“Understood, Lord Thomas,” Angie said. “Are there perhaps two or three foodstuffs to which they may help themselves at will? That would divert any resentment that they cannot have access to it all.”
“Why, yes,” I said, surprised. “That is a very clever stratagem. My compliments on picking up on such a subtle point of psychology.”
“Your father holds forth now and then on strategy,” Angie said, placidly. A small paddle covered by a sleeve of dampened cloth smelling of cleaning fluid emerged from a slot below the dispenser. It swabbed the cup bracket clean, then vanished into its niche.
“He does? To whom?”
“To whoever is there to listen, my lord. I and my fellow LAIs are the most frequent recipients of his wisdom. He has provided me with an excellent education in understanding human nature. I owe being able to qualify for this position to him.”
I was silent for a moment in admiration for my paternal unit. Lord Commander Rodrigo Park Kinago had been a most promising young officer in the navy, or so I have been told. He was a hero who performed many daring feats on behalf of the Imperium, culminating with a dangerous covert mission in which he saved hundreds of lives during a deep space battle. The father that I and my siblings adored was a sweet-natured potterer and part-time inventor who hardly seemed aware of his surroundings. The mental disconnection was a result of his injuries following that space battle. To my shame, I had been ignorant of those facts until comparatively recently. Like most of my relatives, I had come to think of him as “Poor, dear Rodrigo.” It was in tribute to my father that I maintained my connection to the navy and the service of the mysterious Mr. Frank.
“The sweet-spice puffs,” I said, without further prompting. “The green Leonine wines. And half of the Colvarin cheese. Hold back the rest unless I so direct you.”
“As you wish, sir,” Angie said. “Those will be left accessible. I shall make it look as if your cousin and her friends have sidestepped my security programming to attain them.”
I laughed. “Oh, you are very good, my friend. I look forward to exchanging stories of my father with you.”
In a much cheerier mood, I went to sit beside Jil at the oval table.
Banitra scooted down the bench a trifle to make room for me. She steadied my coffee cup until I was settled.
“Oh, Thomas,” Jil said, as though noticing me for the first time. “Good. You can be the sixth. We want to play Snap Dragons. I thought we would have to play with one of the AIs, but you will do.”
“Of course,” I said. “Do you have your own cards, or do you need me to provide a deck?”
“Oh, both,” Hopeli said, beaming at me. “Let’s play with a double deck. Then we can invoke the alternate rules. That will be much more fun.”
“I hope you will not take it amiss when I beat all of you,” I said. Most of my games and sports equipment had been transferred to the caches in the common room, so I had but to open a hatch in the wall to retrieve my Snap Dragon deck and the earpieces used for private negotiation with one’s fellow players. The game, part role-play, part chance, had become a craze among my circle of relatives in Taino.
“You haven’t got a chance!” Jil said, laughing.
“We’ll see about that,” I said.
We put the cards on the table and sat back to watch them fold themselves together. Snap Dragon decks, like many of the current games, contained infinitely small dynamic engines that allowed them to shuffle themselves. I had introduced programming into mine that did not alter the core honesty profile, but did cause my half of the deck to parade itself around, trailing pairs and trios that fanned out, snapped together, arched and collapsed like a party of cardboard acrobats.
Marquessa gaped openly at their antics.
“Is this a custom game?” she asked. “Something I can order for my clients?”
“No,” I said, pleased. “All my own work.”
“Thomas has so many things he would rather do than useful labor,” Jil said.
Momentarily stung at the accusation, I opened my mouth to defend myself. After all, what was I doing on a warship bound for a complicated investigation? But I smiled. Jil knew nothing of that, nor should she.
“Indeed, that is the case,” I said, languidly. “But when I acquire a fresh enthusiasm, I pursue it with all my heart.”
“Very admirable,” Hopeli said.
“And is programming cards to dance your current enthusiasm?” Banitra asked, with a flirtatious lift of her long, dark eyelashes.
