How could it possibly be? Was he a clone? A hologram?
For a long moment, the Interdict Orthanion gazed down at us with what I swore was amusement.
And he spoke in a wry, gravelly voice: “Well, Emperor Tyrus, you know how to make a first impression. Were you too bored to sit through the performance?”
“N-no,” stuttered Tyrus. Stuttered! I’d never heard that from him. “I’m just— You’re—”
The door to the box slid open and a group of indignant vicars rushed in, but Orthanion waved them back with the careless ease of a man who’d long held total power over his domain.
“I am quite safe,” Orthanion said. “The young Emperor was overeager to meet me. Leave us.”
Tyrus watched them dip out, then said, “Forgive my insolence, Most Ascendant One.” He swiftly lowered his head, drew the hand the Interdict offered to one cheek, then the other. He licked his lips. “But I . . . I have seen the King’s Immolate before, and I wish to decline any sacrifice in my honor.”
“Ah, I see.” He took Tyrus’s chin to tilt his head up. He smiled. “My child, don’t trouble yourself over this sacrifice. It’s not even in your honor. It’s in mine.” He gave a negligent wave of his hand. “End it.”
The dancers in the ball dome descended upon the Immolate, and their blades arced down, sending great bubbles of blood sailing up into the air like a rose in bloom.
16
TYRUS AND I followed him with some stunned shock, because we were both trying to figure out how he could be so old. And that vicar, the one who’d first met us . . . Whatever false-youth or . . . or technology kept the Interdict young must function with that one as well.
“The last Domitrian I met was Amon,” remarked the Interdict, his gaze dropping to the scepter at Tyrus’s waist. “I removed that from his hands, and then I stripped him of the power he held over it. I am glad to see another Domitrian under better circumstances.”
His voice echoed as we entered a reception chamber with walls of hollowed diamond. Inside seethed liquid artwork, trickling like blood through the veins of our surroundings. With the aid of gravity, a river was flowing on each of the walls, but not composed of water—rather gushing with substances that didn’t appear to mix. They moved over one another like oiled tentacles or ribbons. Every time the pulsar flashed, the whole room seemed cast in light, playing under the Interdict’s very skin.
Orthanion turned to us and went on, “The Domitrians have such an arrogant self-love, I feared Amon’s descendants might reunite with Acindra’s in an overhasty manner. My machines checked your genetic code, and I see you are a product of a reunion—but due to a marriage of third cousins. Sooner than I would have liked, but that’s acceptable. What’s unacceptable is a certain finding from your database.”
“What finding?” Tyrus said.
“I gave the Emperor Lotharias a private decree. The last vicar to come with news informed me there were a mere four royal Domitrians, and that was unacceptable. I sent him instructions to increase that number immediately. He failed me. Your databases say there are now but two of you.”
Tyrus gave a grim smile. “My grandfather fulfilled your decree, Most Ascendant One. Against my grandmother’s wishes. She only wished to have one child, so he harvested her ovaries and acted without her consent. He had a great many children. Grandmother went on to kill a great many children. She set out to rectify his mistake after he perished. So there are two of us.”
“Domitrians,” said the Interdict, shaking his head, amused. “You never change. I wonder how differently our history might have been, had the scepter been wielded by a family less inclined to war with itself.” Then, looking at me, “But she—she is not a Domitrian. She is a change. What do I call you, young lady?”
“This is Nemesis,” Tyrus said.
“Nemesis dan . . . what?”
So he knew. He knew I wasn’t a person. “I’m Nemesis dan Impyrean.”
“You’ve a very interesting configuration,” murmured the Interdict. “Just since entering these halls, your heartbeat has ranged from thirty-eight beats per minute to over three hundred. Twice a standard blood volume, and those kidneys and that liver . . . I imagine you’ve never been drunk in your life.”
I shook my head.
“And I must say, that hypothalamus of yours—a very acute fight or flight reflex. Tell me, can you hibernate?”
“Hibernate?” I repeated.
