Rhythm of the Imperium (3 page)

“Really, sir?” he inquired. “I had not noticed very much difference between this and your usual self.”

I ignored the gibe. “I believe that I am more receptive than ever to my surroundings, Parsons. In fact, there is little that dance does not touch. It is most fascinating how communication can be such a purely physical thing.” I moved from foot to foot, attempting to recall exactly how Nesbitt had communicated his discomfort. “It is difficult to put across specific intellectual concepts, but there seems to be no limit to the complexities of emotional interaction one can express.”

Parsons was expressing a modicum of impatience, which I discerned from the minute tightening of the skin at his temples.

“Yes, sir. To return to our conversation, my lord … ?”

“Yes, of course,” I said. My valetbot returned, brandishing a selection of clothes. I sighed with pleasure at the wealth of color and design to hand. What a relief it was not to have to wear a uniform for this journey! I could indulge myself in the matter of dress, and I intended to do exactly that. Since I had taken up dance with a passion, my body had become tighter and leaner, except my thighs, which had taken on more muscle. The changes meant I had had to order an entire new wardrobe for this journey. I signed to Anna to show me a tunic in a rich chocolate brown, piped along the hems and neck with orange silk. The trousers that accompanied it were of the same orange as was the wispy neckerchief draped over the hanger. Perhaps a trifle strident for dinner with my relatives. I waved the outfit away. Parsons remained silent. “Discourse! Reveal! Impart! I await your confidences with open ears. What do you need me to do?”

“I need you to restrain yourself, my lord,” Parsons said.

“Why?” I asked, beckoning Anna forward with her next suggestion, a banana-yellow jumpsuit with intricate cutouts along the full sleeves and around the waist. “The only people on board this vessel are my cousins and friends, and they are accustomed to my excesses, such as they are. I stand a better than average chance of making it all the way through this journey without being escorted into an airlock and spaced. I already promised you we will stay away from the Kail.”

“We will not be alone on this excursion.”

Occasionally, Parsons could show his mastery of the obvious in a fashion that tickled the edges of my impatience.

“I know! Many performers, teachers, lecturers and other educated people paid enough to be patient with us will present things to keep those of us with notoriously short attention spans amused. It will take weeks to get where we’re going. We have already steeled ourselves against boredom. Do you think one of these people will put us in peril?” A thought struck me, almost forcibly. “I could request Lieutenant Plet to do further checks. After all, she will have her eye on them. They are all dining with the crew from now until we arrive at the viewing platform.”

Parsons shook his head.

“Every one of the people on board has been subjected to lengthy investigation to determine whether they are not in the employ of alien governments, yet it’s still possible that one or more of them may have been a long-time covert operative. Nothing short of an actual confession or a betraying action will reveal such a secret. The navy knows that Kail factions have been known to use human and Uctu agents to further their aims. This ship is a tempting target. Even though it has a peaceful mission, foreknowledge might not be enough to forestall a preemptive strike from within.”

“They might attack us using our own employees, eh? We of the noble house do understand the risks,” I said. Annie held up a pair of garments in forest green: close-fitted trousers with a shirt that hung in artful shreds from the shoulders and upper arms. I felt my eyes gleaming as I signed for her to unlimber them from the storage clips. Spectacular, and at the very height of fashion. The latest trend had been to incorporate elements of the weather into one’s garments. This suit evoked the power of the element of Air. My cousin Nalney would be so envious of both the cut and the color. I also foresaw the artistic flair of spinning or leaping and seeing the cloth streamers billow on the wind. I retreated behind the dressing screen and reached for the trousers. “That is not to say we take them seriously, but we do understand them. Are we in imminent danger? My sister is on board. While I would protect any of my cousins to the death, it is before Nell’s feet that I would make my last stand. You understand that, of course.”

“I do,” Parsons said. “As do the captain, crew and entire covert security force on board this vessel. Lady Lionelle is in no more danger than the rest of you, though I respect your concern. It is mine as well. Measures have been prepared in the case of an attack. You must pay attention if there is an alarm, my lord. I am counting on you—the Imperium counts upon you—to see to it that your cousins and you decamp to a place of safety. I have provided a chart to your pocket secretary of the fastnesses on board this vessel. I suggest that you familiarize yourself with them in case of need. There are several scenarios, including in case the necessity arises of abandoning ship. It would be helpful if you could devise a means of herding, er, persuading the others toward the correct one, should trouble begin.”

