Fortunes of the Imperium - eARC Page 5

  Never mind; she had other responsibilities to take care of.

  “Have we received the deposit from Otimbo yet?” she asked Tuk.

  The Croctoid extended his oversized viewpad for her inspection. Hundreds of items awaited her attention, but she was interested only in that one. She found it at the top of the list. Tuk was the best administrator they had ever had.

  “The deposit came while you were in transit. I sent a message with the details.”

  “I was taking a nap,” she said. “Nile wore me out with his nonsense.”

  Tuk curled his scaly lip. He understood.

  “The money has been allocated. Party drug Blute ready for shipment to the Leonines on your word.”

  “Give it,” Skana said.

  Tuk made a note and touched an icon. The word had been given.

  Fortified by another drink, Skana went through entry after entry on Tuk’s viewpad.

  “I didn’t know we were doing so well with the low-income housing on Paradil,” she said, approving of the bottom line.

  “It works that way when you use other companies’ materiel to build your stock,” Tuk observed dryly.

  “It was a steal,” Skana said, with a bark of laughter.

  It wasn’t her business to inform another concern that their employees were ripping them off. That was the problem with operations that had centralized offices too far away from the action. If a company had no one on the ground to make sure that shipments were going where they were intended to go they tended to stray, often one piece at a time. Nile would never make a mistake like that. He kept an office with a team of enforcers on every world that contained a Bertu Corporation project. Sometimes he liked to go and oversee a punishment himself, but word spread quietly. He rarely had to.

  “The rents are scheduled to go up in two years unless the cost of living index on Paradil drops,” Tuk said.

  “Put in a reminder for me for twenty months from now,” Skana said. “I want to review it at the same time I look over the factory receipts. No sense in letting too much of that profit go offworld. I have a lot of other projects there the rent money is intended to fund.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Tuk entered a few gestures on the screen. It filled with graphs. The tips of Tuk’s sharp, curved claws tapped in squares too small for Skana’s fingertips.

  The next item made Skana frown. It was surrounded by a red frame, an indicator of extreme urgency.

  “What’s the problem with the goods Enstidius ordered?” she asked. “Didn’t they get there safely?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Tuk said. “One of the main pieces was intercepted. It was confiscated by Customs.” The viewpad displayed a rotating image. “So were some of the small pieces. Eight ships were compromised.”

  “So what?” Skana asked, impatiently, dismissing it. “We have people in place to take care of that. Didn’t you notify them?”

  “Enstidius did at the time it happened,” Tuk said, showing her the decoded copy of a sent message. “They are doing what they can to make the merchandise disappear from the Banned Goods warehouse.”

  “It’ll be fine. So why the red frame?”

  “He is afraid he will not get the value of the goods. He’s afraid the planned obsolescence will kick in before they make their attack.”

  Skana snorted. “Enstidius has nothing to worry about. I promised him the program won’t fail. I guaranteed it with my life. I promised that the goods will remain intact as long as they’re needed, and I mean it. I have that much faith in them. Has he put the deposit in our account to download the destruction codes when he wants them?”

  Tuk checked the records, and scrolled down the list of receipts.

  “No.”

  Skana shook her head. “His problem, then. When he starts a coup, how he gets rid of the evidence is his smallest problem. His last shipment’s going to be the big one, though. He’d better be ready to act when it arrives. Craters! It’ll be big news all over the galaxy when it happens!”

  “He is looking forward to having you witness his triumph, ma’am,” Tuk said. “If your plans to accompany the shipment have not changed.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she said. Tuk’s expression changed to one of concern. Skana peered at him, trying to guess what he was thinking. “What am I missing?”

  “There is one more matter. All the traders who carried in your merchandise will be tried under the laws to prevent smuggling. If they’re found guilty, they’ll be executed.”

  “Isn’t there a way to speed that up?” Skana asked, impatiently. “The longer they’re around, the more likely it is they’ll talk to someone. We definitely don’t want an investigation, not when we’ll be right there.”

  “Sorry, ma’am. There are protocols that must be followed. The merchants are permitted a fair trial and the right to appeal. It could take months.”

  Skana moaned.

  “Months! That’s too long. How about a bunch of ‘unfortunate accidents’?”

  “Ma’am!” Tuk sounded shocked. She frowned. It wasn’t often that Tuk questioned one of her decisions.

  “What’s the problem? Everyone knew there could be collateral damage.”

  “There are several children involved, ma’am.”

  “So?” Tuk was silent. Skana clicked her tongue. “What am I paying you for?”

  “I will see what I can set in motion.”

  “Take care of it before we get there. You know I hate loose ends.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He tapped away at his screen with his claws.

  Skana stretched her arms, trying to ease the tightness in her shoulders. The orange silk rasped against her skin. Enough business. She needed some light entertainment. She turned back to Tuk.

  “How many jesters are there in the house at the moment?”

  “Just the one, ma’am. Murrye from Tomlin Pharmaceuticals. He has failed to make this quarter’s projections.”

  Skana peered at him. “By more than twenty-five percent?”

  “Twenty-seven. An abject failure.”

  “Then why are we keeping him?”

