Rhythm of the Imperium - eARC Page 7

Then I threw my arms around them all.

  “The universe!” they chorused. I drew my forefingers together in a graceful gesture, keeping my face immobile, though inwardly I was beaming like a laser. Success! The two males cheered, then subsided, looking at one another with sheepish expressions. Such an outcry must seldom be heard in such a dignified establishment as Icari.

  “What’ve we got that looks like the universe that salutes?” Teesh asked, stroking his massive jaw.

  “The Starburst,” Icari said. He clapped his hands together. “Teesh, bring the Starburst. Make certain it is in his lordship’s size. It is for you, isn’t it, Lord Thomas, and not for this lady?”

  I glanced again at Deirdre. She widened her eyes slightly, giving me permission. If I ever thought that Parsons owned the trademark on microscopic facial expressions, Madame Deirdre came as close to anyone who violated it. I nodded.

  The room became a bustle of activity. All of the rotating racks went into operation at once. Gondolas of clothing lowered themselves from the ceiling and raised up again as Teesh failed to locate the item he sought. I had a moment’s concern in case they would not have what I wanted and would have to make it or alter it from existing stock. The longer we lingered on this station, the greater the chances that my cousins would find this place and strip it to the walls. All my hopes of holding an exclusive on choice fashions would be dashed. I knew that each of my relatives had their own list of establishments they had planned to visit, but I fancied I had the inside track on the very best of the best. Odile’s recommendations had certainly paid off thus far.

  I allowed my concerns to surface in movement. I drew my arms inward, wrapping myself in a cloak of misery. My shoulders drooped. My eyes went wide with hopelessness. So effective were my emotings that Icari himself came to lay an arm over my shoulders.

  “Don’t worry, my lord! That’s a new design. We got in the whole range of sizes. I can’t recall selling a Starburst in your size yet. I fancy we’ve got it here someplace. I apologize deeply for the delay. Please, allow me to get you a drink of something.” He snapped his fingers.

  A tall cylinder of a serverbot sailed into the room brandishing a tray. In a circular depression that contained chill circuits, a glass bottle of pale green wine shivered. A handsome decanter containing a rich red towered over various beakers and containers of a rainbow of liquids.

  “Name it, sir. We’ve got it. Taruandula gets practically everything. Would you like a snifter from my private store of Nyikitu brandy? I know that’s his Imperiousness’s favorite.”

  I smiled, but shook my head.

  “I know how hard that is to obtain, Mr. Icari,” I said. “I prefer to keep my mind clear. That red wine looks entrancing.”

  The serverbot raised the carafe and poured a perfect measure into a glass. I allowed my features to return to their normally optimistic expression. Icari relaxed. The wine lived up to the richness of its color, sating my palate and wetting a whistle grown dry from exertion.

  “A fine vintage,” I said, allowing my free hand to create symbols expressing my approval. “My Imperium cousin wouldn’t find this out of place in his own cellar.” Icari looked pleased at the compliment. Lieutenant Anstruther was persuaded to accept a cup of tea, since she was on duty. Madame Deirdre took a tot of aged spirits, neat.

  “Got it!” Teesh exclaimed. He waved wildly from the far corner of the room. In his other hand, he thrust forward a bracket hanger from which swung the blazing tunic I had admired. The server unostentatiously removed the glass from my hand as I reached out to touch the glowing garment.

  “That is perfect for our purposes,” Madame Deirdre said. “That expresses just the right note.”

  When I tried it on, I had to agree with her. Posing and turning before the triple mirrors, I admired the way eternity seemed to follow me no matter which direction I faced. It fit me perfectly. Even the trouser legs were the correct length. But the acid test was yet to be made.

  I leaped into the air, kicking my feet out as far as I could to touch my outstretched hands. When I alit, the trousers were still intact about the rear seam. I could dance in them. The Starburst was a success.

  “I’ll take it,” I said, to Teesh’s and Mr. Icari’s open delight. “Now, let’s see what else you have to offer.”

