by Scott Meyer
For an instant, Rayzo thought he saw Shimlish smile.
Migg tried to defuse, or at least redirect, the tension. “Lady Jakabitus, if it pleases you, I would like to direct your visitors’ attention to the palace staff, who have been working so hard to make tomorrow perfect.”
Migg motioned toward the small army of servants, as if Lord Hahn had simply not noticed them.
Lord Hahn looked at the servants and said, “Ah, yes. Indeed.”
Rayzo saw the Hahn servant who controlled the chair flinch and move one of his hands on the controls. Instantly, Lord Hahn’s chair scuttled sideways, like a crab, toward the assembled workers. One of the chair’s automated legs nearly struck Shimlish, who had to leap backwards to avoid the collision. The chair operator cringed, but Lord Hahn did not appear to notice.
Lord Hahn’s chair stopped in front of the servants. He cleared his throat, and it became obvious that somehow his voice was being amplified.
“We, the Hahn, are accustomed to the very best service. I will not, however, hold you to the same standard as I would my own palace staff on the Hahn Home World. To do so would be unfair to you, and an insult to them. I want you to know this because knowing it will deepen your shame when you inevitably disappoint me anyway.”
The chair dipped forward slightly, simulating the bow that protocol demanded but Lord Hahn could not be bothered to deliver, and then Lord Hahn skittered back over to where his family, the Jakabitus family, and the Masters of Formalities were waiting. Migg announced that the customary next item on the agenda was a tour, guided by the Jakabitus family. Lord Hahn voiced no objections, and Lady Hahn said that she was anxious to see the palace in more detail.
They all walked through the main entrance into the Grand Gallery. Lord Hahn’s chair operator walked ahead of them, backward, controlling His Lordship’s chair while scouting ahead for obstacles. Migg dispatched Phee to help guide the poor man, lest he walk backward into a pillar, or off a balcony.
Hennik remained behind, waiting for the others to notice he was not following. He had to do something to demonstrate to his parents what a thorn in Lady Jakabitus’s side he’d been. This was his chance.
To his chagrin, the group was beyond the door and well inside the palace before anyone said anything. He was a little happy Lord Hahn was the one to notice his absence, but that happiness evaporated when Lord Hahn told Lady Jakabitus, “Your adopted son doesn’t seem to be following us.”
“Hennik, dear,” Lady Jakabitus called out, “is something troubling you?”
“I’m not coming,” Hennik yelled back. He stood his ground, arms folded defiantly across his chest.
“Don’t be silly, Hennik,” she said. “Come along now.”
Hennik shouted. “I said I’m not coming!”
Lady Jakabitus’s smile did not dim. “Oh, Hennik, we’ve been through this before. We both know that you’re going to join us. The only question is whether you’ll do it voluntarily or not.”
As if on cue, the utilitics beneath Hennik’s feet started sliding him toward the palace entrance. He instinctively widened his stance and bent his knees, lowering his center of gravity, but he made a point of keeping his arms folded. Realizing that the resulting pose was somewhat less than dignified, he tried to walk backwards to counteract the forward motion, but the utilitics accelerated, and soon he was nearly running backwards with his arms still folded. The only results were that he slightly slowed his forward momentum and looked like he was doing some sort of folk dance. His parents were too far away for him to see their facial expressions, so he didn’t know if he was impressing them. He hoped that from where they were standing inside they couldn’t hear the staff, who were beginning to laugh.
Running backwards wasn’t working, so Hennik stopped and let the utilitics propel him toward the entrance, which they did with impressive speed. He glided forward, doing his best to maintain his haughty posture, and did a fine job until his feet hit the incline that led up into the gallery. The incline caused his feet to slow. The laws of physics caused his head to continue at the same speed. The combination of these factors caused him to fall.
Hennik tumbled forward headfirst, spreading his arms wide. He landed on his face and slid forward on the utilics-coated stone floor, coasting to a stop at the feet of Lord Hahn’s chair.
Hennik rolled over on his back, looked up at the unimpressed faces staring down at him, and said, “Okay, I’ve decided that I’ll come along after all.”
He sat up, then attempted to put his right hand down to lift himself to his feet, but his hand immediately slid out from under him.
“That’s fine, Hennik,” Lady Jakabitus said. “Stay seated. We don’t want you tiring yourself out.”
The tour continued, with Phee and the chair pilot in the lead, followed by Lady Jakabitus and Lord Hahn talking, Lord Jakabitus and Lady Hahn listening, Rayzo and Shimlish pretending to be oblivious to each other, Migg and Kallump waiting to be needed, and in the rear, Hennik, seated uncomfortably, scooting along the ground with his arms, once again, folded in defiance.
63.
The banquet hall was alive with furious activity. The permanent staff directed the auxiliary staff as they prepared the room for the evening’s prewedding banquet.
Thanks to the utilitics, the tables and chairs could be shifted with ease, but they still needed to be arranged, set according to the agreed-upon plan, examined critically, rearranged, and reset in accordance with the new plan one person had devised on the spot, as was the customary manner in which all formal events had been staged since the dawn of human history.
