EMPIRE: Succession

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EMPIRE: Succession Page 3

by Richard F. Weyand

“Precisely so,” Hawking said.

  “Aren’t we just being rules mechanics, though?” Thornton asked.

  “I don’t think so,” Hawking said. “The Sintaran Empire was only twenty-five percent of the population of the Galactic Empire. It remains only three-eighths of the sectors, even with the sector populations as skewed as they are. All humanity’s eggs were not in that one basket. The issues are different now. Humanity cannot afford an inept Galactic Emperor. An inept Sintaran Empress was a lesser danger.”

  “Shouldn’t we wait to see who the candidate is?” Lewis asked.

  “Once he is named and in place, it would be very difficult to, er, second-guess Trajan’s judgment in the matter,” Hawking said.

  “I wonder who he’s likely to nominate,” Montefiore asked.

  “If history is any guide, it will be one of his minions in the Imperial Palace,” Sounder said. “Some life-time courtier. Or perhaps one of the Imperial Guard.”

  “Not, in any case, someone with administrative experience, even at the sector level,” Hawking said.

  “God,” Montefiore said. “That could be a disaster.”

  “Indeed, Teresa,” Hawking said. “That is the danger.”

  “But what can we do?” Lewis asked. “Won’t they just announce the Heir, ho-hum, he’s already on the Throne, too bad?”

  “We’re not sure. What is clear is we should be able and willing to move quickly if we have an opportunity to affect the outcome,” Sounder said.

  “Then the next question is who,” Montefiore said. “If we want to head off a candidate, we need our own candidate. Who is that to be?”

  “First thing, I think, is that it is someone close to Sintar. Which leaves all of us out. We’re simply too far away.”

  Thornton nodded.

  “That makes sense to me,” he said.

  “OK, so there are what?” Montefiore asked. “Half a dozen sector governors it could be, then. No more.”

  “What other qualifications?” Thornton asked.

  “Someone of unimpeachable qualifications,” Hawking said. “Someone who’s been a sector governor for some time. A decade at least.”

  “Someone who’s good on camera, or at least in still photography,” Sounder said. “Somebody rather good-looking. Distinguished, even. Where the man in the street will say, ‘Yeah, OK. He’s the Emperor. I can see that.’”

  “Well, someone who agrees with our goals, too,” Thornton said. “He can’t be a central government advocate. Someone who wants to devolve more power out to the sectors.”

  Hawking nodded.

  “Anything else?” he asked.

  “I think he ought to be from one of the original Sintaran sectors,” Montefiore said.

  “Really?” Hawking asked.

  “Yes, Bryan. Think about it. You said it yourself. There are thirty original Sintaran sectors who are more or less bound to the idea that the Emperor should name his successor. That’s a big voting bloc among the sector governors, and raises Sintar vs. DP issues. But if we got behind a sector governor from an old Sintaran sector, it breaks up that thirty-vote bloc. What do we care, as long as he agrees with us on policy?”

  Hawking looked at Sounder, and she nodded her head.

  “That makes a lot of sense, actually,” she said. “Splitting the likely opposition’s councils is always worthwhile.”

  “Well, then, there’s only one candidate it could be,” Thornton said.

  Hawking nodded.

  “Jerome Goulet,” he said. “Of Provence Sector.”

  Several nodded.

  “Yeah,” Thornton said. “He’s right next door to Sintar Sector. Can’t be more than a couple hundred light years. Maybe four days in hyper.”

  “Emperor Jerome?” Lewis asked.

  “I’m sure he would take a reign name of some kind, Joshua,” Sounder said. “The current Emperor isn’t Emperor Bob.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Lewis said. “Look, I’m with you. I truly am. But I do worry. Is even having this discussion treason?”

  “How could it possibly be treason, Joshua?” Hawking asked. “We are doing nothing to oppose this Emperor. No one has spoken a word against him. We are not planning on disobeying him.”

  “But once he’s dead....”

  “Then he no longer has power to dictate to us. And no future Emperor yet has such power. In an interregnum, there can be no treason, because there is no one to act against.”

