by C. J. Ryan
“It’s true, you see,” said Algeciras, spreading his arms a little, as if in apology. “The OSI has no logical place in the structure of Dexta. Its sudden growth is like that of a malignancy in an otherwise healthy body. And like a malignancy, it must be excised.”
“Putting it a little less colorfully,” Grigsby said, “we see OSI as counterproductive and contrary to the best interests of Dexta. Its charter infringes on the inherent powers of Quadrant, and even Sector, Administrators. The very existence of OSI implies the incompetence of the normal bureaucracy. Dexta is perfectly capable of functioning without the aid of highly public ‘strategic interventions.’ ”
“What he means, dear,” said Chandra, “is that you make us look bad. The public loves it, of course, but it’s bad for morale among Dexta people. If you’re the good guy in these little dramas, that makes the rest of Dexta look like bad guys. And we’re not”—she paused and eyed DuBray for a moment, then continued—“or most of us aren’t, at any rate.”
“We’ve discussed all of this with Norman,” DuBray said, “but he refuses to accept reality. I wonder sometimes if he’s really up to the demands of the job anymore. In any case, he intends to continue his little experiment, regardless of the consequences. Of course, the consequences for Norman won’t be nearly as painful as they are for you.”
Grigsby frowned and said, “That’s not really necessary, DuBray.” He turned to Gloria and said, “While I may not agree with my colleague’s methods, I am in complete agreement concerning his goals. We all are. Norman Mingus doesn’t run Dexta, Ms. VanDeen—we do. You should keep that in mind.”
“Whatever the OSI Charter may say,” Algeciras told her, “as a practical matter, you will need our cooperation in order to function. And that you will not get.”
“What’s more,” said Chandra, “most of the Sector Administrators support our position. Wherever OSI attempts to operate, you will find not only no cooperation, but determined opposition. I realize that the OSI Charter gives you certain peremptory powers, and Norman will certainly give you as much leeway as the Dexta Code allows. Nevertheless, within Dexta the OSI will be treated as a pariah. Think about what that would mean—for your office, and for you personally, dear.”
Gloria had stood there listening in silence, all the while feeling a rising tide of emotion within her. Most of it was anger, along with outrage and defiance. But there was fear there, too. The most powerful people in Dexta had just declared war on her and OSI.
She took a deep breath. “Norman Mingus created the OSI and appointed me to lead it. If he should decide that he made a mistake and wants to remove me or dissolve the office, that would be entirely up to him. Not you—him. Until that happens, I intend to do my job to the best of my ability, come what may. If you expect me to quit, you’d better think again.”
DuBray shook his head. “No, we don’t expect you to quit,” he said. “You have become very famous and popular with the masses, and we have no intention of letting ourselves be drawn into some unseemly public pissing match. As a matter of fact, we earnestly hope that you will continue in your present position. The OSI does have its uses, and its glamorous leader is certainly an asset to Dexta.”
“Then what do you want?” Gloria demanded. DuBray started to answer, but Gloria cut him off. “No, not you. I know what you want. What about the rest of you?”
“We simply want your cooperation,” said Grigsby. “In fact, we insist on it. Regardless of what the OSI Charter may say, all future OSI operations must receive prior approval from the appropriate Quadrant Administrator.”
“You can’t just come charging onto our turf like an avenging angel,” said Chandra. “We will decide when a ‘strategic intervention’ is necessary and appropriate and when it is not. If you think you see a need for an intervention, come to us. If Norman assigns you to an intervention, come to us. If we agree that it is necessary, you can then proceed with our blessing and support. If we disagree, then there will be no intervention.”
“What if Secretary Mingus orders me to proceed?”
“Leave Mingus to us,” DuBray said.
“And what if I decide to ignore you and do what I think is best?” Gloria locked eyes with each of the Quadrant Administrators in turn.
“That would be foolish, dear,” said Chandra, shaking her head. “You are young and idealistic, and Spirit knows we can use some of that around here. But don’t imagine for a moment that your beauty and charm and courage somehow outweigh our institutional power. And while I can personally promise you fair and decent treatment, I’m afraid that I don’t speak for everyone on that point.”
