The View from the Imperium (13 page)

The crew of the
Wedjet
came from all over the Imperium. Most had excelled at their studies, and not a few graduated top of the class (among
my
fellows, the valedictorian was the one who had skipped the fewest sessions, and was top student by default rather than design). They were devoted to their families, sports, hobbies (as well as the blistering array of jokes), and with surprisingly penetrating things to say about their fellow beings. I promised myself to search out and befriend several of them who sounded interesting. To my delight, not a few of them already shared my table at dinnertime.

Sitting at the ensigns’ table that evening, with my survival bar on my plate, I regarded my companions in a new light, as the real nourishment. They were complete beings, not the one-sided junior officers they had at first appeared to me. Many of them were deep thinkers. With hidden tragedies. Redius could probably attribute his clownishness to having seen his mother shot dead by a crazed human from an inner system who hated all Uctu, not because ill had ever befallen him because of one, but simple, blind prejudice. I regarded him with sympathy, something that he had no means of understanding the source of. I realized I had to put away the information in a tight little compartment, instead drawing him out about his humorous observations about something else.

“Rising to appropriate station, I,” Redius replied, when I asked him about his duties. “Honored to oversee lowly spacers scrape and re-enamel the floor of the fighter bays, as was done before me just last week, and the week before. Getting most attached, me, to long pit in floor where recorder drone exploded many months ago, but said plate not due for replacement. Its dimensions becoming most dear to me. Should it change, a shock it would be.”

I chuckled. “I am getting used to the bulge in the padding in the back of my chair in Records,” I said. “It hits me just under the right shoulder blade. But enough about me.” I turned to Anstruther, who was toying nervously with her protein entrée. “What news on your project?”

She seemed surprised. “I, uh, well, we, uh, tested the energy outputs of the power plants. I calibrated the gauges. They were off by three microns.”

Xinu let out a snort. “And that will kill how many people?”

Anstruther looked hurt. I swooped in to her rescue. “It could be fatal, in battle situations,” I said. “Three microns represents three hundred thousand kilowatts, doesn’t it? Her precision is admirable. I’d never spot it.” Anstruther blushed with pleasure.

“Your diet’s making you boring,” Nesbitt said, lowering his brows at me. I was taken aback. He was correct. I was not behaving as I usually did.

I took a bite of my survival bar to give myself time to gather my wits. “Sorry not to be more fun,” I said plaintively. “It’s the food. It distracts me to smell those savory aromas and be unable to sample even a bite.”

“I’d give you some,” Anstruther said, bravely.

“Don’t!” I protested. “You’ll bring down the wrath of the admiral upon yourself. It’s bad enough I had to suffer it.” I tried to look pathetic.

“You brought it on yourself,” Xinu, my dark-avisaged friend, said. He waved a forkful of his dinner under my nose. I almost swooned. “You hide behind punishment to avoid showing me how superior you are in tri-tennis.”

“Absolutely,” I agreed, blithely. “Normally I would have gotten off by now. I prefer to let you flounder in anticipation, so you will make plenty of faults when I finally face you. Too bad that there’s only a twenty-seven-fold grid here. I’m used to much better than naval issue.”

“It’s the best court in the fleet!” Xinu exclaimed.

“Oh, well, that makes it the largest frog in a small pond,” I said. “You’ll see.”

“If anyone is a frog, that big mouth of yours makes you look more like one than I do!” Xinu and I launched into our customary banter over skill and sportsmanship. I couldn’t tell him how I ached to try what was reported to be an excellent tennis grid, even by civilian standards, or any of the other sports facilities on board. I had sent my cameras out and about where I could not go. I regretted not having taken advantage of the
Wedjet
’s marvels before getting into the admiral’s bad books.

“You wouldn’t care to lay a small wager, would you?” I asked, as casually as I could frame the question. “First recreation period after my duty is done in Records, and I will scatter points around you like a whirlwind.”

“I’ll take that. You’re all talk. You nobles all are just talk.” Nesbitt smirked, spooning up the last of his fruit dessert. That was better.