  Hawking shrugged.

  “And while this Emperor lives, we will do nothing to oppose him or to circumvent his wishes. That would be treason.”

  “What do you think, Beth?” Hawking asked Sounder in a later meeting between just the two of them.

  “I’m OK with Goulet. I wasn’t thinking of him, but I think he’s the right choice given the points everybody made.”

  “When do we approach him?”

  “You mean before or after Trajan dies?” Sounder asked.

  “Yes.”

  “After, I think. Maybe sound him out on what he thinks is going to happen after Trajan dies. Find out what he hopes a new Emperor will be like. That sort of thing. But I wouldn’t bring up the idea of a sector governors’ candidate. Not yet. Maybe after he sleeps on it a bit and you speak a second time to see where his thinking has gotten to.”

  “All right,” Hawking said. “I think I agree with that. I may just sound him out on that. Or do you want to do it?”

  “No. You should do it, Bryan. I’m afraid I may have a bit too much of a reputation.”

  She smiled and Hawking chuckled.

  “Very well. I will find out where he is.”

  “What about Lewis?” Sounder asked.

  “What about him?”

  “He seems, well, wishy-washy.”

  “That’s his nature,” Hawking said. “He’s a worrier. But he always comes around. I’m not worried about him.”

  “OK. As long as you’re good with him, Bryan.”

  “Now don’t you turn into a worrier, too, Beth.”

  The next day Hawking had a chance to meet in VR with Jerome Goulet.

  “Bryan. How are you?”

  “Good, Jerry, good. Thank you for meeting with me.”

  “Of course. Have a seat.”

  Once they had both sat down, Jerome opened his hands and raised an eyebrow to Hawking.

  “Yes. Well, Jerry, a few of us were talking. About what might happen after the Emperor Trajan passes. It must be close now. And I say that without any disrespect. After all, he’s done a marvelous job. Just holding all this together for so long is a miracle. But he can’t have long anymore, and we were thinking about what might come after.”

  “In terms of who might take the Throne?”

  “No, actually. More in terms of what policies we would prefer. I mean, we should have the opportunity at some point to say to the new Emperor, ‘Your Majesty, we were thinking this would be a good policy.’ So if that is the case, what sort of policies would we want?”

  “Present something of a united front?”

  “More like a consensus, I think, Jerry. Front has unfortunate connotations, and, in that context, the Throne always wins. No, I was thinking more in terms of having a consensus. So we’re singing more or less from the same sheet music if the new Emperor asks what sort of policy changes we might want.”

  “Ah. I see.”

  Goulet stared off into the distance for several seconds, his eyes unfocused as he thought. He turned back to Hawking.

  “I guess mostly the things we’ve talked about before, Bryan. More autonomy for sector governors, to craft policies specific to their sectors. Trade policies, tariffs, immigration from other sectors. More control over Imperial Navy and Marine forces deployed in their sector. Perhaps even putting the sector governors in the chain of command. That sort of thing. We have all this expertise and experience, and I think the Emperor could rely on it more.

  Hawking was nodding.

  “That’s exactly the sort of thing I was think
ing about,” he said. “I wonder if we can’t get some consensus together around issues like that.”

  “Let me think about it, Bryan. Talk to a few other people. See how much agreement there is on policies like that.”

  “Good, Jerry. Good. I’d be interested in what others think. You have better contacts in old Sintar than I do.”

  Hawking met with Sounder immediately after Goulet to report back.

  “So what did Jerry say?” Sounder asked.

  “Well, you know all I did was ask him about what sort of policies he might prefer from a new Emperor. He mentioned most of the things we’ve been talking about. He’s basically on board with our program, without really being part of our group.”

  “That’s perfect.”

  “Exactly,” Hawking said. “And he’s going to talk to some of the others. Some of the old Sintar sector governors and see what they think. Probably talk up his own view a bit.”

  “Which is sort of like campaigning, except he’s not. And he doesn’t even know he’s doing it.”

  “That’s right. This is working out perfectly. We don’t even have to bring it up with him. Just nominate him when the time comes.”

