The Empress

  Pasus snapped his fingers. Twice. The second time, those glazed eyes looked toward the sound. “Your Supremacy, tell me to rise. As we practiced,” he said quietly. “Remember? Rise. Rise.”

  Tyrus’s brows pressed together. He blinked sluggishly.

  “Rise?” Tyrus said.

  Pleased, Senator von Pasus straightened—and that was the last involvement of Tyrus for a good while as Pasus turned to address the gathered Grandiloquy like he was their Emperor. He might as well have been, though he recalled himself at one point, removed the scepter from its sheath, and then slung it across Tyrus’s lap.

  Tyrus gazed at it with puzzlement, and then his head flopped back again.

  “I don’t know how much of what I say you can understand,” I told Tyrus quietly, and surveillance equipment might be recording this, but I didn’t care. “But this is not what we had in mind. Tyrus, please, if this is for show . . .”

  Nothing.

  “No.” I swallowed. There was a mass in my throat, it felt like. A great panic clawed at my chest.

  I didn’t know what to do.

  “. . . been coordinating with media outlets on Eurydice,” Pasus was telling the other Grandes and Grandeés. “In case our primary narrative does not come across as we wish, we’re preparing a secondary story. A backup.”

  My gaze fastened on him, a laser focus to my thoughts.

  “Our Emperor is very young, and of course, it was well known before he took the throne that he was not entirely stable. He is in love with . . . a woman of, shall we say, violent tendencies, who influenced him. If our story is doubted, we will cast it as an attempt to shield this story: that the Luminars attempted to take advantage and stir up trouble, and this boy so new to his power overreacted to it. This will also quash any speculation about my remaining here—”

  I surged out of my seat, swelling with outrage. “No. No! You will not cast us in that light!”

  They all looked to me, to the woman by Tyrus’s side, the one who dared to talk over them, but I felt as though I sizzled like lightning with this raw fury.

  “You will not say Tyrus is responsible for what you did on Lumina!” I bellowed. “That wasn’t him. It was you. How dare you say that!”

  Many sought to reply, but Pasus waved them silent. His lips were a jaded twist. “We will not say anything. We mean the public to believe the Luminars—always a fractious sort—were secretly experimenting with bioweapons and had an unfortunate accident. This is merely a contingency plan in case that story is not accepted.”

  “You did it. And you will not say it was Tyrus’s doing.”

  “He is a Domitrian,” Pasus said. “He is the last Domitrian. He is the only one who can shoulder blame for this without dying for it. And our Emperor himself will agree to make that gesture for his Grandiloquy. Right now. Today.”

  That was when I realized why Tyrus was so drugged. They were going to use him as their safety net—with his complicity.

  “I won’t let you,” I vowed, and what I wouldn’t have given for my strength.

  “Retire her for the day,” Pasus said to his servants. “She’s disrupting the proceedings.”

  I leaned over and swiped the scepter from where it still lay on Tyrus’s lap. As the first servant reached me, I swung around and crashed it into his head—as Tyrus had done to Hazard. Then I raised it overhead, but the second man caught it, and the rare feeling of someone struggling with me, overpowering me, made me grit my teeth and drive my heel into his shin.

  Then—a fist across the face.

  Normally I could absorb this. Today bright lights flashed behind my eyes and I found myself on the floor, close to Tyrus’s feet. And his hazy eyes were directed my way, his brows flickering down.

  Hands were already grabbing me, so I implored him, “Say nothing. Say nothing, Tyrus—SAY NOTHING!”

  But irresistible forces dragged me back, and Tyrus was looking my way, but did he see anything? I fought every step toward the exit as Pasus stepped up to Tyrus, as he clasped his face to turn it right toward him so all Tyrus saw was him.

  “You ordered the Resolvent Mist deployed on Lumina.”

  “No, you didn’t!” I shouted, and then a hand jammed over my mouth. I sank teeth in, and my heels skidded over the floor as Pasus spread his palms to block me from Tyrus’s sight.

  “Just say yes. Agree that it was you. Say yes. As we practiced.”

  My teeth dug in deeper, but the hand remained.

  “Say yes. Say yes!” Pasus shouted now.

