She desperately hoped to repair the rift in the Sisterhood so that both the Wallach IX and the Salusan factions could work together again, but she felt her time waning. She had already lived far longer than a normal life span, and it was more important than ever to select her successor.
Raquella. He wished s woman concealed her troubled thoughts as she rounded up her new Sister Mentats, glad to take them to Wallach IX. As they boarded the VenHold shuttle, she could feel their excitement, pleased to be going to the new school.
But as she worked her way to her seat, wary of the long and roundabout foldspace trip, Raquella suddenly felt dizzy. Her knees buckled, but she grabbed hold of a seat back. With great effort and bodily control, she managed to remain standing.
As if from a great distance, she heard a concerned voice beside her and felt a strong supportive grip. “Mother Superior!” Fielle eased her into the nearest seat. “How can I help?”
Raquella didn’t answer. She needed all her mental focus just to keep breathing, to concentrate on the inner workings of her body. She felt Fielle’s presence radiating strength next to her. Raquella sensed the new Sister Mentat was a good and capable person, but much too young and inexperienced to lead the Sisterhood. And not even a Reverend Mother yet.
But all of the remaining Sisters were too young and inexperienced. She had lost her best candidates. If the Mother Superior died here and now, she had no idea who would take control of the order. Maybe the Sisterhood would just fade away. She could not allow that!
Even as Fielle’s voice continued in the background, Raquella looked deep within herself and analyzed what was wrong with her body. She needed to fix the problem, even if it required superhuman effort. She detected a worsening imbalance in her internal chemistry, the loss of key enzymes and hormones in her system. Trying to find an inner solution, she recalled another crisis long ago when she had adjusted her body chemistry to neutralize poison when the Sorceress Ticia Cenva tried to murder her. In defeating that grave threat, Raquella had found the key to becoming a Reverend Mother.
Closing her eyes, she leaned back against the hard seat. “I just need a moment. Need … to concentrate.”
Raquella plunged her consciousness deep inside, where she envisioned the inner machinery of her body and held this cellular blueprint as a vivid color image projected against her closed eyelids. Breathing deeply, seeing every detail, she began to make adjustments to rebalance her metabolism, enhancing the flow of oxygen to her brain, combining elements to form necessary enzymes and neurotransmitters.
All the while, she heard Fielle’s faint but ever-more-concerned voice in the background, as well as the private chatter of Other Memory inside her. With those past lives, Raquella had experienced death countless times over countless generations, but she was not ready to join the ghost voices, not yet. She had to do everything possible to keep herself alive—not because she was afraid of dying, b will republis
A leader must use great care in selecting his closest advisers. The wrong decision can be disastrous, even fatal.
—EMPEROR FAYKAN CORRINO I, on the execution of Finance Minister Ulberto
Prince Roderick Corrino had endless opportunities to seize the throne from his brother. Salvador’s failings were obvious, and Roderick had no doubt that he could be a better ruler of the Imperium.
Nevertheless, he refused to consider such thoughts, and discouraged others from making the offensive suggestion. His brother was the legitimate Emperor, and his family loyalty and strong moral fiber trumped any personal ambitions. Instead, Roderick devoted himself to helping Salvador become a better Emperor and guiding him through perilous waters. That was how Roderick could best serve the Imperium. The only way.
Unfortunately, Salvador did not always listen to his advice.
One of Roderick’s greatest concerns was that his brother refused to remove incompetent and dishonest officers from the Imperial Armed Forces; the Emperor filled the largely ceremonial positions according to the applicants’ noble connections, or the gifts they offered him, not their military skill. In the decades since the defeat of the thinking machines, the once-massive human military had grown sluggish and disjointed. Roderick disapproved of how the Landsraad families squabbled over their own importance, now that they no longer had a monolithic enemy to distract them from their personal ambitions.
A week ago, the Corrino brothers had been given a tour of sprawling Zimia Garrison outside the capital city. Commanding General Odmo Saxby organized and led the inspection, exuding a foolish overconfidence that anyone could see—except for Salvador, apparently.
