by Peter David
“One,” confirmed Keesala.
“Right, exactly. That’s what I thought. Let’s say, just for laughs—”
The Priatians promptly emitted a high-pitched noise so annoying that she clapped her hands to her ears. “What the hell are you doing?”
“We are laughing,” Keesala explained. “We thought it was what you desired.”
She moaned inwardly. “Let us just say,” she began again, cautious to avoid any flippant idioms, “that everyone living on those worlds cleared out tomorrow. Which won’t happen, but let’s say it did. It’s not as if your people would be able to turn around and make use of all those worlds. Your population is too small.”
“That,” Keesala said, “would be our concern, not yours.”
“Yes, I suppose it would be. But, let’s face it…either way, it’s not going to happen.”
“Then we cannot be held responsible for what will occur.”
“What will occur…when?” she asked cautiously.
“When the Wanderers return and cause all those residing in what is now called Thallonian space to depart.”
“I see,” she said, once more tapping her fingers. “And when, uh…do you perceive this happenstance will, uh…happen?”
“Soon,” Keesala said, and Pembark added, “Very soon.”
“You know what?” sighed Robin Lefler. “I had a feeling you were going to say exactly that.”
iii.
The only thing that could make this day worse would be if the Priatians showed up.
The Grand Chamber of the New Thallonian Protectorate was designed in a series of concentric circles of tables arranged in stadium-seating style. There had been much debate about exactly how to set up who would be sitting at what level. Ultimately they had settled on the simplest, most nondiscriminatory way possible: geography. The worlds whose orbits brought them closest to the world of New Thallon were the closest to the twin tables of the prime minister and prime arbiter, the facing tables at which sat Si Cwan and his opposite number, the prime arbiter, Fhermus of the House of Fhermus (as was customary in that House, the head of the House changed his name from whatever it had been to the House name upon his ascension).
Fhermus was a Nelkarite, hairless and gold-skinned like the rest of his race, although tall and powerfully built. The Nelkarites had had their share of political uprisings in the past. Partly because of that, and partly in spite of it, the Nelkarites had been among the first to embrace the notion of the New Thallonian Protectorate. Furthermore, Fhermus himself had been a major supporter of the notion that such a protectorate simply would not work unless Si Cwan himself were a part of it in a major way.
It was not a concept that Si Cwan had readily embraced, since he’d been rather badly burned during a similar endeavor undertaken by another race several years earlier. Indeed, Si Cwan had come to the conclusion that he simply could not work within any sort of governmental system. What he knew, what he understood, was the way of the monarchy. He was no politician. He was a member of the ruling class. It had been his family and those who had come before who had built up the Thallonian Empire into a mighty body of worlds. Who had kept peace through tyranny in the section of space the Federation bloodlessly referred to as Sector 221-G. And when the Thallonian Empire had collapsed, the entire sector had dissolved into chaos as old rivalries, long repressed, broke out anew.
The Federation had dispatched the U.S.S. Excalibur, under the command of Mackenzie Calhoun…supplemented later on by the Trident, captained by Calhoun’s wife, Elizabeth Shelby…to help maintain order in the escalating disarray. Si Cwan had signed on (although “stowed away” was the more accurate term) to serve as a sort of roving guide and ambassador, since there were still many who had the greatest respect for him and what his family represented. He had even managed to find and rescue his younger sister, Kalinda, long feared to be dead.
During his time of service, he had cherished the notion of a new Thallonian Empire that would bring unity and glory back to Sector 221-G. A neighboring race, the Danteri, had offered him just that opportunity, but it had gone horribly awry. So when a coalition of worlds in the former Thallonian Empire sought him out, he’d been understandably hesitant.
