Rhythm of the Imperium (6 page)

I opened my mouth to protest, but Deirdre was adamant. I lowered my head to display capitulation. The shop clerk watched me with a quizzical expression on his broad, furry face. This would be difficult. To point directly at the tunic I wished to try on would be cheating. How could I evoke “the red tunic with twenty pockets but not the wooden buckle, in my size, please?”

“But, madame, such a thing is not nec—” Mr. Icari started toward us. He halted in his tracks as Deirdre held the warning finger toward him. Such was the power of her command of symbolism that he didn’t question it at all.

“He must learn!” she exclaimed. “He will tell you through pure movement and symbolism which is the garment he wants to try on.”

“Very well, madame.” Icari eyed me.

I assumed first position, my feet arranged with heels together and my hands curved gently at my sides as I thought how to express myself. I was looking for something special. Therefore, I must move as though I was questing. It would not be sufficient to pace around the room with my eyes on the floor as though I had dropped my viewpad. Longing and need must come through my posture, though not as desperate as the search for sustenance and shelter. Nor could I merely trudge. Grace must inform my every move. I had to perform as though responding to unheard music.

Without looking at the spinning racks, I raised my arms. Spreading my palms out before me, I grasped vainly for that which I could not hold. In my mind, I heard the tinkling of a piano, one of the pieces of music that Deirdre liked to use for sustained movement. I went into a dramatic crouch and ran around the room, dodging the numerous racks and models, seeking the object of my quest. I halted before Mr. Icari and brought my arm upward and across in a crashing salute, which extended into a sweep, describing the expanse of the sky. At least, I hoped he understood it was the sky. He followed the movement of my arm with a worried look, but one untampered by comprehension.

I realized I had to paint with a brush broader even than I had used for my cousins. With a swift glance at my teacher to ensure that she did not disapprove, I created a landscape. I moved from here to there, imitating trees, mountains, a running brook.

“The world, huh?” Teesh asked, beginning to catch my intimations.

I beamed at the Wichu. Then I gathered all my creations in my hands and drew them down into a tiny globe I held tenderly. He watched as I gathered more and more “worlds,” making each tiny in turn.

“Okay, I guess … the system? Taruandula?” Now Mr. Icari had become interested. He peered at me closely as I plucked tiny “systems” from all around me. “The sector?”

Then I threw my arms around them all.

“The universe!” they chorused. I drew my forefingers together in a graceful gesture, keeping my face immobile, though inwardly I was beaming like a laser. Success! The two males cheered, then subsided, looking at one another with sheepish expressions. Such an outcry must seldom be heard in such a dignified establishment as Icari.

“What’ve we got that looks like the universe that salutes?” Teesh asked, stroking his massive jaw.

“The Starburst,” Icari said. He clapped his hands together. “Teesh, bring the Starburst. Make certain it is in his lordship’s size. It is for you, isn’t it, Lord Thomas, and not for this lady?”

I glanced again at Deirdre. She widened her eyes slightly, giving me permission. If I ever thought that Parsons owned the trademark on microscopic facial expressions, Madame Deirdre came as close to anyone who violated it. I nodded.

The room became a bustle of activity. All of the rotating racks went into operation at once. Gondolas of clothing lowered themselves from the ceiling and raised up again as Teesh failed to locate the item he sought. I had a moment’s concern in case they would not have what I wanted and would have to make it or alter it from existing stock. The longer we lingered on this station, the greater the chances that my cousins would find this place and strip it to the walls. All my hopes of holding an exclusive on choice fashions would be dashed. I knew that each of my relatives had their own list of establishments they had planned to visit, but I fancied I had the inside track on the very best of the best. Odile’s recommendations had certainly paid off thus far.

I allowed my concerns to surface in movement. I drew my arms inward, wrapping myself in a cloak of misery. My shoulders drooped. My eyes went wide with hopelessness. So effective were my emotings that Icari himself came to lay an arm over my shoulders.

“Don’t worry, my lord! That’s a new design. We got in the whole range of sizes. I can’t recall selling a Starburst in your size yet. I fancy we’ve got it here someplace. I apologize deeply for the delay. Please, allow me to get you a drink of something.” He snapped his fingers.

A tall cylinder of a serverbot sailed into the room brandishing a tray. In a circular depression that contained chill circuits, a glass bottle of pale green wine shivered. A handsome decanter containing a rich red towered over various beakers and containers of a rainbow of liquids.

“Name it, sir. We’ve got it. Taruandula gets practically everything. Would you like a snifter from my private store of Nyikitu brandy? I know that’s his Imperiousness’s favorite.”

I smiled, but shook my head.

“I know how hard that is to obtain, Mr. Icari,” I said. “I prefer to keep my mind clear. That red wine looks entrancing.”