“A very deep sleep in icy conditions. Alas, I will take that as a no, but do let me know if that changes. I consider myself somewhat of a scholar, and anything intriguing to stimulate my mind, I welcome. I do hope my questions haven’t made you feel uncomfortable.”
“Not at all.”
“Most excellent.” Then, to Tyrus, “And you needn’t remind me I am wasting your gravital window, my child. You can tell me your purpose in being here.”
“Gravital window?” Tyrus echoed.
The Interdict’s brows flew together. “Yes. You . . .” He looked between us. “You timed your entry into my system, surely. You didn’t simply . . .” He trailed off, and then he gave a low, rasping chuckle. “You flew straight to me without checking whether it would be safe in advance. . . . Did you really?”
“Why?”
The Interdict reached over and patted his cheek. “My, fate truly does protect children. The gravital forces around a black hole are shocking. There are years, even decades at a time that one cannot safely reach the Sacred City. It’s why I send my vicars back and forth so irregularly. Why, if you’d come mere days ago, you’d be in pieces now!”
I said, “Our ship is very strong.”
“The strongest ship cannot survive this system at the wrong moment. You two do not comprehend your good fortune! Astonishing. Our divine Cosmos must have a great mission for you.” He focused on Tyrus. “Do share why you are here. I listen breathlessly.”
Tyrus dropped to his knees, reached out to draw the Interdict’s knuckle to his cheek. “Most Ascendant One, I wouldn’t seek the honor of your company in this stronghold if I didn’t have a great need of you. I have taken the throne, yet your vicars have denied me power over the scepter.”
“That’s a grave thing for them to do. Why do they object to you?” said the Interdict.
“Because of the one I love.” Tyrus lifted his eyes to the Interdict’s. “The woman who stands before you.”
“And you seek me in hopes I will override my vicars?”
“More than that,” Tyrus said. “Nemesis has saved my life so many times. She is a woman with more courage and integrity than anyone I’ve ever known. I want her to be my Empress. And I wish you to imbue her with personhood so I may do so.”
“And then the scepter issue should resolve itself, you think,” said Orthanion knowingly. “I see. You must love her, to risk so much for this meeting. Yet surely you knew my vicars enforce only the edicts I gave them.”
“That,” Tyrus said, voice strained, “is why I do not appeal to them, but to you. I would never ask them to disobey you, Most Ascendant One. You are the one who must decide this.”
“Indeed I am. And clearly, you are very attached to this”—his gaze traveled over me—“this girl. Let’s discuss this girl, Emperor Tyrus.”
“This girl is right in front of you,” I couldn’t help saying.
The Interdict’s lips flickered in a smile. “I apologize for being rude. I am too accustomed to Exalteds, and they never take offense at anything. So . . . Nemesis. We will discuss you, Nemesis. You exist because someone in possession of a synthesizer told it to make a humanoid. They also told it to imbue you with certain properties. . . . Looking at your scans, I’d say they wanted a very fast and powerful being. Am I right?”
“Yes,” I admitted.
The Interdict began circling about me, examining me with a clinical interest. “So your mere existence took place because someone told a synthesizer to make a strong and fast creature with an outwardly human appearance. The synthesizer ha
d samples of DNA and RNA from all different organisms, and it pieced those bits that gave strength, those bits that gave speed, those other bits with other qualities, and pasted them all together until it formed a single cell: an embryo. That embryo was placed into an incubator and grown into a being that could exist outside an incubator. Not into a baby, but into a toddler. Only then was it removed.”
“Forgive me if I do not see your point,” Tyrus said.
“My point is, this is the process that created the very first creature like Nemesis. That toddler was watched, monitored, tested, and evaluated for how useful it would be for the function it had been built to perform. When that toddler was fully grown, and deemed viable, the same pattern of DNA and RNA crafted by that first synthesizer was used over and over again. There were tweaks . . . a male version, a female version, a taller version, a brown-skinned version, a pink-skinned version . . . one version that became this lovely young woman standing before me. Nemesis, as with all living beings, you are wondrous and a miracle, but I cannot call you a human being. You are not.”
