The Return of the Emperor (19 page)

That is the only hint. Nothing more.

The commissary sergeant swings into action. Fires up his trusty computer. And the computer is asked to find that clottin' beer. The list he receives will almost certainly include the brand favored by his commander. But it just as certainly will be buried in a million or more possibilities, with no means of narrowing the search—short of ordering every one and spending several lifetimes letting the commander taste-test each one. Although enjoyable, this solution has obvious flaws.

With Kyes's computer it would be no trouble at all. Because it had been designed to understand that living minds had definite limits. The computer worked in twisted paths and big and little leaps of logic. Any simple explanation of this computer would be in serious error.

However, it was basically taught to think of itself as a chess master, engaged in a game with a talented inferior. The chess master knows she can conceive of many moves, with any number of combinations, well ahead of her opponent. But, in a single game, the amateur is quite likely to win. His limited ability may become a plus under such circumstances. The chess master might as well roll dice, trying to figure out which stupid ploy the dimwit has in mind.

Kyes's brainchild would summon the commander—or at least call up the commander's records. A series of questions would be asked: a short biography, a few details of that long-ago drinking session, for example, and certainly a medical examination to determine the reaction of the being's tastebuds. Voila! The narcobeer would be located and morale boosted. The sergeant and commander would return to good graces. Happy ending through better electronic living.

When Kyes introduced Sr. Lagguth, the chief of the AM2 commission, to his baby, the being instantly fell in love. With such a machine, he could track the path of an errant electron on a flight through a star storm.

The next bit of information, however, made him fall just as quickly out of love.

"Forget the AM2," Kyes said. "It's not important."

Lagguth stuttered that that was the task set for him by the privy council—that the whole future of the Empire rested on locating the Eternal Emperor's golden AM2 fleece. Even when the raid on the Honjo was completed, the resulting AM2 bonus would only stave off the inevitable for another seven months at most—not counting the terrible cost in fuel the Empire was expending to finish the theft.

"Haven't you learned your lesson, yet?" Kyes said. "The Emperor's secret died with him. We're never going to find it. At least, not the way we've been going about it."

Then he told Lagguth what he had mind.

Sr. Lagguth violently protested. He did not say he thought Kyes was mad—although that certainly might have been hinted at. But he did say he would immediately have to report the matter to the rest of the council, and he would have to get their permission to abandon his search and to take up the new one.

Kyes did not explode, or threaten, or call the being all kinds of a fool. Instead, he rang for a clerk, and in a moment or two she appeared, wheeling in a great stack of readouts on a cart. The readouts were copies of the report Lagguth had delivered not too long before to the privy council, the one in which he said that the AM2 would be located within thirteen months.

Kyes strolled about the room while Lagguth stared at the report, considering his many sins.

"Would you like to change your conclusions in that report?" Kyes asked finally.

Lagguth remained silent.

"I had a team of my own people go over it. They found it… interesting," Kyes added. Lagguth's mouth gaped—he wanted to speak—then snapped shut again. What could he say? Every page of the report was fiction. He might as well have said two months, or six months, or—never.

"Shall we try it my way?" Kyes purred.

The logic was impeccable. Sr. Lagguth was convinced.

The old woman was a delight. She wore her gray hair long and tumbling down to her waist. It glowed with health. She had a high-pitched giggle that charmed Kyes, especially since she let it ring out at his weakest jests. Even then, there was no falseness in it. Despite her age, which the investigators estimated at 155, her figure was good and she filled her orange robes in a pleasing manner. From what he knew about such things—if he had been human, Kyes assumed he would have found her still attractive. Her name was Zoran. She was the elected leader of the Cult Of Eternal Emperor, insofar as they had real leadership.

Zoran and her group had been shadowed by his investigators for some time. They were a puzzling lot. Most of them lived ordinary lives and were employed at ordinary jobs. During that time they dressed and mostly behaved like everyone else. The only main difference was their attitude. They were absolutely cheerful beings. There seemed to be no setbacks or disappointments that disturbed them. His chief detective swore that if the immediate demise of Prime World were announced, they would giggle wildly and then go on about their duties. They would probably only add a "Last chance for the word" when they donned their robes, kicked off their shoes, and wandered the streets preaching their peculiar beliefs.