  “He has been a good CEO. He swears it was just market pressures and it won’t happen again.”

  Skana beckoned. “Bring him on. Can he juggle fire?”

  “Not yet, but he’s learning.”

  CHAPTER 4

  I opened my flattened hands across the lofty fibersilk-filled pad that supported me, trying to rid my body of weight and substance. My eyes were softly shut, my jaw just slightly ajar with my lips barely touching. Every joint, tendon and organ I possessed lay slack. I even urged my nose to relax. My meditation chamber was redolent with an earthy essential oil mix that contained vetiver, white truffle, oak gall and musk ox hair. All lights were extinguished, the doors locked and the curtains closed.

  I had attempted to recede from the earthly form that had gone through such contortions and changes in size in an effort to bring it under control. As my crewmates suggested, the distortion was fleeting, but it was an uncompromising nuisance not to know what dimensions everything had from moment to moment. My studies repeatedly informed me that size, as well as time, space, other beings, every object and what I thought I could see from my own eyes were all illusion, a whim of creation that we sparks of energy all shared. If that were indeed the case, I mused, it was a pervasive and complex illusion, one that I could not dispel without a great deal more practice at mind control than I had yet accomplished. I just wanted my body to go back to the size and shape it had been before the treatment, so I could go on attempting to escape from it.

  I had hoped that I might be able to achieve astral projection, but had not yet managed it. Day after day, at the hour appointed by my quotidian stars, I had put myself into a comfortable position from which I could lift my astral body and tour the stars. I must confess that the only part of me that went wandering was my mind. Every time I began to feel truly relaxed, I thought of other things I could be doing. I suppose my astral self was qui
te busy during those times. I discovered it was best attempted when planetside, particularly in a non-technically-furnished domicile. Even the slightest little buzz seemed to distract me, let alone the ambient noises of a working warship. But if one has already found peace in a very quiet place, why would one have to seek further peace? It was already there around one. I realized that I might be missing the point. To be able to achieve a meditative state when all around me was chaos was the intended goal. I took on an instructor for meditation, but as I kept checking to see if he was meditating, and how it looked different than my meditation, I realized he was more distraction than help. I offered my thanks but did not renew his contract. I think he, too, was relieved.

  Instead, I began personal studies into the various methods of achieving higher consciousness. For the first week or so, I had fallen asleep each session, only waking when the temple bell was sounded by one of the house valetbots, which had approached my couch as if on little cat feet and retreated afterward. By this time, several weeks into my studies, I was much more proficient. Wakeful mindfulness was my watchword. I still had difficulty removing my mind from my surroundings, but I was getting better. Meditation was, as the experts decreed, most restful without having to resort to sleep.

  My difficulty was in preventing my thoughts from becoming occupied by plans. I was fascinated by the thought of exploring Uctu space. My mother had been there several times, first as a young officer, later as a captain, then as First Space Lord. She had not gone since before my elder brother did his two years’ obligatory military service. I found my mind casting after her into the unknown—a far more intriguing journey than any the astral plane seemed to offer. I imagined that I could see her on the bridge of her flagship, though she looked rather younger than she did now. Not that time had been unkind to her. She was often mistaken for a decade, sometimes two, younger than she was.

  “My lord,” came the softest of inquiries from just inside my sitting room door. Parsons had entered, ignoring the do not enter sign on my suite’s outer door, not to mention the five locks and intruder-apprehension system active within the anteroom. I didn’t bother to guess how he had done it; most likely even my wildest imaginings were too tame to account for his proficiency. I peeled open one eye to behold him, as serene a presence as any lama. In truth, I was furious.

  “Have I forgotten an appointment?” I asked, with a hint of asperity. “For no other reason, Parsons, could I imagine that you would interrupt my hour of serenity.”

  He was unmoved by my ire. He did not even trouble to lift an eyebrow.

  “I regret to discommode you, my lord, but a matter has arisen. I thought it best that you hear it accompanied by the background information that you will not obtain along with the request you will shortly receive.”

  No meditation was possible following such an exciting prologue. I unwound myself from the double-lotus position and rose eagerly to my bare feet.

  “You have engaged my curiosity, Parsons,” I said, slipping on a pair of silk-lined sandals. “Please, join me. I enjoy a cup of gen mai cha after my attempts at meditation.” I gestured to the low table at the end of the room. It had been placed there once I had become interested in the contemplative cultures. On it was a line of three small cups, an earthenware pot painted with a frieze of bamboo leaves, a jar with matching bowl, a scoop, and a straw whisk.

  I waited until Parsons had seated himself in the guest position at the head of the table. I sat at the foot. My chief valetbot, an LAI designated as OP45-AE7, rolled forth and extracted from his central cabinet a steaming cast iron kettle of hot water and three more small cups.

  I made the tea, and poured the first of three small cups for each of us. To my chagrin, Parsons already knew about the number and method of drinking each one. I could never surprise him. The brain that pulsed against the expressionless forehead contained more knowledge than the entire Infogrid, plus all the lost libraries of humanity. Still, I enjoyed the ceremony greatly. In no other circumstance could I picture Parsons slurping anything, but it was the custom with this tea. I made a private recording of the moment, which I assumed he would cause to be erased the moment I turned my back on him.