  And the entire chamber—all these smug perpetrators of mass murder—they were watching intently, hopeful! Hopeful as though their own crimes would be forgiven by another wrongly, dazedly accepting blame!

  “Yes. As we practiced. Yes.”

  Tyrus keeled forward, and delight made me almost laugh—because it was clear he was trying to walk away. Pasus caught him in a bear hug to keep him there, to keep him on his throne, and they were both crammed between the armrests now, and how ridiculous it looked.

  “Say it! Say. Yes.”

  Tyrus’s head swayed about, to fix him with a confused look. “. . . Yes?”

  Applause followed, and he sent a bewildered look over the Grandiloquy giving cries of relief, bringing their hands together, and Pasus smiled broadly, and that was all I saw before I was out of the presence chamber. But Pasus’s noxious voice poisoned the air:

  “All of you heard it. The Emperor’s word is sacred, and it was spoken with all of us as witness. It may be said with total honesty that we heard this—all of us. No drug and no lie detector will ever say we deceive. Let’s congratulate our young Emperor for ensuring peace! Very well done, Tyrus. We are so proud of you.”

  The fight had left me. It was done. If the Excess refused to believe the Luminars had destroyed themselves, then Tyrus and I were to be blamed for the deaths of four billion people.

  When a Servitor appeared with a discreet-sheet, I almost crumpled it up, in no mood for intrigue. But I looked, and it was from Gladdic.

  Explosive decompression tonight. 2000 from the Justice Hall.

  I crumpled the paper to powder.

  I could do this much.

  • • •

  I’d never worn a space-sheath before, but I knew it was prudent to check it for leaks before using it. I didn’t. There was no time. I sorted through the formfitting silver-and-black sheaths already on the Hera and found a size that would fit. The material felt rubbery and resisted as I tugged it over my legs and zipped it up over my breasts, but then after I’d secured the gloves and helmet, the material inflated and pressurized. The in-built steering rings shrank as well, and then the sheath’s material hardened into a rigid shell.

  Oxygen pumped through the helmet, and my focus narrowed as I approached the Hera’s air lock. One flick of my hand, and the meager air propelled me out into space.

  With the momentum at my back, I plunged into the still and deathly silence. For a moment, I drifted that way, the absence of gravity somehow more jarring and unnatural out here, somewhere a human body could not exist, could not survive.

  Then I played a mental game with myself: this was a ball dome with a very clear exterior. The vessels, these massive metallic and granite structures I drifted through, they were just walls. Obstacles. It was a game.

  And so I moved my legs to steer my momentum as I would in any ball dome, drifting soundlessly past the empty windows of the Hera, and how very hard and imposing Cygna’s starship looked from just outside. At the final airlock I passed, I yanked the door open, left it that way. Then I aimed myself toward the Valor Novus, which the Hera attached to by a corridor that appeared a spindly arm out here, though I’d walked through its sturdy interior hundreds of times.

  I kept my eyes fastened on the windows, but the void was great and dark. Even had someone stood near the windows of the Valor Novus, they’d never spot my black-and-silver suit drifting past against the background of starships. I peered in window after window, trying to orie
nt myself from outside a ship I knew so well from the inside.

  Then I found it. The Justice Hall.

  I’d just have to hope Neveni had the foresight to exhale before she was vented. If she held her breath, her lungs would rupture immediately, and she would die. It all depended on her.

  I positioned myself just above the air lock, hearing my own breathing within the narrowed helmet, my own heartbeat. . . . Such total silence out here in space. Gleaming metal starships shrank in all directions. So still out here.

  A thought crawled into my mind: no sound waves traveled through a void, which meant the neural suppressor could not be sonically triggered out here. I had my full strength right now, and though the lack of gravity meant I couldn’t feel it, it was there.

  My gaze traveled about, searching for the Colossus, for this was a possibility. I could rescue Tyrus from the outside. Who would see it coming?

  A burst of light, and out came Neveni, totally exposed with no space suit, cast to her death in this void.

  And so I launched myself forward to save her.

  27

  HER BODY was like a doll tumbling into the darkness. She must have passed out quickly, because I met no resistance when I grabbed her, when I hauled her with me toward the Hera.

