Rhythm of the Imperium (36 page)

Gaia
was a slightly oblate sphere about half the size of the
Rodrigo
. The engines were arrayed on a thick ring about its midsection, making for superior maneuverability. The needle was a sensor array with repulsors and weapon apertures all along its length. The ship’s surface had been anodized in a warm bronze tone. Curiously, I saw no designations of any kind, not even a tail identification number. I peered at the vessel, trying to place the make and model.

“I thought I knew all the types of ships that cruise the starways,” I said, “but I’ve never seen one like that.”

“A beauty, isn’t she?” my uncle said, puffing up his chest with pride. “I designed it myself. I’ve had it nearly two decades. A custom job, from out of the Trade Union.”

“Really?” I asked, feeling my right eyebrow lift toward my hairline. “I thought the Imperium didn’t do official business with the Trade Union.”

The cluster of federated star systems ran along the second-most heavily populated section of the Imperium’s border after the Uctu Autocracy. Their guiding principle was “Profit Above All!” Not a stirring rallying cry, you might think, but its denizens were as devoted to their government and ways of life as we were, though they had many more internecine wars.

“Who said it was official?” Laurence asked, innocence beaming from his deep blue eyes. “I had money and a design and time to wait for the right deal to come along. When I opened the job to tender, I had 416 bidders. The winning engineers were ninetieth-generation shipbuilders. Come on board.”

An entry platform descended at the sound of his voice. I followed him inside.

As soon as I mounted the ramp, I felt the pull of the artificial gravity generator. The ramp led along the interior of the bulkhead. Because the ship wasn’t very large, the “floor” was markedly curved, and the core was always over my head.

“All systems operate from controllers in
Gaia
’s heart,” Laurence said, pointing ‘up.’ “The control room is about a fourth of the ship. I do pretty much everything in here: eat, listen to music and watch digitavids, repair modules, practice a hobby or two. There are two cabins, all with the finest of modern conveniences, and the remaining half is cargo space. I don’t travel much, but when I do, I like to have the best things around me.”

I surveyed the bridge. The stainless-steel-topped worktable that arced along one side of the bulkhead protruded far enough that one could walk up to it and not end up underneath it because of the gravity. All the viewers and screentanks were fixed above it. The dark-blue upholstered pilot’s seat stood on three-meter pylon facing them. The rest of the vast walls had cushions, bookcases, small tables and stools and other comforts sticking out at odd angles as if they were defying gravity, when they were doing anything but. An old-fashioned book with a solid, beige linen cover lay face down on the wall at approximately my eye level. I peered to see what he was reading. The title was clearly printed, but in a language I did not know.

Uncle Laurence tapped a control on the pylon. The pilot’s chair lowered itself to knee level. He sat down and strapped himself into the harness.

“Second seat, please,
Gaia
,” he said. “My nephew will be traveling with us today.”

“Of course,” a pleasant female voice replied, seeming to come from everywhere at once. “Welcome, Lord Thomas.”

“Thank you, er,
Gaia
,” I said. “I am very pleased to be here.”

Red laser lights flashed out of the bulkheads and ran up and down my body, then turned off just as suddenly. I jumped back as panels in the floor at my feet rearranged themselves. Five of them flipped over to reveal more dark blue padding. They moved together, then inverted to create a squared nest. It rose, shifting further, until the contraption that stopped at my knee level was a chair that would fit my long frame precisely. I sat down in it to confirm, and slapped the arm rests with gleeful palms.

“Excellent,” I pronounced. Straps lanced out from the side pads and wrapped themselves around my chest and over my lap. A pair of foot rests scooped up underneath my soles. Both seats rose on their individual standards and clicked into place. “But why do they have to be elevated?”

“It’s the gravity generators,” Laurence explained. “Otherwise you feel as if you’re looking down at the floor. By the time you get to your destination, one’s eyeballs are almost hanging out of one’s face.”

I laughed. I felt as though we were off on one of the expeditions on which he had often taken me and my siblings in our childhood.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

He smiled and gave me a playful wink.

“I’m taking you home.”

