She’d never seen anything like it, and neither had the thousands of people who had turned out for the event. A mighty roar went up from the galleries, virtually drowning out the sound of the bay’s recirculating fans as they eliminated the last of the thruster exhaust from the chamber.
Adela turned once more to the Prince’s viewing room behind their section. He was nodding, the relief evident on his features. After a moment, he stood and joined in the general applause.
She looked back to the ship and, unable to contain herself, rose with the crowd and began to clap her hands.
Only moments before, the occupants of Bright Cay not involved in the actual landing process itself were unaware of the magnificence of the huge doors about to open as the shuttle approached. The Emperor of the Hundred Worlds sat comfortably in his powerchair, in spite of the stiffly formal uniform he wore, and enjoyed the natural pull of the world below him, the first natural gravity he’d felt in years. The closest of his personal physicians back on Corinth, the former Imperial capital, used to chide him about being able to tell the difference between the artificial light gravity they’d prescribed for his personal quarters there and natural gravity. But, like the bio-implants he’d more than grown accustomed to, he knew, sensed somehow, the subtle differences that lesser men missed.
“How long till we land?” he asked Brendan, the full-time aide assigned to him for the duration of the long voyage. He refused to think of Brendan as anything but his aide, even though common sense and practicality constantly reminded him that he was an aide in name only; that he was, in reality, a twenty-four-hour nurse. His lips drew together in a tight line of disgust every time the word “nurse” flashed in his mind, but despite the unwelcome feeling, the Emperor liked the young man and enjoyed his company.
It was a sign of either good training or insight that Brendan refrained from jumping to the Emperor’s side at the question in an overbearing attempt to reassure him of the safe progress of the vessel—certainly the Emperor had had enough of those kinds of aides—and he appreciated, not for the first time, Brendan’s candor and approach to his position. As it was, the younger man only turned slightly in his seat and, glancing at the timepiece on his wrist, replied simply, “About five minutes, Sire.” He was watching the progress of the landing on the large viewscreen set into the opposite wall.
As if an afterthought had occurred to him, he added casually, “There’s still time to ride out the landing in your stateroom, Sire, should you prefer.”
The Emperor studied the young man. Even though his medical condition was constantly being relayed to the Imperial computer and then to the medical staff, his aide had his own implants and constantly monitored his medical readouts. Even now, he knew, Brendan was comparing respiration, heart rate, blood pressure and other biolevels with those found to be acceptable for the Emperor in a variety of conditions. My pulse must be up slightly, thought the Emperor, or he would not have suggested a move designed to get me back into bed. He made a conscious effort to relax, breathing slowly and easily to calm his excitement at the imminent conclusion of the lengthy trip.
Brendan turned to him once more, right eyebrow arched slightly at an angle nearly matching the half-smile appearing on his face. “I guess not, then.”
The Emperor knew his efforts at subterfuge had been read and interpreted correctly, and returned a knowing smile. I can’t keep much from you, can I? he added silently.
There was a brief shuddering, followed by a decrease in the slight, almost imperceptible background noise of the cabin. The progress of the shuttle smoothed then, as they resumed their forward-and-down movement toward the landing dome.
The Emperor had been kept advised of Javas’ progress as his son set up the seat of Empire on the Moon. He’d even approved personally the plans for the facility they now approached. All the same, he was impressed with what he saw on the viewscreen.
He watched in silence as the viewscreen feed reoriented to an underside view, allowing a perfect angle for observing the doors—now directly below them—and their final descent.
The landing itself proceeded more rapidly than he might have expected, and it seemed as if only moments had passed when the contact warning horn sounded softly over the room system. There was a slight jar as the landing gear touched the pad, then another as the gravity harness released. The Emperor accessed the shuttle computer through his integrator and quickly verified that the landing had been perfect in every way, although he expected no less from Fain’s handpicked crew. He issued a silent command, giving commendations to each member of the shuttle crew.
Brendan stood solemnly, a rare look of seriousness on his face. “Sire, I… I’d like to request permission to remain aboard until after you’ve been transported to the Imperial residence.”
“Oh?” The Emperor scrutinized the young man’s features, looking for some clue to his discomfort. “Why is that?” The aide tensed under his gaze. Accessing his own implanted integrator, he observed that Brendan’s pulse and respiration were both elevated. We are linked inextricably, he mused. Patient and caretaker, linked more closely than Siamese twins. He softened his tone. “Brendan, if we cannot speak freely to each other after these many years together, then I know you less than I had believed. Please, do you have a concern of which I should be made aware?”
The change in the Emperor’s voice seemed to relax the man, and he continued, more sure of himself this time. “Sire, your medical readouts are already being switched over from the ship to the Imperial computers here, plus I’ll continue to monitor you personally, of course. But when you leave the ship in a few minutes, it will mark the first time you’ve been seen publicly in many years. I understand that the ceremonies are being carried on all the Sol system and Imperial nets, not to mention the thousands who have traveled here for the honor of being on hand for this historic moment…” He stopped, took a deep breath. “Do you really want to be seen with your, uh, nurse standing by your side?”
The words now in the open, Brendan exhaled heavily and gazed steadily into the Emperor’s face. The Emperor absently rubbed his white-bearded chin with his thin, frail fingers and nodded silently. The thought had simply not occurred to him. I must truly be getting old, to overlook such an obvious point, he admitted inwardly. He looked at the young man and extended a bony hand.
“You’re right, Brendan,” he said, feeling the strength in the other’s grasp. “Thank you for pointing it out.” Disengaging the powerchair from the magnetic landing restraints, he glided quietly to the viewscreen. “Inform Commander Fain that I am ready to leave, at his soonest convenience.”
“Yes, Sire.” Brendan bowed slightly and turned immediately for the door.
It took nearly fifteen minutes before the room system informed him that Commander Fain was on his way, and another ten before they arrived at the shuttle’s elevator. Most of the accompanying members of the Imperial Court were already waiting in formation outside the ship, and the two men, alone on the lift, rode in near silence until the elevator tapped softly down on the platform of the landing bay itself. The Emperor cocked his head to one side, listening intently to a steady vibration that seeped through the walls of the cubicle. Fain caught the motion and offered, “It’s the crowd, Sire.”
“Well, then,” he replied, “we had best not keep them waiting any longer.” He nodded once, and Fain touched a small keypad set into the front wall of the lift.