The Collapsing Empire

by John Scalzi

  “So except for a minor imperial bureaucrat who may or may not know anything but clearly doesn’t care, literally no one else knows anything about this?” Nadashe nodded. “Well,” Amit said. “If nothing else, no one will see this coming.”

  “So now you want to do this?” Ghreni asked his brother.

  “I didn’t say I want to do this,” Amit said. “This is a high-risk, high-reward investment, which is the most polite way I can think of to describe this crackpot scheme. I don’t like risk. And we already have a monopoly franchise, so we already have a reward.” He motioned toward the monitor. “But if this has any chance of being true, then there’s also a risk of the Interdependency collapsing in on itself if we do nothing. And that’s a some-risk, high-penalty scenario. I have to decide whether I want that less than I want this.”

  “We can make it work,” Nadashe said.

  “By which you mean I will have to make it work,” Ghreni said. “I’ll be months away from you.”

  “We can plan it out before you leave.”

  “All those plans will mean nothing when they hit the real world.”

  “Then improvise. Gain people’s confidence. Keep them in the dark about your true intentions. You’re good at that.”

  “Yes,” Ghreni agreed. “But that’ll only get me so far.”

  “You’ll figure out the rest.” Nadashe walked over and patted her brother on the cheek. “And when you don’t know what to do next, just come out firing. It couldn’t hurt.”

  “Actually it could hurt a lot,” Amit said. He poured himself some more shiraz.

  “Be bold,” Nadashe said, ignoring Amit. “Be bold, Ghreni. And then, be Duke of End.”

  Nadashe didn’t convince either Amit or Ghreni that night. Too many questions and too many ways the three of them would end up in very small prison cells for the rest of their lives for treason, fraud, and terrorism. But the question was when, not if, Nadashe would bring them around, with her plans and her persuasions. Within a month she had her brothers agreeing in principle with the idea. A month after that Ghreni, still not entirely believing he was signing on to this harebrained scheme, was on the Nohamapetan fiver Some Nerve!, heading toward End.

  In retrospect, his part of the scheme had gone surprisingly well. There was indeed an affronted group ready to take on the Duke of End that he could funnel money and weapons to, in exchange for their doing all the work of the rebellion. He’d quickly ingratiated himself into the inner circle of the Duke of End, who despite the proud title was a provincial rube whose own father came to power by overthrowing the former duke, and who was deeply impressed with Ghreni, whose family could trace its noble origins back to before the founding of the Interdependency.

  In a few short months, the rebellion went into overdrive and he was the duke’s confidant and political hatchet man—and in a position to undermine his patron quietly while preparing the way for his own inevitable ascendance when the duke’s head rolled into the dust. Certainly he was doing better on his end of the plan than Nadashe was doing on hers, although that wasn’t entirely her fault. As far as Ghreni knew she had nothing to do with Rennered smashing into that wall. At least, if she had, she’d kept him out of it.

  But now it was all crashing down, and Ghreni sensed he was within days if not hours of disgrace and discovery, which was not only a danger to him but to the entire House of Nohamapetan. It was one thing to fuck up on your own time. It was another to sideswipe the house while you did it.

  Be bold, Nadashe had said to him. And then be Duke of End. Ghreni smiled at this memory and tried to imagine what his sister would do in his shoes. Then, with less than two hours left before he had to present himself to the Duke of End and the Count of Claremont, he set about doing that.

  * * *

  The duke and the count and Ghreni spent an hour having a high tea on Weatherfair’s eastern outside gallery, the one with a spectacular view of the city, talking about utterly inconsequential things. Ghreni could see this took some effort on the part of the count, because he clearly thought Ghreni had kidnapped, and intended to torture, his son. Then the three went into the duke’s private office to be alone while they talked about consequential things not relating to Ghreni kidnapping and intending to torture the count’s son, and that took another hour or so.

  Then the duke signaled it was time to do the apology thing. Ghreni nodded, stood up, positioned himself between the count in his chair and the duke behind his desk. He took a deep breath that seemed to hint at the difficulty he was going to have saying the words that would follow. He then reached into his right interior jacket pocket, where he’d secreted a small bolt thrower, and shot the count with it, stunning him into unconsciousness.

