Hidden Empire (40 page)
I
’ve asked you to meet privately with me, Frederick,” said Basil Wenceslas, “because it is time for us to discuss your retirement.”
A smile rapidly superseded Frederick’s surprise. “It’s about time, Basil. Forty-seven years on the throne? I’m getting tired,
and I’ve been waiting for you to announce my replacement.” He strode over to where he kept his decanters of the finest sherry,
his favorite of many vices. “You won’t get any complaint from me. This performance has gone on long enough. Would you like
a drink, Basil?”
“No.” The Chairman stalked around the King’s private withdrawing room, unwilling to take a seat.
“Then I’ll have one for you.” Frederick poured a dollop of amber liquid from a cut-crystal decanter, looked over at the other
man and added a second shot. The Great King of all humanity did not need to ask permission.
The fact that Basil and the Hansa leaders were searching for his replacement was no news to Frederick. He was not so naive
as to think that the Chairman had not been making plans all along, regardless of whether he kept them secret. Through his
own spy network, Frederick had learned long ago about the first intended replacement, Prince Adam, an abortive candidate who
had ultimately proved too intractable and unsuitable for the Hansa’s purposes. Frederick had been waiting for years to hand
the crown off to a successor. Frankly, he was surprised Basil had waited so long to make his announcement.
He took a long sip of the sweet sherry. “I am very much looking forward to my retirement. I’m tired of everyone watching my
moves day in and day out.”
Bemused, Basil raised his hands to indicate the opulence of the Whisper Palace. “I don’t understand you, Frederick. You have
everything a person could possibly want. Why would you fantasize about retiring? It makes no sense.”
“We are two different men, Basil. You could never envision giving up your work, but I long for an end to all… this.”
Basil finally took a seat. “Frederick, if I were ever to retire and ‘relax,’ I wouldn’t last six months before I threw myself
off a cliff into the sea.”
“I have no doubt of it, old friend,” said the King.
The Chairman and the King had both begun to work for the Hansa at about the same time—Basil rising quickly under his predecessor
Chairman, while the young actor-prince underwent careful training and coaching—but Frederick had always been in the public
eye. He had ruled Earth and its subject planets for close to half a century, and enough was enough. He sipped his sherry again.
“Basil, I am damn tired of ceremonies, of waving flags and cheering crowds who applaud my every movement as if simply walking
down a hall or standing on a balcony were enough to strike awe into the hearts of my subjects.”
The Chairman’s voice was calm. “Most people would envy you all that.”
“Then go ahead, pick one of them and give him my job.” The King subsided into a gold-inlaid chair studded with jewels. Its
padding was hand-embroidered by a hundred different workers, forming designs and geometric patterns that Frederick had long
ceased to appreciate. He let out a long sigh.
Frederick remembered when he’d first taken on the mantle as the new Great King. The then leaders of the Terran Hanseatic League
had completely invented his past, created an identity for him while erasing his previous life. At the time, Frederick had
considered it a bargain, reveling in all the comforts and trappings of power.
But even the best of things grew wearisome after a while.
All in all, Frederick thought he had been a good King, a decent King. He was no impostor, no character from a “Prince and
Pauper” adventure, because no “real” King Frederick had ever existed. He had created the character, played the role. And quite
nicely, he thought.
His predecessor had been King Bartholomew, a kindly and exuberant older man with whom Frederick had gotten along quite well.
Bartholomew had been his mentor, like a real King to his real son, and before the old man’s retirement, they had discussed
their situation with full candor. At the time, young Frederick had been reluctant to believe the old King was willing to pass
on his mantle of rulership without argument, but now Frederick understood Bartholomew perfectly well.
The Hansa had carefully staged Bartholomew’s death, issuing a statement from his personal court physician that he had “died
peacefully in his sleep.” Then the previous King had received a new face, a new identity, and had gone off to live on Relleker
in comfortable, blissful obscurity for the next two decades or so. Yes, he had given up the Whisper Palace and the throne,
but he had gained much more.
Basil sat back and looked up at the old leader. “Don’t worry, Frederick, we’ll take care of everything when you retire.”
“That’s what you promised me, Basil. I trust you.”
The Chairman chuckled. “Not many people say that to me anymore, Frederick. I appreciate it.”
The King poured a second glass of sherry, pretending not to notice Basil’s disapproving look. Over the years, his selfdoubts
had begun to eat at him as he watched the Hansa’s devious manipulations. He did not question Basil’s orders, and he cooperated
with whatever the Hansa asked him to do. It was out of his hands.
Did even a Great King truly deserve all this adulation? The population of the human-settled worlds treated him like a god.
And he, the man who had been forced to take the fictitious name of Frederick, had been chosen only because he possessed a
particular body type, a natural charisma, the perfect timbre of voice—and a certain level of malleability.
It was all an accident, though. If he hadn’t been caught on an observation camera and, entirely without his knowledge, passed
a rigorous screening process, he would have lived an uneventful life. He might have had a family of his own, sons and daughters
he could claim. He wouldn’t have minded living in a small house, as long as he was left alone, even if it meant he made absolutely
no mark on the universe, the world—or even the block of buildings around which he lived. Was that so important?
“Do whatever you think is best, Basil,” he said, “but please take care of it soon.”
He both envied and pitied whoever was going to be his successor.
T
he Whisper Palace held hundreds—thousands?—of rooms, passageways, and chambers. With vast portions sealed and off-limits,
the public had no inkling of how
little
they were permitted to see.
After he settled into his strange and remarkable new situation, Raymond had certainly never guessed there could be so much
to discover, though Basil Wenceslas and the compy Teacher OX kept him under tight restraint. Every time he went exploring,
he was awed and astonished by the opulence, by the conveniences and luxuries he was invited to use every single day. Just
when he began to feel he could not be impressed again, he encountered something more fantastic. He could barely keep up with
it all.
