Fortunes of the Imperium - eARC

by Jody Lynn Nye

  “Of course, Lord Thomas.”

  A serverbot under Angie’s control trundled out to us, clinking with filled glasses. I served the ladies, then offered wine to the visitors before taking any myself. Jil pushed the proffered glass away. The ’bot scuttled back out of reach. She glared at Doyobe.

  “All right! Fourteen fifty.”

  The trader sipped from his glass. The wine was cool enough to raise a mist of condensation on the exterior of the crystal. He let out a sigh of appreciation.

  “It’s a fine offer,” he said. “One I’d be proud to accept.”

  “But not as fine as fifteen,” I interjected, lifting my glass to him.

  “Ah, are you sure, my lord?”

  “Of course. I would not have said so otherwise.”

  “No!” Jil pleaded, then steeled herself. I knew she didn’t want to let a prize like this one get away from her, but we had reached the point of pain. “Fifteen one.”

  “Fifteen two,” I countered.

  “Three!”

  “Four.”

  But, sometimes withdrawal was the only way to counter superior forces. Jil reached for the glass of wine and sipped it with deliberate delicacy.

  “And if I keep going?” she asked me, her green eyes flashing dangerously.

  “I will follow, a credit at a time,” I said, in what I knew was a maddening tone. Her frustration almost made up for all the times she had irked me aboard the Bonchance. In fact, the pleasure of seeing her so cross began to wipe out annoyances dating back further into our early lives. She was my cousin and a close friend, but that did not mean we didn’t irritate one another almost to the point of producing pearls among our soft tissues.

  “Five,” she said, though she had to grit it out. I saw that the drawing out of the process would continue until she was unfit to live with for the remainder of our journey. Better to pull out the loose tooth than to continue to wiggle it.

  “Fifteen,” I said.

  It was enough. Jil goggled at me.

  “I won’t say, Thomas, that I’ve never been so insulted in my life, but this comes close.”

  “How? Because my pockets are deeper than yours?”

  “I’m surprised that you can even think of spending the money,” Jil said, with insulting nonchalance, “since you have yet to pay off the damages to the Empress’s statue. And one would think you would hesitate to indulge yourself following your most disgraceful behavior on the warship. Aunt Tariana was most pained about it.”

  “I knew you sent the transcript to my mother,” I crowed, and had the satisfaction of seeing those golden cheeks flush dark red. “Well, I will spend the money, even if it requires dipping into reserves for the damages, and I will make amends to my mother later on, but I can console myself watching the very first three seasons of Ya!” I turned to Doyobe. “Do we have a deal, captain? Fifteen fifteen?”

  “Seventeen’s the lucky number in the Autocracy, sir.”

  “True,” Redius said, from his safe distance. I nodded.

  “Seventeen it is. Fifteen hundred and seventeen credits.”

  By now, the rest of the crew was watching us as though we were an ongoing drama featuring the descendants of great houses stretching back many centuries, which, in justice, we actually were. Parsons hung back in the shadows of the kitchen unit, perhaps ready to wheel out as though he were one of the more efficient serverbots.

  “Lady, over to you,” he said, with a persuasive smile. “Wouldn’t you like to reconsider?”

  Jil’s face seemed to swell with frustration, but a subtle sign passed to her from Marquessa. She stepped back, her expression one of aching sweetness and regret. If I had not been her cousin and companion of more than two decades, my heart might have broken from the sorrow of it all. But I knew her better than that.

  “I renounce my claim, Captain,” she said. “I want to save as much of my money for shopping on Dilawe 4. Keep it, Thomas. I know you’ll lend it to me once in a while.”

  I smiled.

  “I know you think so, cousin.” I drew forth my viewpad and activated a transfer of credits. Instantly, I received a receipt.

  Doyobe read the screen of his pocket device then patted it. His round face wore the broadest of smiles. “Anything else you want? I’ve got it all!”

  I offered my hand and received a firm shake.

  “You have fulfilled my wildest dreams, sir,” I assured him. “Who would know that out here on the outskirts of the Imperium, that I should encounter that most fleeting, most legendary of collectible objects, the first three seasons of Ya!?”