“How about Hide-and-Seek?” I asked, stroking my smooth chin with a conspiratorial air. “That would be one way to ensure that my cousins know the locations but without making it sound tedious and official.”

If I did not know Parsons so well, I would have missed the low exhalation that indicated relief.

“That would be satisfactory, sir. They will know in time that the Kail will be present on the platform. The rumors of attack from within or without along our journey may not be borne out, but it is best to be prepared. It would be helpful if the nobles were not frightened into overreaction.”

“You may count upon me,” I said. I shrugged into the shirt. It fit me as if it had been made for me, which of course it had. I ventured forth to view my reflection in the full-length mirror beside the door. Not bad, I thought, turning from side to side. The outfit looked handsome but did not stray over the line into costumery. I did a pivot spin, and enjoyed seeing the streamers swirl against my shoulders as they settled. They lifted just as I hoped they would.

“What do you think, Parsons?”

That worthy surveyed me with a gimlet eye.

“It is a trifle … dramatic, my lord.”

“Wonderful, isn’t it?” I said, with delight.

“That would not have been the first adjective I would have reached for, sir. But to return to the point … may I count upon you to inculcate the other members of your family with discretion and the need for safety?”

“I will begin by incorporating the need for secrecy and concealment in my next performance. Which will be …” I consulted the aluminum-framed chronometer set into the wall above the door “… In approximately three hours, just before dinner. Will you excuse me? I have an exercise session with my dance instructor, then I owe my cousin Erita a rematch in our Snapdragon card tournament. We are poised at three games to two. I am winning, of course.”

“Of course,” Parsons said. He wouldn’t have been impressed by a mere game, not even if I were actually riding a dragon against my cousin. “But there is one more thing of which you need to be aware. A visitor is to be taken on board the
Jaunter
at our second port of call. While it is unlikely that any problems can befall that visitor, it behooves us to protect and prevent any disturbance, intrusion or injury.”

“And who is that visitor?” I asked. I knew my eyes were shining like the beacon of truth.

“One of the Zang. It designates itself as Zang Proton.”

“A Zang!” I echoed, my soul overflowing with excitement. “I didn’t think they needed transportation anywhere.”

“They do not. Proton has expressed a wish to observe us. It is a great privilege to convey a Zang anywhere for any distance. More than any of the others in late centuries, this one appears curious about humankind. Needless to say, we want to provide it with a quotidian experience for its consideration.”

“I shall begin to choreograph a dance of welcome for it at once!” Plans began to form in my mind as an aeration of excitement arose behind my solar plexus. Ideas warred with one another in a battle for supremacy. I strode about my quarters, feeling the moment begin to take shape within me. I lifted my arms, and the green streamers fell back behind my shoulders. “No, that was too presumptive an opening move. Perhaps a more humble approach.” I struck a pose, with my head bowed slightly and my hands held out, palm up. “How about this?”

Parsons held up an admonitory hand. “My lord, I do not think confronting it with a frenzy of seemingly random movement will be an appropriate activity. Let the Zang observe you in your natural state.”

I straightened and peered at him as though a stranger had taken his place.

“Parsons,” I said, allowing my tone to loom toward peevishness, “that
is
my natural state. I wish to evoke the emotions of gratitude, curiosity and welcome that are the deepest sensations in my heart at this moment. Surely the Zang will find that of interest?”

A minuscule motion of his head from side to side indicated dissent. “Anything that smacks of invasion of its privacy will be dealt with as any other infractions on a spacegoing vessel, my lord. In other words, the captain has orders to incarcerate violators.”

I felt my heart pierced by his insensitivity.

“Invasion? A celebration of the Zang and their accomplishments considered an invasion that could land me in the brig? You wound me, Parsons!”

He held up his hand. “I seek only to warn you, my lord. Please restrain yourself. The Zang are so rarely curious about ephemerals that we must approach the matter with as much dignity and consideration possible. It is the wish of not only the Emperor, but Mr. Frank and your mother as well.”

Ah, that was it. The mysterious head of Covert Services, for whom I had done the occasional service, had been invoked, as well as my august maternal unit. Before them all, I could not stand.

“A triple threat,” I said. I lowered my head and peered at Parsons at an oblique and playful angle. “You don’t mind if I create such a dance in private, do you? Perhaps to perform it for the benefit of my friends and cousins?”

