“By Their Majesties?” Kerrigan asked.
“Only the Emperor and Empress may invite an Imperial Marine to the Imperial Guard, Ma’am.”
Kerrigan nodded numbly.
“On this side,” Vanner said, pointing to the cross-shaped medal on the left, “is the Galaxy Cross, the Empire’s highest military honor, awarded for valor. These are very rare, Ma’am. There are a number of honors available for valor in varying degrees. This is the highest such honor.”
“I see,” Kerrigan managed to croak.
“On this side,” Vanner said, pointing to the gold laurel wreath medal on the right, “is the Gratitude of the Throne. These are rarer still, awarded only by the Emperor and Empress themselves, for someone whose outstanding service to the Throne has come to the personal notice of Their Majesties. There hasn’t been one awarded in a hundred years.”
Kerrigan could not manage words. She merely nodded.
“The Galaxy Cross and the Gratitude of the Throne are usually on colored ribbons, Ma’am. In this case, both are pendent from black ribbons, as the recipient died in service to the Throne.”
Kerrigan just stared at the display before her.
“Do you have any questions, Ma’am?”
Kerrigan didn’t trust herself to try to speak. After a pause, she just shook her head.
“Very well, Ma’am.”
Vanner then executed a perfect formal salute. A Marine officer might well be out of practice with the formal salute reserved for the Emperor and Empress, the military dead, and their bereaved, but the Imperial Guard got a lot of practice. He clicked his heels, then brought his hand up in a slow motion arc to stop abruptly in salute, hold it for several seconds, then snap out and down to slap his thigh. He gave her a sharp nod, turned on his heel, and left her office.
Kerrigan looked down at the display, the rewards for Tommy’s actions to thwart her, symbols of the esteem in which he was held.
Her tears fell on the glass.
After some time, she stirred. She dabbed at the puddle of tears on the glass with a tissue, then closed the side wings of the display box and left it on her desk.
Kerrigan would have to tell Tommy’s mother Bridget and her husband James when they came home this evening. She had not said anything yet, because she had not had any official word. She had held out hope. Neither was any longer the case.
Kerrigan put on her big straw hat and went out into the gardens. She looked back up at the big stone house. It was over two hundred years old now, and represented the ‘new’ prosperity of the family.
Sean Robert Walsh had been heavily leveraged in the market machinations leading up to the assassination attempt on the Emperor Trajan in 10 GE. The failure of the assassination, the execution of Walsh, and the counter-positions in the markets taken by Otto Stauss had wiped out the family fortune in a single day.
The family had clawed its way back to prosperity in the economic growth and general prosperity of Trajan’s reign and those of the Emperors after him. The estate, including the big stone house, were symbols of that success.
A success that was achieved under the Empire.
Kerrigan sat in the chaise by the small stone pond. Tommy had sent her pointers to two books, and she looked up the second. ‘Power & Restraint: An In-Depth Retrospective On The Four Good Emperors,’ written by the current Emperor. Or, rather, by he who would become Emperor. Largely on the strength of the book, according to the background on it. It was also well thought of.
She settled back and began to read.
Bridget and James came home that evening, and Kerrigan asked them to come up to the big house. They had a teary meeting in the conversational seating to one side of Kerrigan’s office, in front of the fireplace. It was very strange, a mixture of pride at Tommy’s awards and chagrin he received them from the Empire they had loathed for so long.
Kerrigan offered Tommy’s awards to them, but they demurred. Instead, they agreed to display them on the sideboard of her office, the center of the family, the wings of the display case out at forty-five degrees so it would stand.
After Bridget and James left, Kerrigan settled back into the armchair to continue reading the Emperor’s book.
She felt as if Tommy watched her from the sideboard.
Galway had longer days than most other human planets, at almost twenty-six hours. About every other week, Friday was dropped from the calendar to stay in synch with the rest of the Empire. This was not one of those weekends, but Kerrigan decided to give up trying to get anything done this week.
Kerrigan read the Emperor’s book all day Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, tracking down and reading the primary sources in the citations for anything that ran contrary to her beliefs or knowledge. Every one of his citations panned out, though. He had been most scrupulous about not overstating his case.
The places where Kerrigan had had a different view were some of the foundational assumptions of her worldview. If she hadn’t been so shocked and shaken by Tommy’s death, she might have simply shrugged them off. Human beings, after all, are notoriously resistant to facts that run counter to their belief system, but she was unusually receptive in the aftermath of Tommy’s death, in the depths of her grief.
She could see now where the changes in Imperial policy the last nine years had come from. It was the current Emperor’s lifelong research into the Golden Age of the Empire, and what those rulers had done to be successful. Augustus VI, under the author’s guidance, and then the author himself, as Ptolemy I, had reinstated those policies, including the ban on import tariffs and bans among sectors, which had all of Kerrigan’s businesses flourishing.
Kerrigan read the Emperor’s book in the gardens behind the old stone house on the big estate her family had built after they had re-established their family fortunes during that Golden Age. It was a profoundly re-orienting experience.