  “Well, now you don’t need to go into the Autocracy,” the captain said, putting his device into his handiest pouch.

  “We have to go on to Way Station 46 and beyond,” I insisted. “People are depending upon us.”

  Doyobe’s broad cheeks drooped.

  “Well, it was nice knowing you, my lord. I hear these days ships who go into Uctu space don’t come out. It’s a death trap. Wasn’t like that under the old Autocrat, harsh as he was. This new one is a killer. Honest, people are getting desperate.”

  “I will do something about that,” I insisted.

  “Meantime, why don’t you browse, my lord? You never know, there might be a small delight you haven’t noticed yet?”

  “You never know,” I said, but my heart wasn’t in it. I had obtained what I wished for. I sat down at a nearby table with my wine and my treasure.

  It appeared that my shipmates were also pleased with their finds. Nesbitt glanced up at me with a wordless expression of bliss on his face. He held a plastic plaque full of tiny tools, some ordinary routing heads, some with glowing laser tips, others with esoteric-looking devices I had never seen before. I knew Nesbitt indulged in the working of miniatures, but I had not yet persuaded him to allow me to see any of the fruits of his hobby. Plet held an opaque, flat plastic envelope against her side. Its soft drape suggested the contents were clothing. Oskelev was positively festooned with new harnesses over her official uniform straps. And the ladies had bags, boxes, parcels and envelopes. Only Jil had nothing to show. She noticed my scrutiny and made a face at me.

  “I will see the visitors out,” Parsons said. “Gentlemen, this way, please.”

  The traders departed. The elder Doyobe slapped his viewpad happily. His account now held a large sum of money from nearly all of us. His visit had been more than worthwhile.

  I held onto my prize greedily, wondering when I should watch the first episode. What ambience would be best to view it? Depending upon the synopsis, what beverage should I pour? What lighting would be suitable? It would be my one opportunity to watch two surviving episodes of Season four in my Uncle Perleas’s home, and the production grades of several centuries ago were nothing as sophisticated as they had become in current years. Should I allow my digitavid system to fill in the deficiencies, or to view it as the historical object that it was? I sipped at my wine and allowed cheerful thoughts to filter through my mind.

  A golden stormcloud appeared at my elbow. I was just in time to prevent lightning bolts in the form of two slim hands from crashing down upon my prize. I swept it out of reach.

  “You must share with all of us!” Jil insisted. “Let me borrow it.”

  “Nonsense,” I said. “This box is not leaving my sight. It would disappear into the fastness of that collection of storage lockers you call your luggage, and I will never see it again.”

  “That’s not true!” Jil protested, perhaps a little too fervently. I elevated one eyebrow in disbelief. That had been her favorite tactic for gaining possession of something that belonged to one of us over the years. Her suite in the compound was filled with cupboards, closets and enormously heavy pieces of furniture just made for squirreling away treasures. Like the squirrel, a creature that had made its way with humankind from our original home on long-lost Earth, I fancy she had forgotten much or most of what she had stored away in these fastnesses.

  “After the way you behaved
on the Bonchance, I shouldn’t even let you handle the box,” I said.

  “Lord Thomas, it would be such a marvelous treat,” Banitra said, sitting down beside me and putting a gentle hand on my other arm. “No one I know has ever seen the missing seasons. They’re almost legendary!”

  I felt myself relenting. How could I not, when faced with such persuasion? But I recalled Jil’s scorn and amusement at my expense. “Perhaps later.”

  “Now!” Jil insisted. “I want to know how the Reftilius family came into their original fortune. It had to be ill-gotten. Oh, please, Thomas?” she said, nestling her head onto my shoulder. The rest of her ladies moved in like vultures to a fresh kill. It was hard to remain obdurate.

  “I have to decide,” I said. “The feng shui must be respected. After all, this is like welcoming honored ancestors into our home. I am not simply going to slap the crystals into the player as though they were the latest variety show. This is an occasion.”

  Jil made a face at me. “Oh, all right. As long as I get to see them sometime.”