DuBray smiled innocently. “Power exists to be used,” he said. “You’ve already seen one aspect of the power at my disposal. If you continue to defy me, you’ll see it again.”
“Okay, this is where I get off.” Manton Grigsby shot DuBray a dirty look, then walked past Gloria and out the door.
“And I, as well,” said Chandra. She stepped forward and stopped in front of Gloria. “Although, I must say that there was a time when I would have stayed. You are remarkably attractive, although I think I could have given you a run for your money when I was in my prime.” Chandra leaned forward and quickly whispered in Gloria’s ear, “Fight dirty, dear. It’s your only hope.” She gave Gloria another smile, then left the room.
Gloria looked toward Algeciras and DuBray. Each man returned her gaze with a malicious half smile, like wolves contemplating their prey.
“I’ll be going now, too,” Gloria said. “I’ll think about what you’ve said.” She turned smartly and walked to the door, relieved to be making a quick exit. Her relief died stillborn. Waiting for her in the outer office stood a huge and grinning Erik Manko.
GLORIA STAYED IN HER OFFICE LATE THAT night, brooding. Her ribs still ached, but this time Manko had not beaten her badly, possibly in deference to DuBray’s office furniture. He had merely punched her and thrown her a couple of times, enough to make his point. Then he had methodically stripped her, picked her up, and delivered her to DuBray and Algeciras in the inner office. Gloria was too frightened to try to fight Manko, and was discouraged by Chandra’s words about the inevitability of it. Amid a wave of disgust and anger, she submitted to the Fours, as she had once submitted to the Fifteens. For her job. For Dexta.
“Fuck Dexta!” Gloria abruptly said aloud to the empty office. She had seen Dexta at its worst today, both personally and professionally. Four entrenched bureaucrats were waging a turf war against Norman Mingus, and Gloria and the OSI were simply pawns in their game. The fact that OSI had been doing good and necessary work did not enter into their consideration. The bureaucracy operated according to its own imperatives, and could not tolerate a maverick in its midst. It all made such perfect sense that Gloria even found herself agreeing in principle. The Quadrant Administrators had every right to feel affronted by the existence of OSI. Of course they would attempt to fight back.
More than that, Gloria realized that each of the four Quad Admins had reason to see her as a personal threat. Power within Dexta was a finite commodity; the more of it Gloria gained, the less would be shared by DuBray, Chandra, Algeciras, and Grigsby. If the OSI was a bureaucratic annoyance, its sexy and charismatic leader represented a potential rival for the ear of Norman Mingus and the opinion of Parliament and the public. So there was really no choice about it: The Quad Admins had to oppose her.
But they didn’t have to be such fucking pigs about it! Gloria wondered what it said about an organization when 50 percent of its upper management personnel were sadistic swine. Was that a requirement for the position, or was it something they learned on the job?
And yet, it was a job Gloria wanted. She wanted it so badly, it now seemed that she was willing to let smarmy jerks like DuBray and Algeciras have their way with her in order to preserve her position at Dexta. And why? So she could move onward and upward at Dexta until she became just like them?
“Fuck Dexta!” she said again, louder.
“I don’t have to do this, you know,” she said to the silent walls, “I could be Empress.”
Empress.
Coruler, more or less, of 3 trillion beings and a sphere of space two thousand light-years in diameter. An empire of 2653 worlds and counting. Empress.
Empress, as opposed to sexual plaything for depraved bureaucrats.
Algeciras had oozed over her like a bloated amoeba, dripping good intentions and romantic bile. He seemed to believe he was offering himself as a gift to her, and didn’t understand why she would fail to accept it joyously.
DuBray had been less subtle. His choice of point of entry didn’t surprise her, and she had simply leaned across his desk and accepted his pile-driving, battering-ram attentions without comment. From the sound of the muffled, urgent grunts he made as he went about his business behind her, she got the impression that DuBray really wasn’t enjoying himself very much, either. This wasn’t about sex. It was about domination.
“Fuck Dexta!” Gloria shouted it out.
