Fortunes of the Imperium (9 page)

I blessed her for her organizational talents, not the least of which was managing my cousin. But I was caught by the obvious concept, or omission thereof.

“Just a moment,” I protested. “Which bags belong to the rest of you?”

“Oh, these are only mine,” Jil said, laying possessive hands on the cases. “My friends’ bags haven’t arrived yet.”

“They will be here at any minute,” Banitra said, giving me an engaging smile. “I was very stern with the cargo company to make certain they would be here before launch.”

“How many bags do you have?” I asked.

“Only five. Not as big as these.”

“I have six,” Hopeli said, with a laugh. “Small ones. Well, comparatively.”

“Four,” Marquessa said.

“Just two,” said Sinim. “But they’re bigger than those.”

I gave Parsons a sour look.

“Surely my crystal ball and its attendant impedimenta would have taken up less than a single one of these enormous receptacles.”

“If I may remind you, the Lady Jil is not a serving member of the Imperium Navy, sir.”

“Heavens, no! But it would seem as though a battleship will be required to carry her luggage!”

Overnight, Parsons had provided me with Infogrid links to each of the ladies’ files. I studied them closely. Marquessa was a personal shopper at the local Colvarin’s Department Store embassy cum shopping center. Sinim had become a correspondent with her via the Infogrid over a mutual interest in the designs of a graphic performance artist. Their acquaintance with Jil was not of long standing in any of their cases, but that did not surprise me. Jil had a tendency to form lifelong friendships on first meeting. And they had proved to be interesting conversationalists as well as good dancers. It should not be a dull journey. The addition of a group of ladies would keep Jil too busy to meddle in my mission and, as Parsons had suggested, their presence would prove a useful diversion for interested onlookers.

“It will be all right,” Banitra assured me. “We have everything organized. All she has to do is enjoy the trip.”

“I am in your debt,” I said, sounding a bit more formal than I would have preferred. I rather liked her and the other companions. I simply had to remain perched on my toes to avoid any romantic entanglement with either her or Sinim. I had sent an early-morning message to my great-aunt Sforzina (who had also avoided attending my party, undoubtedly to forego such a confrontation), but she had not replied.

“This will be such fun!” Jil said. She stopped and surveyed me up and down. I straightened up automatically, as though my mother were looking on. “I just realized! Why
are
you in uniform, Thomas? Haven’t you been separated from the service yet like the rest of us?”

“Well, you see . . . ,” I began.

“Lord Thomas has been returned to active service as a favor to the Emperor by his lady mother, the First Space Lord,” Parsons said, appearing at my side like my own shadow. “He proved to be of some minor use to the Imperium in the past. The First Space Lord felt that his presence on this mission would be of similar aid. He is to represent the Emperor to the authorities of the Autocracy. Therefore, official costume will lend him greater authority when he encounters those whose assistance he needs to request.”

“Ah,” Jil said, with a mix of spite and malice such as only she could blend, “this is your punishment for the skimmer race!”

At an almost invisible nod from Parsons I bent my head in shame.

“You need not put it exactly like that,” I said. “It’s no worse than your reason for taking temporary leave of Keinolt.”

This time Jil dipped her countenance. I felt momentary sorrow for that thrust, seeing as it was delivered with less than perfect tact before her friends. I was about to apologize when yet another luggage carrier appeared on the scene, rumbling under the weight of its load. It had been piled as high as a mountain with bags of every color and configuration. I executed a perfect double-take, to the amusement of the ladies.

“And where is all that going?” I inquired.

“Well, wherever it will fit!” Jil said. “You can’t expect my ladies to travel stark naked.”

“And by ‘stark naked’ you mean fewer than twelve layers of clothes?”

“Just exactly,” Jil said, laying a delicate hand upon my arm. “I am so glad you understand what I say, Thomas. It will make the trip much more entertaining.”

What could not be cured must be endured, I mused. I turned my back on the loader.

“Gentlewomen,” Plet said, inclining her head a few millimeters. “Welcome aboard. Lieutenant Kinago, please see to their comfort.”

