by Ann Wilson
hesitated, frowning. "You haven't heard-- No, Comm Central saidyou weren't answering--"
"Heard what, Robert? My plane went down three or four hours ago, andthese people have spent the last hour drying me off and warming me withhot cocoa." But from the Castellan's expression, she was afraid sheknew. The Emperor's health hadn't been good of late, and she reallyshouldn't have been half a world away . . . "When did it happen?"
"Apparently about the time you crashed," Gordon said. "I believe heheard the New Year in. I hope he did . . ." The Castellan was silentfor a moment, then he went on. "He didn't seem to be in any pain, andDoctor Warren says it was simple heart failure. I've delayed makingthe public announcement until I could speak to you, get authorizationto call a Conclave at the same time." He bowed as deeply as he couldand still remain on-screen. "By Your Majesty's leave?"
"You have authorization," Ranger--now Empress--Susan Lindner said. Shehad known this was inevitable since her own election as Crown Princessat the first Conclave; establishing a precedent of peaceful, orderlytransfer of Imperial power was absolutely vital. "I'll need transport,and from the terrain I crossed, it'd better be something on the orderof a lander. I'm at the MacGregor farmstead, Isle of Skye; you shouldbe able to pinpoint me from this call."
"Done, Majesty," Gordon said after a couple of seconds. "A lander willbe on its way as soon as I'm dismissed, with Ranger Grissom and a squadof Palace Guards. Naturally, I'll give them a head start before Iinform the news media. Is there anything else?"
The Empress glanced around at the people near her, the ones who'dshared her surprise--and, in varying degrees, shock--at the news ofEmperor Chang's death. "I think so. A squad--no, better make it aplatoon--of Security Division Marines. The MacGregors can't be used topublicity, especially the kind my accession is going to bring."
"Of course, Majesty."
"Thank you, Castellan. Dismissed."
Gordon bowed again. His image disappeared, was replaced momentarily bythe Imperial Seal before Susan hung up and turned to the three withher. They looked as stunned as she felt, and uncertain as well. Shecould understand that; it would be unsettling enough to have anImperial Ranger turn up on your doorstep, without having her turn intothe Empress on you. At least they knew enough about Imperial protocolnot to kneel to her, though Donal looked tempted.
"This wasn't what I'd planned, you know," Susan said. "I was onlycalling to arrange a pickup, then later I'd have seen that you got thereward you're entitled to for aiding a Ranger."
Donal shook his head. "Nay, lass--I mean, Majesty. A man needs noreward for helping as the Good Book says."
"No," Susan said, smiling slightly. "I know you're taught that yourreward comes later. But the Empire tries for justice in this life, asmuch as we can; we punish actions that hurt it, and reward ones thathelp." She held out her hands to the old man. "Will you help meagain, Donal, you and your family? Join me in mourning a dear friendbefore I have to officially take up a job no sane person would want?And keep calling me Sue, or lass, please? At least until Robert makesthe announcement?"
Donal saw the entreaty in her eyes, and nodded. Empress or no, she wasa woman, a crashed pilot, who had just lost a friend. "As you wish,lass. We've enough good whiskey for a proper wake, and a hangover curefor the morrow."
Susan smiled in real gratitude. "Thank you, Donal. Now I think we'dbest rejoin the others."
"Aye, lass."
When they went back to the party and Donal explained that their guesthad just been told about the death of a close friend, Susan wassurrounded by suddenly-commiserating people, one of whom pressed adrink into her hand. She took a swallow, appreciating the gesture andunquestioning sympathy, so unlike the official condolences she'd bereceiving soon.
A gentle, grandmotherly woman urged her to a seat. "Tell us about yourfriend, lass. What kind of man was he?"
Susan gave that a moment's thought, then smiled. She couldn't revealhis identity without ruining the party, which she didn't want to do,but that shouldn't be necessary. "He was a good man, Miz. One of themost intelligent, caring people I've ever had the privilege ofknowing--and I liked him, even if he did make those of us who worked mostclosely with him knock ourselves out trying to keep up."