“Not at all,” I said. I collected my hand from the table where the decks had left it. “In fact, my current studies might be of interest to all of you. I am delving into superstitions.”
“What kind of superstitions?” Sinim asked, her lovely eyes alight with curiosity.
“Every kind of small behavior that a person exhibits that is intended to influence fate,” I said. “There are so many. Take, for example, the stricture that one should never step on a crack in the pavement lest it cause pain to one’s maternal unit. How one should affect the other is a matter of superstition, not reality. There is no cause and effect.”
“Well,” Banitra said, with a tiny smile, “your mother might just be hiding underneath the paving stones, and if you walk on them, you will break her back!”
“As if!” Hopeli said. “The paving stones would have done it first!”
“Exactly,” I said. “But we are not looking for direct causality here, but indirect. The intervention of unseen powers appears to change one’s luck, if you will, but I have not found one yet that achieves a level of scientific rigor.”
“Thomas tells fortunes,” Jil said.
“How marvelous,” Banitra said, leaning closer to me. She turned her large, dark eyes up into mine. “Will you tell me mine?”
“Of course,” I said. I put my viewpad on the table. “Open numerology program.”
The small device clicked and whirred as the correct colorful graphic appeared on its screen.
“Enter Banitra Savarola Wilcox,” I said.
On the screen appeared a series of numbers: 2159291 11419631 593366. A second line, then a third and a fourth, appeared beneath it:
29 + 26 + 32 = 87
8 + 7 = 15
1 + 5 = 6
“Oh, but that’s just a program!” Banitra protested.
“Ah, yes, but the magic comes when I interpret its findings,” I said, pointing at the first line. “There is a distinctly personal element that is part and parcel of this practice. You see, all the letters of your name add up to a total of eighty-seven.”
“And what is six?”
“One of the very best name numbers,” I said warmly. “It stands for dependability, wisdom and integrity.”
Banitra burst into shrieks of laughter. She grabbed my hand with both of hers. She had a surprisingly firm grip.
“Imagine me, dependable! Oh, what would my father say? He never knows where I am from one day to the next!”
“Do you see?” I said. “That is why I don’t rely upon superstitions.”
“Then why study them?” Jil asked.
“Because they are fun to investigate,” I said. “They often have striking origins. I am enjoying discovering the source of ones that have come down through the ages unexamined by those who invoke them daily.”
“Me next! Me next!” Sinim cried.
“There, now,” I said, smiling at them. “I have just proved to you that there’s no substance in it, but you still want your turn at the mystic’s table.”
Sinim’s name number, once I added in the rest of her noble family nomenclature, worked out to seven. She was very pleased at its psychic and magical overtones. Oddly enough, both Hopeli and Marquessa also had names that equaled seven.
Marquessa held out a trembling hand. Her eyes were huge with wonder.
“It means we were all supposed to be together,” she said. “That’s . . . that’s amazing.”
“What about mine?” Jil asked.
“What names are you most attached to?” I asked. “Like me, you have a wealth of middle and family names.”
She waved a vague hand. “Just a few. It’s so tedious to write them all out.”
So, I instructed my viewpad to calculate against “Jil Loche Nikhorunkorn.”
“Eight. The number of great wealth.”
Jil looked pleased. “Well, of course it is.”
“What about you?” Banitra asked. “I am sure yours is just as interesting.”
I hated to reveal it, because it just came across as bragging. “Nine,” I said, hoping I seemed modest when I said it. “The number of great power.”
“But as you say,” Jil said, wrinkling her nose. “There’s nothing to all this.”
“Of course not,” I agreed.
“I knew it,” Banitra said, tucking her hand into my elbow. “I could tell you were a man who could get things done.”
Her grasp was soft, but it felt like a manacle pinioning my limb. I hesitated to move. She seemed harmless, but I felt suddenly as wary as the proverbial cat surrounded by threatening furniture. While it was not uncommon to encounter a person who communicated through tactile means, it did appear that Banitra, at least, was setting her cap for me. And while I did not condemn cap-setters in general, I objected to them being aimed in my general direction.