  “We will see,” I said. “It depends upon whether you can put yourself out to be considerate to me for a while. You were appalling on the Bonchance, and your behavior has universal consequences. Karma, you know.”

  For answer, she punched me in the chest. As she was wearing a jeweled ring on each finger and her thumb, the effect was that of being jabbed by a multi-headed hammer.

  “Ow!” I protested. I rubbed the injured ribs. “That seals your fate, my dear. You will now have to wait until we get home to Taino to see any of these episodes. If then.”

  Majestically, I rose and stalked back toward my cabin. We were only a day or so outside of Way Station 46, and I had files to review. If I allowed myself to be immersed in the pleasures of my new prize, I should get nothing else done.

  “Huh!” I heard Jil exclaim as I departed. “If I’ve lived this long without seeing them, then I don’t ever want to!”

  Sour grapes, I thought smugly.

  “An excellent find, captain,” Parsons said, as he escorted the Doyobes into the hold. He reached into his belt pouch and drew from it the sound deadener. Doyobe’s nephew stepped politely out of range of their conversation and began to load what was left of their goods into the shuttle. The skid load had been greatly reduced, as Parsons had assumed it would.

  “The find of a lifetime, commander,” Doyobe said. “After you asked, I was sure I had a copy in one of my caches. Glad to see I was right. I am delighted it’s going to such a good home. I could have gotten three times the price for it on the open market.”

  Parsons refused to allow himself to be baited on such an easily disproven statement.

  “The price you received was more than fair. It was nearly twice the auction price for an authenticated copy.”

  Doyobe smirked.

  “Weeeeel, I suppose that’s all right. I do owe you a few favors. Are you sure you don’t want me to tell the boy you commissioned me to locate it for him?”

  “Not necessary, captain,” Parsons said. “He had rather a traumatic experience recently. I believe this will assuage the damaged feelings.”

  “Very nice,” Doyobe said. “You’re a good guy, commander, if you don’t mind my saying so. Mr. Frank always says the same. Oh, by the way!” The beefy trader’s hand reached into one of the myriad pockets on his suit front and emerged with a slip of crystal no bigger than a fingernail. He placed it carefully in Parsons’s palm. “This is for you.”

  “A full manifest of the ships coming and going from Way Station 46? Dating back how long?”

  “Fifteen months. I just took over the vigil four months back. Kung Won on the Bargain Hunter swapped his files over to me when I came in. We’ll be here just one more month unless you need us.”

  Parsons shook hands gravely with Doyobe. The silver-haired trader was an old and trusted colleague.

  “I hope I will not have to call upon you.”

  “Hope not,” Doyobe said, as Parsons put the cube away in his pocket. “But you can if you need to. It’s been nice profiting off all of you, my friend.”

  CHAPTER 23

  Strapped up like an insane-asylum inmate in my seat on the bridge, I watched the screen tank as Oskelev brought us in to dock on the four-leaf-clover shape of Way Station 46. A fortunate arrangement, I noted to myself, seeing no poison arrows from sharp angles anywhere on the station.

  My cousin and her friends were fastened into the less comfortable crash couches at the rear of the bridge, grumbling about the creases the belts and nets were making in their couture outfits. They had insisted on being up top with the crew as we docked. I fancied it was partly curiosity and partly because they could not bear to let me out of their sight. Ever since I had bought the boxed set of Ya! they had all done their best to woo me into letting them watch it. Thus far, I had not responded to their blandishments. Nor would I. Duty called. The episodes had been around for hundreds of years. They could wait until I had interrupted time to devote to them.

  We floated on impulse engines past hundreds of available slips, indicated by rings of green light, toward a round black hole rimmed round with orange lights chasing one another in a clockwise circle, Berth Alpha 98-D. Filled slips, so Plet informed us, were designated by red lights. There were surprisingly few ships present. I counted only three on the side near our bay. It was not until then that the full force of the Uctus’ absurd strictures dawned upon me. The station, and all others like it, ought to be buzzing with activity like an ion-powered hive. Trade between our nations had slowed beneath a trickle. It was not a healthy situation. I hoped that I might be able to do something about that. I certainly intended to try.