“That would be … satisfactory, my lord,” Parsons said, though I could tell he wasn’t perfectly satisfied. Neither was I. We might as well both be disappointed. “Presuming you will keep your word not to display your performance to the Zang. Do I have your promise?”

I struggled mightily, attempting to find a means of keeping my options open, but Parsons had a knack of seeing my thoughts as though they were displayed upon a massive digitavid tank screen. His gaze held me fast, as if I was fixed in imperishable crystal. I struggled to break free of it, but I knew nothing but compliance would be accepted.

“Oh, very well,” I burst out at last. “I will restrict the audience for my celebration dance to non-Zang only. But I reserve the right, if the Zang expresses an interest, to perform for it.”

Parsons nodded, which meant that his head inclined less than a millimeter. “I appreciate the reasonableness of your request, my lord. I cannot see any difficulty with allowing such an exception, should that very unlikely case arise.”

He glided toward the door, leaving me speechless and delighted. Where others might have found “very unlikely” offputting, I only saw a challenge.

I performed a celebratory pike leap and touched my toes in mid-air. How best could I express humanity to a Zang?

CHAPTER 3

The oxygen-rich atmosphere stank of carbon-based organic compounds. The scrubbers in the Kail’s hibernation cabin could only rid the thick air of some of it. Phutes felt polluted. Even the water in the cleansing tank tasted of rot. It was the final insult. He could not spend even 11 more minutes in water that filthy. Planting his 10 hands on the sides, he extracted himself forcefully from the tank. Waves of displaced water followed him. It ran down the crags of gray, stony matter that made up his massive body and seeped into the drains set in the anodized cabin floor. He contracted the flexors stretching between his thick neck and 11 short legs to agitate the acidity of his internal system so that his epidermal layer heated. The rest of the offending liquid exploded into steam. Phutes caught one final whiff of the stench before it evaporated.

“Not good enough,” he gritted out.

The other 111 Kail who had been waiting to use the tub recoiled at his explosive emergence. Many of the 11000 others were still resting and were yet to become aware of the current problem.

“Tell the captain,” Sofus insisted, waving the fumes away from his scent receptors with his 100 hands. He was the largest and most solid of the Kail siblings traveling aboard the Wichu liner
Whiskerchin
. “They must fix the system
again
. We must bathe! I cannot function smelling like these creatures.”

Phutes signed assent with a curt motion of his right forearm. This made complaint number 101001 since they had come on board. Satisfaction would be achieved, or he would find it difficult to restrain himself or his siblings from violence. He stamped out of the cabin and down the corridor toward the lift chute. The deck thundered under his heavy, solid feet. Soft, inefficient, filthy capsules, made for soft, inefficient, filthy beings. He hated being among them, but he had little choice.

Only with the greatest possible reluctance had Phutes and his companions taken passage on a Wichu freighter from the Kail sector. Few native commanders wanted to pass out of their well-protected systems and into the realm of the slimy ones. Phutes disliked the necessity of interacting with the soft-fleshed beings. One could smell the decay coming from them. And what about the effluvia that issued from each? Every orifice emitted noxious compounds. And they could not be far from a repository of one kind or another, all of which had to be constructed with complicated mechanisms and the waste of good clean water or pure gaseous elements. Or both. They left trails of distasteful organic matter wherever they went. They even exhaled smelly organic particles. He had tried spraying the cabin with powerful mineral-based disinfectants, but the Wichu captain had taken his canisters away from him, using many words that the language chips in its system refused to translate. Phutes spoke no Wichu. He saw no reason to interact further with the crew and other passengers than the exchange of fare for transport. At the captain’s insistence, he and the siblings who spoke for the Kail on board wore a steel wristband embedded with an electronic chip that translated his speech into the uncouth sounds Wichu made.

His demands for quarters to suit his party’s comfort had been met, but not without argument and many other untranslatable phrases. In the end, sanitized metal bins filled with purified silicate sands for them to burrow into during resting and excretory periods had been provided. It had taken more negotiation and arguments until they were satisfactory to the Kail. The Wichu did not seem to care. Phutes saw the way they cared for themselves, and was not surprised at their disregard for the comfort of others. They seemed unaware that they had risen even marginally from the unspeakable slime that had engendered them. The Kail refused to be ignored. Phutes shoved his way into the lift shaft, ignoring the annoyed looks and remarks of crew members of many species who had been waiting in line. Kail did not wait.

He allowed the jets of force to carry him upward toward the bridge deck. He would only speak with the captain.