I began to rise and reached clumsily for my coffee cup.
“I had better get about my duties, or Lieutenant Plet will chide me,” I said, in a confidential manner, though I knew perfectly well my words could be heard on the bridge through the interior communication system. Plet would be annoyed and amused at my statement.
“Oh, must you go?” Hopeli asked. “We were just going to play cards!”
“I have no wish to excite comment on my behavior,” I said. “My mother and all.”
“Lieutenant Plet wouldn’t tell on you, would she?” Marquessa asked, shocked.
“She would have no choice,” I said, with a helpless lift of my shoulders.
“Lieutenant Plet would have no reason to complain if you carried on your duties here, my lord,” Parsons said, appearing suddenly by my side. I controlled myself heroically to keep from jumping. His materialization caused the ladies to burst into fits of giggles.
“Really?” I asked, with a lift of one eyebrow. Parsons retorted by elevating two eyebrows. Since I could scarcely best a move like that, I furthered my inquiry. “What may I do to keep her ire from falling upon me?” I shot meaningful looks in the direction of the ladies, particularly Banitra and Sinim, and hoped that for once his impressive powers of mind-reading would be used for good, not evil.
My silent plea was not in vain. Without changing expression whatsoever, Parsons removed his own viewpad from his belt.
“I have files for you to study before our first stop at Way Station 46,” he said, “but many that must be mastered before arriving in the Autocracy.”
“Bring them on!” I said, relieved that I was going to have to study. It took me out of the admiring gaze of the ladies who saw themselves as potential future mates. The fact was not lost on me that I would need to learn how to keep them at arm’s length without exciting comment.
“Oh, Thomas,” Jil chided me. “Reading files! That makes you look so respectable.”
I lowered my head. “You needn’t be so harsh, cousin.”
She touched my arm. “I didn’t mean to tease. Aunt Tariana must have been very angry with you.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” I said, leaning forward to exude a confidential air. “In fact, she insisted that I . . .”
“Hem!” Parsons clearing his throat could have brought a raging waterfall to an apologetic halt.
“Well, I mustn’t tell tales,” I said, sitting back hastily.
“No, indeed, sir.”
“And which files do you prefer that I review?” I asked, returning the conversation to the subject at hand. After all, he was saving my life, matrimonially speaking.
Parsons touched the viewpad. Images sprang up on mine.
“Regarding the Autocrat herself, Visoltia. Before we arrive, it would be prudent for you to gain knowledge of her thought processes and interests. As she holds the same office as your cousin, the Emperor, it behooves you to avoid causing distress or offense.”
“I am ahead of you there, Parsons,” I said, unable to prevent smugness from infecting my smile. “The Autocrat, Visoltia, posts often on her Infogrid file, though the Uctu do not seem to be as strict about required posting as here in the Imperium. I have been reading her output daily. She’s a most interesting young soul. Did you know that her mother was elderly when she was born, and passed away when Visoltia was an infant? She was raised by her father. I know what that means. She was actually in the hands of a raft of servants. But I think they were good for her. She sounds quite normal, really.”
“Are you reading her file in the original language?”
“Not strictly. Everything is translated, though of course I do understand fluent Uctu. My spoken language is a bit behind my comprehension, though.”
“At present, you have time to work on improving it,” Parsons said.
“But I have a translator on my viewpad,” I protested.
“It would be insulting to Her Serenity if you did not speak fluently to her in her own tongue. Naturally, she speaks perfect Imperium Standard, but you will be in her court. Therefore, as a petitioner, you must put all effort on your side of your appeal. Otherwise, it would seem arrogant.”
“I wouldn’t think of causing a calamity,” I said, chastened. I checked with my Tarot card program on my viewpad, and requested a single-card reading. The Star. A world will open up to me if I study the language. “Redius can help me to learn it.”