  “Ghreni, what the hell are you do—” the duke began, and then stopped because one of his lungs had a hole in it, put there by the small pistol that Ghreni had produced from his left interior jacket pocket and fired at him, after dropping the bolt thrower to the floor to free his hands for the new weapon. The duke barely had time to look at the entry wound and then back up at Ghreni in confusion before he died from the bullet Ghreni shot into his face. The bullet entered just below the duke’s right eye and then scored through his brain, settling, its velocity spent, into the rear interior of the duke’s skull.

  Ghreni very quickly pulled out a handkerchief, rubbed his prints off the pistol, and placed it into the hand of the unconscious count. He made sure to get the count’s prints on the grip and trigger. Then he picked up the bolt thrower, rubbed it off as well, and got the duke’s prints on it, then let it drop to the floor where it naturally would have. He opened the drawer on the duke’s desk where it would be logical for the noble to have placed a bolt thrower for personal protection.

  Then Ghreni ran for the door of the office and opened it just as the duke’s staff and security people, having heard the shots, reached the other side of it.

  “They shot each other!” is all Ghreni said before the staff and security people barreled through the entrance. Ghreni collapsed by the door, feigning shock, and faked hyperventilating. It didn’t matter; no one was paying attention to him because there was the far more serious issue of a dead duke in the room.

  Which was fine with Ghreni. He didn’t want anyone paying attention to him. He wanted all their attention on the duke and the count. He wanted everyone in the room to see the obvious: The count had pulled a small pistol, the duke had pulled the bolt thrower set to stun, and then someone shot first and everything went to hell, and now one was dead and the other was out like a light. The more others saw that—and by now the room was jammed with staff—the more that their eyes would allow their brains to believe the story Ghreni was going to tell.

  “The duke had called me to apologize to the count,” Ghreni said to Sir Ontain Mount, some time later. The imperial bureaucrat had gotten involved because the assassination of a sitting duke by a sitting count was an imperial problem, even if it was the Duke of End, whom Sir Ontain had previously been content to let hang if the rebels ever got hold of him. The two of them were alone in the hospital morgue, with the body of the duke laid out on a slab before them.

  “This would have been for kidnapping his son,” Mount said.

  “Allegedly kidnapping,” Ghreni said. “And I did apologize, although not for kidnapping Marce Claremont, which I did not do. I apologized instead for having a heated conversation with the count’s son, from which this misunderstanding arose.”

  “How did the count take it?”

  Ghreni motioned to the mortuary slab. “He was not convinced.”

  “Why didn’t the count shoot you, Lord Ghreni?”

  “Sir?”

  “You are the one he alleges kidnapped his son. You are the more logical target for his rage. And you were literally right in his sights.”

  “The count thought I did it at the behest of the duke. At least that’s what he said before the shooting started.”

  “And he thought that why?”

  �
�Because the duke had sent me to see the count a few days earlier to try to convince the count to illegally divert imperial funds to him, in order to pay for weapons pirates had stolen and were ransoming. The count said no—as he should have—so naturally the count assumed the duke also assigned me to this alleged kidnapping to apply pressure.”

  “But you did speak to the young Claremont on the duke’s account.”

  “Yes.” Ghreni noted Mount’s apparent acceptance of his spin on the kidnapping, but obviously said nothing about it. “The duke was aware I didn’t approve of his plan to ‘borrow’ the funds, but I still asked because he was my duke.”

  “Still odd he wouldn’t try for you as well.”

  “Perhaps he planned to. But then there was the duke’s bolt thrower. I don’t think he was expecting the duke to have that.”

  “No,” Mount agreed. “The head of the duke’s security detail was surprised by it, too. Said to me the duke didn’t generally like or carry weapons. He left that to his bodyguards.”

  “The duke was probably being prudent. He knew the count was upset with him.”

  “Yes, but where did he get the bolt thrower? His security people said they’d never seen it before.”

