“I don’t know what to say…”
“You’ll need Javas’ protection and support, you know. You have defeated my closest advisors, and that means that they may become your enemies. Powerful enemies. That is also part of the price of your triumph.”
“Triumph? I don’t feel very triumphant.”
“I know,” the Emperor said. “Perhaps that’s what triumph really is: not so much glorying in the defeat of your enemies as weariness that they couldn’t see what seemed so obvious to you.”
Abruptly, Adela moved to him and put her lips to his cheek. “Thank you, Sire.”
“Why, thank you, child.”
For a moment she stood there, holding his old hands in her tiny young ones.
Then, “I… I have lots of work to do.”
“Of course. We may never see each other again. Go and do your work. Do it well.”
“I will,” she said. “And you?”
He leaned back into the bed and smiled wryly. “I have to hold this old Empire together long enough to see that you will succeed.”
PART TWO
He Who Must Die
Chapter Four
Anastasio Bomeer hated the dress tunic he was desperately trying to button properly. He hated the way it pinched at his neck, and the way it made him stand straighter and with more formality—against his will—when at public gatherings. He hated the fact that Court protocol required the ancient-looking academician’s garb and wished, not for the first time, that tradition would allow him to wear a more modern, more comfortable, Imperial uniform jacket instead. But above all else, he hated the occasion for the formal attire.
Damn! he thought. What have they done to this—With a last grunted effort he managed to get the stiff collar of the tunic fastened and stood, nearly out of breath at the exasperating effort of merely getting dressed, staring at himself in the full-length mirror in his plush suite.
His face had reddened, and the skin of his neck lapped ever so slightly over the constricting collar. Had the tunic shrunk? Surely he had not put on that much weight in his relatively short stay on the Moon. Glancing at the straining buttons midway down the front of the dress tunic, he frowned deeply, remembering that this was only the second time he’d donned the outfit in the whole year since his arrival. The first had been on the dreadful day he’d landed here, beginning what he considered a near exile on Earth’s only natural satellite.
His frown deepened when he recalled that he’d put the tunic away himself shortly after the welcoming ceremonies and that it had not been tailored or otherwise altered in any way since.
Angrily inserting a finger into each side of the collar, he tugged hard, nearly cutting off his windpipe momentarily, and managed to loosen the fit slightly. Or at least enough that the redness began to slowly drain from his face. A small sound, like a single chime, stopped him before he could struggle with the collar again.
“Wait,” he said aloud, moving back into the living area. He glanced quickly at the identification banner on the common screen, verifying the caller as his personal aide before accepting the call. “Audio only. Answer.”
The screen brightened, showing the youthful face and slight build of a man who, were it not for the impeccable tailoring of his uniform, might have looked too young to be in the Imperial service. “Academician Bomeer,” he said urgently. “You asked to be kept informed of the Emperor’s progress…” The aide’s voice trailed off somewhat, apparently concerned that his end of the call had remained dark.
“I’ve not finished dressing for the reception,” Bomeer lied. “You said you had information of his whereabouts?” Hands clasped behind his back, he walked slowly to the wide expanse of ray-shielded plastiglass that made up the entire far wall of the suite. He gazed out at a barren landscape that had been described by one of the earliest explorers as “magnificent desolation.” Where others may have found beauty, he found only revulsion.
“Yes, sir. We’ve been informed that the Emperor’s landing shuttle will pad down in ten minutes.”
Ahead of schedule, Bomeer thought. Just like the old fool. He leaned close to the surface of the window and squinted into the distance where a bright pinpoint approached rapidly from the east. From his vantage point he might be able to see nearly the entire approach of the lander as it skirted the edge of the city, before finally disappearing as it proceeded to the landing area.
“Academician?”
Without turning: “Thank you, Kandel. That will be all.” There was a tiny chirp sound as the aide disconnected.
Bomeer stared solemnly over the lunar landscape. His suite on the north side of Armelin City in the Tycho district had one of the best views of any of the lunar cities. With most of the industrial and support buildings located to the south and west, the tenants at this level paid dearly for the pristine scenery, unobstructed by the towers, receiving dishes and traffic patterns which were common sights from most of the residential areas. Those who even had windows, that is.
He watched the approaching dot of light for several moments, and as it grew larger confirmed it to be the Emperor’s shuttle. Even at this distance it looked huge. “I never believed that I would think of you in as shameful a manner as I do now,” he said softly. The bright dot moved steadily closer, oblivious to his mutterings. Save Earth’s Sun? he thought bitterly, and plainly saw his frown reflected back at him from the surface of the plastiglass. Save these Earthers? He turned disgustedly away from the window.
He crossed quickly to the couch and sat stiff-backed on the edge of one of the cushions, again cursing the tunic, and touched the keypad set into the bottom of the comm unit. A series of coded numbers flashed and changed briefly, finally stopping on an eight-digit number. Pressing the manual call bar, Bomeer carefully tapped the number into the keypad.
After several long seconds, a gray-haired man wearing a formal tunic that closely matched Bomeer’s appeared in the screen. The man looked frustrated, and Bomeer noted with satisfaction that the collar of his tunic was still undone.
“Anastasio! I was just about to head—”
“There’s been a change,” Bomeer interrupted. “His shuttle is already on its way.”
The look of frustration on the man’s face disappeared, replaced by an expression of surprised shock. “But he wasn’t due for nearly an hour! There’s no way we can assemble in time.”
Bomeer knew what was going through his mind. “My thought exactly. This is Javas’ work, I’m sure. He’s purposely having his father arrive early, hoping to catch us off guard, hoping to get whatever edge he may to gain the support of the Hundred Worlds for this foolish plan of his father’s.”
The other nodded thoughtfully, just a hint of anger in his eyes.
“Listen,” Bomeer continued, glancing at the golden time-piece on his wrist, “I’m leaving immediately. His shuttle is landing right about now, but it should be at least another fifteen or twenty minutes before his party appears on the platform. I think I can get there before then.”
“What about the rest of us?” The other man deftly buttoned the collar on the tunic and smoothed the satiny fabric with the palms of his hands, further annoying Bomeer.
“Round up as many of the others as you can, and get down there. Use this same code once I’ve broken the connection.” Bomeer touched the keypad once to send the code to the other terminal, waited a moment for a nod of confirmation that it had been received, then touched the disconnect bar, being certain to leave the code in place on his own unit.