The View from the Imperium (50 page)

“C’mon, Thomas!” Nesbitt said, his face as red as the walls. “I mean, my lord.”

“Good morning!” boomed a deep voice. Captain Sgarthad bore down on us like a benevolent thundercloud. His uniform seemed more golden than before, glowing in the exaggerated light. At my side, Councillor DeKarn cringed. I decided to meet fire with fire.

“Good morning!” I replied. “Here to view the spectacle?”

Sgarthad seemed surprised. “Why, I’m part of it, my dear fellow. I am an interested party. You’ll make your speech, and one of the councillors and I will give our responses.”

“Oh, really?” I asked, rising to the challenge.

“Yes,” Councillor DeKarn said hastily. “It is customary.”

“Ah,” I said, bowing to her. I did not want her to be any more alarmed than she was. “Then let us proceed.”

The yellow-complected councillor stepped forward. The tall, narrow screens behind him lit up with sunbursts and a flag of the third system in the Cluster hoisted itself in its midst. “I am Councillor Vasily Marden from the New Rome system. It is my privilege to bring to you today a guest from the Imperium, Lord Thomas Kinago.” Uproarious applause met this announcement. I stepped forward, buoyed on waves of good will.

Marden stood down to a podium on the left of the stage. Sgarthad moved to occupy the one on the right. It was not my imagination: the spotlight on him was more powerful than that on me.
Well, we will see who gets more attention
, I vowed.

“Gentlebeings, I greet you,” I began. “I am proud to stand before you today . . .” My speech was based upon several that were in the archives of the diplomatic service. I admit that I had borrowed freely of phrases that I felt reached directly into the hearts of listeners more eloquently than any I could spin myself. I hoped that no one in the audience had had access to the same files.

“I have heard some of you say that the Imperium has neglected you over the last two centuries. It’s been rather hard to keep an eye on you, I must say, what with your large, dark neighbor the black hole impeding the view, but I assure you that such is not the aim of our emperor—your emperor, Shojan XII.”

I touched my viewpad. The audience gasped. The first picture of Shojan filled those screens behind me. His noble, calm eyes surveyed the onlookers. He was the very epitome of masculine beauty and gravitas. Even though he was my cousin, I found him impressive. I glanced at my neighbor. Shojan compared over-favorably against Sgarthad, whose chiseled cheekbones were suffused with angry red. I could almost see the thunderstorm gathering upon Sgarthad’s brow like an ancient mythical god.

“As Shojan began his reign, six years ago,” and here I changed to the official coronation portrait, “he vowed to pay heed to the needs of all parts of his new realm. He deployed his ambassador to your starry shores, but alas, she has not been able to make his case to you in person. I hope in coming days, I will be able to answer any questions you have, and I hope you will answer mine. I am here as an observer, but also as a loving subject of His Imperiality.” I flicked my control again and again. I told a few of my favorite stories about Shojan, a few intended to show his humanity, others to point out his wisdom and compassion, and coupled every tale with a fresh image. Each new picture elicited open cries of astonishment and pleasure. Parsons, at the far left edge of the stage, nodded in approval. “I know that once you feel secure that he intends to follow up on this promise of protection and acceptance, that you will reaffirm your ties and join us of the Core Worlds and the rest of the sectors as parts of the Imperium under his most noble aegis.” To couple with that declaration, I intended to show my very favorite picture of Shojan, the one I had taken just before I left home.

I flicked the control. The lights went out.

Loud declarations of surprise erupted from the audience. I clutched my viewpad and gawked into darkness.
What had happened?
Had
I
done that?

“Oof!” I exclaimed into a mouthful of fur as the breath was squeezed out of me.

“Quiet,” Oskelev said, against my chest. “Nesbitt, you there?”

“Ready,” the other ensign growled, pressed against my back. “You okay, Thomas?”

“I am all right,” I said. “What happened?”

“Great void, the power!” cried Councillor Marden. I heard a good deal of bustling and swearing. Very shortly, the lights came on again.

