Short fiction complete, p.179
Short Fiction Complete, page 179
Adela was a vision in a flowing gown of powder blue that fit her exquisitely, accentuating her beauty. Her dark hair, normally restrained or pulled back, tumbled freely across her shoulders. A polished stone hung from a simple silver chain around her neck and she had adorned her hair with a single fire-red flower. She smiled, then turned wordlessly and walked to where Javas had been standing just a few moments earlier behind the gathered curtain.
Javas followed. A security guard in Imperial dress stood near the wall a few meters away. Although forbidden to leave his assigned position, the man made a show of inspecting the catwalks above him. Javas read the nametag on his uniform, making a mental note of it.
He embraced her then and, intoxicated by the way her perfume mixed pleasantly with the natural scent of the flower in her hair, kissed her.
They separated and, still held in his strong arms, Adela laid her head against his chest. “I can’t believe it’s finally happening,” she said at last.
Javas took her chin gently in his fingertips and gazed down into her eyes. “I never doubted that it would.” Still cradling her chin in his hand, he kissed her again, more softly this time.
The nearby guard cleared his throat and Javas pulled away slowly, regretfully. The guard nodded across the stage and Javas turned, hands clasped behind his back, to see Fain approaching.
“Commander?”
Fain bowed his head briefly to Adela, then addressed the prince. “Sire, your father is here.”
“Thank you.”
Fain bowed once more, then hurried to the rear entrance which, Javas could see. was now bordered on both sides by members of the Court. He glanced at the guard and gave him a nod of thanks, then walked across the stage with Adela on his arm.
They sat in two formal rows at the apron of the stage, a few meters back of the now-transparent shielding curving invisibly around the edge. There were five places in the first row: The Emperor sat in his powerchair at center stage, flanked on his right by the Prince—now standing as he addressed the assembly with introductory remarks—and Dr. Montgarde. To the Emperor’s left was Fain’s chair, then his own just to the Commander’s left.
Bomeer paid as little attention to what the Prince was saying as he did to the dozen people sitting in the row behind them. He glanced at those seated in the second row of chairs just in front of the closed velvet curtain. Plantir Wynne was there, as was the Emperor’s nursemaid, Brendan. One of the scientist’s team was there, as well as several other members of the Court.
Bomeer returned his attention to the assembly itself, disturbed by the magnitude of what he’d seen. The auditorium was filled nearly to capacity with the representatives of the Hundred Worlds and their guests, which was something Bomeer had never expected. And except for a smaller section at the rear of the house where a number of representatives not present on Luna were attending holographically, nearly every one of the attendees had made the long trip to be here personally as the Emperor outlined his foolish project.
Although the time for open discussion at the Council would not come until all the presentations had been made, Bomeer’s discreet investigations had already told him that support for the plan was strong among the Worlds. He had found a number of representatives who openly opposed the venture, but was unsure if there would be enough opposition to defeat it.
As the Prince spoke of opportunity, advancing technology and benefits to all members of the Empire, Bomeer scanned the audience as the representatives listened in rapt attention to Javas’s words.
“. . . it will be a time of expansion, a time of science,” the Prince was saying. “Each World, giving of its resources and talents, will see itself grow in proportion to its contribution. And you may wonder: what of those Worlds of lower technological background? What of the Frontier Worlds and new colonies just beginning that may have less expertise to spare as they work to shape and build their own homes?” Javas’s eyes slowly swept the audience as whispers and nods passed among some of the representatives who apparently had been thinking just that.
“These Worlds, too, will share in this endeavor. The Frontier Worlds, while sometimes poor in technology, are rich in materials essential to the successful completion of the most important effort ever undertaken by the Hundred Worlds. These Worlds, in return for raw materials and manpower, can expect more help in establishing a home than any World has received since the beginning of the Empire . . .”
No wonder there is such a positive feeling among the Worlds, Bomeer thought. Cooperation is easy to acquire when it’s paid for.
