"Surely they're all in error, sir," Mahoney said. "Experts make their fortunes on gloom. Not good news."
"No error. Except, possibly, my own. I've been simply ignoring what's staring me in the face."
"But... I don't see how this can be." A bit shaken, Mahoney gasped back his drink, then reached for the decanter to refill their glasses. It was empty. He rose and went to the sideboard to fetch another. Mahoney started to pick up another decanter of scotch, then changed his mind, seeing a flask of stregg. He lifted it up. "Maybe we need something stronger, boss," he said.
The Emperor's face paled with anger. "What's that doing there?" he barked. "I don't drink that anymore.'' Alarmed, Mahoney watched the rage build.
"Dammit," the Emperor snarled. "I told Bleick I don't even want that drakh in my presence." Then he caught himself and gave Mahoney a weak attempt at a smile. "Sorry," he said. "Little things get to me these days."
Mahoney just nodded and walked back to his seat with a decanter of scotch. What the clot was going on here? Why the sudden hate for such an innocuous thing? For the first time, Mahoney felt he was in the presence of a stranger. A dangerous stranger.
The Emperor continued as if nothing unusual had happened, as Mahoney refilled the glasses with scotch.
"When the Tahn war were over," the Emperor said, "the debt we had taken on was astonishing. But I had a firm, workable plan to whittle it away without causing too much discomfort. Unfortunately..."
He didn't have to fill in the rest. Mahoney knew quite well that the Emperor had never had the chance to put that plan into motion.
"I could still have pulled it off," the Emperor said, "if it weren't for the actions of the privy council. My God, did they spend. But not for one thing worthwhile. Not a thing that could eventually put credits back in the treasury, or even spur a little mini-boom in the economy."
The Emperor leaned back in his chair and propped his feet on the desk. "The Tahn war debt," he said, "now equals only about one tenth of our current deficit. I reckon that same deficit—at current cut-to-the-bone spending—will double again within one E-year."
Mahoney was not a money man. It did not interest him. Large amounts offended his sense of morality. And he certainly didn't understand it. But, this he understood.
"The Empire's problems hit critical mass about four years into the privy council's reign,'' the Emperor continued. "At that time the impact of the AM2 shortage hit the point of no return. It's put everything into a helluva spin. A big, clotting vortex, sucking us into the hole. And each time a system's economy collapsed and fell in, it tipped another into the funnel. Now the mess has taken on a life and logic of its own. Unless I take drastic action—real quick—even the healthiest parts of my empire are going to get pulled in."
The Emperor drained his glass, slapped it down on his desk, and turned those scary eyes on Mahoney. A slight flicker... and then they swept on.
Mahoney had the sudden feeling that he was being set up. The Emperor's facts were too pat. Too glib: x times y must absolutely equal what I am going to tell you next.
"Not only that," the Emperor said, "but I am personally strapped. Just about broke. As you know, Ian, in the past I have sometimes used my personal resources to help the Empire over some rough spots. But the privy council looted those resources, as well. Now we don't even have my money to fall back on."
"What do you plan to do, sir?" Mahoney asked. His tone was neutral.
"I have to rein everybody in, Ian," the Emperor said. "All over the Empire, we've got thousands of different leaders doing things a thousand different ways." He casually filled his glass and sipped. "So, to start with, we need uniformity. Second—and most important—We have to put an instant end to all areas of conflict. Look what's happening over in the Altaic Cluster, for example. Our good and highly competent friend, Ambassador Sten, is going out of his mind with the trouble those beings are causing. It's those sort of unstable regions and situations that led to the Tahn disaster to begin with.''
The Eternal Emperor shook his head. "I'll tell you Ian, the only way I can see out of these woods is if everybody follows one being's lead. And from where I sit, I've got to be that guide.
"I want to cut out the middle men, Ian. From here on out, I need to be the only one in charge." He shrugged. "Else, we might as well all give up and go home. Unfortunately, there's no other home to go to."
"How do I fit into this, sir?" Mahoney asked.
"I want you to run the whole show," the Emperor said. "I want you to be in charge of putting together my recovery plan."
"Which is, Your Highness?"
"My pet pols will announce the first stage of my plan in Parliament next week. I'm going to make a one-time offer to all the provinces. I'm going to encourage them to give up independent rule. They'll be offered the chance to become dominions—of my Empire.''
"Excuse me, sir," Mahoney broke in, "but why would they do this? Why would they give up all that power? As you've taught me, that goes against the nature of most beings."
"Certainly it does. So does the carrot I'm going to offer. As well as the stick. But, to greed first. As provinces they are paying full price for AM2. Plus, they are under strict rationing. As dominions, they will not only pay less for the AM2, but will pay lower overall taxes, as well."
"What if they refuse, sir? What's the stick?"
The Eternal Emperor smiled. A nasty smile. "Oh... to begin with, I'm also announcing a tenth of a credit tax hike on AM2 for all provinces. That's on top of increased rationing. Which—since economic nature will then take its course—will push the price of AM2 on the spot market into double digits."
Low laughter. Mahoney shuddered.
"That's just for starters," the Emperor said. "I've got a few other thumbscrews in mind. As a long-time kingmaker, I've gotten pretty skilled at unmaking them, as well."
"Back to my original question, sir. How do I fit in?" Mahoney did not forget that his real first question had been "How can I help, sir?"
"I want you to be point man with the provinces. I want to heap more glory into your honors chest. As thanks, as well as to boost your prestige in the eyes of the fools you will be visiting.
"And I want you to visit every major province leader. Cajole them. Irish charm them. As well as twist the right arms if you have to. Just be firm, Ian. Make nice promises. But make sure they see the weight in the stick I'm handing you."
"I am deeply honored, sir," Mahoney said quickly. "But I am the worst man for that job. I would be disloyal not to refuse this honor. Such an appointment would not be in your best interests... sir."
The Emperor turned a cold face to Mahoney. "Why, Ian?" The question was soft, the eyes looking blankly over Mahoney's shoulder.
"Because I think it's a terrible idea, sir," Mahoney burst out. "You've always asked honesty of me. I've always given it to you. So... there it is, sir. I don't want the job, sir. Because I don't believe in it."
"What's there not to believe in? It's a plan. Not a... religion."
"First off, sir, in my estimation, the stick will be needed more than the carrot. You'll have to force dominion status on most of them, sir. And they will resent the clot out of it. Which means, your orders will be followed grudgingly at best. Which automatically sets all your actions up for failure. And that, sir, is my humble opinion.''
It was also Mahoney's professional opinion that anything micromanaged was doomed. If no one had anything to gain, why chance failure? A "let the big man do it" attitude develops fast. It also offended his democratic, Irish soul.