Raymond wished his mother and brothers could be here to see this.
Wearing a glimmer swimsuit, he bounced and slid through a water tube that crossed the ceiling and spilled him out into the
heated seawater pool below. He splashed heavily when he landed, an imperfect dive, but he knew enough to clamp his mouth shut.
When he had first begun learning to swim, he’d found himself coughing and choking, much to his embarrassment. But over the
past several weeks, despite all the other educational activities required of him, Raymond had delighted in swimming the most.
A few times, when he was younger, he and his brothers had splashed around in a public pool. Though he had loved the activity
with Michael, Rory, and Carlos, Raymond never gained any real confidence in the water. Now, with the Palace’s sea bath heated
to a perfect temperature, and enough guardians and watchers to rescue him in nanoseconds if he ever found himself in trouble,
Raymond let himself relax and play.
He dove under the water, swimming as far as he could, eyes open—his newly tinted
greenish blue
eyes—to see the artificial convolutions in the bottom of the pool. He wondered how often Old King Frederick used this spa.
The King probably had a dozen similar pools for his private use. Raymond’s disbelief at all the extravagance had begun to
make him blasé.
He surfaced, spluttering, and splashed new-blond hair out of his eyes. He stroked gently toward the edge of the pool, still
with little grace, but growing competence. Raymond had promised himself that he would keep practicing until he became an excellent
swimmer. Basil Wenceslas and his other benevolent captors were pleased that he wanted to learn new things and expand his knowledge,
though they had given him explicit curricula to which he must devote most of his time.
OX stood like a metal statue at the side of the pool. He held a towel, though the compy instructor saw no need for his student
to emerge from the pool before he continued his lecture. “I have several lessons prepared, young Peter. Shall we begin?”
By now, Raymond had stopped being bothered by the false name. Chairman Wenceslas had given him so many benefits and rewards
just for playacting the son of King Frederick that he decided to put up with it. It didn’t really make any difference. If
that was all Raymond was required to do, then it was certainly a bargain.
Raymond treaded water. “I’m listening, OX.” Water continued to trickle out of the overhead slide, and bubbles foamed from
thermal vents at the bottom of the faux volcanic floor of the sea bath. “Hey, why don’t you tell me about yourself? You’re
one of the oldest compies I’ve ever seen. That model was discontinued, oh what, ten years ago?”
“Forty-three years ago, young Peter. Yes, I am old. I was one of the first dedicated compies. I was created to be placed aboard
the first generation ship, the
Peary.”
Raymond splashed backward, barely able to believe. He knew parts of the history, had studied it in school, but now pushed
back, stroking through the warm salty-smelling water trying to calculate. “That’s more than three centuries ago.”
“Yes, three hundred and twenty-eight years,” OX said. “The long voyages of the generation ships were the reason compies were
originally created. Not just to be companions and mechanical pets for people on Earth, but to serve their descendants aboard
the generation ships. My memory files are old but still quite clear. I remember the day the
Peary
launched. I was onboard.”
“I know that now, OX,” Raymond said.
“The
Peary
held two hundred families and all the resources they would need to establish a self-sufficient colony. Engineers built the
generation ships in the asteroid belt and then shuttled all the passengers onto the vessels. The captain let me stand on the
bridge as they launched. Even at full acceleration, it took us nine months just to leave the Earth’s solar system. Everyone
aboard was certain they would never see other humans again.”
Raymond swam gently across the pool so as not to make too much background noise, otherwise the Teacher would scold him, repeat
himself, or raise the volume of his voice. “Crimson rain, OX, it’s hard to believe people would be willing to drop everything
and leave their homes behind with no realistic hope of ever finding a better place.”
“Those were desperate times,” OX said. “The ships were slow and huge—colonies themselves, in effect, with every supply needed
to support all passengers and their descendants for centuries. We compies were placed onboard to provide stability and long-term
memories during such extended voyages. Thus, it was vitally important that we learned how to teach.”
“Like baby-sitters that never went away,” Raymond said. He playfully splashed OX, but the compy was not the least bit ruffled.
“We were a stabilizing influence. Over such a long voyage, no one expected that the passengers would preserve all the details
of human civilization, that they would remember Earth culture and laws and morals. Compies helped guide the children, and
then their children, and then their children. The information had to be preserved, the dream kept alive. When the generation
ships finally arrived at a suitable planet, we did not want their passengers to be feral primitives.”
“Then the Ildirans found our generation ships,” Raymond said, knowing the rest of the story. “They took everyone to a new
planet just as fast as you please, and then they brought you back to Earth as a liaison compy to help establish relations
with the Hansa. Now you’re a living historical artifact, a grand old compy.”
“Why, thank you, Peter. It is gratifying to encounter such respect.” OX took the towel he had held for Raymond and wiped the
droplets of splashed water from his metal skin. “Or was I meant to interpret that as a joke?”
Raymond went to the stone steps of the pool and waited, still submerged in the warm water. “Oh, I meant it, OX. I respect
someone as smart as you are, with all your information and experience. I would never joke about it.”
When he’d been younger, back before the dramatic change in his life, Raymond had always studied hard. Since he’d also been
busy trying to hold his family together, struggling to earn enough money to keep his mother and brothers afloat, his grades
were never particularly good. He couldn’t follow the academic rules and complete all the work that schools demanded of him,
but that had never stopped him from concentrating on important subjects. He realized early on that mathematics and simple
bookkeeping were keys to moving up in the world, to breaking away from the ghetto where his family was stranded.