We sensed rather than heard the admiral rising from his place and sprang up to attention as he departed the room. I felt myself sigh with relief. Another day of having Podesta ignore me was a good day in my books. Now that service was over, ordinary roboservers moved in to clear the tables, freeing the living staff to depart for their rest periods.

I felt guilty. I had not revealed a single word of what I had seen in the files, but my behavior was colored by it. I had deliberately pressed myself to behave as I had before. My knowledge of them must not come out in
any
way. That eight-digit code had changed me. The problem was that I knew too much, an ailment that I can truthfully say has never troubled me before in my life.

Before I could commit another fault, I felt a familiar tapping upon my shoulder. As usual, Parsons had managed to sneak up on yours truly. I didn’t jump far, being accustomed to it, but the severe look on his face gave me cause for concern.

“What is it, Parsons?” I asked.

“The admiral wishes to see you, sir,” he said. My tablemates smirked.

“I haven’t done anything!” I protested. My conscience was clear. I had not written down a single joke, and I had controlled myself mightily on the subject of my friends’ hidden pasts.

“You are not in trouble,” Parsons assured me. “He wishes to give you the assignment you have been awaiting.”

All my panic turned to preening, and my companions’ smug expressions sank into open, rampant jealousy. I wished them all a good night, and followed Parsons with alacrity. My mission! If I couldn’t see a spot of war, then an individual mission was good for bragging rights when I started to message home.

* * *

“. . . And you understand the limitations of your brief?” Admiral Podesta asked, as if he believed me incapable of comprehending the words he had spoken.

“I do, Admiral, sir!” I exclaimed, saluting neatly. I continued to stare at the wall ahead of me. Young Thomas would not be caught out again in a lack of military etiquette. “I will be honored to represent the Imperium and your good self to the militia of Smithereen, Admiral!”

Podesta looked weary, I could see out of the corner of my eye. His eyebrows floated mid-forehead, too exhausted to arch high or scowl low. “All you are doing is reviewing the volunteers, Ensign. It is not a vital diplomatic or military assignment. As we are passing by this mining colony, it behooves me to send a representative to show that the militia is not forgotten. That is all. Commander Parsons assures me that you cannot foul—that this is well within your capabilities. I am taking his word for it. Don’t prove him wrong.”

I shot a look of gratitude to Parsons, who stood near the door at attention, his expressionless mien gazing toward nothing, then snapped my eyes forward again. “I won’t, Admiral! You will be proud of me.”

“At least don’t give me cause to send a message to your mother, that is all I ask,” Podesta said. “Report to the shuttle bay at oh-seven-hundred. Dismiss.”

“Sir!” I executed another brain-scrambling salute and spun on my heel.

Chapter 6

“And that, my friends, is the last word I will say on the subject. Vote to rejoin the Imperium,” Councillor Thirty said. Her curly red hair had wilted around her shoulders, and her face was pink with the effort of her speech. “It is the right thing to do.”

DeKarn looked wearily at the time. Of the forty councillors present, sixteen of them had taken up their full allotted time exhorting one another to convert his, her or its vote to that of the speaker. After every speech, she had called for another poll. The numbers had changed slightly now and again, but no clear majority for any of the three possibilities had emerged and, it seemed, never would. Her back ached, her eyes burned, and her head pounded. She was fighting not to be bored into nodding off. Nothing new was being said, except about Captain Sgarthad.

The Yolkovians kept fretting toward the closed door of the chamber, as if hoping for a glimpse of their rescuer. His image was constantly on one screen or another. DeKarn was getting weary of seeing it.

“The vote, please?” she said hoarsely. She recorded the results without looking at them and swept the number to Rengin.

“This is ridiculous!” Sixteen said, rising. Protests arose with him.

“You are out of order, Councillor!” snapped Bruke.

“Oh, what does it matter?” asked Six. He had messed his fancy hair into a bird’s nest from impatience. “I move we should interrupt the debate to listen to him. If he has something new to say.”

“Seconded,” DeKarn said rapidly, to forestall another protest. They all knew that Councillor Sixteen was a patient and just man. If he had something to say, it was most likely worthwhile, and thank goodness!