CHAPTER 36

The platform, a vast, circular floor roofed with a force field, was sparsely populated despite the uniqueness of the approaching event. Parsons, stationed at a point where he could observe the influx from the lift cars as well as a broad arc of the carbon-friendly side of the dome, mused to himself that most beings would be content to observe the coming spectacle in retrospect, via high-quality digitavid or on amateur recordings shared in Infogrid files. The latter would be well represented: nearly all of the nobles present had their pocket secretaries, viewpads, or hovering camera eyes prepared for the moment. They were somewhat premature in their preparations, as the event was some hours or days yet to come. From studies that Parsons had made of previous spectacles, the energy level had not risen to the tipping point at which the planet above them would explode.

Lively instrumental music played an undertone to the excited roar of conversation from the spectators. The majority of those present were blissfully unaware that an event of importance had already taken place in the surrounding space. The
Whiskerchin
was at last liberated from its temporary thrall to the Kail. The
Rodrigo
’s company had remained on board to assist the Wichu in purging the ship’s computer network of any traces of the programs that Fovrates had installed in it and its LAI and AI staff. The LAIs, for their part, had shown embarrassment in having been involved in a mutiny. Those who had withstood the invaders, ColPUP* among them, downplayed any acclaim, stating that they had only been doing the jobs for which they had been hired. The passengers were, for the most part, serenely unaware that anything unusual had taken place during the voyage. They were eager to debark and join the now ongoing party to celebrate the upcoming celestial event.

The main players in that event were absent from the platform at the moment. The five Zang did not remain in one place on the
Hraklion
, nor on the vessel itself. Professor Derrida accompanied them most of the time. Parsons found her companionship with Proton Zang a curiosity and a unique opportunity that gave humans a narrow glimpse into the Elder Race. Though pressed by numerous of the spectators, she had not been able to confirm with any certainty when the event would take place.

Parsons’s particular charges, the nobles of the Imperium house, had ensconced themselves happily in an angle of the viewing platform well away from the wall that separated their habitat from that containing the Kail. They had begun their merrymaking, surrounded by their retainers and newfound friends among the other patrons. If the spectacle did not begin soon, Parsons assumed that the nobles would become bored and wander down to the living quarters or the other entertainment centers open to them in the lower decks of the massive structure. When the event was imminent, they would return. As long as they were in one vessel, they would be fairly easy to contain and evacuate in case of an emergency.

Parsons had not yet observed a Zang phenomenon in person; such things were seldom publicized in advance. The Zang, unlike Lord Thomas, were not concerned with public performance of their art. He would not have confessed to feeling eagerness; curiosity was perhaps a more comprehensive description. The sheer force that the Zang were able to harness would have been of grave concern if the technique could be weaponized, but since few if any ephemerals had been able to communicate directly with the ancient beings, it was unlikely they could interest them in directing their destruction toward a target of opportunity. That virtual certainty was a relief. Parsons had enough to deal with.

Lady Lionelle bore down upon him like a high-force hurricane, bearing numerous of the young nobles in her wake.

“Parsons, there you are! Come and stand with us! It could start at any moment. You would not wish to miss a single millisecond, would you?”

The First Space Lord’s youngest child and only daughter was as charming as Admiral Tariana Loche herself. He had always been deeply fond of the girl. He smiled, the expression curving his lips briefly.

“I have duties I must discharge before I may join the observers, my lady,” he said, allowing a modicum of regret to touch his brow.

She curled her hands around his arm.

“You must come and join our party,” she said. “I won’t take no for an answer.”

Parsons allowed himself to be towed to a point near the rim of the platform and handed a brimming champagne glass.

“Do you have any idea where Thomas went?” Lady Lionelle asked. “He’s been gone for ages!”

“He flew to the
Jaunter
on a shuttle, my lady. I am sure he will return shortly.”

“Oh, Nell, help me! Leonat has her hair caught in her necklace,” Lady Erita called. Lady Lionelle gave Parsons a charming smile, and moved away to join her cousins.