Zoran explained away some of the misconceptions about their thinking to Kyes, giggling all the while.

"Oh, we
certainly
don't think of the Eternal Emperor as a god." Giggle. "Or, at least a god, per se." More giggling. "He's more like an emissary—you know—" giggle—"a representative of the Holy Spheres."

Kyes wanted to know what a Holy Sphere might be.

"Very good question," she said. "They're, well, round, I suppose, (giggle) And holy. (Thirty seconds of sustained giggling) Actually, it's just concept. One you accept, or don't. If you accept it—you can see it. In your mind. But, if you don't (massive giggling)… well, of course you won't see it at all."

Kyes laughed himself—the first real laughter from him in ages. "I suppose I'm one of the blind," he said.

"Oh, no. Not at all. At least, not completely," Zoran said. "Otherwise I wouldn't be here talking to you."

Kyes puzzled at that. How could she be so trusting? His motives were far from pure. In a mad moment—the giggling got to a being after a while—he almost confessed this. But he didn't.

"Of course, there might be some who would say that you were thinking of using us," the old woman said. This time, when the giggle came, Kyes jumped. "But how could you? All I have is this poor vessel." She dramatically drew her hands down her robes, outlining her body. "And it is filled with the joy of the Holy Spheres, (small giggle) Use us if you wish, (bigger giggle) There's more than enough joy for everyone."

"But wouldn't the joy be even greater," Kyes answered, trying to avoid being
too
smooth, "if more beings believed as you?"

That time, there was no giggle from Zoran. She studied him, her eyes sharp and clear. Kyes could feel himself being measured.

"You were correct in your assumption that my feelings are not far apart from yours," he continued. "I know nothing about Holy Spheres. Or gods. Or godly representatives. But I do believe one thing. Very firmly. And that is the Eternal Emperor is still with us."

Zoran was silent. Then, she said quickly, "Why is it necessary for you to believe this?"

Kyes did not answer—at least not directly. He was starting to come up to speed with the woman.

"You've stopped laughing," was all he said.

"What do you have in mind to help others hear our thoughts?" the old woman asked. "Money?" Kyes said there would be money for her order. "Temporal support?" Kyes said that as a member of the privy council, his support could hardly be thought of as anything else.

"What do you want in return, then?" she asked.

"Only what you would give me, even without my support, " Kyes said. "I want information. I'd like to be notified when any of your members—no matter where they reside in the Empire—report a sighting of the Emperor. "

"You're right," Zoran said. "None of us would withhold that kind of information. It's what we're trying to convince others of, isn't it?"

It wasn't necessary for Kyes to answer.

"You'll be deluged," she said after a while. "Our religion—if it can be called that—tends to attract many individuals with, shall we say, frantic minds."

"I'm aware of that," Kyes said.

Zoran stared at him for a long time. Then she let loose with one of her wild, ringing giggles.

The bargain was set.

Kyes continued to extend his net across the dark waters. As he did so, he could not help but keep peering into the murk hoping to catch sight of the great, silver shadow of the Eternal Emperor lurking in the depths. The exercise was pointless and agonizing. He was very much like a starving being who had bought a lottery ticket. The hope the action generated seemed harmless enough. At least there was something to dream about for a while. But the hope was just a thin coating on a tragic pill.

But Kyes was an old master of self-control. He recognized the glooming for what it was and continued apace. As his colleagues scrambled frantically about with their bloodletting at home and in the Honjo worlds, he put all of his marks into secret play.

How there was only one mark left, one key being to suborn. Potentially, the most difficult and dangerous of all: Colonel Poyndex, the chief of Mercury Corps. But when he finally determined what the cost would be, Kyes did not hesitate for a moment.

The colonel was as chilling in person as he had been on the screen when the assassination plot had been announced. Poyndex listened intently to every word Kyes had to say. He never blinked or smiled or even shifted in his seat once he had settled.

