Hidden Empire (41 page)

Without their father, the Aguerras were starting out behind most other people. His mother had known he was smart; she brought
him books when she could. Now, though he would never see her again, he still wanted to make her proud of him, if only in his
memories.

He swayed a bit, as if thunder had struck through his chest, still hollow and devastated at any reminder of the disastrous
fire that had destroyed the building where his family lived. Only through sheer luck had he been gone that night, running
errands, trying to scrape together a few amenities. Now they were all dead, and he—an underprivileged boy from the wrong side
of the economic curve—had an extravagant, pampered life that went beyond anything he’d ever imagined.

“I am glad to have such an eager student,” OX said, “for there is a great deal I have been instructed to teach you.”

Raymond dove under the water, swimming until his lungs ached. He finally burst up again, spluttering, to draw a deep breath.
He laughed and swam back to the Teacher compy. “If more classrooms could be made out of swimming pools, OX, students would
be much more interested in going to school.”

He felt a vibrating hum in the water, and geyser jets sprayed around the opposite edge of the pool. Underwater hatches opened,
and Raymond swam into a deeper area as gray bulletlike shapes darted out. Three playful bottlenose dolphins, their eyes bright,
darted around him. Laughing, he splashed around in circles, and the dolphins cruised on one side and then the other, coming
close enough for him to touch their rubbery skin, to grasp two dorsal fins and let them carry him along. A week earlier, Raymond
had made a comment to OX about how he wanted to see a dolphin. The very next time he’d gone swimming, the dolphins had appeared.

Raymond had no doubt he was being watched and monitored, that Chairman Wenceslas and his numerous assistants must be recording
every step of his progress. The lack of privacy annoyed him, but he could not argue against it. He owed these people everything.
Though he hadn’t been allowed outside the Whisper Palace, he had wandered through tunnels and chambers, maintenance halls,
secret connecting catacombs. Every corner of the Palace, even the places few people ever saw, was clean and bright, lavishly
decorated. He wasn’t going to complain, though his concept of what constituted a “King” had changed since learning the truth
about Frederick and his nonexistent royal family.

“How did this all start, OX? Earth had so many different governmental systems, developing democracies, dictatorships, and
military-run countries, but a King seems so … old-fashioned. Why did the Hansa reestablish royalty?”

OX paused as if loading a file and assembling a story, and then he began to lecture. The dolphins continued to frolic around
Raymond while he tried to listen.

“When the Terran Hanseatic League began to consolidate its power, their representatives were corporate administrators. They
made decisions and ran businesses, but none of them had a very charismatic or likable public face. The figureheads who came
to fill the role of the Great Kings were created as spokespeople, icons, and mouthpieces to imply that the Hansa functioned
as a unified collection of powers represented in a single leader. Like a kingdom.

“Though a monarchy is not the most politically enlightened form of government, human society has historically looked upon
it with reverence and respect. In the beginning, the Hansa made no secret that their King was merely an actor, someone who
could perform ceremonies and impress the population. To most individuals, ‘corporate businessmen’ seemed fallible—heroes with
feet of clay, as the old cliché says.”

“I’ve never heard that cliché,” Raymond said, swimming backward again. The dolphins dove under him, nosing at his feet.

“But a
King
, if created properly and given the appropriate trappings and coaching, could fill a vital role. The human population accepted
it easily at first. Over the generations, the Great King has become an indispensable spokesperson.”

“Even though the King has no power,” Raymond said.

“Even though the King has no
political
power,” OX emphasized. “Provided he follows instructions and performs all the tasks the Hansa asks of him, the united colony
worlds will run smoothly. You, young Peter, are a
placebo government
. The populace believes in you, and therefore the populace is well governed.”

”Wasn’t that supposed to work for the Church, too? Nobody sees Unison as anything more than window dressing. The Congress
of Faiths might look like a cooperative body in their meetings, but everybody knows they’re at each other’s throats behind
closed doors.”

OX said, “In theory, Peter, they are searching for a common denominator among the beliefs of human beings.”

“It’ll never happen. That’s why so many Hansa colonies have their own cultures and churches. My mother never looked at the
Congress too favorably. She said Unison would never have the spark of a real church.” Raymond frowned, remembering Rita Aguerra
and how she had clung to her icons and her observances, though quietly at home. “She said the

Archfather, the Spokesman of All Faiths, would always play second fiddle to a real pope, in her eyes.”

OX pondered. “An apt analogy, Peter. The consolidation occurred here on Earth while I was away on the
Peary
. The Congress of Faiths is like the old United Nations, trying to represent all points of view, finding common ground.”

Raymond snorted. “It’s more politics than deep religious passion, and Unison is so bland that nobody can get inspired by it.”
He stroked backward, dunked his head under the water, and came up spluttering. He wiped his eyes.

“Nevertheless, Peter, the people accept the Archfather as their unbiased religious representative, and the government officially
supports the consolidated Church. It is intended to keep the people calm and quiet, not to arouse fervor. By now, most of
the truly intense devotees have founded their own isolated religious colonies on unwanted worlds, as you pointed out. Most
have found, however, that they cannot live in isolation. They are dependent on Hansa supplies and equipment. Not many have
amounted to anything.”

“So the Archfather is irrelevant, just like the Great King.”

“Not true, Peter. You are highly relevant, because the Hanseatic League intends to keep growing in size and power. Chairman
Wenceslas would accomplish little without you.”