The academician looked back out over the audience once more, attempting to tune out the Prince’s words, but was again impressed by the sheer immensity of the assembly. The representatives had been seated, Bomeer realized, according to the distance from Earth of their home planets. Each delegation was identified by a small banner displaying the crest or flag of that planet. Those from the nearer Worlds sat in the front rows, those more distant in the upper portion of the auditorium. The representatives from Earth, Luna, and the orbitals sat in the first row itself.
Bomeer looked at the Earth delegation, and his heart nearly stopped when he saw a tall bearded man sitting with the group. My God, what is he doing here?
As he stared at Johnson the man turned sharply and his eyes met Bomeer’s unexpectedly. The Earth man’s feral, wolflike eyes narrowed suddenly and—was the man smiling at him?
The time has come, the Emperor thought as he listened to his son. Ignoring his own tiredness, he took pride in the way the Prince worked the crowd, in how the representatives of the Hundred Worlds hung on each of his words. You will make a fine leader.
Javas had finished speaking and had come to his side to assist him as he prepared to address the auditorium. He glided the powerchair forward about a meter in front of the others and placed his hands firmly on the arms of the chair. With Javas steadying him at his elbow, he pushed himself to his feet. He saw the concerned look on his son’s face, and smiled to reassure him that the assisters on his legs, as well as the back brace that enabled him to walk, were working fine.
His heart pounded at the effort of each step, and he felt a bead of sweat running down his scalp as he concentrated hard on keeping Brendan from reading the pain caused by the pressure the brace was putting on his back. He turned to his son and embraced him, then regarded the auditorium once more and waited for the applause to fade.
He raised a hand to silence them, then dropped it quickly to his side when he felt it shaking. A pain rose in his chest and he concentrated even harder on suppressing the information his implants would be trying to send to the bio-read-outs Brendan was monitoring.
“Members of the Hundred Worlds,” he began, and as his voice echoed through the auditorium sound system he envisioned his words flowing out, not just to those seated before him, but leaping across space itself to the very reaches of the Empire. “Members of the Court; citizens and friends, all. We embark today on a journey, the likes of which make the Empire itself seem small by comparison.”
The speech he gave was not memorized, but there had been no need to. He knew what he wanted, needed, to say. There was additional applause periodically as he spoke, and the Emperor took advantage of each pause in the address to catch his breath and refocus his concentration. At one point, his knees shook almost imperceptibly in the assisters Brendan had fitted to his legs, and weakness flowed over him like a wave. At that moment, he sensed Brendan probing him and clamped down even more tightly on his systems to hide what he truly felt.
“In just a few moments . . . a young scientist with a vision will address you in a few moments.” His will was drifting and, realizing that his words were becoming rambling and repetitive, he tried to pay closer attention to what he was saying. “Her ingenuity, her drive, and her dreams are exemplary,” he went on. The words came with difficulty and a dizziness came over him briefly before he managed to force it away. He was sweating freely now and, no longer able to control the shaking in his hands, kept them riveted at his side. “But without . . . the cooperation of all of us, working together as one, her dreams are nothing. And that, I think, is . . . the real strength of the Hundred Worlds; that each member World, strong in itself, is made stronger by . . . by the association of others.”
There was applause again, and the Emperor felt his son’s hand on his shoulder. Javas was standing by his side, concern plain in his eyes. The Emperor looked at the other members of the Court seated on the stage. Tears glistened in Adela’s eyes and she was plainly frightened. Fain fidgeted in his seat, looking helpless. Even Bomeer appeared uncomfortable as he chewed absently on a lower lip. Javas looked pleadingly at him, then turned to Brendan seated just behind the powerchair and demanded, “Is he all right?”
“I—I don’t know!” Brendan sputtered. “His readings are . . . confusing.”
There was a look of sheer terror on Brendan’s face. Only now did he realize that the Emperor had been hiding his true condition from him all along.
He felt a squeezing in his chest, a line of pain burning down the length of his arm. The auditorium spun around him and he felt himself weaving as the pain flooded in, but found that he couldn’t fall as the assisters on his legs automatically compensated for the erratic motions.
