Christopher Nuttall - Democracy's Light

She turned and led them into a darkened corridor. They followed, admiring the neatly-designed interior of the building, even if it seemed somehow unwelcoming to their eyes. Tiberius had seen some odd places before, buildings designed by children or spoilt trust fund brats, but the Imperial Register was just odd. If he hadn’t known better, he would have sworn that aliens had constructed it, rather than a human with an advanced knowledge of the human mind and a determination to ensure that no one lingered within his building. It wasn’t a place for the Families.

He scowled. The Imperial Register was the final court of appeal for the Thousand Families, the custodian of their past. The files stored within the fairytale castle could change lives or reshape the past, depending on who gained access to them. His DNA code had been stored at the Register when he’d been born, confirming him as the latest Cicero child, and again when he’d become the Clan’s Head. Every member of the Thousand Families had an entry in the Register, ranging from the legitimate children to the bastards and other accidents left in the wake of a Family member. A registered bastard child might not be in the line of succession, but a smart bastard could go far, using the Family line as a starting point. Some of them had made quite decent careers in the Imperial Navy, despite not having the right to carry the Family’s name. The only difference between them and Tiberius, he acknowledged, was that they had been born in the wrong place, to the wrong mother.

And Daria started out that way , he thought, with a flicker of grim amusement. He had wondered how his father had come to trust her and had finally realised, after spending weeks combing though the files, that Janice had been a Family bastard. Not from Cicero, which was almost a pity, but from a different Family. That hadn’t been common knowledge, not even to most of the Families, probably because her father had cut all ties with her after she had made herself Empress. It had been a unique revenge.

“You are here to link your codes and declare yourself man and wife,” the woman said. She hadn’t even shared her name with them. “Any children born of your body” — she nodded to Alicia — “will be regarded as the first tier of the Cicero Family, the Heirs to the Clan’s history, obligations and honours. You are to become a Cicero until you separate. Do you understand and accept the obligations inherent in this ceremony?”

“I do,” Alicia said. Her hand snuck into Tiberius’s hand. Her Family, being lesser, would be officially dead to her as long as she was his wife. Her children, which she might have grown in a birthing vat rather than in her own womb, would be Cicero, rather than being part of her Family. It was the only way to keep the Families straight, but Tiberius knew that some Family Members were often torn between blood and obligations. It wasn’t as if she was formally forbidden contact with her Family, but she was no longer theirs, not until they parted. “I do understand.”

“Good,” the monk said. They stepped suddenly into a lighted room. “You will be welcomed, I am sure.”

Tiberius might have responded angrily to that remark — he hadn’t realised how cynical the monkish guardians of the Imperial Register were — but the room distracted his attention. It was a massive room, large enough to hold hundreds of people, and it was almost entirely populated by holographic people. They moved around the room in a complicated dance, sometimes holding hands, sometimes standing alone, their movements perfectly choreographed. He sucked in his breath sharply as he recognised his father, looking as he had on the day when he married his mother, holding his mother’s hand. He’d seen images of his father before, since the day that he’d died, but there was something uniquely real about the image facing him now.

“This is the core of the Imperial Register,” the monk said, as the holograms parted to allow them to walk through the room and up to a single wooden desk. “The holograms represent the current state of play within the Families, each official relationship illuminated for all to see.”

Tiberius shivered. “My parents are dead,” he said, flatly. Anger was starting to push aside the butterflies in his stomach. The entire scene was hauntingly intimidating… and he didn’t even understand why. “Why are they even here?”

“Your parents gave birth to you and the remainder of your siblings,” the monk said, as they reached the desk. “As long as their bloodlines remain in play, we keep their images here, just to remind us of how the bloodlines interact.”

“Bloodlines,” Tiberius said, shaking his head. It was a delusion that he hadn’t shared to any great extent — being born a junior son — but one that affected too many of the Families. It was the delusion that blood alone made them better than any of the commoners, that they had earned their positions merely by being born into a world of wealth and luxuries beyond the imagination of the commoners they ground underfoot, an asserted that things would never change. Things had changed. The rebellion had shattered the Families and their grip on power… and even if Daria’s plan worked, they were still going to be weakened. “Why is this so important?”

“It is what we were trained to do,” the monk said, flatly. There was absolutely no doubt in her voice. “We are charged with keeping track of the different bloodlines so that Family-owned assets are treated properly, so that Family lines are not split — or, for that matter, cursed with the taint of incest. We are the final court of appeal for any Family union and our disapproval can prevent a wedding from occurring.”

Tiberius scowled. No one would say anything, aloud, if they married without the concurrence of the Imperial Register, but people would talk behind their backs, discussing the possible reasons for the marriage being rejected. It would weaken his position considerably and, far more, weaken the position of any of his children. They would find their right to being the Heir questioned, their positions weakened until they collapsed, placing someone else at the head of the Family. Gwendolyn and the other second-tier members wouldn’t hesitate to take advantage of such weakness. How could they resist?

“Please stand before the desk,” the monk said, unaware of their thoughts. “The ceremony is brief and painless.”

The desk had a sense of age that was impossible to ignore, Tiberius realised, as they stepped onto the dais. It was simple, constructed from a fine wood that felt strange to the touch, holding only a massive paper manuscript and a single glowing globe. The monk stepped over to the other side and opened the manuscript, revealing names from long ago, written in a variety of different hands. There was no dust as she turned the pages, one by one, revealing names that had passed into legend, or in some cases into infamy.

Jason’s name will be in here somewhere , Tiberius said, remembering her father’s library. It would be impossible to hack into a paper volume, no matter how hard anyone tried. The monks guarded it jealously. Any discrepancies could be checked against the master copy. He felt unseen eyes watching them as pages turned, one by one, until she found a blank page.

“Tiberius Cicero, place your hand on the orb,” the monk ordered. It took him a moment to realise that she meant the globe. He placed his hand on it and the light brightened, just for an instant, before fading slightly. He saw a darkened image of his hand glowing on the sphere, before it faded away into the light. “Your identity is confirmed.”

Tiberius nodded. The worst nightmare of anyone from the Families was replacement, by a clone, or another Family Member, or even a computer hacker who managed to hack into one of the databases that the Imperial Register produced for the other worlds. The DNA coding, stored within the master system, would ensure that no substitutes could slip through the web and claim Family status. There were hundreds of pretenders, every year, but most of them were weeded out fairly quickly. Some of them had even been invited to join High Society in their own right.