"Camotossa Kha'jt, may I present the Great and Good Patriarch of the ever-honorable Ziffon Family, foundational clan of the Nardingwelle Quex'ls (may Allah bless their line); Keeper of the Gate of Pagrammah; Lord of Saromiado; CEO of Wiedinfurug Industries; CFO of Segki'tramati Consolidated Investments; and twice-recipient of the prestigious Light of the Realm Award, for Distinguished Attention to Detail and Duty to the Empire, awarded by Emperor Augustin's own hand; new friend to the Vernes, and loyal ally of Famia Kha'jt, now and forever, a man of rare honor and perfect sagacity...Riig et Camo Gowlan Heliarma. Your Grace...?"
I said it loudly, and ended with a flourish so that the short, round fellow (more so than me on both counts, at least), who bore a swarthy complexion and dark comb-over that showed more scalp than coif, and a cheesy mustache that did nothing to distract from a face full of birthmarks, could step forward gravely, soberly, and with literal nobility. I hadn't seen the man even once before that moment, so I couldn't attest to his character with any personal knowledge. He was a guy who actually listened to his expert advisers, though, which put him a cut above the usual loudmouths and egotists.
They had told him that the evidence we presented was convincing: Ludvella had been engaged in illegal predation; it had been hiding out in his very own Xu'eqod star system; it had destroyed one of his highdocks for no reason other than to cover its tracks; and finally, that it had been working for the Cadre. His people advised him to strongly reject the advances of the Cadre, and to embrace the affection of the Circle, fighting as it was for the stability of the Empire, and the sovereignty of its beloved leader, that Great and Good Emperor.
The Circle's spin doctors were legion and legend, but a man with the kind of presence in the Empire that Gowlan Heliarma possessed wouldn't be swayed by propaganda, ours or anyone's. No, he was with us because he was now angry: not about Ludvella's presence upon his patch of space; not about how it was using said space to hide from the wrath of its enemies; not even about the destruction of one of his expensive highdocks. No, he was mad because the Cadre had done all that without asking first. It was a slight, and slights in the Empire were repaid. It made the Riig et Camo...literally, The Emperor's Count (which was apparently oh-so-much better than being a regular ol' count)...well, it made him look weak. Like he was someone you could just up and ignore! The fact that we had done the exact same thing in outing this outrage was glossed over in the negotiations between Circle and Gowlan Heliarma's officials. These talks were quick, taking place via priority messages upon fast couriers, and through the mouths of polyglot toadies who dashed across space on direct interstellar flights, back and forth; experienced professionals who made introductions, extended assurances, and spread promises.
I...we had gone out to slay a dragon, and come home with a new, rich friend. Gowlan Heliarma owned everything in Xu'eqod system. He was a Modern Autocrat of the classic design; that is to say, he valued free speech and equality up to the point where someone else's ideas of those things differed from his own. Then he valued peace and quiet above all else. He had political prisoners wearing chains, and at least a baker's dozen home-grown armed rebel factions. The fact that he could be away from such troubles for such a far-flung, and foreign situation as a feud between previously non-aligned Noble families, implied that he either wasn't aware of the problems he had close at home (a common-enough occurrence when one had a team of insulating bootlicks), or he didn't care (also common). He didn't strike me as the ostrich type, so he probably knew something of what was going on in his section of space, if only enough to be convinced that, if everyone just, you know, obeyed the rules, they'd be so much happier.
Some people in power feel an obligation to help their charges live better, more fulfilling lives. Such benevolent types have always been in the minority. Despite their privilege, most were more interested in their own problems and pleasures than in anything else; after all, they hadn't gotten powerful by putting other people first.
Actually, all the ones I'd ever met had gotten rich and powerful by being born into it. They didn't stay in power, though, by giving their influence away. Most Noblefolk were at least partly mindful of image and public perception, and consequently put forward a facade that implied they cared. But this guy? He didn't even bother with that much. His people were poor, by and large, but the Riig et Camo, himself, was fabulously wealthy, and didn't mind flaunting it. Say what you want, at least he was no hypocrite.
It was now two weeks since our mission to Xueqod.
For this formal presentation, I'd spoken in Ceicion. My knowledge of that language was rudimentary, and my pronunciation worse. It had taken me two days to memorize the words phonetically, and even longer before I could say them without laughing.
Being the Nobleman responsible for the destruction of Ludvella -- because, of course, a Nobleman had to take the credit, despite the prices paid by men who actually worked for a living -- I was made responsible for Camotossa Khaj't and the Emperor's Own Count meeting in a public ceremony for the first time. It was my duty, therefore, to stand there and speak in a foreign language and sound like an idiot. That duty now complete, I retreated behind Gloutuk, who stood a half-step behind the Camotossa, and came up next to Cyndranehya, shaking my head. I'd forgotten a whole line about Heliarma being the Spiritual Leader of the Grand Mosque in New Lebanon upon the planet Palau. The Count hadn't missed a beat himself though, moving in as soon as I'd finished my spiel. The guy had been dealing with these sorts of events all his life, and had probably heard worse.