  Anstruther had hailed the station manager’s office. Denzies FitzGreen had confessed himself delighted to play host to the Emperor’s representative. I was introduced with some fanfare by Plet, then dismissed as the minutiae of ship safety, regulations and other matters of arrival were achieved.

  With a barely perceptible bump, the Rodrigo settled to the deck. The enormous iris of the bay hatch sealed behind our tail. Fans and pumps whipped into life as our life support system was taken over by the station’s. I felt the unfamiliar drag of a more powerful gravity take hold of my body.

  “Brava!” I applauded Oskelev.

  “It’s nothing,” she said. But she was pleased that someone acknowledged her skill.

  Manager FitzGreen had sent that he awaited us just below the hatch. I had dressed for the official meeting in the most up-to-date trend on Taino. I had checked the fashion news shortly before choosing my outfit; after all, we had by then been gone some days. I did not want to appear out of touch. I had persuaded Angie to enlist the help of the repairbot responsible for the upholstery and soft furnishings aboard the Rodrigo—such as they were—to attach plaques of black and light leather here and there to an otherwise impeccably tailored midnight-blue suit. The effect was startlingly like camouflage, and most becoming. I could not wait to show it off on this outpost.

  Suddenly, klaxons erupted. They were so loud it took me a moment to realize they were coming from outside the ship. The navigation screen tank and all the other screens on the bridge filled with red alert indicators. The Rodrigo immediately went into safety mode, all hatches locked and sealed, weapons warming. A reverse thrum of fans indicated the ship was going back on its own life support system.

  Plet touched the arm of her chair with a thumb.

  “Way Station 46, what is happening?”

  “We’ve got a jumper, captain,” a clear female voice rang out from the console. “From the security recordings, looks like when we announced an Imperium navy ship was docking, one crew dropped everything and headed for the exit. That’s the one leaving, the Moskowitz.”

  “Will pursue,” Plet confirmed. “Prepare for battle stations. All non-essential personnel clear the ship at once. Manager FitzGreen will take you in charge.”

  I sat up, feeling my eyes shine with eagerness. For the very first t
ime, my dear scout was going to be used in its intended purpose, as a warship. I looked back over my shoulder at my cousin and her entourage.

  “Ladies, that means you,” I said. “Hurry! The station manager will look after you.”

  “Oh, no!” Jil protested, not moving a fingertip. “I want to watch.”

  “It could be dangerous. Hurry! We can’t wait for long.”

  “You, too, Lord Thomas,” Plet said, with notable emphasis on my title.

  I turned to regard her with dismay.

  “Me? But I am part of this ship’s complement. I can be of assistance!”

  “This is no time to have fun, my lord,” Parsons said severely.

  “Fun? Well, I suppose it would be . . .” I admitted.

  “You are a diplomat traveling on behalf of the Emperor,” Plet said, with patience that I could tell was running out of her like sands from an antique egg-timer. “You are too valuable to risk.”

  “But . . .” I began. Plet cut me off.

  “Hurry up. The station manager will look after you.”

  I palmed the catch on my safety harness and stood up.

  “I can tell you enjoyed saying that,” I said, peevishly. I held myself with the greatest dignity I could muster. I assisted Jil and Sinim in freeing themselves from the crash couches. “Very well. Ladies, with me!”

  FitzGreen, a tall but bulky man, was indeed waiting just outside the hatch with a bevy of security officers wearing dull brown uniforms and visored helmets. We ran toward the guards.

  All of us nobles had been trained from childhood to cooperate with security agents and other protection details to get out of the line of fire at speed and without making a fuss. Because of our connection to the Emperor, it was often thought by unsavory elements that making one of us a target of murder or kidnapping would impact the workings of government. How wrong they were. None of us except my serene cousin, Shojan XII, mattered in the slightest. Our primary functions were as a living, unadulterated gene pool for the imperial succession as well as to provide amusement value and the occasional authority figure for the public. Still, the perception remained; therefore, so did the security protocols.