The serverbot raised the carafe and poured a perfect measure into a glass. I allowed my features to return to their normally optimistic expression. Icari relaxed. The wine lived up to the richness of its color, sating my palate and wetting a whistle grown dry from exertion.

“A fine vintage,” I said, allowing my free hand to create symbols expressing my approval. “My Imperium cousin wouldn’t find this out of place in his own cellar.” Icari looked pleased at the compliment. Lieutenant Anstruther was persuaded to accept a cup of tea, since she was on duty. Madame Deirdre took a tot of aged spirits, neat.

“Got it!” Teesh exclaimed. He waved wildly from the far corner of the room. In his other hand, he thrust forward a bracket hanger from which swung the blazing tunic I had admired. The server unostentatiously removed the glass from my hand as I reached out to touch the glowing garment.

“That is perfect for our purposes,” Madame Deirdre said. “That expresses just the right note.”

When I tried it on, I had to agree with her. Posing and turning before the triple mirrors, I admired the way eternity seemed to follow me no matter which direction I faced. It fit me perfectly. Even the trouser legs were the correct length. But the acid test was yet to be made.

I leaped into the air, kicking my feet out as far as I could to touch my outstretched hands. When I alit, the trousers were still intact about the rear seam. I could dance in them. The Starburst was a success.

“I’ll take it,” I said, to Teesh’s and Mr. Icari’s open delight. “Now, let’s see what else you have to offer.”

A couple of hours later, we emerged from the emporium, parcels in tow. In the soft-sided bag looped over my shoulder was an outfit I wanted to show off when my cousins and I converged on the shuttle to take us home. Madame Deirdre’s bag, which I also bore, contained the dark blue gown whose enormous circle skirt offered so much scope for kicks and full spins. Anstruther, as I had predicted, did not find anything suitable among Icari’s offerings. She was simply not as frivolous as I.

The majority of our finds I had arranged to have delivered to the
Jaunter
by drone. I wanted to reveal them one by one and surprise my cousins with my discoveries. We decanted into the streets, full of good cheer and new ideas for dances yet to come, our bodyguard in our wake.

When we returned to the shuttle, my cousins showed off all their splendid discoveries. Nalney had had a handsome portrait of himself embossed into a titanium plaque as a gift for his mother. Jil and Sinim wore diaphanous, jewel-colored costumes embroidered with lighted filaments that created moving patterns. Madame Deirdre spilled her bagful of “sparklies” all over the pull-down table in the shuttle to satisfying oohs and ahs from my cousins, who raked through them with envious fingers. Nesbitt, Redius and the other bodyguards from the
Jaunter
had bags of treasures to show. Even Anstruther had been persuaded to show off the beautiful red purse she had purchased to wear on her days off. My cousins fingered the rainbow-enameled accouterments with envy and enough praise to make the shy lieutenant blush.

None of their finds, though, were as splendid as the olive-green coat of fantastic design that I drew forth from its protective wrappings marked with the seal of the House of Icari. It had embroidered circular openings all over the sleeves, front and back, each of which contained an individual, original work of two-dimensional art. They were coded so that facts about each piece and its artist circled the aperture through which it was displayed upon request, and played music composed especially for each piece whenever that image was touched. In a package within a concealed pocket were another thirty images I could use to replace the existing supply of artwork. It was a marvelous garment, full of potential entertainment value. I looked forward to playing with it often over the course of the next few weeks.

My cousin Xan almost choked in disbelief at the wonder of it.

“Thomas, that has to be a fiction. You had that made up while you were on the surface.”

“I promise you,” I said, “I did not. I bought it off the rack.”

“Entertaining,” Redius said, dropping his jaw in the Uctu equivalent of a smile.

“Good, isn’t it?” I asked, pleased.

“That is amazing, Thomas!” Nell said. She tried it on. Naturally, the hem fell nearly to her feet. She was a good third of a meter shorter than I. “Where did you find it?”

“The Icari emporium,” I said.

“Where is it? I never came across it,” Nalney said, his face nearly the same hue as my coat with envy. He fingered the art emplacements. They lit up with a twinkle of light and sound. “We can turn the shuttle around. Take me back there! I want one for myself.”

I shook my finger at him. “Ah, but no, dear cousin. I have secured an exclusive on this design for the time being. I extracted a promise from Mr. Icari not to sell another one of these until our return journey. You are welcome to buy one then.”

“But I want one now!” Nell protested.

Xan looked a little sour, as if he had the same idea in mind.

“That’s not very charitable of you, Thomas.”

I sat back in my crash seat with an impish grin. “All’s fair in love and shopping, Xan. How about the time you kept that vintner who made that excellent redberry brandy a secret for over four months? The poor woman couldn’t even advertise her wares because of you. I’m not stopping Mr. Icari from selling his exquisite fashions. Just this one design. For a short while. You shall have one, or a dozen, when we come home again.”

