flank them just in case. I started toward them, to help out if wanted, but a young lady in spectacles with striped lenses smiled up at me.

“Please stay here, Lord Thomas. This will all be straightened out to everyone’s satisfaction.”

“They’re nobles, do you see?” Banion whispered to the father of the bride, but loudly enough that I and those cousins near me could hear.

“What does that matter?”

“I apologize, Mr. Felash, but it doesn’t do to annoy the Imperial house. I offer you the deepest apologies of the resort. We will refund your deposit on the chamber, naturally.”

“What about the rest of the bill?” Felash asked, as calculation caused his left eye to squint at the unhappy manager.

“Your daughter did have her wedding here, didn’t she?” Banion asked. “It was a beautiful, may I say a memorable event? The images have already been posted to your Infogrid file and those of your guests.”

“But I wanted to have it in that woodland glade!” The bride, overhearing the conversation, swooped down upon the unhappy manager.

“Please accept my congratulations on your marriage,” Banion said smoothly. “You look very lovely. Did you enjoy the special marberry dessert? It was compliments of Sparrow Island. It has been such a pleasure to have you here.”

“But . . . !”

By then, fresh transports arrived, and we were herded to them. I was glad to get into my carriage. My skin was still damp, and desert nights are chilly. We were swept away into the starry night, but the press camera-eyes zoomed around us. I frowned. The transports let off a burst of static with audible code. I’d heard it before. It was a scrambling signal. Few of the images would make it to the all-day, all-night news stations, perhaps making a mention in the celebrity gossip. I hope they hadn’t captured my image. My mother was cross enough at me.

“That was unpleasant,” Xan said. His lady friend had been packed into a different car, but my cousin did not seemed troubled by her absence.

“I for one did not appreciate the nasty comments about uselessness,” I said.

“What?” Xan asked. “Ignore them. They have no idea of our responsibilities.”

I tried to follow his advice, but the comment continued to sting me.

“So, Xan, who was the lady?” Scot asked, with a wink at me.

“Which lady?”

“The lady who seemed so stunned to see you,” I said. “The one in the flamboyant sequined brocade.”

“Her?” He frowned. “No idea.”

“But she calmed down immediately on seeing you,” I said.

Xan smiled modestly. “Women can’t resist me,” he said. “It’s my good looks and charm. A most powerful combination, or so I have been told.”

We fleered. “No, it’s true!” he protested. “I’ve always been able to do that. I turn my most sincere gaze upon them, and they calm down. It’s been a useful skill.”

“Mood-levelers,” Scot said decisively. “He must have them in a poison ring.”

Xan seemed hurt. “If either of the two of you had any charm, you’d be able to do it yourself.”

“I’ll try it one day,” I said. But Scot and I exchanged amused glances.

Chapter 22

DeKarn was not completely immune from the charms of the visitor, but she began to feel nervous at his sheer ubiquity. Not only was Captain Sgarthad in the council chambers and on the digitavid programming every day, he made appearances in circles of power. He had insinuated himself among the group of prominent businessbeings who frequented the deluxe bar at the top of the local hotel. At first she thought it was innocent. After all, he came from a culture of traders. Then petitions began to circulate. DeKarn obtained one from a trusted source who was also outraged that the Trade Union captain seemed to be the moment’s darling. DeKarn could not believe it until she had listened to the prologue several times. The petition sought to hold a special election, against all laws of Boske or any of the other Castaway Cluster systems, to name Emile Sgarthad governor on behalf of the Trade Union, “the better,” the narrator, a distinguished-looking Cocomon businessfemale DeKarn had met personally, “to facilitate our entry into the greater galactic community.” There were over six thousand image prints of signatories attached to the document already. DeKarn searched out some names, and was shocked to see that Councillor Four, a member of her own contingent, was one of those who endorsed it. Four, a busy mother of three and a businesswoman, refused to discuss it.

“All my reasoning is there,” she said, peevishly. “We want prosperity and protection, and this arrangement offers both of them!”

DeKarn railed at her for a time in Portent’s Star’s private conference room, but Four was obdurate. She had a right to bring the petition. All the council could do was vote it up or down. DeKarn was frustrated.