As he worked with Fhermus, however, and representatives from other worlds as well, a workable government model had evolved. Si Cwan, as the elected prime minister, was effectively the ruling head of the Protectorate. Fhermus, as prime arbiter, was the elected Voice of the People. What typically frustrated Si Cwan the most was the notion of having to deal with dozens of different voices and trying to accommodate all of them, when he’d much rather just hack off their heads and be done with them. Fhermus was the go-between, dealing with the representatives of the fifty-seven different races in Thallonian space, sifting through their concerns, establishing priorities, smoothing over difficulties when it was possible. He was also their advocate when it came to convincing Si Cwan of actions to be authorized and taken.
All discussions between Fhermus and Si Cwan were open and public, held right there on the floor of the Grand Chamber. Some of the arguments and debates between Si Cwan and Fhermus bordered on the epic, with nuanced disagreements giving way to heated shouting matches. The bottom line, however, was that Si Cwan and Fhermus shared a deep and abiding respect for each other’s character and intellect. One or the other could give in and neither would ultimately feel threatened by it.
It was a delicate balance, but one that the two men had successfully transformed into—if not the perfect form of government—certainly something far superior to the borderline anarchy that had previously characterized the region.
Unfortunately, it now seemed as if that balance was being threatened, and for possibly the most ludicrous reason of all…at least insofar as Si Cwan was concerned.
As opposed to the usual situation where Si Cwan and Fhermus were arguing with each other, a special session had been called and the two regular adversaries were both being grilled by the other representatives.
It was predictable that the most vocal voice of protest was the representative from Boragi III. The Boragi were notorious for stirring things up until a conflict arose, manipulating all sides while staying carefully neutral, and then coming in and picking up the pieces. Knowing their history as a race, Si Cwan had kept a wary eye on their reps, certain it was only a matter of time before they tried one of their typical maneuvers. All things considered, they’d actually waited longer than Si Cwan would have credited them with being willing to wait.
The Boragi’s delegate, Tusari Gyn, was on his feet. His skin was sallow, the bone ridge of his forehead protruding, as he spoke with that faintly unctuous air so typical of his race. His eyes were in constant motion, which was one of the most disconcerting Boragi traits.
“Certainly the esteemed adversaries must see,” said Tusari Gyn, “that it is that very adversarial nature to which our government owes so much.”
“That is not in dispute here, delegate,” Fhermus informed him. “However, what irritates me is your insinuation that this turn of events is somehow going to impact on the ability of either me or my counterpart here,” and he indicated Si Cwan, “to carry out our designated duty.”
“Oh, but we have insinuated no such thing,” Tusari Gyn assured him, employing the imperial prefix of “we,” as he usually did. It was a common Boragi tendency. It implied that the entirety of the race thought with one mind and was therefore unanimous in its views. Strength in numbers and all that.
“Flark!” snapped back Si Cwan, earning an annoyed glance from Fhermus for the language. He could not have cared less. “That happens to be exactly what you are insinuating, and I for one could not be more offended.”
“We intended to give no offense….”
“And yet you’ve given it anyway.” Si Cwan rose from his seat and circled the floor of the Great Chamber.
“We cannot help it if you have taken that which was not intended…”
“And we cannot help it if you do
not stand behind your clear intent.”
Fhermus put up his hands as if trying to ward off more hostility. “This is getting us nowhere,” he said, making no attempt to keep the annoyance from his voice.
“The Boragi bring up a fair point,” commented the representative from Mandylor V. “This situation represents a clear conflict of interest. Call this whatever you wish, but these developments are nothing less than an alliance between the House of Fhermus and the line of Cwan.”
“Our point exactly,” said the Boragi, before sitting down to let the Mandylor representative carry the argument. This, Si Cwan mused, is typical. Be at the forefront of the protest and then fade back and let others carry the ball.
“This is not an alliance,” Fhermus protested. “This is…is happenstance! Nothing more!”
“How can you say that?” It was the delegate from Respler IV-A. Si Cwan wasn’t all that surprised that the Mandylor and Respler delegates were among the first to cry foul. Both worlds had had revolts against the royal family suppressed with rather violent means, back in the day. If anyone was going to be quick to criticize, it was they. “This is as classic an alliance scenario as it gets! Marriage is the traditional means of joining two powerful groups….”