On Sunday evening, she re-read Tommy’s letter. She could see his point of view now, even if she wasn’t completely signed up for it. How good had their ancestors been at ruling the Democracy of Planets anyway? Could she be even that good? Was that even what she wanted to do with her life?
This was the state of her thinking when, on Monday morning, she received a meeting request under an Imperial header.
Imperial City
“Colonel Vanner reports mission accomplished,” Burke said.
“Excellent. What next, then?” Ardmore asked.
“We let that one sit for a few days, I think. Not much longer.”
“We also need to recognize the others.”
“Yes. In person, I think,” Burke said.
“In person? A lot of prep for that.”
“You’re telling me? You have it easy. For me, it’s four hours of fussing.”
“We could do it in VR,” Ardmore said.
“No. No, I don’t think we can.”
“A personal audience is nearly unprecedented.”
“So are their actions,” Burke said. “In person.”
“Fair enough.”
Travis Geary answered the knock on the door of his apartment just after breakfast on Friday morning to find an Imperial Guard captain standing in the hall.
“Brigade Commander Travis Geary?”
“Yes, I’m Geary.”
The captain held out a small stiff white envelope. Geary took it, and the captain nodded and left.
Geary looked at the envelope curiously. It had his name, in hand calligraphy, written on the front. He opened the envelope to find a single card within. It was embossed with the Imperial coat of arms, with a hand-calligraphy note beneath.
You are requested and required
to attend Their Majesties in the
Throne Room of the Imperial Palace
at 11:30 AM Saturday.
Dress: formal/uniform
Imperial Guard will pick you up at 11.
Benton came through the communicating door from his apartment next door. He was carrying one of the envelopes.
&
nbsp; “Travis? What do you make of this?”
“You got one, too? Good. That makes me feel better.”
“But what is this about?”
“Well, we’re not in any trouble if that’s what you’re worried about. I told you I met with the Emperor and Empress already. To tell them about Sean. This is clearly something about the museum event.”
“Uniform, it says.”
“Yes. I would dress for parade review.”
“Well, yeah.”
Donahue and Odom were also in their apartment that morning. They were waiting for instructions about their next assignment.
“What should I do with the car and all the stuff in the trunk?” Odom asked.
“You’ve got friends in Imperial City, right?”
“Yeah. Sure.”
“Let them have it,” Donahue said.
“Just give it to ‘em?”
“Sure. As long as they’re the good guys. You know.”
“Yeah, they’re all on the right side of things. But just give it to ‘em?”
“Yeah. You need to keep your friends happy. You don’t know when you’ll need them again.”
“Oh. OK. I get that. You mean with the new job and all.”
“Yeah.”
There was a knock on the door. Donahue opened it to find an Imperial Guard captain in the hall.
“Barry Donnelly?”
“Yes, that’s me.”
The Imperial Guard captain handed him a small stiff white envelope.
“And is Michael Odom here as well?”
“Yeah, Captain. I’m Odom.”
The guard captain handed him a similar envelope, then nodded and left.
Donahue and Odom both opened the envelopes and scanned the cards inside.
“Throne Room, huh? Why not just VR?” Odom asked.
“VR lacks a certain je ne sais quoi.”
“Je ne savais pas que tu parlais français.”
“What?” Donahue asked.
“I said, I didn’t know you spoke French.”
“I don’t. I just know a couple phrases. You do?”
“Yeah,” Odom said, shrugging. “It was part of a job. But, yeah. VR lacks a certain something. Still, wonder what it’s about.”
“We’ll find out tomorrow.”
That night when they shared take-out in Donahue’s apartment, Dickens told them he had also gotten the notice to appear before the Throne. None of them had any idea what it was about, but none of them had been in the Throne Room before, they had only seen it in VR for the coronations.
The next morning, Donahue and Odom were ready to go when the Imperial Guard captain showed up at Donahue’s apartment. They picked Dickens up at his apartment and went downstairs to street level. Double-parked in front of the apartment building was a little motorcade, with an Imperial Police cruiser both in front and behind an Imperial Palace limousine.
The driver opened the door for them all to enter, then closed the door and got behind the wheel.
“This car’s bigger than yours, Mike,” Dickens said.
“Well, I doubt they had my budget constraints when they bought it,” Odom said. “Besides, where would you park it?”
“Yes, being able to double-park anywhere you want with impunity has its advantages,” Donahue said.
The Imperial Guard captain’s mouth twitched at their banter, but he said nothing.
Geary and Benton were also ready to go at eleven, dressed in their cadet upperclassman uniforms, when the Imperial Guard captain showed up at their apartment. He led them down in the elevators to street level. They were stunned to find an Imperial Palace limousine double-parked at the curb, with an Imperial Police cruiser both in front and behind.
The driver opened the door for them, and they got in. The driver closed the door but he didn’t get back in the car. They waited a few minutes until another Imperial Guard officer, a lieutenant, showed up from across the street with Phil Stimson. Stimson today was wearing Marine Dress Uniform (MDU) with sergeant major’s insignia.
“Sergeant Major,” Geary said, nodding.
“Good morning, Sirs,” Stimson said.