  Ghreni allowed himself to look uncomfortable.

  “Yes, Lord Ghreni?” Mount pressed.

  “It’s mine and I lent it to him,” Ghreni said. “I bought it a while ago when things started getting bad with the rebellion.”

  “You have your own security people.”

  “I don’t have them with me all the time. The duke was aware I had it—I never carried it around him, for obvious reasons—so he asked me to bring it for the meeting. For his own safety.”

  “He could have just had his security attend the meeting. Or have his people frisk the count when he arrived.”

  “I think he thought either would just enrage the count more. The meeting was supposed to repair the wound between them. That’s why he chose to have the meeting at Weatherfair. A private residence rather than the public office. A friendly meeting, not a formal one.”

  Mount looked back at the slab. “It appears the duke miscalculated.”

  “What are you going to do about the Count of Claremont?” Ghreni asked.

  “For now he’s upstairs in a private room with six of my marines around him. He’s still out of it. I don’t imagine when he wakes up he’ll tell me the same story you just did, will he?”

  “I couldn’t say,” Ghreni said. “I know he’s still angry with me. I wouldn’t be surprised if he tries to suggest I was involved in some way. Other than lending the duke my bolt thrower, I mean. He wouldn’t know about that. Is there a recording from the office?”

  Mount shook his head. “Security tells me the duke didn’t have any of that at Weatherfair. He called it his ‘place of refuge,’ whatever that means.”

  Ghreni nodded, as if he didn’t know Weatherfair had no real security measures. “The next duke will know better,” he said.

  “Whoever that is.” Mount motioned to the slab. “This one has no heirs and no close family, and the duke’s prenup with the duchess specifies she cannot inherit. Apparently there were trust issues there.”

  “Isn’t there a protocol? As the emperox’s representative you’d have to approve whomever claimed the title, yes?”

  “In the absence of a direct heir I’d be the one to appoint an acting duke, yes. My recommendation would still have to be approved by the emperox, of course. My first inclination would simply be to pass it along to the next-highest-ranking noble. Which in this case would be the Count of Claremont.”

  “That wouldn’t be the best idea under the circumstances,” Ghreni said.

  “No, it would not. There are a few other counts and barons who I would have found acceptable but some of them have fled the planet, and the others are either currently hiding or have allied themselves with the rebels, which makes them untenable. For now, anyway.”

  “What if the rebel leader presents herself? Livy Onjsten, their general.”

  Mount snorted. “I’m not going to appoint her just because the duke died and now she doesn’t have to overthrow him. They are still in rebellion. You don’t win a rebellion by default.”

  Ghreni made himself look thoughtful and silent and waited for Mount to notice. “What is it?” Mount finally said.

  “This wasn’t something I was supposed to talk about.” Ghreni made himself talk haltingly. “For the last few months, the duke has quietly had me treating with the rebels to find out if there’s a way out of this mess. Their resources are stretched thin and so are ours. Both our sides are looking for an acceptable way out. But now the duke is dead. The rebels will want the ducal throne. If we don’t act quickly the rebellion will fracture into competing factions of leaders claiming the dukedom for themselves, which will make it worse for everyone else on End.”

  “What do you suggest, then? That I do make this Onjsten woman the duke?”

  Ghreni shook his head. “Has the duke’s death made the news yet?”

  “No,” Mount said. “For the moment, all anyone knows is that the Count of Claremont is upstairs. They don’t know he,” Mount pointed at the duke, “is down here. That won’t last, though.”

  “I can reach Onjsten as soon as you and I stop talking. Let me offer her an immediate truce, acceptance of several of the rebels’ political goals, and a title for her.”

  “Which title?”

  “Countess.”

  “Of Claremont?” Mount said, sarcastically.

  “Possibly, if it becomes vacant after a trial. But you said several counts have fled. Give her one of those vacant titles. Lesser titles for her lieutenants. General amnesty for her fighters. We can end this now, with a single call.”

  “That’s a lot for a single call to do,” Mount observed.

  “It’s not the call, it’s the months of work before it,” Ghreni said. “Her people and I already have most of this hammered out in principle. This would just be us implementing it.”