“He will not have the facility of native speech,” Parsons pointed out. “He is Imperium-born.”
“What about Ya!” Jil asked. “That’s all in Uctu.”
“Marvelous idea,” I said, warmly. “I will catch up on the episodes I have missed, and they will aid me in learning fluent modern Uctu. I shall immerse myself, watching as many series as I can between now and landing upon Dilawe. And you can be part of my education, Jil.”
“I already understand Uctu,” she protested. “I love Ya!”
“But you don’t speak it fluently, either,” I pointed out. “Don’t let a little thing like a verbal faux pas destroy your chance to become an intimate of the leader of another entire empire.” I put the matter as temptingly as possible. “And to bargain in the shops, like they do in Kotirus Street on the show? You could come away with a new dress for a single credit. Remember how delighted Fratila was when she bought that formal outfit?”
“When you put it like that, how could I refuse?” Jil said. “It’ll be a contest.”
“To the fluency?”
“Of course!” Jil said, going eye to eye with me. “What’ll you bet?”
“What do you want?”
She smiled slyly. “Your crystal ball.”
I admit it: my mouth dropped open.
“But you are not a student of the occult arts,” I protested. “And besides, Parsons made me leave it at home.”
Jil pouted.
“But it’s pretty. I want to put it on my dressing table. I would look at it every day.”
I would have missed it, so it was a good item to use as stakes. I nodded. Such a goad would make me work my hardest.
“You are on, my cousin. No cheating, no viewpads, nothing to assist you. Pure conversational Uctu. Redius shall be the judge.”
I was not worried about winning and retaining my precious crystal. Jil did have a natural flair for languages, but I counted upon her becoming too bored to study. Yet, it would not matter in the slightest if she became more fluent than I. It was all in the service to the Imperium.
“It’s a deal,” she said. She put out a hand, and I took it.
And thus began the marathon. Ya! became the soundtrack of our travels between Kein
olt and rendezvousing with the Bonchance. We watched episodes together. We watched them in our separate quarters. Ya! accompanied us on our physical fitness regimens and during mealtimes. The only points at which I did not have a season’s worth to hand were during sleep and when Parsons chose to drop by and request a report. For some reason, my viewpad ceased to function in any useful manner when he was nearby. I suspected a devious device furnished by our friend Mr. Frank had been secreted about his person, but it was not in my remit, nor even at the reach of my most daring, to seek it out. Redius, Jil and I spent our free time poring over the transcripts of past shows and discussing the plots, our use of Uctu words and phrases increasing daily. I even began to translate my daily horoscope readings into Uctu. I made my immersion as complete as I could without compromising clarity—or interfering with my devotion to my occult studies. One never knew when a peek at the infinite might come in handy.
CHAPTER 11
“Dila’entha an?” I asked, following Redius through the crew corridors of the Bonchance.
“An thale,” Redius said, pointing to a door. He switched his tail back and forth in excitement. I felt much the same emotion. It always excited my curiosity to investigate the workings of a new ship.
My small scout, though equipped with ultradrive engines, would suffer undue wear and tear should it be expected to make the journey to the border by itself. Instead, the Rodrigo would occupy a berth in the flight bay of the carrier Bonchance, and my crew would bunk in with the carrier’s ordinary complement while the larger vessel conveyed us within a few days’ journey to the frontier. It was almost nine days after departing from Keinolt that Oskelev settled the Rodrigo gently in the echoing landing bay among individual fighters, scout ships and corvettes. We were welcomed by a lieutenant commander who gave us a brisk but thorough orientation briefing and set us loose to make ourselves at home. So to speak.
I palmed the panel at the door lintel and peered in.
“No,” I said. “I must have misspoken. I thought I asked you where my quarters were, not yours.”
“Grammar correct. Yours indeed,” Redius replied. “Mine Nesbitt shares alongside.” He nodded to the next door.
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