He maintained sight of the lift center as well as the nearest wall separating the humans, Wichu, Uctu, and other visitors from the silicon habitat. It was translucent, not opaque, so Parsons could see the Kail contingent beyond it. They would not be denied a view of the spectacle, as the platform rotated to keep the unhappy planet directly overhead. Among the Kail milling behind the barrier he caught sight of Phutes, the leader of those who had invaded the
Imperium Jaunter
. The creature recognized him and glared at him. Parsons fixed him with a baleful stare that made him retreat among his fellows. Their demeanor was meant to put off any contact whatsoever. They were belligerent, but could be bullied into cooperation. Such behavior proclaimed their lack of assurance with other races. He hoped that Special Envoy Melarides would convince them to unite with the Imperium and the Wichu, their closest neighbors. She had an excellent reputation among the diplomatic corps for creating détente out of chaos.

The Imperium house had claimed three habitats in a row near one of the handsomely appointed refreshment outlets. Each of these were set to prepare food for over a dozen species, the names of which were engraved upon the stone pillars that supported the gray glass pergola. Lord Nalney had already availed himself of the beer kegs. His brilliant teeth gleamed from between his dark lips. He held aloft a foaming tankard to Parsons.

“Your very good health, sir,” he called.

“And yours, my lord,” Parsons said. He lifted his glass, though he did not drink any of the contents. Undoubtedly, the champagne was the finest vintage obtainable, but he would not risk even a fractional depletion of sharpness and observation for a moment’s pleasure.

Lord Xanson and Lady Jil waved languidly from the cushions upon which they were ensconced. Lady Jil had been accompanied on this journey by Lady Sinim and four of her common friends, but also two of her current lovers, one of whom had come along as an art instructor. Parsons had had them thoroughly investigated to ensure that they had no criminal ties nor a history of brawling. Such a disturbance might discommode the Zang. The humans and other beings who were attending the destruction did not realize that their status as guests could be withdrawn with haste and expressed regret. Though the nobles in particular believed it was their right to be present, they were the least likely to act out in an antisocial manner.

Despite assurances from the Zang that no living beings would be harmed by the destruction of the planet in the distance, Parsons had dispatched the
Rodrigo
to confirm. A discreet pip from his viewpad assured him that the scout ship had returned. With a bow of apology toward Lady Lionelle, he retired to the side of the platform nearest the lift shafts once more, and waited.

Many groups of guests arrived and toured the viewing platform, in hopes of attaining the best possible vantage point. A group of Uctus, led by a coral-skinned male wearing the livery of the Autocratic House and therefore a cousin of the current Autocrat, Visoltia. When they reached the platform level, a pair of young females and a male in long, gray tunics split off from the party and ran around the perimeter of the domed chamber exclaiming in wonder.

Parsons ran the senior male’s features through his mental database. Once he had confirmed the noble’s identity, he arranged his hands in the correct configuration to show respect, and bowed over them.

“Lord Steusan,” he said. “It is a pleasure to see you. I trust matters are going well in the Ministry of Agriculture?”

The Uctu blinked his large eyes at the black-clad human.

“Your pardon,” the noble said. He spoke excellent Standard, with only a hint of an accent. “I do not know your designation.”

“Commander Parsons. I serve Lord Thomas Kinago, cousin of the emperor.”

Steusan’s breath exploded in a series of amused hisses.

“The tall one! He is still the talk of Nacer! Is he here?”

“Not at present. He will return,” Parsons said.

“Noviet mah!” One of the female pages returned and made an obeisance to Lord Steusan. She held out a spatulate hand toward the clockwise side of the room.

“Please excuse us,” Steusan said, switching his thick tail. “I hope we will speak later.”

“It would be my honor,” Parsons assured him. As the party of Uctus followed him away, one female, a minor dignitary, glanced back and closed one of her large eyes halfway. Parsons nodded slightly, inclining his head a millimeter or so. She was a member of Uctu Covert Services, which had maintained its ties to its Imperium counterpart for generations.

So far, his briefs had been complete. None of the visitors from any of the neighboring nations had gone unidentified. Parsons was pleased. His report to Mr. Frank would be complete. It only remained to ensure that no sentient beings were in peril from that moment until the return to Keinolt.

