Fortunes of the Imperium (28 page)

CHAPTER 23

Strapped up like an insane-asylum inmate in my seat on the bridge, I watched the screen tank as Oskelev brought us in to dock on the four-leaf-clover shape of Way Station 46.
A fortunate arrangement
, I noted to myself, seeing no poison arrows from sharp angles anywhere on the station.

My cousin and her friends were fastened into the less comfortable crash couches at the rear of the bridge, grumbling about the creases the belts and nets were making in their couture outfits. They had insisted on being up top with the crew as we docked. I fancied it was partly curiosity and partly because they could not bear to let me out of their sight. Ever since I had bought the boxed set of
Ya!
they had all done their best to woo me into letting them watch it. Thus far, I had not responded to their blandishments. Nor would I. Duty called. The episodes had been around for hundreds of years. They could wait until I had interrupted time to devote to them.

We floated on impulse engines past hundreds of available slips, indicated by rings of green light, toward a round black hole rimmed round with orange lights chasing one another in a clockwise circle, Berth Alpha 98-D. Filled slips, so Plet informed us, were designated by red lights. There were surprisingly few ships present. I counted only three on the side near our bay. It was not until then that the full force of the Uctus’ absurd strictures dawned upon me. The station, and all others like it, ought to be buzzing with activity like an ion-powered hive. Trade between our nations had slowed beneath a trickle. It was not a healthy situation. I hoped that I might be able to do something about that. I certainly intended to try.

Anstruther had hailed the station manager’s office. Denzies FitzGreen had confessed himself delighted to play host to the Emperor’s representative. I was introduced with some fanfare by Plet, then dismissed as the minutiae of ship safety, regulations and other matters of arrival were achieved.

With a barely perceptible bump, the
Rodrigo
settled to the deck. The enormous iris of the bay hatch sealed behind our tail. Fans and pumps whipped into life as our life support system was taken over by the station’s. I felt the unfamiliar drag of a more powerful gravity take hold of my body.

“Brava!” I applauded Oskelev.

“It’s nothing,” she said. But she was pleased that someone acknowledged her skill.

Manager FitzGreen had sent that he awaited us just below the hatch. I had dressed for the official meeting in the most up-to-date trend on Taino. I had checked the fashion news shortly before choosing my outfit; after all, we had by then been gone some days. I did not want to appear out of touch. I had persuaded Angie to enlist the help of the repairbot responsible for the upholstery and soft furnishings aboard the
Rodrigo
—such as they were—to attach plaques of black and light leather here and there to an otherwise impeccably tailored midnight-blue suit. The effect was startlingly like camouflage, and most becoming. I could not wait to show it off on this outpost.

Suddenly, klaxons erupted. They were so loud it took me a moment to realize they were coming from outside the ship. The navigation screen tank and all the other screens on the bridge filled with red alert indicators. The
Rodrigo
immediately went into safety mode, all hatches locked and sealed, weapons warming. A reverse thrum of fans indicated the ship was going back on its own life support system.

Plet touched the arm of her chair with a thumb.

“Way Station 46, what is happening?”

“We’ve got a jumper, captain,” a clear female voice rang out from the console. “From the security recordings, looks like when we announced an Imperium navy ship was docking, one crew dropped everything and headed for the exit. That’s the one leaving, the
Moskowitz
.”

“Will pursue,” Plet confirmed. “Prepare for battle stations. All non-essential personnel clear the ship at once. Manager FitzGreen will take you in charge.”

I sat up, feeling my eyes shine with eagerness. For the very first time, my dear scout was going to be used in its intended purpose, as a warship. I looked back over my shoulder at my cousin and her entourage.

“Ladies, that means you,” I said. “Hurry! The station manager will look after you.”

“Oh, no!” Jil protested, not moving a fingertip. “I want to watch.”

“It could be dangerous. Hurry! We can’t wait for long.”

“You, too, Lord Thomas,” Plet said, with notable emphasis on my title.

I turned to regard her with dismay.

“Me? But I am part of this ship’s complement. I can be of assistance!”

“This is no time to have fun, my lord,” Parsons said severely.

“Fun? Well, I suppose it would be . . .” I admitted.

“You are a diplomat traveling on behalf of the Emperor,” Plet said, with patience that I could tell was running out of her like sands from an antique egg-timer. “You are too valuable to risk.”

“But . . .” I began. Plet cut me off.

“Hurry up. The station manager will look after you.”

I palmed the catch on my safety harness and stood up.

“I can tell you enjoyed saying that,” I said, peevishly. I held myself with the greatest dignity I could muster. I assisted Jil and Sinim in freeing themselves from the crash couches. “Very well. Ladies, with me!”

FitzGreen, a tall but bulky man, was indeed waiting just outside the hatch with a bevy of security officers wearing dull brown uniforms and visored helmets. We ran toward the guards.

All of us nobles had been trained from childhood to cooperate with security agents and other protection details to get out of the line of fire at speed and without making a fuss. Because of our connection to the Emperor, it was often thought by unsavory elements that making one of us a target of murder or kidnapping would impact the workings of government. How wrong they were. None of us except my serene cousin, Shojan XII, mattered in the slightest. Our primary functions were as a living, unadulterated gene pool for the imperial succession as well as to provide amusement value and the occasional authority figure for the public. Still, the perception remained; therefore, so did the security protocols.