  A couple of hours later, we emerged from the emporium, parcels in tow. In the soft-sided bag looped over my shoulder was an outfit I wanted to show off when my cousins and I converged on the shuttle to take us home. Madame Deirdre’s bag, which I also bore, contained the dark blue gown whose enormous circle skirt offered so much scope for kicks and full spins. Anstruther, as I had predicted, did not find anything suitable among Icari’s offerings. She was simply not as frivolous as I.

  The majority of our finds I had arranged to have delivered to the Jaunter by drone. I wanted to reveal them one by one and surprise my cousins with my discoveries. We decanted into the streets, full of good cheer and new ideas for dances yet to come, our bodyguard in our wake.

  When we returned to the shuttle, my cousins showed off all their splendid discoveries. Nalney had had a handsome portrait of himself embossed into a titanium plaque as a gift for his mother. Jil and Sinim wore diaphanous, jewel-colored costumes embroidered with lighted filaments that created moving patterns. Madame Deirdre spilled her bagful of “sparklies” all over the pull-down table in the shuttle to satisfying oohs and ahs from my cousins, who raked through them with envious fingers. Nesbitt, Redius and the other bodyguards from the Jaunter had bags of treasures to show. Even Anstruther had been persuaded to show off the beautiful red purse she had purchased to wear on her days off. My cousins fingered the rainbow-enameled accoutrements with envy and enough praise to make the shy lieutenant blush.

  None of their finds, though, were as splendid as the olive-green coat of fantastic design that I drew forth from its protective wrappings marked with the seal of the House of Icari. It had embroidered circular openings all over the sleeves, front and back, each of which contained an individual, original work of two-dimensional art. They were coded that facts about each piece and its artist circled the aperture through which it was displayed upon request, and played music composed especially for each piece whenever that image was touched. In a package within a concealed pocket were another thirty images I could use to replace the existing supply of artwork. It was a marvelous garment, full of potential entertainment value. I looked forward to playing with it often over the course of the next few weeks.

  My cousin Xan almost choked in disbelief at the wonder of it.

  “Thomas, that has to be a fiction. You had that made up while you were on the surface.”

  “I promise you,” I said, “I did not. I bought it off the rack.”

  “Entertaining,” Redius said, dropping his jaw in the Uctu equivalent of a smile.

  “Good, isn’t it?” I asked, pleased.

  “That is amazing, Thomas!” Nell said. She tried it on. Naturally, the hem fell nearly to her feet. She was a good third of a meter shorter than I. “Where did you find it?”

  “The Icari emporium,” I said.

  “Where is it? I never came across it,” Nalney said, his face nearly the same hue as my coat with envy. He fingered the art emplacements. They lit up with a twinkle of light and sound. “We can turn the shuttle around. Take me back there! I want one for myself.”

  I shook my finger at him. “Ah, but no, dear cousin. I have secured an exclusive on this design for the time being. I extracted a promise from Mr. Icari not to sell another one of these until our return journey. You are welcome to buy one then.”

  “But I want one now!” Nell protested.

  Xan looked a little sour, as if he had the same idea in mind.

  “That’s not very charitable of you, Thomas.”

  I sat back in my crash seat with an impish grin. “All’s fair in love and shopping, Xan. How about the time you kept that vintner who made that excellent redberry brandy a secret for over four months? T
he poor woman couldn’t even advertise her wares because of you. I’m not stopping Mr. Icari from selling his exquisite fashions. Just this one design. For a short while. You shall have one, or a dozen, when we come home again.”

  “It won’t be the same, and you know it,” Xan said, wrinkling his nose.

  “I do know it.” I favored him with a satisfied grin, laden with impish mischief. “I also hold close to my soul the fact that Parsons will hate it, but he can’t stop me wearing it.”

  “Something ill will befall it,” Erita warned, turning her pointed nose toward the ceiling. “One has never managed to thwart Parsons from the exercise of absolute correctness. He’s been a guardian angel to us all over the years, but one with ironclad standards.”

  “Well, I steel myself to withstand the cold shower of his disapproval as though my cheery mood is an umbrella and a waterproof shelter on pylons.”