The large garrison showed a lack of attention to detail, with poorly maintained buildings and equipment, and slovenly troops that marched in uneven formations. Saxby had a tendency to wave his arms when he became enthused, and he would fumble with his ornamental sword in front of assembled troops. His mannerisms would be laughable if he didn’t hold such an important position, and Roderick could only imagine how the soldiers must make fun of him in private.
For the sake of patronage and political influence, Salvador was allowing great harm to be done to the once-proud military forces. Morale in the ranks was obviously low, and Roderick had heard rumors that some officers were skimming money for personal use. But the Emperor did not see any of that as a concern.…
Roderick arranged some time each day to prepare the Emperor for the daily agenda. This morning, before the doors to the cavernous Audience Chamber were opened, Prince Roderick stood before his brother’s green-crystal throne. They had the chamber to themselves, but he could already hear the visitors gathering outside the closed main door. He would not rush his briefing, though.
Roderick stood almost at eye level with Salvador, who slumped on his elevated throne. The Emperor took a pinch of melange from a,” she said Mentattoo small jeweled box and slipped it into his mouth. Constantly fretting over imagined illnesses, he was convinced that frequent doses of spice would improve his health. Roderick warned that melange was also addictive, but his words fell on deaf ears. At least the spice sharpened his brother’s focus, which was beneficial.
Roderick spoke in an even tone. “This feud has taken its toll on commerce across the Imperium. Many worlds have taken Manford Torondo’s antitechnology pledge, and in retaliation no VenHold ships will service them.”
Salvador took another pinch of spice. “Will melange deliveries continue?”
“Arrakis is technically under Imperial control, and the Combined Mercantiles headquarters are in Arrakis City. While the desert people are fanatics in their own way, I don’t foresee that planet falling under Leader Torondo’s influence. Even though VenHold won’t deliver spice to any Butlerian world, shipments will come here without interruption.”
“That’s a relief, at least.” Salvador lounged back on the throne. “If the Butlerian planets suffer from a widespread embargo, maybe that will weaken the movement. I don’t like how important Manford thinks he is.”
Roderick didn’t want his brother to relax too much. “The Butlerians manage to receive supplies through rival, and inferior, spacefolding companies. Only Venport Holdings has a perfect safety record.”
“That’s what makes Josef Venport so arrogant. He thinks we have no other space-travel option, thanks to his Navigators!” Salvador snorted in anger.
“Our military does use VenHold ships for most of their bulk transportation, although we are also able to fly independently. Directeur Venport can be a difficult man, but I find him easier to deal with than Manford Torondo.”
Salvador fidgeted on his throne. “I’ve never liked space flight—too much risk in folding space. This is my palace. Others can come to visit me and take whatever risks they like on the journey. If they don’t agree with Venport’s politics, let them use EsconTran, or Nalgan Shipping, or Celestial Transport.”
“Celestial Transport has been gone for a year, absorbed by VenHold.” Roderick passed a document to his brother. “More troubling, though, is mounting evide
nce that the loss rate of the smaller companies is far worse than has been officially reported. VenHold’s rivals are concealing their high accident rates.”
Salvador skimmed the records. “So many reports, so many documents.” He glanced up, looking bored, as if he wanted to return to other diversions.
Roderick wouldn’t let him get distracted. He stepped closer to the throne so he could guide his brother through the numbers. “As you can see, the VenHold embargo has severely harmed trade across the Imperium, which impacts our tax and tariff revenues. VenHold is even bypassing worlds that claim to be neutral. Josef Venport and Manford Torondo each demand competing declarations of allegiance—no one is permitted to be neutral.”
“The rival companies should learn how to create Navigators,” Salvador said. “That would be good for competition.”
“But it is a closely held secret. Our covert advisers are always trying to glean information about how Navigators are mutated from humans, but VenHold has impeccable security and layers of protection we cannot penetrate.”