“Father!”
Everything happened at once around him, and yet it all seemed to move in slow motion: Javas reaching for him. Brendan on his feet and moving quickly to his side. Fain barking orders into his wrist comm. Adela gasping, hands over her mouth. Glenney bursting through the curtains. Everyone talking, crying, shouting at once. Through it all, a deathly, stunned silence fell over the auditorium.
Another wave of pain wracked him and he pitched forward into Javas’s arms. He stopped repressing his monitoring implants, allowing his bio-read-out to flow freely once more, and heard an immediate, sharp gasp at his shoulder. Brendan stumbled backward as the sudden messages of pain momentarily overloaded his implants.
Javas eased him to the floor and knelt there, cradling his father in his lap. The Emperor felt the pressure of tiny fingers on his hand and became aware that Adela was kneeling at his son’s side, her face a mask of consuming grief.
Free of the burden of controlling the readings his implants were sending out, it became clear now why the auditorium had grown oppressively silent and he realized that someone—Fain, probably, or maybe Glenney—had cut off the audio pickup carrying the presentation to the auditorium sound system. Closing his eyes tightly, he used his last bit of strength to search the computer circuitry and found the necessary channel to reactivate the system.
“Hear me,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. The words echoed in the auditorium and the Emperor smiled weakly as he imagined the signal spreading out. Instantly to Armelin City, then a split second later to Earth, then a few seconds after that to the orbitals, then a few minutes more to the colonies in Sol system, and finally out across the Hundred Worlds themselves.
“Hear me! This is not . . . an ending, but . . . a beginning.” The Emperor coughed violently, struggling for breath before continuing. “Do not allow what has . . . been done to me to stray you . . . from . . . our noble goal.”
He who is willing to die for his cause. . . . Gasping for breath, he opened his eyes and found Brendan leaning over him. He saw in the young man’s ashen face the shocked realization of what his role in this would become and, unable to face him, turned away.
“As I ask you to work together . . . for understanding in this,” the Emperor wheezed, “can I do less than demand the same . . . of myself?”
“Father, please. Lie still.” Javas’s face reflected the pain he felt inside.
The Emperor looked into his son’s eyes. “Prince Javas. Son. I—I have made many decisions during my reign. As my last decision, in the spirit . . . of the task which now falls upon you . . . I forgive those who did this to me. I . . . pardon them.” His head rolled unceremoniously to the side, and the life went out of him.
Javas eased his father’s body gently to the stage, then stood, grasping Brendan’s shoulder and jerking him unsteadily to his feet.
“Why is my father dead?” he demanded. “Why was his condition not relayed to medical?” On the Prince’s words, Glenney summoned several of his nearest men with a snap of his fingers.
Javas gripped the hapless man by both shoulders now, shaking him as he continued. “You were in constant link with the Emperor; only you could have suppressed his readouts!” He let go suddenly, allowing him to collapse into a sobbing heap, and turned in disgust as Glenney’s men dragged Brendan from the stage.
6: Beginnings
The Sun blazed and streamers of red and orange played through the clouds and jet contrails lacing the evening sky. As the Sun finally dipped below the horizon, the red glow in the sky remained well into dusk as the first stars appeared.
What was that poem? Brendan wondered. Red skies at night . . . He walked the hard-packed dirt road with no particular destination in mind, but he hoped he’d find the inn soon.
A passing farmer had told him of a place on the outskirts of the village up ahead where he could get an excellent meal and a room for the night. The man had been driving a primitive wooden wagon pulled by two of the most beautiful horses genetic engineering could produce, but when he’d stopped to give him directions to the village, Brendan had noticed an odd array of farming equipment in the back of the rickety wagon. There were several wood and metal hoes, rakes and shovels, as might be expected, each covered with hardened mud and manure. But jumbled haphazardly in with them was an electronic hydro-drill—also mud and manure encrusted—and water condenser components obviously from a state-of-the-art irrigation system.
