Кристофер Банч - Empire's End

"I do."

"The bell. Who is it?"

"I don't know."

"Don't turn on the lights. Maybe they will go away."

Marr's slender hand moved through the air, and, outside, four single beams marked the parking area.

"You fool," Senn snapped. "Now they know. Who are they?"

Marr peered out. "Two. They are human. One is a man. The other a woman. I don't know the man… the woman looks familiar."

"Yes. She does. Marr. She is carrying a gun. Turn out the light."

"I know her," Marr announced. "She is that policeperson. She called me on some vague pretense just days ago. I wondered."

"Which police… oh. Haines."

"Yes. The one who loved Sten."

"Then she is a fugitive. The Emperor must want to question anyone who knew him. And she must know something, or else she would not flee."

"Senn. Think. Would you not run from that horrid Poyndex? The one who personally murdered Mahoney?"

"Turn out the lights. Come back to bed. We do not play human politics.

"See? Now they are turning away. Someone else will take them in."

Marr did not answer. He thought he could hear the crunch of footsteps outside and below, in the parking area.

"I once was told," he said slowly, "by a human, that if he was ever given the choice of betraying a friend or betraying his country, he hoped to be courageous enough to be a traitor."

The two leaned close to each other, their antennae twining. Senn pulled back.

"All right," he said. "But don't try to talk to me about loyalty and all those other complicated human emotions. You just want to have houseguests to cook for again."

His hand moved in a semicircle.

And suddenly the tower of light glowed in full life, welcoming Haines and Sam'l.

ONCE AGAIN THE Eternal Emperor's chambers were jammed, the air freshers working overtime as he barked orders to the flowing stream of staff members.

"Avri."

"Yes, Your Highness?"

"What's the status on the K-B-N-S-O operation?"

"Not good, sir. I've got our best spin doctors working on it. But nobody's buying our angle."

"Which is?"

"That it was a quote tragic accident end quote triggered by Sten's attack on the station. That we were merely trying to quote protect the innocent civilians end quote."

"Change 'innocent civilians' to attempting to 'limit collateral damage.' "

"Thank you, sir."

"Then I want you to set a backfire."

"Like what, sir?"

"Easy. The airwaves belong to the Empire. Which means me. Inform them I'll yank their licenses to lie if they don't start telling more of mine."

"Yessir…"

"You sound doubtful. What else is bothering them?"

"They're scared. Afraid Sten will raid them next."

"No problem. Anders."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"Hustle up some spare ships and troopies. I want all the major Imperial broadcasters ringed. I want a net a flea couldn't get through, okay?"

"Yessir. But, we don't have that many to spare. What with the budget cutbacks. And the heavy commitments to help stabilize our weaker allies. Then there's the garrison forces. We've got them spread all over—"

" Find them, Anders. Just find them."

"Yessir."

"One other thing."

"Sir?"

"I'm not forgetting your fine Italian hand in this station foul-up."

"No sir. I take full responsibility, sir."

"Shut up, Anders. And while you're doing my bidding, I want you to think about a nice post I can send you to after this whole thing is over. An island, someplace. A cold island. And make it small, while you're at it. No more than a kilometer in any direction. Now, get busy."

"Uh… Yes, Your Majesty!"

"Walsh."

"Yes, Your Highness."

"What's the status on the AM 2tax bill?"

"I'm not sure we have enough votes to carry Parliament, sir."

"What's the hangup?"

"The Back Benchers are arguing that the tax increase goes against your promise."

"Big deal. They break promises all the time. Why can't I? It goes with the territory. Which is politics. Which is nothing more than lies and damned lies."

"Yessir. But they don't feel the same now they've given up their independence. We offered AM 2at bargain-basement prices if they became Dominions of the Empire."

"Sure, I remember. I also remember that I'm the boy with the hand on the AM 2nozzle. I'm the sole supplier. Ergo, I get to set the price."

"Yessir. I know that, sir. It's the other members of Parliament. They say they've all got deficits that are choking them."

"Well, tell them they're going to have to join the club. Because that's why I've got to have my tax increase. My treasury is tapped out. Nary a bone in the cupboard. I can't believe those people. Clot, I'm the one with the whole burden. Without me, they've got zip. I figured six years of being under the thumb of the privy council would have proven that."

"True, Your Highness. But I've heard some whispers in the halls that maybe things weren't so bad, uh, when you, uh, were gone, and the privy council was running things."

"Don't worry about whispers in the hall… Kenna?"

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"I want you to help Walsh on this."

"Delighted, sir. As always."

"I want Dusable behind me when it comes to a vote. I want a big push. And I want a bigger vote margin. Unanimous would be nice, but I'll settle for 99 percent."

"I'm not sure that's possible, sir."

"Dusable is one fat and sassy system right now, is it not?"

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"I've made you guys a principal AM 2depot. Which means you get to skim all you like."

"I protest, Your Majesty. The good citizens of Dusable—"

"Knock it off, Kenna. If you weren't stealing I'd be suspicious. Point is, I've been giving you all the goodies. Made you one of the top jewels in my crown. Now it's time to pay the piper. And get out the vote."

"I'll do my best, sir."

"That's not good enough. Theft is required. And arm breaking. I want this Parliament brought into line. At least until it recesses. I can always pack it with more of our own people afterward."

"Consider it done, Your Highness."

"Bleick."

"Yessir."

"You're working with Poyndex on that high priestess character, aren't you? What was her name?"

"Zoran, sir. High priestess of the Cult of the Emperor."

"That's the fruitcake I mean."

"Yessir. I have that assignment."

"What's going on? I was expecting a few godheads in my pocket by now. I badly need to boost my image with the ignorant masses. Damn, but the poor can be hard on a ruler. We've got riots all over the place. Bad for business."

"A few temples built in my honor could restore faith in the economy, and seriously trim this depression."

"To be frank, sir… I haven't had much luck with the woman. She's either not available, or, when she is, she talks in circles and giggles a lot. I think she's crazy."

"Like a fox, Bleick. She's a nut, for sure. But she's smarter than most people in this room. Tell her I'm getting tired of pouring credits into her organization. With no return."

"I spelled that out for her, sir. In absolute no-nonsense terms."

"Hmmm. I smell a skunk. Fine. Forget her. Exile her or something. Tell her it's time for her to reflect on the Spheres. Tell Poyndex to have her sent to her proper reward. Something quick, and not painful. Then suborn her second-in-command.

"If that doesn't work, keep going down the list until you find somebody with big eyes and a small brain. Talk to Poyndex. He'll know what I mean."

The door hissed open. Poyndex entered—with the pinched bad-news look on his face again.

The Eternal Emperor made immediate motions for his staff to make themselves scarce. They did.

"Sit."

Poyndex obeyed, sitting stiff in his seat, almost at attention. The Emperor pulled a bottle of Scotch from his desk. The ancient Earth whisky had taken him years to reinvent. He poured a glass and braced himself with a long swallow. The Emperor pointedly didn't offer Poyndex any.