“Then bring in other advisers.”There are far more pleasant places for an Emperorch woman
Roderick sighed. “Salvador, you handpicked all the advisers. They’ll never argue with you on any matter of significance, or tell you what you don’t want to hear.”
The Emperor gave him a warm smile. “And you’re smarter than all of them, little brother.”
Roderick swallowed his pride. “Perhaps not smarter, but I am loyal. I’ll continue to do my best to help you grasp the complexity of the Imperium you rule.”
The Emperor chuckled. “And I am smart enough to delegate dealing with documents and treaties to you.”
Roderick sent a silent prayer of thanks that Salvador at least did that.
The Emperor’s eyes were bright and alert, now that the spice had begun to take effect; Roderick noted a tinge of blue there from the quantity he had been consuming. “If I could increase your pay, Roderick, I would do so. If I could promote you higher than you already are, I would do that, too. The whole Imperium knows how important you are to my throne. I admit freely that I could not remain in power without your dedicated, wise assistance.”
He leaned forward, shaking his head. “I’ve lost patience with the countless squabbles, agreements, and obligations—I can’t keep track of them all, and it’s not fair to heap that work on your shoulders. I need my own Mentat to help me remember things—many of the noble houses have one. I should have a Mentat, too.”
Roderick had made the same suggestion himself months ago, but Salvador must have forgotten. “A wise decision, Sire—I shall summon one immediately.”
Salvador looked to the still-closed doors and gave a weary wave of his hand. “I suppose we should take care of the business of the day. Let’s get it over with.”
* * *
THE NEXT THREE hours were a tedious parade of minor nobles with minor concerns. At Roderick’s instruction, Reverend Mother Dorotea stood on one side of the throne, using her innate skills to study each visitor for emotional nuances. She had demonstrated a remarkable talent at separating truth from falsehood, and even Salvador now acknowledged the wisdom of the decision to let Dorotea and a hundred handpicked orthodox Sisters take up residence in the palace. While they weren’t all Truthsayers, they were useful in a variety of ways.
The rotund Court Chamberlain announced a visitor from Péle, homeworld of the Empress Tabrina. Although Tabrina was Salvador’s wife, there was little warmth between them, and the Emperor’s antipathy extended to her family, House Péle, as well. Their wealth had helped him hold on to the throne during the early tumultuous years after the death of Emperor Jules Corrino, but he no longer needed them.
The stranger approaching the throne had an odd appearance. Blanton Davido was of average height, although his legs and arms seemed markedly shorter than they should have been; nevertheless, he moved with smooth grace, and bowed before the Emperor.
“In my capacity as mining executive, I supervise House Péle’s most important operations.” Davido produced an orange jewel from the pocket of his tunic. “When a miner brought us this beautiful gem, I knew it was suitable only for an Emperor. With all humility, allow me to present this to you.”
Since all visitors had been checked for weapons, Salvador permitted the man to place tfashioned p m that he gem on the dais at the foot of his throne. Davido then asked for the Emperor’s dispensation for House Péle to expand mining operations to an additional planetary system.
So, it is more than just a gift, Roderick thought.
As justification for the request, Davido summarized past production levels and provided figures for anticipated future revenues, which would be subject to Imperial taxes.
Dorotea leaned close to Roderick. “I discern a disturbing falsehood in this man, my Lord. He is underreporting Péle’s production levels in order to avoid significant taxation—and he is not alone in this scheme. Lord Péle must be his collaborator.”
Startled, Roderick looked at her. “That is a grave charge to make against the Empress’s father. Are you certain?”
“I am certain.”
“And does Empress Tabrina have knowledge of this?”
“I do not know, but a few questions could easily provide the answer.”
Roderick ordered the mining executive to step back from the throne. “Await the Emperor’s command.” Salvador seemed annoyed by the interruption, but listened while his brother whispered in his ear, explaining Dorotea’s suspicions. “Due to the sensitive nature of the allegation, it would be best to tell Davido his request will require further investigation before you make your decision.”