Migg and Phee stood observing the preparations for a moment or two, then went to check on the progress in the kitchen.
“Chef Barsparse,” Migg said, “how goes the preparation of the traditional Hahn drunesplop?”
“I wish every banquet was this easy,” Barsparse said. “Of course, for an event of such importance, we’re preparing everything by hand, so that’s some work, but it helps that drunesplop, as you call it, is essentially the exact same dish as what we call tartare. It’s just raw, seasoned, decontaminated ground beef. They present it differently, serve it without side dishes, and grind it more finely, but those are just details. This is the second Hahn dish I’ve prepared, and they’ve both involved grinding. Do they grind everything?”
“Most things,” Migg said. “The Hahn find grinding to be a powerful metaphor for life, their society, pretty much everything, but the grinding of meat in general symbolizes Hahn culture.”
“Really?” Barsparse asked.
“Yes. Disparate, dissimilar, and in some cases rather intransigent ingredients being persuaded through the application of pressure and force to become a uniform, homogenous whole. If anything, it’s a little too on the nose, as metaphors go. I mean, you don’t think I was dyeing my hair blond because it worked so well with my skin tone, do you?”
Barsparse smiled. Phee did not. It worried her that Migg might actually be winning the staff over. Phee knew one smirk at an amusing comment wasn’t quite an act of betrayal, but that was how it started. A thanks for some assistance here, a laugh at a joke there—multiply that by a few hundred days, and before you know it two years have passed and nobody ever thinks about how Migg got her job or the look on Wollard’s face when he was removed.
Migg asked, “Chef, do you ever find it odd that whenever some honored off-worlder visits, you end up cooking a dish from their home world?”
“That’s what the Formalities dictate,” Barsparse said, raising her eyebrow provocatively. “I should think you’d know that.”
“Oh, I know that it’s good form. I just don’t pretend to understand it. Wouldn’t this be a great chance for the visitor to experience top-notch Apiosan cuisine, instead of your attempt at a dish with which you are usually unfamiliar? No offense intended.”
“None taken. I see your point. The
thing is, people say they want adventure and novelty, but for the most part, they only like the exotic when it’s served with a side order of the familiar. In this case, the Apiosan guests get an exotic dish prepared by a familiar chef, and the Hahn get a familiar dish prepared by an unknown chef.”
Migg nodded. “An interesting point. It just goes to show, Phee, you never know what’s going to happen.”
“What? I’m sorry. Did you ask me a question?” Phee blurted, hastily putting her papers in her pocket and returning her attention to the conversation.
“No, Phee, I was just saying, you never know what’s going to happen. For instance, when I got up this morning, I never would have expected I’d get a valuable lesson about proper form from the chef. Thank you, Barsparse.”
“You’re welcome,” Barsparse said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I should really get back to not cooking the beef.”
Barsparse turned and disappeared into the depths of the kitchen, where she and Ebbler were overseeing several temporary chefs operating large grinders.
Migg walked silently out of the kitchen and into the palace’s main corridor. Phee followed.
“So,” Migg said, “any sign of the cavalry?”
“Pardon me?” Phee said.
“I already have. Any sign of the cavalry. It’s an old, old expression. It means, is help on the way? I saw you reading your papers. I assume you were looking for some sign that somebody is coming to stop the wedding. It’s fine, Phee. I’m not angry. You’re loyal. Not loyal to me, but in general, loyalty is a good thing.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Phee said.
“You’re not particularly honest, though,” Migg said. “Phee, I know that you will never forgive me for what happened to Wollard, and I know that you don’t want this wedding to happen. If I were the dangerous, manipulative monster you believe me to be, I’d accuse you of wanting to prolong the war.”
“I don’t like the war,” Phee said.
“I’m certain of it, but I’m also certain that you don’t like me, and that you’ve sent a message to the Central Authority telling them what’s happening here in the hopes that they will put a stop to it.”
“You have manipulated everyone,” Phee said, changing the subject without admitting or denying what she’d done.
“True. I suppose it would be fair to describe me as a benevolent, manipulative monster,” Migg said. “As for your message to the Arbiters, I admire your optimism, but we both know that the Arbiters are slow to act. They prefer to react. It takes less effort, and besides, it helps them maintain their carefully cultivated illusion of passiveness. I fear the best you can hope for is that several days after the wedding, an emissary, possibly a new Master of Formalities, will arrive. The marriage will stand, and I’ll be displaced and recalled to the Central Authority for scrutiny.”
“And you’re betting that they’ll approve of your actions,” Phee said.
“Probably not. Phee, we, as Masters of Formalities, are constantly dissuading people from doing things by pointing out the potential consequences. One thing we seldom discuss is that there are times when the benefit is well worth the consequences.”
“It’s that important to you that Master Rayzo marries the Hahn?”
Migg said, “Is Master Rayzo’s problem so large that you really can’t see past it?”
Migg unexpectedly veered through an arch, outside, onto one of the New Palace’s numerous balconies. It was late in the afternoon. The balcony was in the shade, but the sun shone down on the city, making the sides of the buildings glitter like the facets of cut gems. The airspace was thick with vehicles, swarming and buzzing like a cloud of gnats. Beyond the city, the sea extended to the horizon and merged almost seamlessly with the sky.