Empress wouldn’t be so bad, maybe. Gloria VanDeen-Hazar, Empress and Avatar of Joy.
Except that Empress was not the job she really wanted. Abruptly, she laughed out loud at her own audacity. It wasn’t enough that she wanted to run the Empire—she insisted on running it on her terms. Empress wasn’t good enough; only Secretary of Dexta would do.
A sharp rapping at her office door was followed by the appearance of Arkady Volkonski. He stuck his head into the office and looked around. “I thought I heard a profanity directed against Dexta,” he said.
“Stick around and you may hear it again,” Gloria told him.
“I’d have to report you to someone,” Volkonski informed her. “Disloyalty and seditious speech are to be discouraged.”
“That’s what I like about you, Arkady. I know I can always count on you to be a fascist.”
“I wish you’d let me be one with Manko,” Volkonski said.
“No!” Gloria barked. “I mean it, Arkady, I don’t want you even thinking about Manko. I will not allow you to risk your career over this.”
Volkonski frowned, but nodded. “Very well. But what are you going to do about him?”
“I’m going to take the advice someone gave me today,” Gloria told him. “Arkady, do you know how to get to Harlem?”
Volkonski shrugged. “Take the A Train?”
“YOU CAN’T COME IN WITH ME, ARKADY,” Gloria told him as the skimmer hovered outside the entrance to Club Twelve Twenty-Nine. “I’ll be perfectly safe in there, but you can keep a watch on the door if it makes you feel better.”
“It would make me feel better if you didn’t go in at all.”
“It’s just a club,” Gloria assured him.
“Yes, and don’t think I don’t know what kind of club. Your personal life is your business, Gloria, but it bothers me—professionally and personally—to see you taking risks.”
“Lately,” said Gloria, “I’ve been taking a risk just getting out of bed in the morning. Relax, Arkady, I’ll be fine. But I may be a while.”
Gloria got out of the skimmer before Volkonski could raise any more objections. The bouncers welcomed her. Arnold was not behind the bar, but the woman on duty there directed her to a room to one side of the bar. She went in and found Arnold and a couple of other club employees lounging in some comfortable chairs, drinking beer, and watching a vid display of one of the null-rooms.
“Good evening, Arnold,” Gloria said. “Do you suppose you and I could have a word in private?”
Arnold looked at the other workers and they dutifully exited. Gloria sat down in a chair next to Arnold. “You look better than ever tonight, Gloria,” Arnold said. He reached for her and gave her upper thigh an affectionate squeeze. “What can I do for you?”
“I need a favor,” she said. “I need to talk to a zamie.”
Arnold leaned back in the chair and stared at her, clearly surprised. After a moment or two he nodded and said, “I can arrange that. Did you have anyone particular in mind?”
“I don’t know from zamies,” she said. “But I need to talk to someone as high up in the organization as you can manage.”
“And would this conversation be of an official nature?”
“Call it semiofficial. It involves me personally, but there would be some Dexta interest. In any case, it would be off the record.”
“Can I say what this is about?”
Gloria shook her head. “Only that it’s a matter of some importance. I’d rather not say any more just now.”
“All right,” Arnold said. “I’ll see what I can do. I assume I can reach you at Dexta?”
“Anytime.”
“It may be a couple of days,” he said. “I mean, I know some people, and they know some people…you know? Meantime, is there anything I can do for you tonight?”
“I was wondering if you have any Forty-eight yet?”
“Soon, they tell me. For now, all we have is Twenty-nine.”
“In that case,” Gloria said with a smile, “I think I’d like to try that wild cherry.”
GLORIA TOOK THE NEXT MORNING OFF AND went to Rio. She wanted to talk to Charles. The Emperor, however, had ceremonial duties to attend to and would not be available for an hour or two. Gloria decided to kill the time with a walk in the Imperial Gardens.
She enjoyed the sights and smells of the botanical phantasmagoria, but was struck again by the symbolism of the place. Here, Terrans had deposited and nourished little bits and pieces of their Empire, green trophies of their triumphs. It seemed to Gloria that these biological oddities were really statements about the wealth and power of the Empire. We go where we want, and take what we want. Make careful note, O Faithful Subjects! We collected your plants, but we could just as easily have collected you!
