Timothy Zahn - Angelmass

Two deaths and a retirement. It was, Forsythe reflected darkly, a perfect example of how the angels had corrupted the system. In his father's day politics had finally been hammered into a genuinely even-handed struggle, with a competent challenger having a real chance of unseating a less able incumbent. Now, only eighteen years later, the ancient patterns of entrenched imperial power systems had already reemerged.

The experts lauded it, of course, as they lauded everything having to do with angels. The theory was that the angel presence had given the people a new confidence in their leaders' ethical standards, which had in turn allowed them to safely focus more of their attention on the value of experience in choosing those same leaders.

No one seemed interested in the question of whether even ethical politicians could get too comfortable or complacent in their jobs... as comfortable and complacent as many of those same experts were in their own positions. Perhaps that was why the question never occurred to them.

"The new High Senators," the Speaker continued, "will now come forward, to swear their oath before the rest of the assemblage and to receive in return their badge of trust."

Or, in plain language, their angel pendants. Forsythe took a deep breath as, flanked by the other two, he stepped up to the Speaker's podium. Off to the side, near the section of the semicircular table where he would soon be taking his place, he could see Ronyon and Pirbazari standing ready.

"Karym Daryani; step forward," the Speaker said. Daryani did so, touching the other's palm in respect. "You have been chosen by the people of the Mbundu District of Uhuru to serve them as High Senator. Will you accept the responsibilities such service will demand of you?"

"I will," Daryani nodded, his voice holding just the right mixture of humility and confidence.

Forsythe turned his head slowly as the Speaker went through the rest of the ritual, just far enough to see Ronyon out of the corner of his eye. The big man stood unnaturally straight, his lips making small movements as if chewing on a piece of gristle, his eyes darting constantly around the room as if looking for an escape hatch. Don't fall apart on me now, Forsythe mentally urged him. Fall apart later, if you want. But not now.

"...and so, in the name of the High Senate, I present you with your badge of service to the Empyrean," the Speaker was saying. "Wear it always, both as a symbol of your authority and as a commitment to the people."

The herald had returned during that last, carrying a small wooden box. Now, he lifted the hinged lid; and with a delicacy that bordered on the reverent, the Speaker reached in and withdrew an angel pendant. The crystal sparkled brilliantly in the light as he lowered the chain over Daryani's inclined head and settled it comfortably around his neck. "I welcome you, High Senator Daryani," he said.

There was a short burst of polite applause. Daryani touched the Speaker's palm again, then turned and climbed the steps to his new seat.

The Speaker turned to Forsythe. "Arkin Forsythe," he intoned. "Step forward."

Forsythe had never had much patience with official ceremonies, but over the years he had learned to put up with them. This one, at least, had the virtue of being short. They went through the routine: the Speaker asking the rote questions, Forsythe giving the rote answers; a straight duplicate of Daryani's swearing in.

Until the herald started forward with his wooden box.

"And so, in the name of the High Senate, I present you with the badge of service to the Empyrean."

"A word, if I may, sir," Forsythe said.

The Speaker stopped, his eyes narrowing. Perhaps he was remembering the elder Forsythe's refusal to wear an angel. "You may speak," he said, a note of caution in his voice.

Forsythe let him worry for another second. "I will, of course, accept the badge of service," he said.

"And will wear it with the humility and honor it deserves. I ask, though, that as a further symbol of my commitment to the Empyreal people—" he glanced to his side—"that two of the common people—my aides—be permitted the honor of placing it around my neck."

He watched as a whole series of emotions flashed across the Speaker's face: relief that Forsythe was not, in fact, going to make a scene; annoyance that he was so cavalierly being asked to change his routine without prior notification; and finally, the equally annoyed recognition that, while he might have the technical right to refuse, to do so would leave him looking petty and stiff-necked in front of his colleagues. "Your request is unorthodox," he rumbled. "But with the High Senate's permission I will grant it." He looked over at Pirbazari and Ronyon. "Step forward."

Pirbazari nudged Ronyon, and together they walked toward the others—Ronyon, Forsythe noted uneasily, looking even more agitated than he had a minute ago. The Speaker nodded, first to the herald, and then to them. "Proceed."

Pirbazari nodded back and turned to the herald, taking the angel pendant out of the box. He held it up for a moment; then, with appropriate dignity, handed it to Ronyon. Gingerly, the big man took it, holding it as if it were something hot. He looked at Forsythe, licked his lips once, and stepped over to him—

And in a sudden flurry of fumbling fingers dropped it on the floor.

He was down on his knees before anyone in the chamber even got out a gasp, his big hands scrabbling across the floor and finally getting a grip on it. With a jerky motion he climbed back to his feet, chain and crystal clutched in a tangle in his hand, his whole body shaking and a wild look of fear plastered across his face. Forsythe gave him a reassuring smile and bowed his head slightly; still trembling, Ronyon untangled the chain and eased it carefully over Forsythe's head. Straightening up, Forsythe smiled again as Ronyon backed up hastily to stand beside Pirbazari.

The pendant felt strangely heavy, pressing against his breastbone and tugging at the back of his neck. Dimly, Forsythe wondered how long it would take him to get used to it.

"Thank you both," the Speaker said, nodding gravely to Ronyon and Pirbazari. He looked back at Forsythe, his expression more wry than angry at the momentary fiasco. "And now," he said, "I welcome you, High Senator Forsythe."

"Thank you, sir," Forsythe murmured over the applause. Touching the Speaker's palm, he stepped over to Pirbazari and Ronyon; and, with them beside him, headed to his new place at the table.

And wondered if the whisper of guilt nagging at him over what he'd just done was coming from the angel.

"...and this is your private office," the young page said, opening the door and stepping aside to let Forsythe enter.

"I see," Forsythe nodded, craning his head to peer inside. As with the rest of the complex—the outer screening office, the central work area with its rows of desks, and the ring of private offices around the central room's edge—the bulk of the furniture and equipment was already in place, leaving only some personal items and a few boxes of records to be dealt with. "My communications system is operational?" he asked the page.

"Yes, sir, as of yesterday evening," the other answered. "Full computer and archives access, too."

"Good." Forsythe glanced at Pirbazari and Ronyon, standing a few paces back. Took a second look at the expression on Ronyon's face... "That will be all for now," he told the page. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, High Senator," the other said. "I'm on call to you anytime you need me." Ducking his head in a well-practiced gesture of respect, he headed across the common room and left.

Forsythe caught Pirbazari's eye. "I want you to get on the net, Zar," he told the other. "Get a dump of the last skeeter report from Lorelei and give it a quick sift—I want to know what's been happening out there."