“It would be my pleasure,” I said. I applied a salute to my forehead, then extended an elbow to Jil. “Please come along and see your quarters.”

Jil battened on, and I proceeded toward the boarding ramp.

The cooling system was in full operation, so the ambient temperature within was several degrees lower than the desert sunshine outside. After a moment of shivering, the ladies had acclimatized. They looked around, their brows wrinkled with curiosity. I followed their glances, taking in the thin layer of the cream-colored inner hull against the steel-blue of the shielded and armored outer hull. Beside the hatch were glassteel-fronted cases containing emergency gear, each with a series of images instructing on their use. Beyond the airlock, the size of the average foyer in the Imperium compound, a short corridor led to the main passage. I was accustomed to its appearance, but I realized how utilitarian and forbidding it might seem to civilians.

“Why don’t we start with a tour?” I asked. I directed them to the main corridor and to the right, where the ship’s artificial gravity took hold and turned us thirty degrees. “This way is the bridge.”

“Here we have the nerve center of the entire ship,” I said, entering the command module with understandable pride. “You see all the screens and tanks that provide telemetry for all information the crew will need to pilot the ship and take care of its many functions. The four station chairs are for command, navigation, communications and defense, and are fitted with complicated padding and harnesses to protect the officers during launch, landing and any rough travel.”

“Battle?” asked Marquessa, with a frisson that shook her delectable flesh. As she was not related to the imperial family, she had not had to go through the academy for two years’ service. Instead, she had taken part in an ecology program on a planet being terraformed in Colvarin’s Department Store system. I imagined what it must look like to her to enter a warship for the first time. The walls full of screens and scopes must be a trifle overwhelming.

“If need be, of course, but our first move would be evasive tactics,” I assured her.

“Why are there six chairs?” Hopeli asked, pointing out the obvious.

“Well, that one is mine,” I said, pointing to the one slightly behind and to the right of the center of the bridge. It had superbly comfortable padding and an enhanced sound system installed. Its extended frame was custom-fitted to my long back and legs.

“Where do we sit to watch the launch?” Sinim asked, eagerly, peering around. “I don’t see any other seats.”

“Not in here, I am afraid.”

I led them off the bridge, past the hydroponics garden and conference room, showed them briefly the location of ladders and conveyance chutes around to the cabins and bathing facilities, storage facilities, and repair bays. I explained the spinning core that ran through the center of the ship, to provide normal gravity while in the void. I looped back briefly to the cargo bay at the far aft just behind engineering. With all the goods needed for the trip, including military skimmers and aircycles already occupying a large portion of the area, the addition of the ladies’ luggage filled it up to the toes of the evac suits hanging on the walls in their individual cubbyholes. We had just room to squeeze all the way around to observe the aft airlock and back again. Our tour ended in the common room.

“This is where you will observe launch, or anything else you choose,” I said. I flipped on all the lights.

The enormous chamber, thus revealed, elicited appreciative
oohs
from my audience.

“This is the entertainment center,” I said, my voice echoing off the white enameled panels that were the default walls of the room. “It doubles and trebles as the refectory, tri-tennis court, exercise room, theater, party venue and whatever else helps keep the crew healthy and pass the long weeks or months that the ship may be in transit. Here is where you will dine.”

I showed them the tables that rose from the floor, then operated the control to activate the kitchen.

The food service section hummed into life. It occupied a large cubbyhole of its own. A wide conveyor, self-cleaning, led to the dishwasher-cum-food recycler that all cycled down into a system that was part of life support. Dishes and utensils left the washer and stacked themselves neatly in a cabinet beside the mechanized food preparation area. Prepared meals need only be placed on the IO platform for each section to be heated or chilled to temperature.

“You are not expecting us to eat processed glop,” Jil said, horrified. “I left that behind at graduation!”

“Certainly not,” I said. I pointed. “Cold storage, including walk-in freezer or refrigeration units for real food, is behind this section. You have access to anything not marked with somebody else’s name. I have ordered excellent supplies to see us through the transit and beyond the frontier. Rank
has
its privileges. But look here,” I added. “You will enjoy this.”

