by Garth Nix
Other Princes, resplendent in the full dress uniforms of their various services and each accompanied by their Master of Assassins, were emerging from the nearby houses and setting out along the broad, paved path toward the Grand Reception Palace. I didn’t need the overlay to find it, for it was the only structure of significant size within sight, a vast white building adorned with multiple turrets and onion-shaped domes that had been brightly gilded. It was not at all in the same architectural style as the Princely houses. In any case, underneath the different stylistic touches, it would all be the same, extruded Bitek composites and Mektek armour.
As I joined the main path between two groups of Princes, a sudden rain of cherry blossoms fell from the apparently empty sky, bringing a sweet scent. I held my breath, closed my nostrils and mouth, and looked at Haddad.
:Routine ceremonial. No danger:
I nodded but still kept my nose filters operational and my mouth shut. I also maintained my distance from the group of Princes ahead of me and the one behind. They were all older, and higher ranking, and there was at least one rear admiral in the group ahead. I caught their ID transmissions, lots of names, ranks, and services washing through my mind, but none meant anything to me until I entered the Reception Room. This was a vast chamber several hundred metres wide and long, with an arched ceiling high above painted with a star map of the Empire’s earliest conquests. Mekbi servitors in white and gold robes were bustling about, offering drinks from silver trays to Princes who seemed to mostly be percolating into groups of their own service.
I took a drink and was idling my way toward a group nearby that was all Navy when I caught the ID broadcast of one of the officers whose back was toward me.
:Prince Atalin I <
I queried the Imperial Mind.
:Citation. On 212-4456 Prince Atalin I <
‘That’s a lie!’ I said aloud, anger boiling up inside me.
Atalin turned around, and all the Naval officers stopped talking and looked at me, and then back at her. We did look remarkably similar, though Atalin had longer hair.
We stared at each other for a moment.
‘Were you speaking to me, Prince Khemri?’ she asked finally.
‘The citation for your decoration is at odds with my experience,’ I said. The anger had become stronger than my common sense. I already knew where this was going, but I couldn’t turn back. ‘I think you must agree my reaction is understandable.’
‘You said something about a lie,’ said Atalin calmly.
‘I think it was the part about being “attacked by an illegal squatter fleet”,’ I said. ‘I personally wouldn’t call a preemptive attack with a Null-Space concussion wave on a bunch of primitives being “attacked” by them. Hardly the stuff of heroism.’
‘I think perhaps you are confused,’ said Atalin. ‘The Imperial Mind recorded, as always, the true facts of the matter.’
There wasn’t much of an answer to that. I knew what had happened, but if the Imperial Mind said otherwise, that was that as far as actually proving anything else.
‘Perhaps the Imperial Mind was . . . distracted . . . in this case,’ I said. ‘But whether it was or not, I don’t see anything very heroic in your space “battle”, Prince Atalin.’
Atalin shrugged and handed her glass to a servitor.
‘You seem determined to give offence, Prince Khemri,’ she said. ‘It is a common fault among recent graduates of the Academy. Perhaps you think that your face too much resembles my own, and seek any excuse to have it altered? Very well, I will teach you a lesson you obviously did not get at the Academy. Name your weapons.’
A duel. That was all I needed. In my candidate temple I had thought duels the stuff of Princely life, to be sought out at all times and relished. At the Academy, where duels were forbidden, the only obvious duelist was the Commandant, and I had no desire to be like him. Now, in the heat of anger, I simply wanted to beat Atalin, to teach her a lesson, to punish her for her destruction of the KSF fleet.
My duelling practice with Haddad aboard the INS Zwaktuzh Dawn on our way to Arokh-Pipadh seemed like a lifetime ago, but his advice about choosing uncommon weapons in a duel was suddenly uppermost in my mind.
‘Bolt-and-cable guns,’ I snapped.