  “And if Onjsten doesn’t agree?”

  “Then I tell her the Imperial Marines are stepping in.”

  Mount stiffened. “We have no intention of doing that, Lord Ghreni.”

  “Of course not! But she doesn’t have to know that, and it makes fine leverage. I’ll be saying ‘Have everything you want or the Interdependency will crush you.’ It’s motivation to act.”

  “You’re confident you can do this?”

  “I think it’s the best chance we have right now. And the best chance we’ll have for a long time.”

  Mount nodded. “Do it.”

  “The thing is, Sir Ontain, I don’t have the formal power to do any of this. Yet.”

  Ghreni waited for Mount to figure out what it was he was saying, which didn’t take long, because Mount wasn’t stupid. Then Ghreni had to wait while Mount weighed everything that had just happened in his head. He watched as microexpressions flashed across Mount’s face—the realization that Ghreni had basically walked him into a trap where Mount would have to give him what he wanted; irritation that he’d been that easily maneuvered; suspicion that Ghreni might have orchestrated the assassination outright for this very purpose; veiled admiration if that was in fact the case; recognition that this rebellion was a goddamned stupid mess and that the sooner it was over, by whatever means, the better off everyone would be; resignation that this sneaky little Nohamapetan was probably the best chance Mount had to get this whole shitshow off his hands quickly.

  Ghreni knew Mount was going to offer him the dukedom probably a few hundredths of a second before Mount did.

  “All right, Lord Ghreni,” Mount said. “Get a cease-fire in the next hour and a truce in the next twenty-four and you’re acting duke. I’ll start the paperwork for the recommendation to make it stick. But I want to be clear with you about this, my young friend. If I discover that the assassination of the duke is in any way different than how you’ve related it to me here, your dukedom is going to be
a three-meter-by-three-meter cell for the rest of your natural life. And I will make it my personal business to assure you live a very long life indeed. Are we clear?”

  “Of course, Sir Ontain.”

  “Then congratulations, Lord Ghreni, provisional Duke of End. Get to work.” Mount strode out of the morgue. Ghreni suppressed the urge to pump his fists in joy.

  One hour later he’d secured the cease-fire and dispatched people to get to work on the treaty. He hadn’t had to threaten General Onjsten with the Imperial Marines, of course; she was working for him anyway.

  Two hours later he’d informed Captain Wimson of the Red Rose that payment for the ship damages and the weapons would be forthcoming pending Ghreni’s formal installation as acting duke, so please be patient and don’t have him murdered.

  Three hours later the new acting Duke of End was informed that the Count of Claremont was awake and cognizant. Ghreni decided to pay him a visit, and ordered everyone, including the six Imperial Marines, to wait on the other side of the door. They complied, although not happily. Ghreni took the chair in the corner of the room and sat it next to the hospital bed, so he could talk very quietly to the count.

  “I’m the Duke of End now,” he said to the count.

  “Congratulations,” the count said, after a moment. There was a distinct lack of enthusiasm to his voice.

  Nevertheless Ghreni nodded. “Thank you. Now, here’s the thing. You and I need to get our stories straight. The story is, you assassinated the duke for ordering me to kidnap your son. You two had an argument, you pulled your pistol, he pulled a bolt thrower, you don’t remember anything after that because the stun bolt messed with your memory.”

  “You want me to confess to murder.”

  “Yes. Yes, I do.”

  “Not a great plan you have, Lord Ghreni.”

  Ghreni ignored the count’s refusal to upgrade his title. “Here’s what I’ll give you in return. You’ll be sentenced for the murder but I’ll allow you to serve your sentence under house arrest at Claremont. You’ll abdicate your title and I’ll make sure it goes to your daughter rather than it being taken from you in disgrace. You’ll give up your job as imperial auditor and I’ll install someone of my own choosing in that role. But I’ll make sure you keep your pension and I’ll add a stipend to it to keep up your residence. You keep your mouth shut about everything to everyone, including your daughter. Oh, also, you tell her not to try to murder me in the night.”