  During the transition to the Jaunter, we perused the delights of the coat and the many purchases that all of us had made. The special outfit for the Zang welcome dance had been stowed in the hold under my personal seal. I did not intend to reveal it until that happy moment came. I presume that my cousins had their own surprises to bring out over the course of our journey.

  CHAPTER 6

  Surrounded by 110 Wichu guards and one massive ochre-scaled Solinian in the control room of the Whiskerchin, Phutes held his ground. Captain Bedelev snarled at him, showing sharp, yellow-white teeth. She pounded on his chest with a forefinger. The sharp claw at its end made no more impression upon his stony skin than the beat of her words on his audio receptors, but Phutes felt as though she had painted him with filth.

  “Don’t touch me,” he warned her. “I have told you.”

  “And I have told you for the last time,” she shouted, her voice echoing through the translator, “get the hell off my bridge and stay off! We’re getting you to the platform as fast as we can. We’ll enter the Zang end of Imperium space in about thirty hours. Stop nagging me! It’s not going to make any difference.”

  Phutes listened to Bedelev’s mewling and concentrated on the translated words instead. Could these uncouth creatures not even count in a civilized manner? Echoed by the weird grunts and groans of the device, his voice sounded just as peculiar in his own aural receptors.

  “We are not moving fast enough,” he said. Why couldn’t she understand the urgency? “We must communicate with the Zang sooner. Change course. A Zang will be that way near now.” He swung a massive hand toward galactic northwest, at an acute angle from the direction in which the Whiskerchin was heading. With the aid of the electronic devices and personalities on ships throughout occupied space, Fovrates had obtained information indicating the energy that heralded the impending arrival of a Zang was moving toward a nexus point. On the star charts it was designated as a planet occupied by carbon-based life-forms. In spite of the disgust Phutes felt, such a serendipitous encounter must not be squandered. The eternal creatures moved so swiftly that he might miss meeting it. “No time must be wasted.”

  “What does that mean?” Bedelev asked, lifting her bright pink lip in a sneer. “‘That way’ is not a navigational direction, and we are not wasting any time! This ship is going flat out. It’s a cruise liner, not a destroyer. Any faster, and we could lose structural integrity when we hit the jumps.”

  “Not true,” Phutes said, annoyed by her prevarication. “Fovrates tells more is possible. Improvement percent of 11010.”

  “Crap,” Bedelev said, disbelief on her furry face. “If anything could be improved twenty-eight percent, it damned well ought to have been. We’d have to jettison half of the life support and other systems and shore up the basic infrastructure to make that work.”

  Phutes concentrated his gaze on the round black eyes, as painful as that was. “Then do so.”

  The slime was obdurate. She folded her arms.

  “Oh, please. Not a chance. We’re not endangering anyone’s life for your amusement. We’re getting you to the platform as fast as we can.”

  “Change course. Move faster.”

  Bedelev narrowed her black eyes at him.

  “Not a chance, stone face. This is what you paid for. We’ve got other passengers going the same way as you. We might miss the explosion if we made any other stops, and I’m not about to let my company get sued because we were dumb enough to take you on board. We have to pass through Imperium space to reach the Zang territory. That means going through a border station. That’s our next stop. I’m not starting a war just because you people can’t make up your minds. What if you change them again? Then where will I be?”

  “I will not change!” Phutes insisted. “Our sources have detected a Zang on route to the platform. We must approach it soonest, before the event!” He swallowed his pride and made an appeal, as much as it pained him to do it. “We are your . . .” He could hardly force itself to use the term “. . . customers. Take us where we want to go.”

  Bedelev lifted her chin and folded her arms.

  “Oh, so you want to renegotiate? I’ll have to take it to the other passengers. They’ll demand compensation. A change fee will cost you a thousand credits apiece. That’s 1111100000 in your tongue, give or take a few digits.”

  Phutes could not contain his outrage.

  “No! You will change course now, or we will miss the one with whom we came to speak!”

  The furry brow lifted in curiosity.

  “I thought you were going to watch the Zang blow up a planet, like everyone else.”