“That’s a relief.” Tired of the energetic dolphins and done with swimming, Raymond drifted to the stone steps and climbed
out. OX extended the towel, and Raymond dried himself off vigorously.

“And the Archfather will place the crown on your head.”

He could have requested a massage or a sauna, or any kind of drink or sweet treat he could imagine, but at the moment Raymond
couldn’t think of anything he particularly wanted. He had already studied hard for the day and exercised well. He still had
only an inkling of all the important things that would be expected of him, and he certainly wasn’t ready to fill his role.

Raymond shrugged into a plush crimson robe that seemed to warm instantly as he wrapped it around himself. In spite of his
doubts, he found his new situation to be an acceptable change from his previous life.

57
TALBUN

T
he worldtrees were uneasy, deeply aware of some brewing problem in the Spiral Arm, but cosmic fears could not always be understood
by the followers and tenders of the worldforest. As always, the forest knew more than any human could understand, even a dedicated
green priest.

Such grand-scale matters rarely bothered the distant colony worlds, though. Daily life here was slow and quiet, filled with
contentment.

On sparsely populated Corvus Landing, the old green priest Talbun knew it was time to end his work and his life. Through the
thrumming worldforest, he sensed that great events were brewing, terrible times ahead for many worlds and many people.

Talbun, however, was more concerned with his personal obligations.

As he walked among the rustling worldtrees that covered a hillside near the settlement of Colony Town, Talbun listened to
the call of faraway Theroc—the center of the worldforest, the heart of the trees. He had not been home for decades. The treelings
he had planted on the ridge overlooking the town now stood taller than a man, a satellite mind of the sentient forest. He
would never return to the beautiful world where he had been born and raised, where he had first taken the green. But that
was all right.

Corvus Landing depended on him, and Talbun loved this place. He would not abandon the people, no matter how tired he was,
no matter how old and frail he felt. Talbun’s life had been devoted to service, praying to and caring for the worldtrees;
by association, he also watched over the people who served the forest. He would not surrender to his selfish desire.

Not yet.

Talbun stroked the scaly trunk of the nearest tree in his grove, receiving the whispered thoughts of the forest. “I will join
you soon,” he whispered. He would die here on Corvus Landing. His flesh would fertilize the soil and nourish the worldtrees,
his final service to the beloved forest. “But first I need to find a replacement.”

Talbun had only to send a call, and all green priests, anyone who could touch the mind of the worldforest, would sense his
message. So why did he hesitate?

Many tattoos marked his face, lines and circles that commemorated his journeys, signifying how much time he had spent aboard
ships. Talbun had served on the
Constellation
, traveling from system to system and performing Hansa business. Talbun’s connection with the trees allowed him to send emergency
communications and diplomatic communiqués faster than any starship or signal could travel. Not every message required such
speed, of course, but having a green priest onboard conferred a great deal of prestige on the captain and his ambassador partner.

After five years on the diplomatic ship, Talbun had resigned. He had earned his tattoos and was not growing anymore. “I must
be on a planet again. I am tired of metal walls and reprocessed air, of looking out the window and seeing only emptiness.”
He tried to make the
Constellation’s
captain understand. “I long to feel the dirt beneath my feet, the air against my face, wind and rain and sunshine.”

Green priests were not controlled by Hansa law, despite numerous efforts to bring independent Theroc under their rule. Upon
resigning from the
Constellation
, Talbun had instantly received a thousand offers for his services, but he already had in his mind and his heart what he wanted
to do.

It had been only three years since the first settlers had established a foothold here. Talbun had come to Corvus Landing.
With his credentials, he could have requested any assignment in the Spiral Arm—yet the bucolic planet called to him. He was
not interested in accolades. He wanted peace.

No one had been more surprised by his choice than the leaders of Corvus Landing. When he’d arrived on the backwater world,
a single green priest who had booked passage on a scheduled cargo ship, he’d been welcomed with the most lavish celebration
the warm-hearted settlers could provide. Earnest young mayor Sam Hendy had declared a feast in his honor, though Talbun had
been shy about such ceremony. After he had planted his lovely grove just outside Colony Town, Corvus Landing had become a
real part of the Hansa, more than just a signatory to the Charter. Talbun’s telink abilities made him a living telegraph station,
letting the settlers remain in direct contact with Earth, other colony worlds, and merchant ships.

Thrilled to have such a distinguished new member of their community, the colonists had pooled their meager resources and sparse
luxuries. They had helped him clear the native mosses and interlinked groundcover so he could plant his treelings. Talbun
had never felt so loved and appreciated.

He could not abandon these people now just because he was weary of life.

Talbun had planted his treelings one at a time, caressing them, welcoming them to their new home. Coached and nurtured, the
trees had grown rapidly, taking all the nutrients they needed. After two years he had been able to harvest healthy clippings
and plant new treelings to enlarge the grove. Everything here was growing perfectly.

But humans did not live forever.

Under the feathery canopy, Talbun turned his face to the sky, drinking in the sunlight from this alien star and converting
it to energy. He ran dirt-caked fingertips over his cheeks, feeling not soiled but vibrant. The powdery earth always made
him more alive.

Corvus Landing had been the perfect place to spend the rest of his years, filling out the deficiencies in his life. In this
grove of treelings, he had sat cross-legged for hours, reading document after document to the trees, all the while increasing
his own knowledge. He had loved those days.

But now it was time for his replacement. He had one last role to play.