“Thank you,” Sixteen said. He straightened his robe. “My friends, we are not going to agree, not so soon. How long did it take us to work out the details of our biennial market, and we all wanted that event! This is far more important. I move that we discuss our doubts and misgivings with the ambassador and hear what the Imperium has to offer. Then we can vote out of knowledge. It could be that there is no good reason but that we were once a part. If Shojan—”

“His Imperial Highness,” Twenty-Three interrupted, with peevish punctiliousness.

“—His Imperial Highness Shojan XII wants to redress the wrongs of the past, then it may sway some of you to change your minds.”

“Oh, anything to get me out of here before my next birthday!” snapped Ten. “I hear a ‘but’ in there. What is it?”

“I want to go back to the earlier discussion on having one face, one voice, to represent the council. We can be overwhelming as a body. To have one being acting on point would be more efficient than the full quorum. That person should conduct the interview with Ambassador Ben, and report back to us. We could even watch the interview remotely, as long as it is understood that our questions were to be submitted to our representative and not put directly. It wastes the good ambassador’s time
and our own
to do otherwise.”

“A fine idea,” DeKarn said. “I believed it to have merit. So did Twenty-Nine, whom I thought would be an excellent representative.”

“I rather thought I . . .” Sixteen said, looking hurt.

“You, too, would be a fine choice,” DeKarn said at once. “Very well, colleagues, what do you say?”

“Anything to get out of here,” Ten said. “So moved.”

“Second,” Six said, raising a finger.

“We have a proposed candidate for the job, as well,” Quelph said. The screens of the Yolk contingent all lit up with the same image. “As we need a strong person to put the right questions, Captain Sgarthad is willing to take that position to support us. He would meet the ambassador on an equal footing.”

“Not him again!” Eland wailed.

“Absurd!” Tross exclaimed. “He is not a member of this council or even a citizen of the Cluster!”

“But we all agree wholeheartedly,” Pinckney said, flattening a sincere hand on his chest. “I for one would follow him anywhere.”

Guffaws erupted through the council chamber. “Keep your personal life personal,” snorted Six. “I find him fanciable myself, but that doesn’t change our laws.”

“But why not use him?” Urrmenoc asked, waving a paw for attention. “We hire agents to do business for us all over the galaxy who are not native to our worlds. He is a good speaker, and a good businessbeing. He showed us his account books in his ship. I wish I could wring such profits out of a deal. Here. I’ve got a copy of his life file. You could see how much of an asset he’d be to us.” The floating icon split up and zipped to each councillor. It opened at once. A portrait of the man lurking in their corridor appeared before them.

The two youngest members of the council, Twenty and Four, looked up at the enormous image, exchanged blushing glances and giggled like schoolgirls.

“Councillors!” DeKarn exclaimed, shocked. “Councillor Pinckney, it would be improper to employ him as an agent for several reasons, the chief of which is that he represents a rival interest!”

“He might be useful to us,” Twelve spoke up in her soft voice. “Perhaps as an ombudsman. He is disinterested whether we choose to be independent or rejoin the Imperium.”

“He is not disinterested!” exclaimed Zembke.

“Well, I liked him,” Five said. “I think he’d be good. At least we know he doesn’t dither, like too many people in here. He’d get the facts for us. In my opinion. I say yes.”

“Five!” DeKarn said, horrified.

“I’m sorry, First Councillor,” he said, contritely. “He’s very direct. You saw that. It is an admirable trait. I know I don’t have it.”

“No!” Marden shouted. “Are you all drunk? Have you inhaled fumes?”

“Do you have to be so insulting?” Five asked, making a sour face. “I feel like I’ve been given an insight into wisdom. If our visitor would agree to intercede between us and the Imperium, the ambassador would see that we were not automatically falling into place. It’s a brilliant idea. I am for it!”

“I am certain he would agree to act,” Quelph said, beaming at Five. “He said he would do anything we need.”

“It is a wonderful idea,” Tross said. “That way the ambassador can play no tricks on us! She won’t be able to hypnotise us, or drug us into signing away our rights!”

DeKarn stared at Tross. He never believed anyone unless he could check the facts independently.

“I, too, would consider him,” Seventeen said, raising a finger. “Hearing our arguments from an outsider might also give us insights.”

That was an opinion of a different type. Seventeen was a pessimist but not paranoid.