And that’s when I began to know for sure what she was. She began talking to Uncle Kevin about Warriors. She began instructing him on how Warriors would behave. And then she said; “Remember the mission and look again.” So there it was. She knew what Warriors might do, and then she ordered Uncle Kevin to provide a new analysis. Only a Master could do that.
But Uncle Kevin wasn’t up to it. He is not a Master. He is an Uncle. But Grandpa Horace was. Up to it. He said it was about the fuel. At first, Uncle Kevin did not care. He said that enemy ships would be too late. He said we would move too fast through the jump point. But Grampa Horace knew. He said the enemy would send a mass of junk through the jump point just when we needed to cross.
Grampa Horace was a Great Master. I could hear his heart. I could hear everyone’s heart. Whenever he spoke, Uncle Kevin’s heart slowed. So did Glenda Ruth’s. So did his own. Great Masters can do that. They speak, and hearts are calmed. He was brave and strong. For the next twenty minutes, he laughed and kept their hearts all steady. He knew what enemy Warriors would do. He knew what our Warriors would do. He knew what the ship would do. For twenty minutes, his heart never wavered, and lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub was the last thing I heard before we jumped.
Doctor Cynthia was everywhere. She was doing everything. But there was nothing a Doctor could do. When a Great Master dies, there is nothing a Doctor can do. I did my Duty. I screamed. I roared. I howled in every pitch and language I knew, so that everyone, everywhere, would hear and know: A Great Master has died. Beware, his Warriors are loosed! And then Doctor Cynthia gave me to Glenda Ruth! It was not her place! She was only his Doctor! Not to Auntie Omar! To Glenda Ruth! Glenda Ruth made stupid noises. She said I was to stop! And Auntie Omar made no move to take me back. So then I knew it was true. Glena Ruth pretended to be a Mediator. But Glenda Ruth was a Master. Glenda Ruth was who the Tatars had captured. Glenda Ruth was a wolf.
I stopped listening. I refused to listen to another Master. I refused to listen to the howling of wolves. I clung to my Duty. I closed my eyes and listened to Auntie Omar, who spoke with Grampa Horace’s voice. I practiced every conversation I had heard before the fatal jump. I listened to his great heart, beating again and again, lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub, beating away in my head.
We were through Murcheson’s Eye. We were on the way to New Caledonia. It was Uncle Nabil who called them all together. I called him Uncle, but he was really a Warrior. He was Grampa Horace’s personal Warrior. Proof, again, of what a Great Master my Grampa had been. They obeyed him as if he were a Master himself; as if my Grampa still lived. Even Uncle Kevin asked “Should we be looking at this?” And Uncle Nabil said yes, His Excellency had instructed it. So I knew Uncle Nabil was like me. He had been loosed, but not from his Duty. He still served his Great Master. That’s why I call him Uncle.
They were all there: Uncle Nabil and Uncle Kevin, the wolves Glenda Ruth and Frederick, Auntie Omar, Sir Eudoxus, Sir Victoria, Sir Harlequin, many others. They played a cube. Then I understood what Grampa had meant by alter his will. He was not in his bed. He was on his couch. He looked very bad. This is what he said:
I am Horace Hussein al-Shamlan Bury, trader, Magnate Citizen of the Empire of Man, pasha and citizen of the planetary principality of Ikhwan al-Musliman, known commonly as Levant.
This is a codicil to my will and testament left in the safekeeping of Nabil Ahmed Khadurri. I hereby confirm all bequests made in that previous testament, except as may be directly and explicitly contradicted in this codicil. I dictate this document in the full knowledge that neither it nor this ship is likely to survive our present mission; but Allah may will differently.
I hereby name Kevin Renner, commodore of the Imperial Space Navy, as executor to my will and confer on him full executive power to execute my wishes and dispose of my property in accordance with my original will as amended by this codicil. This supersedes the appointment of Ibn-Farouk named as executor in the original testament. Kevin, I suggest but do not require that you delegate the detailed implementation of my will, and particularly supervising the bequests of entailed property on Levant, to the law firm of Farouk, Halstead, and Harabi, and I commend to you its senior partner, Ibn-Farouk, as a longtime friend and counselor. I believe you will recall meeting him from time to time.
I confirm the bequest of my house, my lands, and all entailed properties on Ikhwan al-Musliman shall be divided among my blood relatives by the laws of my home planet; except that to my great-nephew Elie Adjami I leave the sum of one crown and what he has stolen from me. It is less than the law would have given him, but the choice was his.
It is my strong recommendation to the Empire that Kevin Renner be appointed the first governor of the Mote system, and it is my belief that the Empire will make that appointment.
Governor or not, I know that Kevin Renner will be ridden by demons if he cannot observe future events in the Mote system. I confess I wish I could be there myself. To aid Kevin Renner in satisfying his compulsive curiosity, I bequeath to him my personal ship known as Sinbad; and since I know he has not stolen any of my money, and certainly has not enough to operate my ship, I leave to him the sum of ten million crowns in cash to be paid after liquidation of assets other than Imperial Autonetics as described in the main body of my will, such to be deducted from the residual properties; and also I leave to Kevin Renner ten thousand and one shares of voting stock in Imperial Autonetics. Kevin, that’s five percent plus one share of the company, and there’s a reason I want you to have it.
The balance of my holdings of Imperial Autonetics, amounting to an additional sixty-five percent of the total voting stock, shall be divided as follows:
To my oldest living grandson, thirty-nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine shares. To Omar as representative of the Motie family known as the East India Company, twenty thousand shares. To Victoria as representative of the Motie Family known as the Crimean Tartars, five thousand shares. To the Motie Mediator known as Ali Baba, thirty thousand shares.
The remaining shares are held by partners, banks, business concerns, and other humans scattered through the Empire. If you care to contemplate the possible voting blocks, you will find the combinations interesting. Kevin, Allah has willed that you shall live in interesting times, and I do no more than abet His will.
One final bequest: to Roderick, Lord Blaine, onetime captain of the Imperial cruiser MacArthur, I bequeath the personal sealed files designated with his name. They contain information about agents who have been useful to the Empire of Man, but who may now be dangerous. I know that Lord Blaine will satisfactorily carry the moral obligations of this knowledge.
As for the rest, you will find the details in the cube I have entrusted to Nabil. I have provided generously for those who have served me faithfully. I believe that I have faithfully discharged my duties to Allah, to my compatriots, and to the Empire; and whatever Allah wills for my future, I am content that we have done all that we could do.
Witness my voice and signature, Horace Hussein al-Shamlan Bury, aboard the sip Sinbad, somewhere in the Mote system.
And then Glenda Ruth witnessed.
And then I understood. Doctor Cynthia had not given me to Glenda Ruth. Grampa Horace had altered his will. Grampa Horace had given me to—me.
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