Stimson and the Imperial Guard lieutenant got in with Geary, Benton, and the Imperial Guard captain. There was plenty of room in the big car.
The driver got in the driver’s compartment, and the Imperial Police cruiser led the way down the street as the driver eased the big car forward.
Burke was still getting ready, on the lower floor of the Imperial Residence. She had been under the depilation machine, had her hair done, and her face made. She was just about to get dressed.
“What if my breasts leak? Can we stop that somehow?” she asked.
“Yes, Milady. There’s actually a product for that. You need to make sure to take it off properly before you breastfeed again, but we will take care of removing it for you after the ceremony.”
“Oh, good. It goes on before the makeup, like a coat of primer?”
The makeup assistant giggled.
“One thing everybody in the Imperial Marines learns is how to paint stuff. So it’s like primer?”
“Yes, Milady.”
“Very good. Proceed.”
“Yes, Milady.”
The two motorcades took the Imperial Palace ramp from Imperial Park West Boulevard down under Imperial Park. The Imperial Police escorts peeled off into a side tunnel while the limousines continued on to pull up at the Imperial Palace’s underground entrance. All of this was a new experience for their six passengers who were not Imperial Guard.
The drivers opened the doors and they all got out of the big cars.
“Hey, they put the team back together,” Odom said.
Donahue grunted, Dickens nodded.
“Yes. Everyone except poor Sean,” Donahue said.
“This way, please, gentlemen,” one of the Imperial Guard captains said.
They followed him on through the entrance and down a broad hallway with slidewalks and people bustling about. They came to an elevator bay, and took an elevator up a couple of floors to what Geary guessed was street level. They exited the elevator bay and continued in their previous direction. South, if Geary’s internal compass was right.
They came to the end of the hallway at a large T intersection. The Imperial Guard captain led them through a sliding glass door, and they continued south, emerging from behind an arras in the giant nave of the Throne Room, to one side of the dais on which stood the Throne. The Imperial Guard captain led them around to the front of the dais where a man waited.
“Stand in a line here facing the Throne, please,” the man said, waving a line across the floor.
They were about six feet from the dais. The man stood between them and the first step.
“Good morning, gentlemen. My name is Edward Moody. I am Their Majesties’ Personal Secretary. When Their Majesties arrive, the Imperial Fanfare will sound. You are to take a knee and bow to the Throne until they are seated. Remain kneeling until you are instructed to stand. When you are called, go up the steps here and stop one step short of the top.
“Do not speak unless you are addressed by name. Their Majesties are to be referred to as ‘Your Majesty’ and ‘Milady Empress’ the first time, then ‘Sire’ and ‘Milady’ after that. When the audience is over, the Imperial Fanfare will sound again as Their Majesties make their exit. You are once again to take a knee and bow to the Throne until the fanfare is over.
“Do you have any questions?”
“Yes,” Odom said. “What is all this about?”
“That is not my position to say, Mr. Odom. Anyone else?”
Moody looked up and down the line, and no one had any other questions.
“Very well, then.”
They stood waiting and looking around. To one side of the dais, there was a small table with a number of items on it. Small black boxes, in a couple of different sizes. The golden Throne stood toward the back of a riser in the middle of the dais, one final step to the top.
The room was brightening as the sun approached the meridian overhead.
Geary looked around behind him. The great doors of the nave were open, and the doorway framed the statue of Ilithyia II in the middle of Palace Mall.
“Nate, look at that,” Geary whispered.
Benton looked around.
“Wow. Just like in VR. Except we’re actually here,” he whispered back.
Edward Moody returned, and Geary was shocked to see he was accompanied by the Imperial Guard Commandant, Imperial General Eric Hargreaves, and the Imperial Marine Academy Center Commandant, Lieutenant General Broderick Hansen. They climbed the dais and stood, all three together, alongside the little table, facing the Throne.
It was a bit after eleven-thirty now, and the light from the skylight above started lighting up the Throne. A band of light started on one side, and expanded across the Throne until the Throne was completely in the sunlight. Geary stole a look behind, and saw the statue of Ilithyia II was now awash in sunlight from the reflectors on the building. He nudged Benton, who looked behind.”
“Wow,” he whispered. “She’s alive.”
The Imperial Fanfare sounded, and everybody went down on one knee, including Moody, Hargreaves, and Hansen. Burke and Ardmore entered from the side opposite the table, and walked up the side steps of the dais, Ardmore in the lead. He was dressed all in black, a squat mountain of a man, wearing the gold laurel wreath crown of the Emperor. Burke was dressed in the semi-sheer caftan of the coronation, the circlet of the kings of Sintar atop her waist-length fall of black, shiny, tightly curled hair. The great blue stone of the Star of Humanity blazed on her forehead.
Ardmore held Burke’s hand as she sat on the Throne, then stood alongside her. She sat in a pool of sunlight from the skylight above. She was not quite two years older than she had been at the coronation, but a lot had happened. She was more mature, wiser, more experienced. To Geary, she was more beautiful than ever.
When the Imperial Fanfare completed, Burke said, “Please rise.”
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