“It is a lovely city, isn’t it Phee?” Migg asked.
“Yes,” Phee agreed.
“I haven’t seen much of it yet, but I’m told it’s a beautiful planet.”
“It is.”
“Where are you from, originally, Phee?”
“Eurbia.”
“Eurbia,” Migg said, closing her eyes. “Mostly water. The landmass is primarily small islands. More coastline than any other planet its size. Very nice.”
“You’ve been there?”
“No. Never seen it.”
Migg waited patiently. She knew that Phee had little interest in her background, but she also knew that proper form dictated certain actions. If Phee were worthy of her position, she would eventually do what was proper.
At long last, and with little obvious interest, Phee asked, “Where are you from?”
Migg chuckled lightly, then said, “If you must pry, my family moved around a lot. I lived on seven different worlds before I was recruited by the Arbiters. Originally, though, my family came from Ophion 6.”
“I didn’t know there were people who were from Ophion 6,” Phee said.
“Therein lies the problem, Phee. Everyone whose family lived on Ophion 6 is from there, not living there. Nobody lives there anymore. Plenty of people fight there, but that’s not the same thing as living there. Not really.”
“When did your parents leave?”
“My parents have never been to Ophion 6, and their parents lived their entire lives without ever seeing the planet. The story they told me was that my great-grandparents lived on Ophion 6. One day soldiers landed—whether they were Hahn or Jakabitus troops changes depending on who tells the story. They explained that Ophion 6 was unusually rich with a top-secret strategic resource, and they were there to secure the resource before the other side could.”
“What was the top-secret resource?” Phee asked.
“They never said. It was top secret, after all. Anyway, both sides established a foothold, then fought to expand their control until the planet was as it is today, a sphere of smoking ruins with two parallel belts of fortification running around its circumference.”
“None of the original inhabitants stayed?”
“The prudent ones fled right away. The brave ones stayed to defend their homes. After about two-thirds of the brave ones were wiped out, the remaining third decided that they’d rather be prudent after all.”
“If a planet’s worth of people fled, you’d think everyone would know about it,” Phee said.
“It’s a big galaxy, Phee. Ophion 6 was a small world, and it happened a long time ago. There are a few cities on a few planets where there’s a population of people from Ophion 6. We call ourselves Orphians. For the most part, the galaxy just swallowed us up. We’re spread out over a thousand worlds, so thin that nobody even notices us anymore.”
“Okay,” Phee said. “I think I get it a little better now. Wollard loses his position and Master Rayzo marries Shimlish the Pig, but as a result, the war ends and your people get their world back.”
“You still haven’t quite got the whole picture,” Migg said, “but you’re closer. When we go back inside, please remind me that I need to speak to Glaz about the seating arrangements.”
“I notice you’ve changed the subject,” Phee said.
“Did I?” Migg asked.
“Yes, but I’m changing it back. I guess I can see your reasoning,” Phee said, “But I still feel terrible for Rayzo and Wollard.”
“Perhaps the situation has been unfair to them. Perhaps. But if so, I’d point out that it’s impossible to build something without destroying something else. Every statue represents a ruined piece of pristine, unused clay, which in turn represents a hole dug in the ground somewhere.”
Phee considered this.
They stood looking at the city for a long moment, then Phee asked, “Do you intend to go back to Ophion 6?”
“No, Phee. Even with the war over, it will be many years before the planet fully demilitarizes, decades before it’s truly habitable, and probably at least two generat
ions from now before it’s a place I would actually want to live.”
“Then why do all this?”
“Because if nobody in my generation had, it would have been at least three generations.”
64.
A line of transports hovered like an oversized dotted line extending from the palace courtyard through both gates and out over the city. With almost mechanical precision, the craft at the front of the line would land and disgorge its payload of overdressed aristocrats. The passengers would then make a grand entrance into the Grand Gallery, their names announced by a temporarily employed palace herald, while behind them in the courtyard their craft shot straight up in the air, making room for the next transport full of overdressed aristocrats who were awaiting their turn to make the exact same grand entrance.
The more insecure guests lingered among the grand columns of the gallery, waiting to see who else would show up and what they were wearing.
The guests who were surer of themselves traded greetings graciously, then made their way to the banquet hall to find their seats and decide what their seat’s location meant.
Over time, the line of transports grew shorter, and the crowd inside grew larger. Emissaries from every planet within one day’s interstellar transport range were present because that was all the notice the general public had been given. Some special guests had been given advance notice.
Lord Kank was present, of course. Between the promise of meeting the Hahn ruling family in person; the prospect of witnessing a young man he liked get married too young, and probably against his will; and the chance to endure endless wedding party chatter with the galaxy’s upper crust, this was too great an opportunity for self-improvement to pass up.
The palace had more visitors than at any other time in living memory. Even with the small army of temporary help, the staff was having great difficulty keeping up. The kitchen was pumping out hors d’oeuvres. A squadron of young ladies with empty glasses and portable bulkfabs made their way through the guests, answering questions, dispensing drinks, and ignoring advances.