  Precious seconds dragged by as I neared the awaiting air lock and thrust her inside. I caught her before she could bounce back out, and sealed the door shut behind me. The repressurization sequence kicked in.

  I knew when oxygen returned, because Neveni drew a huge gasp of air. I sagged back against the wall, my heart drumming in my chest. It wasn’t until the door opened between the air lock and the rest of the Hera that I ripped off my helmet. A nearby med bot, responding to her vital signs, soared into the chamber with us.

  “Neveni,” I called to her as it hummed about her. “Neveni, can you hear me?”

  She made a sound.

  “Are you brain-dead?” I asked her.

  She obviously couldn’t answer this if she were, but I could tell she wasn’t because her face grimaced with distinct vexation. I assumed that a brain-dead Neveni couldn’t manage that.

  Sure enough, she spoke as soon as she could manage: “Why didn’t you just let me die?”

  Her voice was a dry rasp. I thought I’d misunderstood her.

  Then, “I wouldn’t let you die. I’m not holding a grudge over the transmission you sent me. I know Pasus forced you, and he would have trapped us without it. So . . . so if you think I was angry, I wasn’t. That didn’t merit letting you be killed.”

  “This isn’t about you, Nemesis. Why didn’t you let me die for my sake?” she cried raggedly. “I wanted to be dead. I was glad it was over. I should be with my family. I want to be with them.”

  “Space is still out there,” I told her. “It’s not going anywhere. One touch of a button and I could vent you back out into the vacuum if you prefer.”

  Neveni gave a sob. “Do it, then.”

  “No,” I said, indignant. “I just went to a great deal of trouble saving you. Vent yourself to space if you want.”

  I turned around to leave her, then thought better of it. She might take me up on that suggestion.

  “I’d rather you didn’t do that,” I told her quickly. “I prefer you weren’t dead. You surely realize that even if you’ve just lost everyone you know and love, everything will be better soon.”

  She made a choked sound and covered her face with her hands. Even the brief vacuum exposure had blistered her skin with the cosmic rays of the stars, so the med bot turned its attention to that next.

  I didn’t know what else to say, so I left her. The noises she made, which followed me down the corridor, could have been sobs or laughter. I made sure to dispatch a service bot her way with recreational narcotics. Venalox was a dreadful narcotic, but I still had faith in other sorts. Drugs were a most excellent means of coping with grief.

  • • •

  For the first time, Pasus summoned me to his vessel, the Colossus. Once I boarded the ship, I found Tyrus seated across from Senator von Pasus at a long table amid a garden. Servitors placed an array of freshly sliced breakfast fruits before them. In the great light of three suns beaming through the sky dome, Tyrus’s skin looked wan, sallow. He’d lost a great deal of weight.

  “Ah, Nemesis,” said Senator von Pasus. “Sit. Eat breakfast.”

  I would sooner drink poison. I eyed Pasus, wondering what his game was. He sat with Tyrus’s scepter positioned on the table in a short stand . . . closer to him than to its true owner.

  “Your Supreme Reverence, look who has joined us!” Pasus said loudly.

  Tyrus stirred, met my eyes just for a moment.

  “He is not eating,” Pasus told me. “Withdrawal will do that.”

  Withdrawal!

  My gaze flitted hopefully to Tyrus. He clearly knew what uses he’d been put to while under, because there was a bitter cynicism on his face.

  “Are you all right?” I asked him quietly, knowing there was no way to speak without Pasus hearing us.

  “Just queasy,” Tyrus said hoarsely.

  “Do you . . .” I looked at Pasus, watching us with a smug satisfaction that made me want to break his skull open. “Tyrus, do you remember everything?”

  “I remember signing away every possession I have,” he said, his voice a rasp. “And then accepting responsibility for a mass murder I didn’t commit. I remember enough to deem that the worst drug trip of my life. Now my mind is clear. Why?” He looked up at Pasus. “Do you have all the plunder you meant to take?”

  “I’m satisfied we’re off to the right start. We no longer need the injections. From now on, you will simply need to ask me for doses when you feel you need them, and I’ll give them to you so you may inhale them at leisure.”