  Phutes clenched his fists, determined not to strike the Wichu. The guards moved in to surround him. They could hardly hurt him with their weapons, but they could push him and all his people out into space. It wouldn’t kill them, but it would seriously inconvenience them and their mission.”

  “More!” he bellowed. “Foolish slime! Listen to me! Move the ship in the direction we need!”

  “That’s it,” the captain said, throwing up a hand. Phutes flinched backward to avoid having any of the flying fur she had just shed land on him. “Take him to the brig. I’m tired of him turning up here every time he thinks of something else to complain about.” She marched down the ramp toward her command chair. Phutes tramped after her.

  “No! Listen to me! We must change course!”

  The chief guard, indicated by the deep blue flashings on his chest straps, headed him off and beckoned to him with an open palm.

  “Come on, buddy. Time to go.”

  Phutes turned his voice translator up to the highest volume. “No! I am not going until the captain agrees to my needs.”

  The Wichu winced but didn’t back down. “She’s not gonna do that. Now, let’s move it out so she can get back to running the ship.”

  “I am not leaving.”

  “All right, buddy, have it your way.”

  The Wichus unwound coils of bright yellow, flexible, woven strapping. Phutes calculated the tensile strength as best he could. Possibly, if more than 101 secured his limbs they could immobilize them, but their pitiful furry bodies could not keep him from breaking free. Still, he had no intention of allowing them to try. He backed away from the guards, putting a waist-high rail between him and the squad. The angle of incline beneath his feet changed, telling him he was on the ramp that led toward the navigation console.

  One of the guards looped his strap and began to whirl it over his head. Phutes changed the vector of his descent. Behind him was an alcove into which he could move, preventing the cables from dropping down over his head. He stepped backward. A soft obstruction met him and heavy restraints locked around his chest from the back. Phutes let out a bellow of protest.

  “All right, Mr. Phutes.” It was the Solinian. “Move it out. Now.”

  “Ech ech ech!” Phutes spat, wriggling to avoid contact. “Don’t touch me! Remove your slime from me! Ech!”

  “Who are you calling slimy, kitty litter?” the enormous scaled being demanded, breathing hot, fetid air past his aural receptor. �
��Creator’s Teeth, but you scream like a hatchling.”

  The Kail flexed his torso, trying to tear loose from the Solinian’s grasp. The stinking, rotting organic creature held fast. Phutes writhed and kicked. He could feel the rotting organic particles clinging to his flesh. He would have to scrub himself for 1010 days to get it off! With a mighty heave, he shrugged, seeking to break the Solinian’s hold.

  “You realize,” the lizard-being gritted, sounding amused, “if you tear my arms off, you’ll get covered in my blood and guts. How do you like that?”

  “No!” Phutes bellowed. The stench overwhelmed his taste sensors, and the very idea made him shiver to the soles of his feet. “Stop touching me! Stop it, stop it, stop it!” His voice reached a high-pitched shriek.

  Yellow bands dropped around both of them. By the time Phutes realized it, the Solinian had let go, and the restraints tightened over his limbs instead. The lizard-being moved around to stick his long snout in Phutes’s face as the Wichu guards leaned back to hold their cables taut.

  “Whiner,” he sneered.

  A humming noise alerted Phutes to the advent of a device on heavy wheels. A hook swam into his field of view and locked into a ring in the center of his chest. Phutes let out a honk of alarm. His feet lost contact with the floor. 11 more Wichus threw cables around his legs and tied them together. Now his whole body felt polluted.

  “Let me down!”

  “All together now, crew!” the captain bellowed. Phutes kicked as he dangled from a braced rig. The wheeled device, a flat platform made of nonreactive alloys, was rolled underneath him. Phutes struggled to escape. He sent impulses that would have raised a response from any electrical circuits connected to the platform, but there were none. The straps tightened around him the more he struggled. Phutes thrashed, trying to free himself. The Solinian, wearing no more expression than Phutes himself, pushed the platform off the bridge and into the lift shaft. The sturdy car carried them downward. Phutes bellowed.

  “Siblings, aid me! Come to me, Fovrates!”