Atalin did not appear to be fazed. She turned to her Master of Assassins, a tall, very thin woman with long, sinewy arms. ‘Vivaldra? You will arrange matters with . . . Master Haddad? For after the ceremony?’
Vivaldra bowed and glided over to meet Haddad. They bent their heads together, blue fluid roiling in their temples, so close together they were almost but not quite touching.
:Honorees gather in decoration order now <
‘Till we meet again,’ said Atalin. She saluted me, and automatically I saluted back. I hated her for killing Raine’s uncle and all those thousands of other Kharalchans, but at the same time, I couldn’t help admiring her poise and coolness. I had to admit that even six months previously, I would have killed the Kharalchans too, without compunction.
I also couldn’t stop thinking that she was almost certainly my sister. There was something about her, some Psitek whisper that spoke to me, saying that we were of the same blood. That she was to me what Anza had been to Raine, or could have been, if we had grown up together.
But even if this was true, and even if she did feel something similar, it could not and did not mean anything. Not for Princes of the Empire.
‘Congratulations, Prince Khemri,’ said a voice at my elbow. A captain appeared next to me, his uniform a dazzling display of medals and ribbons, including the huge orb of the Imperial Star of Valour hanging from around his neck. ‘Welcome to our small but select order of companions.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ I muttered. But the words stuck in my throat. My own decoration was as false as Atalin’s in its way. I wondered what this Captain Garuzk had got his for, but I didn’t query the Mind. I really didn’t want to know if he’d burned off an inhabited planet or something equally horrendous.
I thought about Atalin as I took my place near the very front of the long, long line of Princes. I’d provoked the duel in anger for what she had done, but really, I was angry at the Empire. Besides, fighting a duel wouldn’t bring back the dead of Kharalcha, or stop something like that happening again. It wouldn’t resolve anything. Even if one of us actually got killed, we’d be pretty certain to be reborn. I mean, how could the Aspect of the Discerning Hand find a Prince unworthy immediately after he or she had been decorated? And the Mind was witnessing constantly here at the Imperial Core, so there was no chance of error there.
Besides, what was I doing trying to be the instrument of the Kharalchans’ revenge? I’d never see Raine again, and even if I did, what could I say to her? That I’d fought the Prince who’d killed her uncle and her family, and by the way, she was my sister and I killed her, but only for a little while, because she was reborn? And then we both went on being Princes together, doing whatever we felt like to all the Kharalchas of the universe, simply because we could. With rationalisations—and medals— to come afterward.
I felt sick at heart at the whole thing. But I couldn’t show it. I was back in the machine, a moving part that had its role to play and could do nothing else. Except take my own life, I suppose, and I didn’t want to do that. Certainly I couldn’t see any way of escaping, of leaving the Empire. There was no escape from the Imperial Mind, nor from all my fellow Princes.
Cheerful thoughts like this occupied me on my way up to the dais to meet the Grand Admiral of the fleet. Prince Itzsatz was a charming fellow who didn’t look anything like his 157 years, until I got up close and saw his eyes. They were old, and very, very cold—and the smile on his face never touched them.
‘Well done, Prince Khemri,’ he said as I put my cap under my arm and knelt on the cushion provided. He draped the ribbon with its heavy medallion around my neck. ‘The Empire needs more young Princes like you. Straight into the enemy with a singleship, that’s the way! I saw good things about your ground action against the Sad-Eyes, too. Keep it up, keep it up, haw-haw!’
I stood, replaced my cap, saluted, and executed a perfect right turn to march out of the side door—and saw Arch-Priest Morojal standing there, just out of sight of the main chamber.
I almost hesitated, but training took over. Without conscious direction, I marched through the doorway. Morojal beckoned to me, and instead of continuing along the broad main corridor the other Princes had taken, which led back to our waiting compatriots and Masters of Assassins, I followed the arch priest along a much narrower passage.
I was not overly surprised when the light began to change and the sharp edges of the white palace corridor began to transform into the stands of bamboo, through which I could see a forest. A few minutes later, the corridor was entirely gone, and I was following Morojal along a slatted path through the green forest.
