All around me, Po servants twirled and flipped and scuttled.
Po were the slave species of the Boranjame, who were the most powerful empire in the galaxy. At this point, though, that wasn’t saying a whole lot.
Po looked like a big pile of spaghetti. They were about five feet tall, had no torsos, heads, feet, no anything really. They were just arms and hands. They moved so erratically that it was dizzying to look at them.
I wasn’t sure if slaves were legal on Belvaille. I suppose if it started becoming an issue we’d have to make some decision. But I wasn’t about to tell the only Boranjame on the station and within light years he couldn’t have his attendants.
The Boranjame, for the most part, lived on ships. They didn’t actually have any planets they called home. As they continued to grow in physical size, each Boranjame would make its ship larger until it had a world-ship that rivalled planets.
Flying around on a ship the size of a planet that was capable of destroying and strip mining other planets tended to make you a species that no one messed with.
Fortunately, during our war, the Boranjame didn’t take advantage of the galaxy-wide chaos and mostly sat in their region of control, which was the entire outer rim. When a solar system had been decimated by the civil strife, they poked in, gave everyone a chance to leave, and tore the planets apart to upgrade their ships.
Belvaille’s only Boranjame, Zeti, had sent a Po messenger to come get me. The Po, having no mouth of its own, communicated by manipulating sound boxes with its many hands.
We had a lot of species on Belvaille. But most of those species were just as bad off as the Colmarians and I didn’t feel much need to be nice to them. I believed it was in the best interest of all life everywhere that I be at least courteous to Zeti. Just in case he had any influence over his larger brethren.
I’d been on a world-ship in the past. If the Boranjame simply felt like conquering the galaxy and destroying every inhabited planet, there was really nothing to stop them at this point. It would just take a long time.
Back in the vestibule, a group of Po suddenly scuttled forward and then parted, showing Zeti floating in their midst.
Zeti was hard to describe. He was about four feet long, three feet high, and three feet wide. He hovered a small distance from the ground, how, I’m not sure.
He was crystalline. An insanely complex series of interlocking, rotating, spinning, crystal disks and plates and pieces. He was colored a light blue and translucent at the edges. Like the Po, he had no features at all. He was almost like a million dancing snowflakes of sizes ranging from inches to feet.
If the Po were disturbing to watch because of their movement, the Boranjame was hypnotic. He was quite beautiful.
I didn’t actually know if Zeti was a male or female. I had met a Boranjame prince, so presumably they had genders, but I wasn’t going to ask and risk offending Zeti.
To my slight alarm, I noticed Zeti was maybe a foot larger than when I had last seen him. Boranjame never stopped growing as far as I knew. In some theoretical future, Belvaille would be too small for him.
“Hi,” I said good-naturedly.
The Po finished setting up speakers and other electronic devices which the Boranjame used to speak. I wasn’t sure if he also used them to hear, so I repeated myself.
“Hi.”
“I would like to vote,” Zeti said.
His voice, which was purely synthesized, was masculine and sounded like a young man’s.
“Vote for what?” I asked, confused.
“For City Council and Governor,” he replied.
Did he call me out here for this?
“Sure,” I said. “I don’t think that will be a problem. Anyone on Belvaille can vote… I guess. I haven’t thought about the restrictions yet. Maybe you have to be a certain age? But you would qualify.”
“I would like to vote now.”
“Now? Well, we don’t have the final candidate list. And I don’t even know when the elections will be held. And we don’t have the voting machines.”
“I do not have hands.”
Oh, yeah. How are the Keilvin Kamigans going to vote? They’re gas clouds. Maybe attach a kite to them?
“You can tell me your choices at the election. Will that work?”
“I would like to vote now.”
“But the list isn’t ready. And I don’t know all the names off the top of my head.”
“I know the names.”
I patted my chest, ruffling my guns. As if I expected to find a pen and paper there. As if I had carried a pen and paper in the last forty years. As if my fingers were capable of using a pen and paper.
“I don’t have anything to write on,” I apologized.
“Here are my votes.”
One of the Po was suddenly undulating in my face. It held a form out to me in its tendril. I took the page and looked it over as the Po retreated to its original position beside Zeti.
Names were listed in exquisite cursive handwriting.
“This is Garm’s list,” I said.
“What is a Garm’s list?” Zeti asked.
“These candidates are all dead,” I explained.
“They are?” There was no great inflection in the voice but the voice wasn’t really a voice. It was generated from speakers and wasn’t biological in origin. For all I knew he could really sound like a puppy and be trying to bark at me and those Po practical jokesters made his voice sound like this instead.
I felt like I was missing something. I decided to hazard a guess.
“Have you spoken to Garm?”
“No,” he said immediately.
“Have you spoken to her people?”
“No.”
I was out of ideas. Maybe Boranjame liked dead politicians. But it wasn’t really my job to question why people cast their particular votes. That was the whole point of an election, right?
“Well, I guess that’s it, unless you have anything else. I’ll save your votes for the election and make sure they’re counted. Thanks, Zeti.”
“And thank you, Supreme Kommilaire, Hank of Belvaille. May you riddle through your current tribulations lest your species be shackled in an age of despair for ten thousand years.”
The Po swarmed on Zeti and they all retreated as quickly as they appeared, leaving me standing there stunned.
CHAPTER 31
“Who wants taxes?” a man asked on the loudspeaker. “What I earn should go to my family.”
“Our family,” a woman’s voice chided. “We’ve survived the civil war.”
“And Belvaille is growing better with every passing day,” the man continued.
“Why would we want to change what is working?” she asked. “Return to the old Colmarian Confederation and its abuses? Our children don’t deserve that.”
“Garm’s Choice candidates are endorsed by the owner of Belvaille, who has seen the city through the worst times the galaxy had to offer,” the man said.
“All the candidates pledge to increase public works projects, increase employment, increase law enforcement, and keep Belvaille the shining star of the universe.”
“Vote Garm’s Choice for me,” a little boy said.
“And me!” A little girl added.
I stood in my living room listening to it.
Can they do that?
Did they have a real family hanging around talking about the election on the loudspeakers? No, they must be paid actors. But who paid them? And why?
I opened my door and saw MTB and Valia waiting for me.
“Boss, did you hear the commercial?” MTB asked.
“Is that what they’re called?”