"Not bad, not bad," the bodyguard scolded in Ingliss, over his shoulder, apparently saying the opposite of what he felt about the presentation.
"Wow...!" was Cyndra's only comment, eyes and mouth wide in mock shock and horror.
"I need a new entourage," I muttered, and settled in for this thing to run its course. Which it did, in about ninety minutes; nowhere near as bad as I expected, but nowhere near my tolerance level. I spent a quarter-hour slowly edging my way toward the door, then backed out into the companionway beyond without a word or nod to anyone, and legged it to the open bar one level below.
By the time I got word that the formalities were through, I'd been knocking 'em back for a while with the bureaucrats, mid-ranking officers, and other leader-types who were too insignificant to be required upstairs. I was laughing at misheard anecdotes, and butchering names, and the Lowspeak language in general, to everyone's feigned amusement. That Famo Dosantos! Oh, what a card!
After our debriefs, and after filing his mission report, Chicharron vanished back into the rank-and-file that had apparently spawned him. Not a single word of mutual congratulations, good luck, or farewell passed between us from the moment we were reunited with the squadron. In his mind, he had done his duty...and I was the one that had set that duty upon him. Since I didn't feel compelled to prove anything to anyone (least of all, to a man who had decided to dislike me before we'd ever met), then that was it. I recommended awards for the bravery and gallantry of my compatriots to the appropriate commanders. That would mean a medal and likely promotion for Chicharron, and a medal and increased pension for Goddah's widow.
Oh, and thanks to all the brave patriots of the Empire, for your service and sacrifice!
Somebody at the bar raised a glass for the common men of the mission, and I joined in for that, at least.
Thereafter, I sat with a dozen happy celebrants, none of whom I knew, and most of whom had no idea who I was.
I was about to down my third graino shot with a beer and pepper sauce back, when I got a direct note in my eyeview from Cyndra. It was just a forward of a vid message from L'mond's office. It had come in on an arriving courier, timestamped to only a few minutes before, and it was marked Urgent, addressed to us both. Doubtlessly, I had a copy waiting in my own Inbox, but I'd silenced that for the evening. She didn't add an addendum, which probably meant she hadn't seen it, herself, just yet, being distracted by all the obligations. Reading your mail during ceremonies of the Empire was probably a faux pas of some sort, and likely a big one.
I threw back the small glass of clear, viscous liquor, and sub-vocced the message open. I saw L'mond, himself, sitting in what looked like a vehicle's interior; judging by the way light streaked and slid over him as he talked, and how he rocked from one side to the other in a slow, gentle manner, it could have been an aircar, flying low and weaving around buildings. He spoke in his perfect Ingliss.
"Heads-up, you two: the Family Advisory Board wants to pull the plug on all Vernes involvement in this little dance of yours...I'm on my way there now, and I know what they're going to recommend. They can delay funding dispersal long enough to put us in a bind out there. But that's the good news! The bad is that a pack of our military scout ships was fired upon by a Kingurska Class battleship without any direct provocation. That was earlier this morning, over in D'letorba; it's an uninhabited star system in which we have a perpetual and exclusive exploitation lease through the Imperial Mining Commission. That means it's ours. No one was hurt in the attack -- our people jumped away in time -- but now the Vernes family has been targeted on its own soil...so to speak. The Board hasn't heard about this yet, it just came in a minute ago, and I ordered a data blackout. I intend to let them have their say, then drop this news to make it plain that we have to respond.
"Ejoq, I need you to rendezvous with our security forces at Ondo Tweenpoint. They'll be expecting you, and will know that you speak for me. I want them all ready for war, ASAP. Cyndranehya, I need you to stay right there at Banqada Station, and wait for a written declaration from Family Advisory. Assuming it goes as I expect, you'll get a data packet by special delivery in just a couple hours. At that time inform the Circle that Famia Vernes is coming in with large-scale asset and funding commitments. Rough details will be with the packet." He looked up, squinting against a beam of sunlight that raked over his face while the car banked left. "Ah! Okay, I'm almost there. Uncle Tov is influential on the Board, and he's an old warhorse. I don't expect this to be a hard sell. You kids wanted this fight, so let's kick it into high gear. Oh, and Ejoq...congratulations on your success in Xu'eqod. Excellent piece of work!"
The message ended with freeze-frame of him touching something behind his ear, already making another call.
I swiped it away with a finger wave in the air in front of me, then got up to leave before the booze did anything funny to my gait. I called Cyndra while stalking off, and, as expected, got her Inbox. She was going to have a lot to digest when she was done with the formalities.
"When you see L'mond's message," I said, walking out of the government conference center and hailing an automated tik-tik, "you'll know where I'm heading right now. Keep that robot of yours by your side, and stick close to the Countess and Glautuk. Tell them I'll be back soon, and in style. Stay safe. You hear? Do that for me, and I'll do it for you."
Then I closed the call and climbed into the cab.
"Hub elevators," I told it, and was off.