The stream burbled through the clearing, and the two chairs set there might not have been moved since I had last sat in them, when I was given the choice of joining Adjustment.
‘Sit,’ said Morojal.
‘Only if you answer my questions,’ I said belligerently.
‘I will answer what I am able to answer,’ said Morojal. ‘Sit.’
‘Why was I given the Imperial Star of Valour for killing pirates that Prince Atalin cleared the way for and that had also obviously been given Imperial tek as well?’ I said. ‘And why is Kharalcha all of a sudden an Imperial protectorate?’
‘We thought you would like it done,’ said Morojal, answering my last question. ‘Consider it a reward. It is not particularly meaningful, but it will make it more difficult for someone like Prince Jerrazis to send a Naval force to attack it.’
‘So Atalin was following Jerrazis’s orders?’
‘Yes. Prince Jerrazis has been building his influence in that part of the Fringe, using the Porojavian Co-Prosperity Collective as his tool. That is over now. He will direct his ambitions elsewhere.’
‘So that’s why you sent me to Kharalcha. It wasn’t just a test; it was an Adjustment. You, or the Imperial Mind, wanted those pirates defeated.’
‘Yes,’ replied Morojal. ‘The Mind does not consider it in the best interest of the Empire to allow Admiral Jerrazis and House Jerrazis to build up a strong independent force in the Fringe. However, the primary purpose was to test you, Highness.’
‘And since I’ve been reborn, I’m guessing I passed,’ I said.
‘But why did you let me think I would permanently die in my nonaugmented body?’
‘To test you properly, we needed you to think of yourself as being alone, with no chance of rebirth,’ replied Morojal. ‘But you are correct. You have passed the test to become an Adjuster.’
I felt a small, slight hope come to life inside me. If I could work as an Adjuster to save systems like Kharalcha from the depredations of Princes like Jerrazis and Atalin, perhaps my life would be worthwhile. Perhaps I could be someone that I wanted to be; I could become someone Raine would respect, someone that I could respect myself . . . though deep inside I doubted whether it would be possible. Being a Prince precluded so much else.
‘So what happens now?’ I asked.
‘In a normal year, you would be given Adjustment assignments by the Imperial Mind,’ said Morojal.
She paused and looked at me with her ancient, triple-pupilled eyes.
‘But this is not a normal year. You have been selected not only to be an Adjuster but, as will be announced later today, an Imperial candidate. Congratulations, Highness.’
‘What?’
Every time I got almost used to what as going on, Morojal changed the situation.
‘An Imperial candidate,’ repeated Morojal. ‘To be the next Emperor.’
‘One of the thousand,’ I said slowly. ‘Announced at the Imperial Core—and there’s a thousand of us being decorated. . . ’
‘Yes. All will be announced as candidates shortly.’
‘One becomes Emperor and the others . . . get listed simply as “candidates” forever after. What happens to them?’
‘One ascends,’ said Morojal. ‘As for the others . . . you will find out, Highness.’
‘What if I don’t want to be a candidate?’ I asked, though I knew it was no more than a formality, because I knew the answer. ‘What if I don’t want to be Emperor?’
‘It becomes one step easier for those who do,’ replied Morojal. ‘However, I would urge you not to take such a foolish action. As you must be aware by now, you are not merely one of a thousand candidates. You are the favoured candidate of the Emperor and thus of the Imperial Mind.’
Before Kharalcha I would have taken this entirely at face value, and entirely as my due. Now I was suspicious.
‘Why?’ I asked bluntly. ‘And why am I a candidate at all, out of all the Princes who could be chosen?’
There were ten million Princes in the Empire. Choosing one thousand to become candidates couldn’t be easy, and knowing the Empire, it was almost certainly more complicated than it might appear.