She chuckled. "I think one of the reasons we did work so hard for himwas that he demanded even more of himself than he asked of us. I can'timagine taking on some of the assignments I did for anyone else."
"He sounds like a leader anyone could respect," Angus said. "But haveyou nothing more . . . ah . . . human to share?"
"Well, yes," Susan said, and knew her voice showed amusement. "He hada weakness for twentieth-century space opera. It showed up in someplaces you wouldn't expect unless you shared his fondness for it, andfor awhile we made a game out of tracing down anything that seemed tohave any sort of connection."
She glanced at Angus, saw his matching amusement, and was certain he'dmade at least some of the same connections. There was no denying thatHis Majesty had had excellent reasons for his actions, fromestablishing the Empire on; even the Solar Federation Congress had beenable to understand that a democracy that was struggling to hold asingle system together couldn't possibly cope with what promised torapidly become thousands of systems. Aristocracy had worked, more orless, in one form or another, for thousands of years, so an Empire wasa natural solution--but it was also a classic idea in space opera. Andone of her own favorite touches was the Anthem; every government seemedto need one, so why not do as Emperor Chang had, and take aninstrumental piece already titled "Imperial Anthem" from a classiclate-twentieth-century entertainment tape? "Oh," she went on, "henever let it interfere with serious business--but why not take whatenjoyment you can, after all?"
"No reason," Angus said with a grin. "And did your friend also likeAmerican cowboy stories?"
"When he was a boy, yes. Until he got interested in space opera,anyway." Susan returned his grin. "I've always thought he should havebeen born a Texan."
The reminiscences continued as she was kept supplied with smoothly-potentwhiskey, and she was fully aware that she was well on the way tobeing thoroughly drunk. That was all right; the Palace Guards, whowould be the first to arrive, knew their Sovereign was quite human.And, being Marines, their medikits held sober pills she could use ifshe had to.
Roughly two hours after her phone call, Susan and the rest of thepartiers were startled by the sound of a lander's null-grav engines,then by the first notes of the Imperial Anthem sounding from thealmost-forgotten holoset. As Gordon announced Chang's death and heraccession, Susan found Angus looking at her understandingly. Shenodded to him, smiling, then concealed a sigh. Her brief crash-causedleave was over; it was time to take on her new duties.
* * * * *
Isle of Skye, 3 Jan 2149
The scream of null-grav engines interrupted Tara MacGregor's housework.She ran outside, to see a brilliant scarlet lander settling to earthbarely ten meters from the front door. When its hatch opened and ascarlet-tunicked man emerged, she caught her breath. This was anImperial Messenger!
"Tara MacGregor?" the man asked.
She nodded silently, and the Messenger bowed to her, extending a largegreen envelope. "I am instructed to deliver this with Her Majesty'scompliments, Mrs. MacGregor. She asks that you contact CastellanGordon with your reply." He bowed again, and left as swiftly as he'darrived.
Tara watched him go before she opened the envelope with hands that wereshaking slightly. It held three items: a bill of sale for a newtractor, an authorization form for Geordie to take the Academy entranceexaminations, and a smaller envelope with a handwritten note: "Yougave a crashed pilot hospitality, and a grieving woman sympathy. Iwould like to return at least the hospitality; will you all be myguests for Coronation Week?" It was initialed S.M.L.
As Tara started to go back into the house, she heard shouted questions,and stopped to wait for Donal and Geordie, who were approaching at arun. She didn't
bother saying anything; the papers she held out spokefor themselves.
Both men looked them over with the same mixture of amazement andpleasure Tara was sure she'd had. It was Donal who finally spoke,looking south toward the Antarctic palace none of them had ever thoughtto see. "Aye, lass," he said softly. "Aye, we'll accept yourhospitality."
END