Kyes carefully skated around his own beliefs and merely restated the logic. The Emperor had reportedly disappeared—he didn't say "died"—before. And he had always returned. Also, the supply of AM2 always followed the same course: diminished during the alleged absence, plentiful when he came back. That part could be charted—and had been by Lagguth's staff and Kyes's computer. The great historical shifts in the AM2 supply appeared to match the times when rumor and myth held that the Emperor was gone.

Finally, Kyes was done. He eased back in his seat, keeping his own expression as blank as the spy master's.

"I wondered why you met with that Zoran woman," Poyndex said. "Now it makes sense. It didn't when my operatives first reported it."

Kyes clawed back his instinct to gape, to be shocked that Poyndex apparently routinely shadowed any member of the ruling council. He had been advised that such comments were one of the colonel's favorite ploys—to win the upper hand with a seemingly casual verbal blow.

"I thought you might be puzzled," Kyes shot back. "That's why I thought we should talk."

He was hinting that the shadowers had shadows of their own, operating at his behest. It was a lie, but a good one. Poyndex allowed an appreciative nod.

"Regretfully…" Poyndex deliberately let this trail. "I don't see how I can help. My department's resources…" Again, a deliberate trailing off to indicate lack of same. "Also, I fear I would be exceeding my authority."

It was not necessary for Poyndex to detail his agency's awesome responsibilities and the additional burdens it now bore as a result of such things as the disaster in predicting the Honjo as a relatively soft target.

Lovett would have bottom-lined Poyndex's statement immediately. The deal—if there was to be one—would begin with increased resources and more authority. Kyes was no slower. He had come prepared to make one offer and one alone. He believed the price was set so high, that no one—especially a spy master—could resist.

"My colleagues and I have been considering a matter for some time," Kyes said. "All of us are concerned that certain views—important views—never come to our attention. In short, we feel a lack of depth on the privy council."

Poyndex raised an eyebrow. The first show of emotion! Especially since the spy master had no idea where Kyes was going. He saw the eyebrow forced into place—a bit irritably, like a cat angrily coaxing back an unruly tuft of fur. Kyes was pleased. Poyndex could be handled. No trouble at all.

"What would you say," Kyes said, "if I proposed that you join us? As the sixth member of the privy council?"

Kyes was absolutely delighted when the spy master gaped like a freshly landed fish!

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

S
r. Ecu hovered at the edge of the lake. The sun was warm, and the rising moist air from the Bhor memorial allowed him to float without effort: a tic of a winglet for steadiness; a flick of the tip of the three-meter tail to keep his eyes on the small being walking toward him across the grass.

In most other circumstances, the Manabi would be enjoying this moment. The warm air and sun were pleasurable, the setting perfect. He appreciated—as only the Manabi could—the contrast of his dark body, with its red-tipped wings and pure white sensing whiskers, against the mirroring lake with its small, rocky beach, and the deep blue-green of the healthy lawn.

He had reluctantly agreed to the meeting. To him, further involvement with any of the surviving conspirators was not only pointless—witness Fleet Marshal Mahoney's dismal failure—but extremely dangerous. Ignoring the invitation, however, might create equal, or greater, peril.

One stray word from the conspirators—deliberate, or otherwise—would implicate the Manabi no matter how tentative their previous role. It took no imagination to know what form the privy council's reaction would take. Imagination was one thing the Manabi were more than blessed—or cursed—with.

Sten did his best to appear casual as he approached. He wanted no hint of self-doubt, although he had a clot of a lot of it. He had already invested a week of preliminary discussions with Sr. Ecu. Diplomacy was a maddening art. Still, he threw everything he had been taught and learned into the effort. There were the circlings to begin with, as each being measured, tested, and got to know the other. Then there was a host of initial discussions—never once hitting, or even coming near, the point.

It did not help his confidence to know he was dealing with the most skilled diplomat from a race of ethereal beings who were individual experts before they had left their childhood behind along with their milk sting.