“Most Ascendant One,” Tyrus said, stepping toward him, “I think if you familiarize yourself with her—”
“I am sure she is most winning and will impress me immensely, my Emperor, but that still does not make her just like us, who are a result of millions of years of natural selection,” the Interdict said patiently. “She is only outwardly similar to you. Take a thousand different materials and craft them together, and you may create a visual duplicate of your asteroid starship, but inside, is it a starship? Your Nemesis looks human because we like the look of beautiful humans, but inside, she is made of amino acids and DNA sequences chosen by that synthesizer in an arbitrary fashion. Is your heart strong, Nemesis? If so, thank the kangaroo.”
“The what?” I’d never heard of such a creature.
“A hopping animal with a very efficient heart. Most popular cardiac material for a variety of creatures. And judging by those efficient kidneys, I’d guess feline. The musculature . . . That can be any number of things, for humans are quite weak. Bear? Tiger? Chimpanzee? Who knows. Not human. Our muscle mass is not primed to accumulate so rapidly.”
The words disturbed me, but Tyrus’s hand tightened on mine. “What does this matter? All you are saying is, she’s an . . . an Earthling. As am I. That’s what matters. Most Ascendant One, I will wed her one way or another. Whether I do so presiding over a united Empire, or one divided by a ruinous civil war, is up to you.”
“Oh, you attempt to do that with me, do you?” said the Interdict, but he merely looked amused. “Tell me, truly: how old are you, Emperor Tyrus?”
Tyrus narrowed his eyes. “Why does that matter?”
“If it doesn’t matter, then answer me.”
“I am twenty. Almost.”
“So you are nineteen. A teenager. By any reckoning, you are essentially still a child.”
“That’s not—”
“Eight more years of brain development and I will say otherwise. At twenty-seven, your mind will be fully formed. I’ve received word you’ve included books with your tribute. I’m not inclined to fiction myself, but I will be glad to pass on fascinating works of philosophy, of scholarly thought to aid in the last years of that development. You will not always be a child. When that day comes, you will care about things you are indifferent to at the moment. . . . Such as Nemesis’s inability to have children with you.”
“I have thought of that,” Tyrus said. “And I know husbands and husbands use incubators. My ancestor Gannex—”
“Was a human being, as was his husband. As was their issue. The young woman at your side may combine her DNA with yours, but there is no guessing what will result!”
“If it’s merely a problem of children,” Tyrus said incredulously, “then it’s really not a problem. I am not having them. Do you want them, Nemesis?”
I didn’t have to think about that. “No.”
The Interdict gazed at Tyrus a long moment. “You were unaware, I take it, that you needed the consent of the faith to control your scepter. This may be another thing you don’t realize: the choice of whether you have children isn’t yours. You will not be allowed to remain childless.”
Tyrus sputtered a laugh. “Of course that’s my choice.”
The Interdict shook his head. “Not when it comes to a Domitrian. Certainly not one of the last two.”
I looked at Tyrus. Not the last two. He was the last one.
There was a flash of anger in Tyrus’s eyes now, but the Interdict held up his hand. “Having said that, I am inclined to favor you for your boldness in seeking me out. I’ve met many Domitrians, and you are certainly most unique, Tyrus. So I am inclined to grant your request to offer your beloved personhood, on one condition.”
Tyrus caught his breath. So did I. I had not dared hope for such an easy agreement.
Orthanion smiled. “Come back to me and ask again in twenty years.”
17
“TWENTY YEARS.”Tyrus repeated the words, stunned.
But Orthanion didn’t even look the slightest bit abashed at the ridiculous, impossible condition he’d just laid upon us. “In twenty years, I will grant you this request.”
Tyrus looked down at the ground, a vein in his temple pulsing. “Why not just say no?”
“Because I’m not refusing you,” the Interdict said, and he spoke as though he earnestly believed it—as absurd as his condition was. “When you return to me twenty years older, I will know a seasoned Emperor is asking this of me. I will do as that Emperor Tyrus requests. I’ll know he fully understands the implications of his request. I will also know that the love between you is long and enduring enough that I make the proper choice for you both.”