“And I suppose,” Si Cwan said, “that my marriage represented a joining of my family to the Federation? Is that how that works?”
“Well, your spouse’s priorities are a matter of some concer—”
The Resplerian’s voice trailed off as a chill wafted through the air of the council. Si Cwan stood there for a long moment and then, step by slow step, walked up the stairway of the chamber until he was standing less than five feet away from the representative, who was visibly shaking.
“Were you,” Si Cwan asked with exaggerated calm, “casting aspersions upon my wife?”
“In all fairness, Prime Minister,” he said, rallying for strength, “you brought her up.”
“I am not interested in ‘all fairness.’ ” Si Cwan’s voice was flat and even. His expression could have been carved from stone. “I am interested only in what you are saying about my wife.”
The Mandylor ambassador chose that moment to step in, doubtless to preserve the alliance his people had with the Resplerians. “Prime Minister,” he said, “my colleague is no doubt referring to the expressed concerns that your wife is acting as the eyes and ears of the Federation…”
“The activities of this council are broadcast on the ether!” Si Cwan pointed out to him. “There are no secrets here! That was part of the point of conducting our business in this manner. The eyes and ears of the Federation? Let the Federation look and let the Federation listen! Is there anyone here who has something he feels needs to be hidden? Some business that cannot be subjected to Federation scrutiny? Unless, of course, the implication goes deeper than that. Unless someone here desires to imply that my wife is some sort of security threat. A traitor, perhaps, who will stab me in my bed or find a way to sell us out to a hostile race. Is anyone saying that?” His gaze swept the chamber like a phaser beam. “Anyone at all? Anyone challenging my wife’s honor?”
A silence fell, shroudlike, upon the proceedings. Si Cwan was pleased. He had a sense that no one believed he was actually going to fall upon anyone who did challenge his wife’s honor. On the other hand, clearly, no one was ruling out the possibility either, and so were keeping civil tongues in their heads. That suited Si Cwan just fine. He might be the new and improved people’s Si Cwan, but there was certainly no harm at all in keeping some small bit of fear instilled within them.
Fhermus inserted himself into the silence of the chamber. This was exactly the sort of situation that Fhermus thrived upon: an instance where, through force of personality and implied threat, Si Cwan had thrust himself into a delicate predicament. Fhermus, with his melodic vocal tones and mellifluous manner, was going to endeavor to quell it. Si Cwan, when he had walked around the base of the Grand Chamber, had done so in a clockwise manner. Naturally Fhermus moved counterclockwise, which Si Cwan could only note with quiet amusement. The sleeves of Fhermus’s garment were wide at the ends, and he inserted one hand into each opposite end. He had once told Si Cwan he did that deliberately so that no one would be watching his hands or any other part of his body language, but instead attend only to the seductive singsong of his voice.
“My colleagues,” said Fhermus, “I am perfectly aware that the very nature of this discussion—the fact that the Prime Minister and I are acting as allies to address this matter, rather than in our typical adversarial relationship—would almost, by definition, seem to lend credence to your concerns. But we have been going back and forth about this, both publicly and privately, for nearly a week now and I have yet to hear a single one of you offer an opinion as to what we should have done differently.” Someone started to speak up, but Fhermus spoke right over him. “We are, after all, discussing affairs of the heart here. In those matters, the concerns of elders rarely have a say.”
“They do on our world,” the Mandylor representative spoke up. He slapped the back of one hand into the open palm of the other. “Marriages are arranged! They are the province of the parents! The youth have no say in such matters, none. If they tried to pick their own mates, it would be an outrage!”