Terran rule was not, by and large, cruel or oppressive. A few intransigent species had been wiped out during the course of mankind’s expansion into the galaxy, but most had accepted the coming of the Earthers with varying degrees of acquiescence. Down through the centuries, the Empire had fought plenty of wars, large and small, and on some worlds there were still resistance movements and die-hard bands of guerrillas. But in the four decades since the defeat of the Ch’gnth, the Empire had mainly been at peace with itself, its subjects, and its neighbors. The era of peace was likely to continue indefinitely, since long-range probes had revealed no potential challenger to Terran hegemony within a thousand light-years of the Frontiers.
Contained within the Empire was a dazzling diversity of species, societies, and systems. Even leaving aside the alien civilizations, the human worlds of the Empire offered a cornucopia of cultures. Under the overarching rule of the Emperor, Parliament, and Dexta, individual worlds and small confederations had been free to work out their own systems of government and social organization. As long as they respected basic sentients’ rights (at least in the abstract) and didn’t overtly challenge Imperial rule or Dexta’s ursine embrace, such worlds were welcome to develop as they would. Over 60 percent of human-inhabited planets operated under some form of democratic rule, but the others featured everything from feudal kingdoms and ancestral satrapies to communist collectives and fascist dictatorships. Seventy percent of the Empire’s residents called themselves Spiritists, yet there were also enclaves where strict Muslims, Hindus, and Christians held sway. The Jews had worlds of their own. So did the French.
All things considered, it was a rather relaxed empire—the only kind possible, really, given the distances and numbers involved. It was a strategy that had worked well—the Terran Empire had already lasted longer than those of Rome, Britain, or America. The Empire didn’t try too hard to impose its will as long as its subjects didn’t try too hard to resist it. People like the anarchists of PAIN objected to the very principle of empire, but there was no simmering cauldron of discontent for them to tap into. The O’Neill Dictum—“all politics is local”—applied even on a galactic scale. The issues that bothered people in Quadrant 1 were unli
kely to concern those a thousand light-years away in Quadrant 3. Ruling the Empire, it seemed to Gloria, was mainly a matter of preserving the natural equipoise and inertia that governed any such immense entity.
Ruling the Empire! She could do it, or half do it, with a single word to Charles. She could…
And yet, ruling the Empire was not quite the same thing as running it. Charles ruled the Empire, but Norman Mingus had more tangible power at his fingertips than did Charles, or any Emperor since Hazar the Great.
But what had Grigsby said? Mingus doesn’t run Dexta, we do? As Charles ruled the Empire, Mingus ruled Dexta, but the Quad Admins actually ran it. Operational, day-to-day power within Dexta was concentrated in the grimy hands of DuBray, Chandra, Algeciras, and Grigsby. And that was not likely to change. What would that mean for the OSI?
Running the OSI was fun. It gave her the opportunity to dash all over the Empire and solve problems that didn’t really matter very much in the grand scheme of things but deeply affected the lives of those involved. The dispute on Cartago had been barely a notch above trivial, and yet the people of that barren world were probably going to lead at least slightly better lives because of what Gloria had done. That was something to be proud of, and she was. And aside from the fact that now and then people tried to kill her, Gloria enjoyed her OSI missions.
There was an intense, almost sexual thrill about it all, like an extended ride on Orgastria-29. It was like screwing on a roller coaster, in full view of 3 trillion people.
Gloria smiled at the thought and found herself singing one of the old twentieth-century ditties she enjoyed: “And I’ll have fun, fun, fun, till my daddy takes my T-Bird away!” She wasn’t too clear on what a T-Bird was, but she liked the concept.
And she could go on having that kind of fun—until the Quad Admins took her T-Bird away. Gloria kicked at a pebble on the walkway and sent it flying. OSI was now all but officially under siege by the Quad Admins. She could hang on by her fingernails and try to keep the OSI independent and alive—but it was a battle that promised to be grim and costly.