With a short, curt nod, Tyrus said, “In that case, I must return to the matter of—”
“The scepter. Yes. Which my vicars rightly object to granting to you. At this time devote your energies to winning their goodwill, and perhaps they will think otherwise. Or again, you can wait but twenty years. . . .”
Tyrus let out an incredulous laugh. “Wait, so in twenty years, again, you’ll grant me power over the scepter—just in case I’ve not won the vicars by then? Most Ascendant One, do you realize how you are imperiling this Empire? If I must mobilize thousands of ships for an evacuation or a relief effort, I will not be able to do so. The Chrysanthemum will begin shutting down ship by ship without service bots, and with no security. . . .”
“It is challenging. Such is the life of an Emperor. I know this well.”
“Do you.”
“I am not idle here. I am likely the most learned of scholars you will ever encounter. I speak from a position of informed knowledge.”
“How can you possibly?” Tyrus said. “You are completely detached from the rest of this Empire. In any possible sense.”
“It’s a position that gives me objectivity you do not have. Clarity of thought you do not even realize you lack. I assure you, twenty years is a short time to wait. You see two decades as a great stretch because you are very young. Too young to even realize how young you are, and far too inexperienced to make such a drastic request of me. Tell me.” He jerked his head toward the side. “What do you see out of that window?”
Tyrus didn’t look. A muscle in his cheek ticked. “The black hole. Why?”
“You should look a while longer,” said Orthanion. “There isn’t just the black hole there. There is a stream of energy emitted by it every so often. A quasar. Now, the pulsar is a star being torn apart by the black hole, but the quasar—it is what emerges from the black hole. It’s most breathtaking. I know it’s there because I spend a great deal of time gazing upon that black hole, so I’ve seen the brilliance of that quasar. . . . But time is required. Time and care, and then it may be glimpsed. In such a way, my experience grants me insights you lack, for no reason other than your youth. I have simply been around longer, so I have seen more than you have.”
“That is the problem for ever
yone at some point,” Tyrus said with an edge in his voice. “The way to overcome inexperience is to learn, to read, to discuss. Tell me what you think I am overlooking and give me a chance to make my case about whether I am missing it or not.”
The Interdict pursed his lips in thought. “Very well. My primary issue is, you ask me to give personhood to a creature. This entire Empire was founded upon a belief in the purity of humanity as it was crafted by nature. You are the Emperor and you are asking for something that challenges that fundamental value at the core of our existence. Do you know why we are nowhere near Earth right now?”
“Our ancestors left for more pristine frontiers. Earth was a ruin.”
“Ah, so the propaganda has become so effective, even the Emperor believes it,” said Orthanion, with some satisfaction in his voice.
Tyrus just stared at him, as bewildered as I was.
“Here is the true story, one that my predecessor as Interdict believed was best left behind: Earth is very much habitable. Our home planet is intact and human beings still live there. May live there still, if they haven’t decided to go elsewhere.”
I felt a wash of shock, trying to understand that. And Tyrus opened and closed his mouth. Then he said, “They’re . . . they’re all still about? Out there, alive—they are there?”
“Yes, the mother species never left Earth. We branched off. The reason we separated and are now nowhere near Earth is because those we abandoned had rejected the sanctity of humanity.”
Tyrus rocked back a step. Then, for lack of a chair, he lowered himself onto the ledge by the window. “So there are two entirely separate civilizations of humans,” he said.
“Oh, two at the very least,” the Interdict said. “Likely more. I wouldn’t necessarily call them ‘human,’ however. Not anymore.”
“What did they do?” Tyrus asked quietly, fascinated despite himself. “What was so bad?”
“They did what we do with beauty bots. What we do with study, with any number of activities undertaken for enhancement of self: they improved. Not through genetic manipulation, as with your Nemesis—for oddly, they always had a taboo about genetically engineering humans. No, they undertook a much more extreme form of self-improvement: they hybridized themselves with machines.”
The Empress Page 11