‘The latter question is relatively easy to answer, though it is of course an important secret. First of all, very few Princes have the extraordinarily high degree of native Psitek ability needed to ascend the throne and direct the Imperial Mind. Even fewer have the proven ability to exist without connection to the Mind, which is necessary again to dominate the Mind as opposed to being subsumed by it. You have proven ability in both.’
‘So only a thousand Princes every twenty years qualify?’ I asked.
‘No,’ replied Morojal evenly. ‘Two thousand years ago, it was a thousand Princes, and that number is chosen and announced as a matter of tradition, and also to cloak the real facts.’
‘How many are there now then?’
‘Five,’ answered Morojal.
I stared at her for a long, long second.
‘Five!’
‘You will not, of course, be able to reveal this fact to any other candidate at the ceremony,’ said Morojal.
I felt a slight pain deep behind my right eye as she said this, and blue fluid swirled around her head. Psitek intervention, to make sure I couldn’t talk about it even if I wanted to.
Which I didn’t. I was still taking it in. Ten million Princes and only five candidates who could become Emperor?
‘There is a mutation involved,’ said Morojal. ‘One that we cannot yet induce or breed for. Once it was more common. Now it is rare.’
‘Why change Emperors at all then?’ I asked.
‘We do not exactly change Emperors,’ said Morojal. ‘Have you ever wondered what the Imperial Mind actually is?’
‘No . . .’ I said slowly. Why hadn’t I wondered? The Imperial Mind just was . . . whatever it was.
‘That is part of the making of a Prince,’ said Morojal. ‘In the same way that we mind-program servants, Princes are made not to question certain things.’
‘Who is “we”?’ I asked sourly.
‘The Imperial Mind and its most important servants, the Arch-Priests of the Sixteen Aspects,’ replied Morojal.
I sat silently, taking this in. I was neither appalled nor greatly alarmed by this revelation, which I suspected would not be the usual reaction of most Princes. I hadn’t felt like I was the ruler of anything much, and I had begun to question whether the apparent power of a Prince was to be wished for anyway.
‘The Imperial Mind,’ continued Morojal, ‘is a gestalt identity of all the previous Emperors, directed by the present incumbent. However, typically after twenty years the directing identity begins to be subsumed, and a new directing identity is needed. A new Emperor.’
‘So if I become Emperor I just . . . join the Mind?’ I asked.
‘You retain your mental identity for twenty years,’ said Morojal. ‘And in that time, you have total power to direct the Mind, and through the Mind, every Prince and every priest. You command the totality of the Empire. It is absolute power.’
I felt something surge up inside me as she said that, an almost overwhelming desire. I wanted absolute power. I wanted to become the Emperor. I had to become the Emperor!
I fought against it, because I knew it was not my feeling. It was something implanted in me, something done to me.
‘You said there are five candidates,’ I said, my voice husky, my throat dry. ‘How exactly is the Emperor chosen?’
‘In the time-honoured way of the Empire,’ said Morojal.
‘Survival of the fittest. There is a test. Only one of you will survive.
‘You can even get a head start. Kill Atalin in your duel. She will not be reborn. Then there will only be four.’
‘Is Atalin my sister?’ I asked.
‘Of course,’ said Morojal. ‘Though this is not relevant. She is merely an opponent. It is you who are the favoured candidate. You have the best chance of the five to become the Emperor. You must take your rightful place.’
It was what I had always wanted, what I had believed for so long was my rightful destiny. I should have been ecstatic, overjoyed by the news.
Part of me was electrified and joyous. But there was another part of me, perhaps the greater, which recoiled from the news, and I experienced a strange, momentary hallucination, as if a shadow had suddenly fallen inside my head, shutting me off from any hint of open space and sunshine.
23
HADDAD WAS WAITING for me when I stumbled out of the bamboo forest, rejoined the line of exiting honorees, and came into a garden full of gloating Princes toasting themselves and perhaps their peers with the best vintage champagne that Bitek cornucopias could produce.