My friends stood facing outward with sidearms drawn. They had literally become my bodyguards, bracketing me with their own torsos. Parsons had moved in the pitch dark to stand over us. I had never felt so well-protected.

“I apologize for the interruption,” Councillor Marden said, bustling up to us. “Are you well, sir?”

“I am.” I straightened my tunic and cleared my throat. My friends moved back to their positions, but they kept the weapons out and obvious. “To continue,” I said, returning to the podium and beaming at the bemused audience. “His Majesty might be young, but you can see that he is already possessed of wisdom and bearing . . .”

I thumbed my viewpad screen, but nothing happened. I glanced down at the small screen. The file was there, but it was empty. I flipped through my database, thinking that in the scrimmage in the dark I had jostled the control. I couldn’t find the picture. The contents of the file were not in the deleted section, nor in the archives, nor in the active roster. I went through all of my other files, thinking I had shifted the images of Shojan there, but no. All of them had gone.

The audience became restive, but I was determined to find at least one other image to show. I searched all the folders and albums for at least one. I had a candid taken at a family event in the spring just before I left for the Academy. It was gone as well.

I had a terrible, sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. Holding the viewpad close to my eyes so no one else could see, I even looked into the tiny, very secret niche storage in which I had hidden the spit-take of Shojan. It, too, had disappeared. I was devastated to the very fiber of my being. That opportunity would never come again. I was heartsick at the loss. I glanced at Parsons. His visage bore no hint of guilt, but why would he sabotage my files at any time, let alone this one, in which the emperor would be embarrassed by proxy?

The most likely party was at my left. Sgarthad’s brilliant blue eyes glinted at me.

“Lord Thomas? Is that the extent of your remarks?”

“Er, no,” I said. I cleared my throat, straightened my tunic and threw my shoulders back. “And so, gentlebeings, I ask you to give heed to, er, my noble cousin’s plea to you . . .” I glanced down at the viewpad for my next line. At least the speech had not been lost.

With the smooth flow of my presentation interrupted by the loss I found it difficult to carry on, but carry on I did. I knew from the half-hearted applause of the audience that it had not gone well.

“Independence, my friends! We of the Castaway Cluster have had a long time to consider the question . . .” Vasily Marden began his oration, but his style of speech was so turgid that I found my thoughts drifting off after my lost pictures. A sharp whistle in my ear brought me back to the present.

“Look down!” Redius’s voice hissed.

I glanced at my viewpad. He had sent me an image of myself with a stupidly blank look on my face. I plastered on a friendly and learned expression and forced myself to pay attention. At last, the councillor retired to modest applause.

Even before he stepped forward, the room had risen in acclaim.

“Sgarthad! Sgarthad! Sgarthad!”

The Trade Union captain came forward, arms raised.

“Gentlebeings!” he called. “We have heard the other speakers! Have you changed your mind about the direction you want to go in the future?”

Myriad throats roared as one.

“No!”

“Let me remind you once again of the reason that I am among you. The Trade Union offers you status as a full partner, not a subject state, as the Imperium does. We won’t let you remain isolated, either, like those of your government who favor independence!”

The event had changed to a pep rally, as one would experience at a sports match. The young people clustered at the foot of the stage were the cheerleaders, exhorting their fellows to cheers every time Sgarthad spoke.

I had failed. The people had liked me, but Sgarthad had had more time with them. He had had plenty of time to convince them of his confederation’s point of view. He had more natural charisma than Marden and was less hesitant before an audience than I. The comparison with those of us who had gone before Sgarthad was overwhelming. He was cheerful and personable. Without the emperor, all I had to offer them was the status quo, and it had little new to excite the listener.

Sgarthad finished his pep talk and was immediately mobbed by fans and supporters. I moped over to Parsons. My guards trailed behind me.

“That was deliberate sabotage,” I said. “It could not be accidental.”

“It is not, sir,” Parsons said. “That is a barrier that the next wave of envoys from the Imperium will face, once we send back the observations we are making.”

“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.