  “Good fortune favor us,” I said, lifting my own cups in turn. When the third ceremonial cup was drained, I produced two larger cups of handsome dark blue ceramic that could be filled as often as one pleased. I pushed one toward him. “Go on, then. Tell me about the request! Am I at last to have a meeting with the mysterious Mr. Frank?”

  Parsons regarded me with a glance that I would have called pitying. I was surprised, because I assumed he would admire my perspicacity. After all, we were fewer than ten days away from our mission. He decanted a sufficiency of tea and pushed the pot toward me.

  “No meeting with Mr. Frank is scheduled at this time, my lord. It is unnecessary.”

  I allowed my eyebrows to climb my forehead.

  “Then what is the request?” I asked. “Or should I inquire as to from whom it will come?”

  “I predict that you will hear from Lady Jil Loche Nikhorunkorn very soon.”

  I lowered the brows.

  “Jil? What does she want? How may I help?”

  Parsons took a moment to sip tea thoughtfully.

  “Perhaps you have seen on the local news a negative interaction between locals and visitors of importance?”

  I recalled the conversation I had had with my crew. “If you mean the brawl that ensued on Sparrow Island, I did hear something at lunch. When I looked it up, I found numerous links to postings by my cousins in their Infogrid files. Organized criminals, or some such thing?”

  “Some persons of less-than-savory character, sir. The press does not wish to state the condition outright without a court conviction to fall back upon to prove that the persons in question are criminals.”

  I waved my hand to dismiss journalistic delicacy, which never seemed to be employed when it came to my personal hijinks being publicized.

  “But what has this to do with Jil? How is she involved? It would never occur to anyone of our class even to associate with such pond scrapings.”

  “She insulted them, my lord. They were occupying a favorite table of hers, and she told them what was in her mind upon beholding them there.”

  “Well, of course! Any of us would have. We are the best customers Sparrow Island has.”

  “But perhaps it was not the most tactful course to take. She could have enlisted the assistance of the management.”

  “Didn’t, eh? How like Jil.”

  “She embarrassed the visitors,” Parsons continued.

  “Oh, dear,” I said, and I meant every syllable. “Never embarrass little people. They will kill you.”

  “Precisely.”

  I rose to my feet more gracefully than I had in years. Tai chi and yoga had done wonders for my muscular control. I began to pace.

  “She’ll have to lay low for a while. She won’t like that.”

  “No, sir,” Parsons agreed.

  “Well, what has it got to do with us?” I asked.

  “She is accompanying us to the Autocracy.”

  I halted and permitted myself to goggle. I had improved greatly on the expression since I had taken up meditation, allowing the joints to relax, and so on. A half-raised eyebrow from Parsons indicated to me that the expression was effective.

  “What?” I demanded, throwing myself down beside the table. This concept called for more tea. “What about our mission? She’ll get in the way!”

  “Of suspicion, perhaps,” Parsons said, verbally laying a finger alongside his nose. I nodded several times as the notion soaked into my brain.

  “Ah! She will provide cover for us.”

  “In a manner of speaking, my lord.”

  “But the mission!” I pressed him. “What of our mission?”

  “I am not at liberty to disclose the confidential details at this point,” Parsons said. “Your assignment is similar to ones that you have undertaken in the past. Yo
u are an envoy of his Imperial Majesty, Shojan XII. As such, you are to visit his most august sister, the Autocrat, in her residence on Nacer, the capital world of the Autocracy, and present his compliments.”

  “As well as several gifts, I fancy. I shall have to check with the Chancellor and see what cargo we are taking on board.”

  “Indeed, sir. Along our way, we have a few matters to investigate more closely, also on behalf of the throne.”

  I nodded. “I had heard that some of our ships have been caught with contraband. Bad practice, I say.”

  “At the very least, my lord. But both our nations believe firmly in the presumption of innocence until guilt is proven. There does seem to be a case for believing the protests in that direction from some, if not all, of the affected ship owners.”

  “I look forward to finding that out,” I said. “I have been intrigued by the case. Why did those pilots believe they could slip goods past the scrutiny of the Uctu customs officials? I can scarcely sneak an extra bottle of wine by ours.”

  “It is one of the matters on which we will make enquiries, sir.”

  “And the others?”

  “My lord?” Parsons inquired, rising to his feet in one smooth motion. I stood up as well. I was not going to allow him to escape that easily.

  “You have still given me no information regarding the rest of my responsibilities! I suppose nothing I can say can shake you on this point?”

  “Nothing at all.”

  “Then how am I to prepare?”

  Parsons allowed a small smile to play about his lips, no doubt under strict adult supervision.

  “If I may suggest, my lord, prepare in your inimitable fashion. You will need to be in excellent physical condition to withstand the rigors of the change in gravity. Your system already has been equipped with modifiers to prevent damage to you from the atmosphere, water and food. Continue to fortify yourself with information on the culture and the people you are shortly to meet. I have forwarded to you a detailed biography of the Autocrat. If you study it closely, I believe you will find insights that will give you an advantage in strengthening the friendship between two great houses.”