  “Teresa was right,” Sounder said. “Nominating one of the old Sintar sector governors is perfect. It’s brilliant.”

  Center

  Bobby Dunham – Robert Allen Dunham IV, the Emperor Trajan – and his wife Amanda Peters – the Empress Consort Amanda – sat after dinner in their usual places in the private living room of the Imperial Residence, on the top floor of the Imperial Palace, in Imperial Park, in Imperial City, on the planet Center, the capital of the Galactic Empire.

  Dunham sat at the end of the sofa, facing the picture windows looking down Palace Mall, with the cast-in-color epoxycrete statue of his sister Deanna, the Empress Ilithyia II, on its pedestal in the middle of the Mall, the statue he had commissioned sixty-three years before. Amanda sat in a leather club chair facing him, her back to the windows.

  The Emperor was now ninety-six years old, and had finally begun to grow frail in the last couple of years. His once powerful physique had shrunken on his large frame. He sat with a blanket over his lap and legs, as he was often cold, though the temperature in the Imperial Residence was now set to seventy-five degrees for his comfort.

  The Empress was eighty-eight. She remained trim, as she had always been. Had, in fact, grown wirier. Stringy, her mother might have said. And less flexible. She hadn’t folded her legs under herself in the club chair in years. Decades, in fact.

  Both retained their cognitive abilities, both in thought and memory. A blessing of Imperial medical technology. Aging itself, though, had not succumbed to modern medicine. Mortality was apparently wired into and throughout human DNA, and untangling it was proving a very tough problem.

  Dunham signaled over his shoulder to the guards in the corners of the room behind him, and they soundlessly left the room. He looked up toward the ceiling.

  “Guard.”

  “Yes, Sire.”

  “Suspend audio monitoring for one hour.”

  “Yes, Sire.”

  He didn’t turn to look at the indicator on the switch panel next to the door behind him, but Peters did. The red indicator there started flashing.

  “It’s flashing.”

  Dunham nodded.

  “It won’t be long now, Amanda. I can feel it.”

  “I know, Bobby.”

  “We’ve had a good run, all in all.”

  Peters got up from her chair and came over to sit next to him on the sofa. She picked up his hand from his lap – once so strong, now bony and knotted with age – and kissed it.

  “The best.”

  Dunham nodded. Still holding his hand, Peters squeezed it.

  “I’m not far behind. Wait for me, in whatever lies beyond.”

  “I will.”

  They sat like that for several minutes.

  “I think we’ve done well for the Empire, too.”

  “It’s hard to argue with over fifty years of peace and prosperity, Bobby.”

  Dunham nodded.

  “Yes. That was not at all assured at the beginning. It took ten years to get there.”

  Peters nodded. It had taken Dunham ten years of war and diplomacy to unite all humanity into a single political and trading unit, and he had held it together for fifty-three years. It was the longest period of peace in the thousands of years since humanity had taken to the stars. Historians already called it Pax Traianus. The Peace of Trajan.

  “The only thing left is the succession. What’s the status of General Parnell, Amanda?”

  “I’ve recalled him, Bobby. He’s in hyper. Still three weeks away, though.”

  “I probably won’t make that, Amanda. Six weeks ago, it didn’t seem like a problem.”

  “I know, Bobby. The timing worked against us.”

  Dunham shook his head.

  “I worry about Hawking and Sounder, Amanda. They’re up to something.”

  “Yes, I’ve seen the reports from Gulliver and Turley.”

  “And now they’re quiet all of a sudden.”

  Dunham sighed.

  “I should have done something about them before now.”

  “Not without cause, Bobby. You don’t want to start that.”

  “Yes, I know. They’re going to try something.”

  “You know they’ll argue there is no precedent. Not that applies to the Galactic Empire.”

  “Yes, I know. Renaming the Empire was a good idea, and it worked well for us, Amanda, but it’s working against us now.”

  Peters nodded.

  “Amanda, there’s one last assignment for you. You need to make sure Parnell gets on the Throne. He’s the right person. I’m sure of it. Promise me.”