I opened a few of the wall hatches to show them the clever storage units concealed within. My sports equipment had been secured in the storage lockers along with that belonging to my crew. I took out my favorite tri-tennis racquet, a Williams model in black high-impact compound with electric blue and pink flashes, and swished it through the air. The ladies opened one hatch after another to have a look. They found bats, hoops, nets, balls of every size and configuration, exercise equipment, weights, variable resistance machines and so on, secreted behind panels all over the large room.

“Yes, but one does not always want to play sports,” Jil said, bored already with the delights of the chamber.

“One is not expected to do so,” I said, activating a control on the wall. A black glassteel panel slid up to reveal a state-of-the-art video center and music player, compact enough for one person to operate, but with extensions and connections for three dozen to use. Tri-dees, old videos, thousands of subscriptions to holographic and sound magazines and countless other media were stored for recall by anyone who had time to kill. Myriad games, with appropriate controllers and joysticks, needed only to be unlocked to be enjoyed. “Every file is available anywhere on the ship on demand. Come take a look.”

Jil allowed herself to be persuaded to seat herself at the console and peruse the listed media selections. She ran her finger up and down the screen, frowning at some entries, smiling at others.

“Oh,
Ya!
” she exclaimed happily. “You have
Ya!
”

“You’re a fan, too?” I asked. The video series was an import from the Autocracy, starring an all-Uctu cast. Our distant ancestors would have called it a soap opera. I had been a devotee of it for years.

“Of course I am a fan,” Jil said, with a moue for my stupidity. “You
knew
that. You bought me season six for my eighteenth birthday.”

“Oh, but that was so many years ago, cousin,” I said. “Oof!” She hit me in the stomach with her elbow. I folded over the blow, giving her enormous satisfaction.

“What a wonderful collection,” Sinim said, her eyes aglow as she scrolled down the list. “We’ll enjoy all of it!”

“Yes,” Marquessa said. “It won’t be as bad as I thought it would be.”

“Well?” I asked, waiting for the inevitable reaction from my cousin.

“Well, what?” Jil asked.

“What do you think of my ship?”

She looked around, her lower lip pushed out in thought.

“It’s a trifle small, isn’t it?”

“Small!” I was taken aback and said so. “How many other Kinagos have their own warship?”

“Technically, it’s not yours,” she said, teasingly. “It belongs to the Imperium Navy.”

“Then I suppose it belongs to my mother,” I said. “And you
should
be impressed. She has thousands of ships. Of every size.”

“I wonder if she gives them pet names,” Jil said. “I would, if they were mine. The
White Star
would become
Trinket
. How does that sound? And this one would be
Neeps
.”

“
Rodrigo
,” I said firmly. “It is named for my father. But I quite agree. Some of them would be the better for a nickname. They are only meant to sound fearsome to our enemies, not to the brave souls serving aboard them. I shall run us up a copy of the naval manifest, and we can rename all the ships in the fleet.”

Jil clapped her hands. “That would be splendid!”

My viewpad buzzed. I lifted it to see Plet’s severe face staring up at me.

“Launch in ten minutes. To stations. Countdown beginning.”

With that terse order, her image disappeared, to be replaced by clock numbers tolling downward.

Jil pouted.

“Do you really have to go?” she asked.

“Plet gets very annoying when she’s being officious,” I said, casually. “I had better get you situated, cousin. Oskelev is the most amazing pilot, nearly as good as I am, but technical glitches can happen to anyone. I should hate to see you bruised when the event is so preventable.”

I went around the room, pulling down crash couches and seeing to it that the guests were properly buckled in. The veteran of many transstellar voyages, Marquessa fastened her own harness expertly. I was glad there was one I did not need to worry about. Hopeli became intricately tangled in the padded straps, and did some most intriguing contortions to get free. I remembered from her Infogrid page that she was a fellow student in a dance class Jil took in town. The others waited for me to secure them in place. I flipped buckles and grip-pads expertly, and had them safely strapped in no time. I had learned from several hours’ practice the most efficient order in which to secure the various parts of the harness. I could tell that my guests were impressed.