  Tyrus closed his eyes. “I have no ships, no colonies, no resources . . . just my vaunted bloodline. Tell me, how am I to pay my oxygen allowance? Food. Water. Now that you have the deed to the Valor Novus, shall I go elsewhere, or do I rent from you? And that brings me back to money. I would vacate the premises, but I suspect you would not allow that. You see my difficulty.”

  “You’re right. You won’t be able to shoulder those expenses. Especially when Your Supremacy has ruled out the prospect of marrying for wealth,” Pasus agreed. “Fortunately, I’m willing to lend you what you need.”

  “Which again brings us back to the issue of money. One can’t simply borrow without end.”

  “Your ancestors certainly had no issues with running a deficit. I will take care of all the arrangements for you to make payments toward your debts to me through taxes. Tariffs. Fines. You have the mechanisms of the state at your command. Your uncle was liberal with his use of them.”

  “I am not,” snapped Tyrus.

  “Not yet.” Pasus’s eyes gleamed.

  Tyrus had no choice here. They both knew it.

  Tyrus leaned back, gazed up at the ceiling, and gave a fatalistic laugh. “Between genocide and extorting the Excess, you mean me to be a very popular Emperor. Why even bother with Venalox? A borrower is already slave to a lender.”

  “You wish to stop using the Venalox, then?” Pasus said.

  Tyrus didn’t answer. He knew there was a catch.

  I cut in, “Why even ask that?”

  “He can stop now if he wishes. He can stop today,” Pasus said.

  Did the man truly imagine Tyrus so addicted already, he’d make another choice?

  “Withdrawal is most unpleasant,” said Pasus. “But if you want to stop using the Venalox, you can endure it. It will torment you for about two days, gauging from the Excess who tested it.”

  “I don’t believe you for a second,” Tyrus said. “You wouldn’t allow me to stop.”

  “I would. Of course . . .” He picked up his glass, weighed it in his hand. “I cannot guarantee I won’t wait out the two days, then force another injection upon you again so you may get addicted once more. We’ll repeat again and again until you underst
and the utter futility of your predicament.”

  “Fine.” Tyrus raised a palm, his eyes hard. “Consider it understood. Will you give me the other form of the drug now?”

  “That question was not posed in the manner I’d like.” Pasus considered it carefully. “What I want is for you to use my title, a respectful tone, and the word please. I want you on your knees. We’ll do this in the presence chamber.”

  “Are you utterly mad?” Tyrus said.

  “Why subject him to that?” I demanded. “Does it please you to humiliate him?”

  “This has nothing to do with his feelings,” Pasus said. “It’s about how we will be perceived. I need the Grandiloquy to see me in a position of mastery over the Emperor so they will understand how it is to be. And it will also be for your sake, Tyrus.”

  “My sake?” Tyrus said with a nasty smile. “This will be an interesting explanation.”

  “You will remember this. Always,” Pasus said. “Shall we go to the presence chamber now?”

  Tyrus threaded his fingers together, just considering them, as though he wished to inspect his nails. They were dirty. I noticed that abruptly. Tyrus, so meticulous, and there was dirt under his nails. I couldn’t seem to look away from them.

  “This is entirely too gratifying for you,” Tyrus said.

  Pasus considered the words a moment, then smiled. “But of course it is, Tyrus. Why wouldn’t it be? I’ll admit it. I enjoy this. The Senate was in my grasp while you were still wearing diapers, and but for a stroke of luck, you might have cut my legs out from under me at the height of my power. This—after scorning my daughter for the creature who murdered her. I have been insulted by you in myriad ways, so I will not pretend there is nothing . . . pleasurable about this.”

  “I wouldn’t have guessed you were so sensitive, Senator,” I told him. “Have you been tallying up his slights all this time?”

  “It’s human nature, which I wouldn’t expect a Diabolic to understand,” Pasus said, his eyes on Tyrus. “It may be inevitable: the youth are the downfall of the aged, but it will not be you, and it will not be today. A hundred years from now, when you are a much older Emperor and some insolent chit of a boy marches in and sets himself to destroying everything you have fought so hard to build . . . Perhaps then you’ll understand the need to crush that young person in your fist. For now, I am content for all to see you kneel before me.”