“This way, my lord,” FitzGreen said, steering us past a trio of fuel depot offices and out a lensing door into a well-worn corridor enameled in dark green and steel gray. “Uh, by the way, pleased to meet you. Hope you enjoyed your journey? I hardly know what to say. We don’t get many nobles coming through, to be honest.”

“In fact, you have two for the price of one,” I said, deliberately wiping off the pout I perceived I was wearing and putting myself out to be cheerful. “My cousin, Lady Jil Loche Nikhorunkorn, and her friends.” I reeled off the names. “If you will steer us to the nearest watering hole with a decent vintage or two in its cellars, I would be very pleased to treat you to a drink on my cousin the Emperor.”

FitzGreen looked torn between excitement and worry.

“Can’t do that, my lord,” he said.

“Why not?” I asked. “Are you not permitted to drink while on duty?”

“No, sir,” he said, taking Jil’s upper arm. “It’s not that. I’ve got to put you into a safe room for the duration of the emergency. I’d be in my office overseeing the event if you hadn’t just arrived.”

“A safe room!” I exclaimed in dismay.

“Yes, your imperiumness. You’ll be very secure in there,” FitzGreen said, in an obvious attempt to be reassuring. “Nothing can get at you.”

As we exited the landing bay, a closed-roof vehicle with multiple paired wheels screeched up. A pair of doors like vertical pincers opened. We were bundled inside, all protesting. The car, whose walls I perceived as being at least a third of a meter thick with armor plating and shock absorption panels, sped off along a curving corridor. After a few kilometers, it screeched to a halt and made a sharp right into a lift column. The car rose on magnetic force created by the gravity generators at the heart of the station. Another screech, and the car exited left onto a new deck.

“Why are there so few ships here now?” I asked. “I was told this was the busiest crossing between the Imperium and the Autocracy.”

“Ah, well, we got lucky,” the station manager said, miming wiping sweat off his brow. “You just missed a convoy leaving a few days ago. Almost twenty got through this time. That’s almost unprecedented since this craziness got started. The ones left are those who got here late, like yourselves, my lord.”

“So why do you think the other ship ran?” Hopeli asked, her big dark eyes wide.

FitzGreen sighed.

“The usual reason’s contraband, ma’am. Here we are, sir. Please, follow the guards. I’ll talk to you when all this is over.”

Two of the dark visors flanked us with lowered weapons. They herded us toward a blank wall festooned with a paper poster advertising a concert. The gyrating forms of the band wielding their instruments loomed toward us. As we approached, the panel slid out of the way, flattening the musicians as the poster passed behind the wall segment to its left. A row of lights went on in the ceiling of the room thus revealed.

“Here, ladies and sir,” the harsh voice of a Croctoid came from beneath the helmet on the right. “Go on in.”

Jil and her friends hurried inside. I turned to make one more attempt to remain free during the emergency, but the door hissed closed in my face.

I turned to survey our prison. FitzGreen had been slightly inaccurate in describing it as a room; it was more of a suite, if utilitarian in design. The main chamber was roomy and well-lit, about the size of a classroom. The blue-gray walls and ceiling had been lined with thick padding, no doubt in case the gravity generators were compromised. The cushiony flooring underfoot was made of similar material. It felt rather like walking inside an underinflated balloon.

The furnishings fulfilled multiple purposes. The couches that lined the walls had been made to be converted to beds in case of lengthy occupation. A number of hinged tables, folded flat, rested in a bracket near the back wall. They were long enough to be used as privacy barriers between the couches. Two doors led off the back of the room, the left to a hygiene chamber, and the right to a food service system. On the whole, it was plain, with little care taken to make it look more than industrial in character.

“I bet your cell was nicer than this,” Sinim said, with a rueful look at me.

“In fact, it was,” I said. “And it did not smell so oppressively of disinfectant.”

But I was glum. I sat down on one of the couches and put my chin in my hand. How could the
Rodrigo
go off without me? It was
my
ship, commissioned to me by my mother.

Sinim looked down at me in alarm.

“Oh, Thomas, I am so sorry! I didn’t intend to remind you of your incarceration.”

“Don’t apologize,” I said, waving a hand. “The less said about that, the better. I wasn’t really thinking of that at all.”

“You’re just being brave,” Marquessa said. “I admire that.”

“I’m not, truly,” I protested. “I mean, I can be brave, but that wasn’t something to be brave about. Being thrown in jail takes absolutely no courage whatsoever.”

“Jil, tell Thomas I didn’t mean to upset him,” Sinim said, clutching Jil’s arm.

“It’s my fault,” Jil said. She gave a pretty little shrug. “I didn’t mean to make such fun of you before, Thomas. I was a bit swept off my feet, having Captain Naftil pay such attention to me. He was so nice and handsome. I think it just went to my head.”

“I understand,” I said. “I am not cross with you—at the moment. I should be out there with my ship.” I pointed in a vague direction. I had no idea where the
Rodrigo
had gone. My admission seemed to take Jil from sympathy to open annoyance.

“Oh, Thomas, how
boring
,” she said. “Don’t tell me you’re falling into believing yourself a common spacer. You rank acres above all of them. Heroics are so dull. What would you do out there? Catch a criminal? We don’t associate with that kind of scum. It’s unbecoming. If you want to run around after other ships, enter another stratosphere race. Your racing flitter is fabulous.”

“Yes,” Banitra said. “I have watched all your races.” She sat down beside me, her leg against mine. “That tournament around the sun two years ago was so exciting! Tell me how you avoided getting caught in the gravity well. I thought when Lord Rillion knocked your craft on the circuit around the innermost planet that you were going to lose control.”