Lawrence White - Knights of the Chosen

Conversation about the coup and its effects on the Empire immediately erupted around the table. The Chessori watched stolidly, their huge eyes betraying no emotion, though he did see questioning looks pass between several as the discussion continued.

“How can there be an Empire when there’s no Queen?” asked the wife of the retired farmer beside him.

“What makes you think there’s no Queen?” Val replied simply.

“Well!” the woman snorted. “Everyone’s seen the pictures. Everyone knows what happened at the Palace.”

“How can you support anyone who would do such a thing?” Val inquired, spreading his hands wide and addressing everyone at the table.

Silence held for a few moments, then several replies came at the same time. The general consensus seemed to be that it was done and could not be undone. It was necessary to consider the future now.

“If the Rebel cause was just,” Val argued when the discussion seemed to be dying down, “I might agree. But to rebuild from a foundation of treachery, of wrongness, to reward the ones who caused it with loyalty and support, what does that say of our values? And what does it say of the eventual success of their venture?”

The table went silent. Val looked at each of them during the silence, then continued. “Would you build your home from defective materials? Would you begin a new business with a knowingly defective business plan? Would you teach your children that honor is dead, that it is proper to reward murder and treachery with loyalty?”

These were not new subjects to these people. He knew they had given careful thought to the ramifications of the coup, though perhaps not in the same terms he had. Probably most discussion centered on what was best for themselves or their own worlds, not what was best for the Empire at large.

“I can tell you,” he continued, keeping an eye on the Chessori for any reaction, “that all modeling I have seen regarding the future of the Empire shows it coming apart at the seams under Rebel leadership. Maybe that doesn’t matter to you, but I promise you it will matter to your descendents. Their Empire will not be the pleasant place you have grown up within. I would be surprised to see cruise liners like this one plying the space lanes in two hundred years. It will be too dangerous.”

He turned to Captain Summers. “Have you encountered any pirates yet, sir?”

Summers smiled a tight smile. “No, and it’s your job to prevent that.”

“It was, and I hope it will be again when I find a new ship,” Val responded openly. “Which I hope to find on Orion III. But what if the very people you count on to keep you safe from pirates become pirates themselves? Have you thought of that? Have you thought about what the military could become without firm, centralized political control? And without the values these Rebels have so blatantly abrogated? To whom will the admirals and generals swear allegiance? Might they not become local strongmen, responsible only to themselves?”

Val looked around the table again, then let his gaze come to rest on the Chessori. “What do our Chessori friends think about all this?” he asked in a pleasant voice, inviting a response from them.

The Chessori directly opposite him spread his small hands wide. “To us, this is an internal issue. We take no sides. We are simple traders.”

“Traders?” Val asked in surprise. “Where’s your ship?”

“Ah…” the Chessori responded, his mouth turning into a thin, grim line, changing his stony facade instantly. “You ask just the right question, young sir.” He spread his hands to encompass his comrades. “Like you, we, too, are without a ship at the moment. We hope to remedy that on Orion III.”

“What happened to your ship?” Val asked innocently.

“A long story, sir, not appropriate for the table. Though I do not take sides in this internal dispute, I applaud your integrity. Are there others such as yourself?”

“Many. Most, I think. At present, some are adrift in their loyalties. That will change. They just need the right leader.”

“To whom will they swear loyalty? As stated earlier, your Queen is tragically dead.”

Val looked around the table before replying, seeing looks of agreement on most faces. He turned back to the Chessori who appeared to be spokesman for the group. “The Queen is, indeed, dead. The line of Chosen is not.”

There were gasps around the table, though no slightest change of expression appeared on the Chessori faces. Val turned to Captain Summers, discovering him returning Val’s look through narrowed, intent eyes. Val simply raised his eyebrows in an unspoken question as his gaze swept around the table. He turned his attention back to his food, taking a bite and chewing deliberately.

Everyone followed his example for a time, then the businessman on his right asked the question on everyone’s mind. “Is there a new Queen?”

Val deliberated for a time before responding. “At this moment, I cannot provide a satisfactory answer to that question. I can only tell you that my loyalty to the Empire and my oath has not, and will not, waver.”

“But all the Chosen were at the Palace,” one replied.

“According to whom?” Val responded without hesitation. “Struthers?” He paused to let that sink in, then added before returning to his meal, “His whole future rests on your perceptions, and his actions prove he is without honor. The line of Chosen is not ended. I know that for a fact.”

Later, as the table extended its regards to the departing captain and couples began heading off in various directions, Val cornered the Chessori and invited them to share refreshments with him. To his surprise, their spokesman accepted, leading the way to a lounge that was only sparsely occupied.

“Your hang-out?” Val asked as they pulled two tables together, then seated themselves.

“Yes,” the leader replied. “I am known as Forg.” He introduced the others and let Val introduce himself.

“I’m Lieutenant Val.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” Forg replied as he extended his tiny hand.

Val took it and shook, instantly aware of the fragility of that hand and limiting his own pressure to what would otherwise be considered a weak handshake.

“Thank you,” Forg replied to Val’s thoughtfulness with a smile. “I can’t tell you how many times this hand has been abused. It is a custom we Chessori do not share with you.”

“Then I thank you for the honor extended to me.”

“Just a courtesy. We traders are accustomed to dealing with local customs.”

“Have you been a trader long?”

“All of my adult life, as have my friends here,” Forg said, indicating the other Chessori seated at the table. “We all come from the same family, a family that has been trading for generations.”

‘I know little of the Chessori,” Val answered honestly and intently. “May I ask a few questions?”

“You may. We do not often share in this manner, but the integrity you displayed during the meal deserves the honor of sharing. Such is held in high esteem among us.”

Val allowed a natural smile to light his face, hoping it would take the sting out of his next words. “Honor among traders?”

Forg bowed his head in response. “I sense the humor behind your words and share the joke. We Chessori traders love to bargain, though we do so under very definite rules of ethics. The outcome of any negotiation is to our advantage, or else we turn away. Our profit margins are reasonable, and when we make a deal we always abide by the terms. No exceptions. Those are our rules, and we are well known for them.”

Forg thought for a moment, then added, “Perhaps not so well known in your Empire, yet. We are relative newcomers here.”