What a study in contrasts Earth was, with dirt roads and animal-drawn vehicles coexisting with advanced biotechnology and jet aircraft. The strangest thing about it all was that Earthers didn’t seem to notice the contradiction. Best to get used to it, he reminded himself, since he’d be spending the rest of his life here.
The inn appeared just over the next rise. It had grown dark and he was close enough to hear the sounds of revelry coming from inside the tavern before he managed to get a good look at it. It was large and inviting, two-storied, and except for the metal sheeting of the roof was made entirely of wood. There was a hand-carved sign that swung precariously above an entrance lighted by two gas lanterns. Several horses tied to a horizontal post pawed the ground nervously as the swinging sign banged against the siding of the house. In the dimness he could just barely discern the outline of a receiving antenna mounted on the roof.
Inside, the tavern was as much a collection of contradictions as anything he’d seen in his two weeks on Earth. A roaring fire warmed the room and oil lamps provided most of the lighting, but a public information screen was mounted just inside the entranceway and music, obviously recorded, filled the room. Seven or eight people sat at the scattered tables, some eating, some drinking; at a table near the fireplace, two men conversed loudly, occasionally bursting into fits of laughter. No one paid him much attention when he entered.
He made his way to the massive wooden bar and ordered a hot meal and a tall mug of the local brew—a bitter, but not unpleasant tasting malt beverage served at room temperature—and carried it to an unoccupied table to await dinner.
“Will you be staying the night then, sir?” asked the innkeeper when he brought his plate, heaped with steaming food. Seeing him closely for the first time, Brendan realized that he was a mere boy, no more than nineteen years old. He was startled for a moment to see someone so young working at a job such as this, but Earthers didn’t use life extension and it was commonplace to begin a life’s work early here.
“Uh, yes. Yes, I need a room for the night.”
“Very good, sir.” The boy turned to a woman clearing a table on the far side of the room and whistled over the chatter to catch her attention. He held up two fingers. “Room two for the traveler, Sarah,” he called out before turning back to his customer. “My wife’ll have your room ready by the time you’ve finished. Another ale, then?”
“No. Thank you.” The boy-no, young man, Brendan reminded himself—nodded and returned to his place behind the bar. Brendan finished his meal undisturbed, paid for it and the room, and went up to bed.
Too exhausted to even remove his boots, he fell onto the bed fully clothed. Sleep did not come easily, which was becoming commonplace of late, and he lay staring out the room’s single window. Luna had risen, and cast a pale glow across the floor.
I did what you asked, he thought. I said nothing, told them nothing. His head ached slightly, although he couldn’t tell if the dull pain was caused by the deactivated implants or the strong ale he’d consumed.
Why? Was it so important to you to see this project begun that you had to sacrifice your life this way? Brendan sighed heavily and tossed fitfully in the small bed. He rubbed tired, burning eyes and silently added, And mine?
As he had numerous times since his father’s death nearly three weeks earlier, Javas met now with the Emperor’s two closest friends and advisors in what would have been his father’s study. There was much to do now that the Planetary Council had, by an overwhelming margin, approved of Dr. Montgarde’s project, and Javas had consulted with Fain and Bomeer repeatedly. The commander, having realized the benefits of the project to the Imperial military fleet, had proven himself to be one of its staunchest supporters. Bomeer, too—although still quick to point out every flaw or negative aspect of his planning—seemed, at least, to have mellowed in his opposition.
Commander Fain paced slowly in front of the viewscreen. “Pallatin has been a thorn in the Empire’s side since it was colonized three centuries ago,” Fain said in a voice husky from overuse. “They have had little discourse with other Worlds, still less trade and, except for minimal representation on the Planetary Council, prefer to live without Imperial assistance. They even seem unconcerned about how their gene pools have drifted, and have no interest in preserving a genetic baseline. I’m not surprised that Pallatin was among the few of the Hundred Worlds to refuse, outright, their cooperation.”