“If that works for you,” Si Cwan spoke up, “then so much the better for you. But we Thallonians, although we have been known to employ similar practices, do not do so exclusively. And it is, to my understanding, unknown in the Nelkarite society,” and he glanced at Fhermus for confirmation. Fhermus inclined his head slightly, indicating the correctness of Si Cwan’s words. Cwan continued, “So tell me, delegate: If two of your young people told you in no uncertain terms that you should be compelled to conduct your business in the way, not of your race, but of ours…how would you react to that, eh? Enlighten me.”
The Mandylorian looked uncomfortable. Pursing his lips a moment, he then admitted, “I would be less than enthused.”
“ ‘Less than enthused,’ yes, precisely,” said Si Cwan. “And our young people would be no less so ‘less than enthused,’ don’t you think?”
“But we are not speaking of just any young people,” the Resplerian now said. Si Cwan felt as if they were double-teaming him. At least he had to deal only with the two for the moment, although he did keep hearing mumbles and murmurs of assent from the others. Let them mutter all they wished. It was those who actually had the nerve to address him directly that concerned him. “We are speaking,” continued the Resplerian, “of your sister, Prime Minister, and your son, Prime Arbiter. Certainly they must understand that they are held to a different, higher standard than other young people.”
“In point of fact,” said Fhermus, “no. Not only do they not understand it, but they would be the first to say that such a double standard would be completely unfair. And anyone here who has youngsters of their own knows how readily the cries of ‘But that’s unfair!’ can come to their lips.”
This actually seemed to prompt acknowledging smiles from some delegates. It was the first ray of hope that Si Cwan had encountered since the whole miserable affair began.
The truth was, he could have strangled his sister, Kally, for putting him in this position. But one would never have been able to tell that from the conviction with which he spoke. “The grim fact, my friends,” he said, “is that whatever powers of persuasion you might think that my respected adversary and I bring to these chambers in our deliberations…they are of absolutely no relevance when it comes to governing the impulses and directions of our own youthful relatives. My sister, Kalinda, met Tiraud, the son of Fhermus. They took to each other instantly. He courted her, although I would have to say that her courting of him was equally as aggressive. Time passed, the relationship flowered, and now Kalinda and Tiraud desire to be life-mates. What would you have us say to them? Seriously? Would you have us say, ‘Your feelings are all well and good, but we have to elevate the sensibilities of the fifty-seven delegates above yours?’ How
many of you are holding us to a standard that you would never think of applying to yourselves? How many of you would truly be willing to make the best interests of your family secondary to political considerations?”
He saw one or two hands hesitantly begin to raise, but just as quickly lowered again. “I thought as much,” he said.
“The prime minister’s point,” said Fhermus, “although a bit more belligerent than I would have liked, is well taken. He and I have willingly placed ourselves into positions that require us to prioritize others above ourselves in almost all things. Our families have not. Cwan’s sister, my son, they came by their relationship honestly. They are in love. But I assure you, the prime minister and I are most definitely not in love.” This drew a genuine laugh from almost the entirety of the chamber. “And simply because family members are joined as mates will not prevent us from conducting business as usual.”
“And if the union falls apart?” demanded the Mandylorian. “Have you given thought to that? Excessive hostility can be just as much a hindrance as excessive cronyism.”
“Considering how the two young ones dote on one another,” said Si Cwan, “that is not a major concern for me. But I feel comfortable in saying that, were negative circumstances to arise, they would have no more impact on our ability to fulfill our responsibilities than the positive circumstances.”
“And now,” Fhermus said, “I believe I speak for the prime minister as well in saying that this subject has been a focus of this chamber for entirely too long, and I think our time and our constituents would be far better served if we moved on to another topic…indeed, virtually any other topic.”
This sentiment seemed to generate nods of approval. Si Cwan cast a glance at the Boragi. Tusari Gyn’s face was inscrutable. Si Cwan had no clue whether Gyn was happy with the outcome or disappointed. Or perhaps he didn’t really give a damn either way, and considered this nothing more than a mental exercise.