He had carefully absorbed all the computer’s information about Adela de Montgarde: born of a noble family on Gris, a frontier world whose settlers were slowly, painfully transforming a ball of mineral-rich rock into a viable habitat for human life. He knew her face, her life history, her scientific accomplishments and rank. But now, as he watched her approaching on the viewscreen built into the stone fireplace, he realized how little knowledge had accompanied the computer’s detailed information.
The door to the study swung open automatically, and she stood uncertainly, framed in the doorway.
The Emperor swiveled his powerchair around to face her. The viewscreen immediately faded and became indistinguishable from the other stones.
“Come in, come in, Dr. Montgarde.”
She was tiny, the smallest woman the Emperor remembered seeing. Her face was almost elfin, with large curious eyes that looked as if they had known laughter. She wore a metallic tunic buttoned to the throat, and a brief skirt. Her figure was childlike.
The Emperor smiled to himself. She certainly won’t tempt me with her body.
As she stepped hesitantly into the study, her eyes darting all around the room, he said:
“I am sure that my aides have filled your head with all sorts of nonsense about protocol—when to stand, when to bow, what forms of address to use. Forget all of it. This is an informal meeting, common politeness will suffice. If you need a form of address for me, call me Sire. I shall call you Adela, if you don’t mind.”
With a slow nod of her head she answered, “Thank you, Sire. That will be fine.” Her voice was so soft that he could barely hear it. He thought he detected a slight waver in it.
She’s not going to make this easy for me, he said to himself. Then he noticed the little stone that she wore on a slim silver chain about her neck.
“Agate,” he said.
She fingered the stone reflexively. “Yes… it’s from my homeworld… Gris. Our planet is rich in minerals.”
“And poor in cultivable land.”
“We are converting more land every year, Sire.”
“Please sit down,” the Emperor said. “I’m afraid it’s been so long since my old legs have tried to stand in full gravity that I’m forced to remain in this powerchair… or lower the gravitational field in this room. But the computer files said that you are not accustomed to low g fields.”
She glanced around the warm, richly furnished room.
“Any seat you like. My chair rides like a magic carpet.”
Adela picked the biggest couch in the room and tucked herself into a corner of it. The Emperor glided his chair over to her.
“It’s very kind of you to keep the gravity up for me,” she said.
He shrugged. “It costs nothing to be polite… But tell me, of all the minerals for which Gris is famous, why did you choose to wear agate?”
She blushed.
The Emperor laughed. “Come, come, my dear. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. It’s well known that agate is a magical stone that protects the wearer from scorpions and snakes. An ancient superstition, of course, but it could possibly be significant, eh?”
“No… it’s not that!”
“Then what is it?”
“It… agate also makes the wearer… eloquent in speech.”
“And a favorite of Princes,” added the Emperor.
Her blush had gone. She sat straighter and almost smiled. “And it gives one victory over her enemies.”
“You perceive me as your enemy?”
“Oh no!” She reached out toward him, her small, childlike hand almost touching his.
“Who, then?”
“The hierarchy… the old men who pretend to be young and refuse to admit any new ideas into the scientific community.”
“I am an old man,” the Emperor said.
“Yes…” She stared frankly at his aged face. “I was surprised when I saw you a few moments ago. I have seen holographic pictures, of course… but you… you’ve aged.”
“Indeed.”
“Why can’t you be rejuvenated? It seems like a useless old superstition to keep the Emperor from using modern biomedical techniques.”
“No, no, my child. It is a very wise tradition. You complain of the inflexible old men at the top of the scientific hierarchy. Suppose you had an inflexible old man in the Emperor’s throne? A man who would live not merely seven or eight score of years, but many centuries? What would happen to the Empire then?”
“Ohh. I see.” And there was real understanding and sympathy in her eyes.
“So the King must die, to make room for new blood, new ideas, new vigor.”
“It’s sad,” she said. “You are known everywhere as a good Emperor. The people love you.”
He felt his eyebrows rise. “Even on the frontier worlds?”
“Yes. Most of them know that Fain and his troops would be standing on our necks if it weren’t for the Emperor. We are not without our sources of information.”
He smiled. “Interesting.”
“But that is not why you called me here to see you,” Adela said.
She grows bolder. “True. You want to save Earth’s Sun. Bomeer and all my advisors tell me that it is either impossible or foolish. I fear that they have powerful arguments on their side.”
“Perhaps,” she said. “But I have the facts.”
“I have seen your presentation. I understand the scientific basis of your plan.”
“We can do it!” Adela said, her hands suddenly animated. “We can! The critical mass is really minuscule compared to—”
“Megatons are minuscule?”
“Compared to the effect it will produce. Yes.”
And then she was on her feet, pacing the room, ticking off points on her fingers, lecturing, pleading, cajoling. The Emperor’s powerchair swung back and forth, following her intense, wiry form as she paced.
“Of course it will take vast resources! And time—more than a century before we know to a first-order approximation that the initial steps are working. I’ll have to give myself up to cryosleep for decades at a time. But we have the resources! And we have the time… just barely. We can do it, if we want to.”
The Emperor said, “How can you expect me to divert half the resources of the Empire to save Earth’s Sun?”
“Because Earth is important,” she argued back, a tiny fighter standing alone in the middle of the Emperor’s study. “It’s the baseline for all the other worlds of the Empire. On Gris we send biogenetic teams to Earth every twenty years to check our own mutation rate. The cost is enormous for us, but we do it. We have to.”
“We can move Earth’s population to another G-type star. There are plenty of them.”
“It won’t be the same.”
“Adela, my dear, believe me, I would like to help. I know how important Earth is. But we simply cannot afford to try your scheme now. Perhaps in another hundred years or so—”
“That will be too late.”
“But new scientific advances—”
“Under Bomeer and his ilk? Hah!”
The Emperor wanted to frown at her, but somehow his face would not compose itself properly. “You are a fierce, uncompromising woman,” he said.
She came to him and dropped to her knees at his feet. “No, Sire. I’m not. I’m foolish and vain and utterly self-centered. I want to save Earth because I know I can do it. I can’t stand the thought of living the rest of my life knowing that I could have done it, but never having had the chance to try.”
Now we’re getting at the truth, the Emperor thought.
“And someday, maybe a million years from now, maybe a billion… Gris’ sun will become unstable. I want to be able to save Gris, too. And any other world whose star threatens it. I want all the Empire to know that Adela de Montgarde discovered the way to do it!”