"I may be the first."
The cave was still, except for the sound of the sea and the wind, dimly in the background. Rykor floated motionlessly fora while.
"No," she said, firmly. "You are not insane. I have gone through your material. Analyzed it both intellectually and electronically. Further, I allowed my most trusted aide—do not start: he is, in fact, one of my sister's pups and is to be trusted, since the corruptions of the Empire don't interest us, and thus far nobody has attempted to subvert us with fishing rights on an Imperial river on Earth."
She laughed again and Ecu felt himself relax.
"First, though," she said, "let me express my thanks for that parcel you sent. It's the first real 'book' from ancient Earth I've owned. A question: Was the volume originally waterproofed?"
"I had that done."
"Ah. I surmised. I found it most interesting, and charming, in a sad sort of way. I imagined this primitive human, writing in the darkest of dark ages, sitting there and staring out at what must have been terrible times.
"In those days, there would have been nobody but witchfreuds, I think they were called, who cast spells and made vile potions in cooking pots, their couches spread around the great tribal fire that kept out the real and imagined monsters of the dark.'' She whuffled sympathy. "And so this poor man imagined that one day there would be rules for psychology. That it would become a science. Except that—what did he call it? Psychohistory? It was a fascinating conceit.
"I, myself, find that dream fascinating. Although I realize that if we can't solve the n-body problem in astronomy, the tera-cubed-tera-plus bodies that constitute intelligent life will never be fitted into a computation.
"I must say, however, I found the scribe's hero, that Selden human, rather repellant. Far too reminiscent of some of my creche tutors, full of false truth, wretched prejudice, and themselves.
"But I digress.
"I see why you sent me that present, however, and how this fictional, fumbling attempt to find order in an entropic universe and equally entropic Empire pertains to the data you provided.
"A question. Were you selective in the material—choosing only data that supported your theory?"
"I was not," Ecu said. "I attempted to provide as complete an assemblage as I knew how.''
"Your experience in diplomacy suggests that you do know how to be fair," Rykor said. "I took the liberty of reducing your raw data into symbolic logic."
Again, she touched keys, and several screens lit. Ecu, even though he did not use symbology a great deal in his art, knew the discipline.
It took almost an hour for the data, even crunched into computer language, to screen.
As gibberish to most people, it may have been a little less depressing. But not to the two experienced beings in the sea cave. Finally the last screen blanked.
"Is my reduction approximately correct?" Rykor asked.
"Not approximately. Exactly." Ecu's wings sagged. The situation was as bad as he had thought it was.
"Summarizing your theses verbally," Rykor went on, coldly, clinically, "it's evident that the Empire is in the direst straits. Not cause for total panic, though, since this isn't the first or the fiftieth time that Imperial catastrophe has loomed. However, you have further theorized that this economic, social, and political decline is being accelerated by the Empire itself. Specifically, by the actions the Eternal Emperor has taken since his... return."
Sr. Ecu said, "That was where I feared I was becoming less than competent in my thinking."
"Not at all. Since I've reassured you as to your sanity, would you now care for that refreshment? Because it's now my turn to reason, and to add some interesting data that I have gotten on my own, since your package arrived."
"Thank you. I shall indulge."
"It is in a pressure container, just to your right. Activated—yes, with that rather large lever."
Moisture hissed into the air. Sr. Ecu felt himself lifted and momentarily was reminded of the time, once on Earth, when he had seen simple avians frolicking in a spray of water.
Rykor treated herself to what appeared to be a slab of flame-dried peat. "Piscean leather," she explained. "Hung just beyond the highest reaches of the ocean spray, and wind-dried. It's as close to a narcotic as my sometimes simplistic race has managed. Although research goes on.
"Continuing. I noticed that you included in your data the disaster our young crusader, Sten, is trying to solve. The Altaic Cluster. He's sustaining a madman, as you're aware. A Dr. Iskra. Did you know that this Iskra is a being who's been supported in exile for years by the Emperor? To control on the former ruler.
"I further found that Sten is under direct orders from the Emperor that Iskra must be kept in office, regardless of cost."
Ecu's body rocked in a nonexistent blast of wind. "What is your source on this?" he asked.
"I cannot say. My colleague remains in the system, and therefore in danger."
Rykor stopped and her tail flippers crashed down against the water's surface. "How odd," she mused. "To hear myself say a friend's life is in danger because that friend is close to our respected ruler, and because this friend speaks a bit of the truth."
"I, myself, have felt potentially in physical jeopardy," Ecu confessed.
Rykor did not answer that, but went on. "A second fact. I don't recall when I stumbled upon it. But I assure you it was in the course of some legitimate field of inquiry. As I said, I disremember the circumstances, but I found myself wondering just what the Emperor gained—directly, monetarily—from his rule. Or was the mere exercise of power adequate recompense? So I investigated.
"Obviously I was most careful in my curiosity. But I found that, indeed, the Emperor had rather incredible funds, invested in various arenas where his governing policies would also prove financially rewarding. The investments were made with multiple cutouts that could never be traced back to the Emperor. I found such an action neither moral nor immoral. These investments, I further learned, had been used during times of disaster to support the economy... as well as his policies. Which would suggest these profits would be considered 'moral' by most. I think they're called a slushy fund by humans."
"Slush."
"Is the spray affecting—oh. Yes. Slush would be correct. A few days ago, I very carefully rechecked a couple of those funds.
"The Emperor's personal wealth is increasing at a monstrous rate, second by second. In these times, which most would call depressed, our own ruler is vastly profiting from his own Empire's poverty.''
"That's insane," Ecu said, his normal smoothness broken.
"For the first time, I agree with your application of the word, even though it is clinically without meaning. By the way—some support for what you just said. Have you been watching the Eternal Emperor when he appears on livie casts lately? More and more rarely, of course, and when he does the angles are favorable and remote. But look closely at the way his eyes shift, like a whipped Earth canine waiting for another beating—or else someone who is slipping further and further into what used to be called a manic-depressive psychosis."
Again, Sr. Ecu wished that profanity provided a meaningful form of expression to his race. Rykor was suggesting that the Empire was now ruled by a madman, and the thought was monstrously inconceivable. Yet, his backbrain reminded him how many times had he dealt with insane rulers and felt vague, impersonal sympathy for the poor beings they tyrannized.
"Another piece of the puzzle," Rykor continued. "The Emperor has ordered large increases in military development. The Cairenes, for instance, were desolated when the Tahn war ended. Military shipbuilding was no longer necessary, and their patron, Sullamora, was killed.