But the Emperor gently pushed his brother aside. “No, I’ll handle this right now.” He flushed with anger. “Blanton Davido, I am informed that House Péle has falsified production records in order to reduce Imperial taxes. You are part of the scheme.”
The mining executive’s eyes flashed with fear, which he tried to hide with indignation. “That is not true, Sire! I have no part in any fraud.”
“Then who does?”
Davido had been thrown off-balance, astonished that the information had come to light, but not sure how much the Emperor knew. The widespread knowledge of Salvador’s vigorous interrogators, a team from the special Scalpel branch of the Suk Medical School, gave the man further reason to be afraid.
Dorotea made no comment as she watched the mining executive squirm.
Finally, the Péle representative said, “Sire, there may have been some underreporting in a few shipments, but I immediately took steps to rectify any discrepancies I found. After a thorough internal investigation, we determined they were honest errors. Of course, we will correct any shortfall—with interest.”
“And penalties.” Salvador smiled grimly. “How convenient for House Péle that honest errors would result in lower taxes. What do you say, brother? Should we grant the request of such a sloppy businessman?”
For once, Roderick was impressed by the Emperor’s decisiveness. Before he could answer, Dorotea whispered in his ear again. “The fraud is much larger than Davido admits. See how he sweats before the throne, the twitch of eyelids, the dilation of pupils, the angle of his neck—all indicators.”
It was true; the man’s large forehead glistened with perspiration, and his dark eyes had gone glassy, as if he already imagined being questioned by one of the Scalpel practitioners.
Roderick said, “Before we agree to anything, we need to learn more about these reporting errors and see how wid forward to meeting her,” Vor saidhapespread they are.”
Emperor Salvador slammed his fist down on the throne as he glared at Davido. “You will be taken into custody until the full truth is revealed.”
Terror consumed the man’s features. As guards took his arms, he looked imploringly at the Emperor, then swung his head back to the large orange jewel on the dais, obviously wishing he’d never come here.
* * *
EARLY THE NEXT day,
Grand Inquisitor Quemada, head of the Emperor’s Scalpel team, completed his work and dispatched a formal transcript of the proceedings along with a handwritten note. “Sire, I regret to inform you that the subject had a very low pain threshold. I had hoped to question him more extensively, but his heart failed. I offer my sincere apologies for this failure.”
Salvador was disappointed, but Roderick pointed out that even the cursory questioning had provided more than enough to damn House Péle. At midmorning, the two brothers met with Empress Tabrina.
She stood regally in the doorway of Salvador’s ornate office, her head held high and her dark, almond-shaped eyes flashing at her husband. “What is this indignity you committed against my family’s representative? You had no cause to arrest Mr. Davido—he didn’t have a chance to defend himself!”
“He had a chance to answer detailed questions,” Roderick said. “His conversation with Quemada was brief but fruitful.”
Tabrina’s eyes widened. “You’ve been torturing him? I demand to see him—now!”
Roderick looked away. “Unfortunately, his guilt was too heavy for his heart to bear, and he did not survive.”
The Empress was appalled by the news, but Salvador waved the printed transcript in the air. “Would you like to see what he says about your father?”
“I don’t wish to read lies about my family. Obviously, these charges were fabricated for some reason—and what is that reason, dear husband? So House Corrino can impound the assets of House Péle?”
Roderick interjected, trying to calm her. “With all . “I&#x
While animals camouflage themselves for hunting or survival, the deceptions I have observed in human endeavors rise to an extreme level.
—ERASMUS, Latter-Day Laboratory Journals
Dorotea both admired and feared the Grand Inquisitor, and she did not like to admit that they had much in common. Each possessed an exceptional skill in separating truth from falsehood, “sorting the wheat from the chaff,” as Quemada liked to say. But their methods differed radically. The Reverend Mother discerned veracity through close observation, while the adept torturer employed the tactics of pain he had been taught in the Suk School’s Scalpel Academy.
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