  “I’ll do whatever I can, Bobby.”

  Peters sighed.

  “You always give people impossible assignments.”

  “Yes, Amanda. And then, somehow, they figure out how to accomplish them anyway.”

  Four days later, Peters woke to find Dunham still in bed. He was usually up well before her.

  “Bobby?”

  There was no answer.

  Peters felt at his carotid artery. There was no pulse.

  She hugged him there for a time.

  A tear slid down her cheek.

  The Emperor was dead.

  The Imperial Guard knew when Dunham died. His nanites reported the death of their host to the VR system. But the Guard was under strict orders not to use extreme measures in an attempt to prolong life. They were also under strict orders not to interrupt Peters. They were to wait until Peters contacted them.

  Peters got out of bed, showered, and dressed for the day. She went over to the bed and kissed Dunham one last time.

  “Goodbye, Bobby. Wait for me. I’ll see you soon,” she whispered.

  Peters walked directly out into the hallway from the Imperial bedroom. In addition to the normal pair of Guardsmen standing watch, she found the Co-Consul, Sandy Hayes, and the commandant of the Imperial Guard, Imperial General MacFarland, as well as the Emperor’s doctor and a nurse.

  “The Emperor is dead,” Peters said.

  Peters nodded to the doctor, and he and the nurse went into the bedroom.

  “I’m very sorry, Milady,” Hayes said.

  MacFarland merely nodded.

  “It’s simply Ms. Peters now, Mr. Hayes.”

  Peters looked back and forth between them.

  “Have you gentlemen eaten already, or would you care to join me for breakfast? We need to talk.”

  They followed her down the hallway to the private dining room, where staff hurriedly provided a third chair from some secret stash. The cook was standing by. He had unshed tears in his eyes. News traveled fast in the Imperial Palace.

  “Ma’am, I–“

  “It’s all right, David. It was not unexpected.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  The cook pulled himself together and took thei
r breakfast orders. They were silent, each lost in their thoughts, as he prepared their meals.

  Once they were served, Amanda said, “That will be all, David.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  The cook left the room, closing the door behind him.

  “I will ask Housekeeping to move me to an apartment in the Residence Wing once we are finished with breakfast.”

  “Is that necessary, Ma’am?” Hayes asked.

  “Of course, Mr. Hayes. I no longer have any claim to live in the Imperial Residence.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “Which leads us to the issue of the succession. I am no longer Empress, but I am still a senior adviser on your staff, am I not, Mr. Hayes?”

  “Yes, Ma’am. Of course.”

  “Very well. And the Emperor made clear to you his choice of Heir, General MacFarland?”

  “Yes, Ma’am. Brigadier General Daniel Parnell.”

  Peters nodded.

  “The problem we have is that General Parnell is in hyperspace, and is still at least two weeks away. That leaves all kinds of time for people to cause trouble.”

  “What kind of trouble, Ma’am?” Hayes asked. “The current occupant of the Throne always names the Heir to the Throne.”

  “In the Sintaran Empire, yes, Mr. Hayes. I expect people to make the argument that this is no longer the Sintaran Empire, and the precedent does not apply.”

  “People, Ma’am?”

  “Yes, Mr. Hayes. People like Sector Governor Hawking, Sector Governor Sounder, and others.”

  “So what do we do, Ma’am?”

  “Proceed as before, General MacFarland, and see what happens. Copy the announcement exactly as it was always done, and let’s see what happens.”

  “What do you expect to happen, Ma’am?”

  “I expect them to put forward their own candidate, Mr. Hayes.”

  “And then what do we do, Ma’am?”

  “I think that depends on who their candidate is, Mr. Hayes. Different strategies for different situations. But I think for the time being we should just act ho-hum, another succession, and see what they do.”

  PRESS RELEASE

  – For Immediate Release –

  IMPERIAL PALACE – The Emperor Trajan died last night in his sleep. Prior to his death, he had named Brigadier General Daniel Whittier Parnell, Imperial Guard, as Heir to the Throne. The date of his coronation has not yet been scheduled.

 

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