Carbon-based life forms had become disgustingly prevalent on all planets with an oxygen-rich atmosphere. Even some methane worlds were infested. Wherever they went, the soft ephemerals soiled the pristine silicon landscape with excrescences that burgeoned and reproduced themselves until the beauty of the land could no longer be felt underfoot. The comfort of stone and metal were obscured. Only the squishiness of green plant life met the soles of his feet. Every step Phutes took on one of those planets made him seethe with hatred.

The acid circulating through his internal organs bubbled vigorously at that memory, threatening to overflow out of his orifices. Phutes did his best to control himself. The Wichu had made it clear that if the Kail damaged the ship any more than the captain claimed they already had, they would be put off on the nearest asteroid large enough to hold them all. Phutes was unmoved by the threat. Marooning would not kill any of them. The Kail could survive on internal processes until they were retrieved, but it would slow down their cause. At least this vessel was free of humans.

Humanity in particular was a horrifyingly nasty imposition visited on existence. If the Kail could rid themselves of humankind altogether, it would make the universe a cleaner place. The worlds that humanity infested could be cleansed back to a purely mineral-based state. The trouble was, they reproduced faster than the Kail could wipe them out, and they persisted in widening their sphere of influence until there was little hope of containing them. The Kail attacked when humanity intruded itself on Kail homes. The human governments sent undertakings to complain about aggression, ignoring the reality that they had been the aggressors.

Because of this arrogance, Phutes was acting upon a plan to avenge his people and strike at the heart of the infestation.

While he and his fellow offspring were still small enough to lie upon his mother’s bosom, Yesa told him of the time humans and Wichus had visited her. They had not requested permission before setting down their ships. She was still angry about the offense, even though it had been nearly two thousand revolutions of the sun since it had happened. The Wichus shed their horrible protein filaments over everything, and they treated the Kail with open disrespect, but it was humanity that drew the most hatred. They assumed that the Kail would be grateful for their invasion. Once the people had managed to translate the humans’ endless babbling, it was found to include infinitely annoying assumptions that they were welcome to analyze and collect samples from wherever they might be. In fact, they had removed a twelve-kiloton block of accreted minerals from less than a kilometer from where Phutes had been born. Many offspring of that time had attempted to retrieve it, suffering grievous wounds and insults in the process.

Not that the human invaders had left nothing in exchange. Oh, no. In their wake was a swathe of waste material of every kind, from organic compounds to unreusable alloys that still stood where they had left them. In the hold of the Wichu ship, Phutes had those items stored. The humans who had committed the violation were long since dead, or so said their cluttered faster-than-light communication system, but he intended to find their descendants. They should get their garbage back before they were blasted back into their formative atoms.

The soft ones just seemed to emit noxiousness of every kind. They could not go for even a tenth-rotation without needing to ingest volatile or decaying organic matter. Liquids taken in only remained for a sixteenth-rotation before the absurdly fragile systems expelled them again, this time infused with waste matter. They did not even retain useful salts for more than a rotation or two. But Phutes’s progenitor had an idea. She wanted Phutes to ask the Zang for help, in a move that would strike at humankind’s very existence. She had outlined the plan very carefully, making certain that not only Phutes, but at least 1100111 of his siblings knew every detail as well. Based on what they knew of humankind, they believed that one cunning strike would, if not destroy the enemy, then cripple it beyond relief. The plot hinged, however, upon convincing the Zang to assist them.

No one had ever tried such a bold move before. Phutes had seen a Zang only once, who had come to visit Yesa for a brief moment many revolutions ago. It had flickered out of existence almost as soon as he had become aware of it.

All Kail were in awe of the Zang. The Elder Race had power over the spheres. Though the mysterious beings did not appear to be silicon-based, they didn’t smell, nor did they dirty their surroundings. They seemed to float effortlessly between star systems, rarely interacting, never demanding. If they chose, they could destroy with a thought. They were … perfect. And powerful. They held the means that the Kail did not to defeat their enemies.

The metal door to the bridge responded to Phutes’s impression upon it, and slid aside. He stepped into the chamber. 1100 round black eyes turned resentfully in his direction.

“Hey, kitty litter!” A throaty growl was revised by her harness-mounted translation device into a comprehensible Kail rasp like stone on stone.