The Kail had been spending a great deal of time in the company of the Zang, and had not troubled the humans further. They could not be trusted, but they did not seem to have invaded the computer system, nor caused any other trouble. Heaven knew they were sorely provoked by Lord Thomas’s insistence on trying to persuade them to like his interpretive dances. The Trade Union officers aboard the cylindrical craft had taken no chances. The Kail had no access to electronic systems behind their barrier.

A massed huddle of Wichus rose up together, like one huge, cloudlike mass of white fur, occupying nearly the entire lift bank. Lieutenant Oskelev extracted herself from its midst. The crowd seemed reluctant to let her go.

“C’mon, guys!” she said, in the Wichu tongue, one of the many languages in which Parsons was fluent. She batted away a male’s straying hand with surprising force. “We can party later when I’m off duty! I gotta make a report.”

Oskelev came toward Parsons, grinning, brushing herself down. A flurry of loose hairs swirled to the floor. She saluted.

“Hi, commander,” she said. “This is the crew of the
Whiskerchin
and all the passengers who were aboard. Great people! They think I’m some kind of hero. I kept telling them that it’s just my job.”

“Lieutenant,” Parsons acknowledged. “I trust they are unharmed?”

“No problems. They’re already over it. Fovrates is going to have to find a ride back to Kail space on his own, but they’re not that upset. He didn’t do any lasting damage.”

“I am gratified to hear that.”

One stray hair hovered, threatening to attach itself to Parsons’s pristine black uniform. He stared at it. Intimidated, it fluttered away from him and joined its fellows on the carpet.

A small, boxy cleanerbot exited a wall panel a meter away, and began to absorb the hanks of long white fur.

Oskelev saluted again. “They invited me to join their party, sir.”

“One moment, if you please,” Parsons replied, amiably. “Let us wait for Lieutenant Plet.”

“Yessir, but she already released me.”

Parsons allowed his left brow to ascend a fraction of a millimeter. The ebullient Wichu subsided into stillness without another word.

They had not long to wait. The slight figure of the nominal commanding officer of the
Rodrigo
surfaced a few moments later. She looked deeply perturbed.

“Lieutenant Plet, what is the matter?” Parsons inquired.

“Lieutenant Kinago, sir,” Plet said, her normally pale face pink over the cheekbones. “He has not reported in, and his quarters are empty. I pinged his viewpad, and found it locked up in his cabin.”

“Lieutenant Kinago … is on a special mission,” Parsons replied.

“He is? Why didn’t you … ?” Plet straightened her back and stared off into the middle distance. “I would have been pleased to be informed, sir. With all the potential hostiles on this vessel, I was concerned for his well-being, sir.”

Parsons could have smiled, but it would have hurt her dignity. He inclined his head approximately two degrees.

“The mission only arose a short while ago,” he assured her. “There had not yet been time to inform you. This is your official notice.”

In fact, his only notice had been a heavily-encoded audio message from Lord Laurence: “I’m taking Thomas out for a spin, old thing! See you when we see you.” It was flippant, casual, and would arouse no suspicion if it had been intercepted, although Parsons’s highly advanced and very recently updated detection technology assured him that it had not.

“Is he safe?” Plet asked. For all her protests that she cared nothing for the reckless and playful young man, Parsons knew she had conceived a deep affection for him. Lord Thomas was indeed hard not to like. As of yet, her regard had not crossed the line into inappropriate feelings that would undermine her ability to concentrate and put the mission first. Both of them must be prepared to sacrifice any individual if it would keep the Imperium safe. Naturally, if the Imperium was not in danger, Lord Thomas was their next priority. As an asset, he was worthwhile.

Parsons reminded himself that was Lord Thomas’s chief value.

“He is safe,” he said. “Report.”

Plet relaxed very slightly.

“We finished the flyover, and the data was messaged to you a short while ago. Redius and Anstruther did a complete scan of Noreb 80-e. It’s as dead as it’s possible for a space rock to be. It looks as though it sustained a massive impact by an asteroid or group of asteroids a long while ago. It still maintains a slip of atmosphere, but the place is a wreck. Anstruther can do a reconstruction for you, if you want to determine how long ago the impact occurred.”