Phutes dropped abruptly out of the worshipful thoughts that had enveloped him. The object of his momentary quest was before him: Captain Bedelev. The Wichu was a hand’s thickness less than his height. Her entire body, like those of her bridge crew, was covered with white filaments except where facial features, digits and genitalia, most of them a shocking pink in color, protruded. A small device with intelligence circuitry buzzed around the floor, gathering up the filaments that the Wichu constantly shed. Phutes shook his foot to dislodge one that had floated onto it. It felt disgusting.

“Wichu leader!” he growled. The translator piped out a phrase that sounded far too conciliatory, but he had not been the one who programmed it.

The Wichu captain stalked over and glared at him, black, bulbous eyes to efficient, flat optical receptors.

“I thought I told you to stay off my bridge!”

“My siblings and are unsatisfied with the cleanliness of the water piped into our quarters,” Phutes said.

“What do they want?” Captain Bedelev demanded. Her raucous shout emerged in Kail from the circuitry sounding like a polite and diffident query. “I know what you Kail like. I have one of you working for me, you know. The filtration system takes out everything to particles less than an angstrom across. That water is purer than primeval snow.”

“It stinks!” Phutes said. “It may be free of particulate matter, but gases pass through the conduits and pollute our quarters. They are noxious! No softskin would endure it. Why should we? Are we not valued as customers?”

“Of course you are!” she said. Bedelev brushed at her furry nose with an impatient paw. She reached out for his arm, but he recoiled. “All right, all right. I’ll see about venting the pipes before they hit your part of the ship. It might get colder in there, though. The ambient air helps keep the water warm.”

“We will endure,” Phutes said. “As long as the water arrives devoid of the smell of …” He paused. He was getting what he wanted. No sense in escalating until the captain’s promise was proved worthless. “… Of internal processes.”

“And your shit don’t stink?” she asked. She waved a paw. “No, I guess it doesn’t. It’s practically pure sand. Fine. Now, get off my bridge. No more visits without notice, from now on. Got that?”

Phutes lifted his face slightly. It was as close as his kind would come to imitating a soft-body’s smile. He wouldn’t have to offer empty pleasantries for very long.

“I follow instructions.”

He turned and departed. Behind him, Bedelev made a noise that the circuit did not translate.

The door closed behind him, making a conciliatory sound. Phutes returned to the open lift shaft. To one side, the stream reached its apex. Phutes ignored the Wichu jumping off to fulfill duties on this, the uppermost deck of the ship. He shoved aside a Croctoid in a Maintenance collar. It snapped at him. Phutes let it close its jaws on his lower forearm. It recoiled at once, spitting out jagged oral calcifications.

“Dammit, buddy, watch where you’re going!” it said.

Phutes paid no attention. He was too offended by the creature’s saliva on his arm. He would have to scrub it vigorously to rid himself of the unhealthy touch. He pushed into the descending stream. Time to pay a visit to a long-lost relative and sibling in the cause.

Phutes felt the charge of electrical power surging through the walls and into the banks and emplacements of equipment throughout the engineering section. Tiny charges erupted on his exoderm, exciting the accretion impulse. He questioned whether he should add to his substance on such an unsanitary vessel. Phutes and his siblings were resigned to the natural minor depletion they would suffer on a long journey. He decided he could cleanse organic material from his system once he was on rocky ground once again, preferably within 11100
¹¹¹
kilometers from a black hole. The air in this section was saturated with electricity and floating molecules of minerals that had been expelled by the explosive process that drove the ship. He stopped in the midst of a flow that had the greatest concentration and absorbed it. Phutes realized why he had been so peevish with the Wichu captain! He had been hungry.

It did not take long to sate his impulse to feed, but his hesitation was long enough to annoy the Wichu that worked in this section. They passed around him, close enough to glare into his face. Some of them bumped him deliberately. Phutes felt anger rising within his core. Bilious acid threatened to spill out through his orifices. He clenched down on his vessels to prevent it. He should not care what they thought. The pulse of the vessel was calm. It supported and contained him and his siblings safely against the cold vacuum of space. That was all that mattered.

A female—the Wichu claimed to be of 10 different genders, as did most of the carbon-based races—tried to block him as he made his way toward the area that the circuitry told him was Fovrates’s abode.

“Sorry, sir, you can’t go back there. That’s a restricted area. You’re not authorized.” The translator blurted out apologetic-sounding phrases as she ran along beside him. She grabbed his arm. Despite moving much more slowly than the Wichu, he managed to avoid her touch. It enraged her into another shrill tirade. Phutes tried to ignore the disharmony.