“It won’t be the same, and you know it,” Xan said, wrinkling his nose.

“I do know it.” I favored him with a satisfied grin, laden with impish mischief. “I also hold close to my soul the fact that Parsons will hate it, but he can’t stop me wearing it.”

“Something ill will befall it,” Erita warned, turning her pointed nose toward the ceiling. “One has never managed to thwart Parsons from the exercise of absolute correctness. He’s been a guardian angel to us all over the years, but one with ironclad standards.”

“Well, I steel myself to withstand the cold shower of his disapproval as though my cheery mood is an umbrella and a waterproof shelter on pylons.”

During the transition to the
Jaunter
, we perused the delights of the coat and the many purchases that all of us had made. The special outfit for the Zang welcome dance had been stowed in the hold under my personal seal. I did not intend to reveal it until that happy moment came. I presume that my cousins had their own surprises to bring out over the course of our journey.

CHAPTER 6

Surrounded by 110 Wichu guards and one massive ochre-scaled Solinian in the control room of the
Whiskerchin
, Phutes held his ground. Captain Bedelev snarled at him, showing sharp, yellow-white teeth. She pounded on his chest with a forefinger. The sharp claw at its end made no more impression upon his stony skin than the beat of her words on his audio receptors, but Phutes felt as though she had painted him with filth.

“Don’t touch me,” he warned her. “I have told you.”

“And I have told
you
for the last time,” she shouted, her voice echoing through the translator, “get the hell off my bridge and stay off! We’re getting you to the platform as fast as we can. We’ll enter the Zang end of Imperium space in about thirty hours. Stop nagging me! It’s not going to make any difference.”

Phutes listened to Bedelev’s mewling and concentrated on the translated words instead. Could these uncouth creatures not even count in a civilized manner? Echoed by the weird grunts and groans of the device, his voice sounded just as peculiar in his own aural receptors.

“We are not moving fast enough,” he said. Why couldn’t she understand the urgency? “We must communicate with the Zang sooner. Change course. A Zang will be that way near now.” He swung a massive hand toward galactic northwest, at an acute angle from the direction in which the
Whiskerchin
was heading. With the aid of the electronic devices and personalities on ships throughout occupied space, Fovrates had obtained information indicating the energy that heralded the impending arrival of a Zang was moving toward a nexus point. On the star charts it was designated as a planet occupied by carbon-based life-forms. In spite of the disgust Phutes felt, such a serendipitous encounter must not be squandered. The eternal creatures moved so swiftly that he might miss meeting it. “No time must be wasted.”

“What does that mean?” Bedelev asked, lifting her bright pink lip in a sneer. “‘That way’ is not a navigational direction, and we are not
wasting
any time! This ship is going flat out. It’s a cruise liner, not a destroyer. Any faster, and we could lose structural integrity when we hit the jumps.”

“Not true,” Phutes said, annoyed by her prevarication. “Fovrates tells more is possible. Improvement percent of 11010.”

“Crap,” Bedelev said, disbelief on her furry face. “If anything could be improved twenty-six percent, it damned well ought to have been. We’d have to jettison half of the life support and other systems and shore up the basic infrastructure to make that work.”

Phutes concentrated his gaze on the round black eyes, as painful as that was. “Then do so.”

The slime was obdurate. She folded her arms.

“Oh, please. Not a chance. We’re not endangering anyone’s life for your amusement. We’re getting you to the platform as fast as we can.”

“Change course. Move faster.”

Bedelev narrowed her black eyes at him.

“Not a chance, stone face. This is what you paid for. We’ve got other passengers going the same way as you. We might miss the explosion if we made any other stops, and I’m not about to let my company get sued because we were dumb enough to take you on board. We have to pass through Imperium space to reach the Zang territory. That means going through a border station. That’s our next stop. I’m not starting a war just because you people can’t make up your minds. What if you change them again? Then where will I be?”

“I will not change!” Phutes insisted. “Our sources have detected a Zang on route to the platform. We must approach it soonest, before the event!” He swallowed his pride and made an appeal, as much as it pained him to do it. “We are your …” He could hardly force itself to use the term “… customers. Take us where we want to go.”

Bedelev lifted her chin and folded her arms.

“Oh, so you want to renegotiate? I’ll have to take it to the other passengers. They’ll demand compensation. A change fee will cost you a thousand credits apiece. That’s 1111100000 in your tongue, give or take a few digits.”

Phutes could not contain his outrage.

“No! You will change course now, or we will miss the one with whom we came to speak!”

The furry brow lifted in curiosity.

“I thought you were going to watch the Zang blow up a planet, like everyone else.”

Phutes clenched his fists, determined not to strike the Wichu. The guards moved in to surround him. They could hardly hurt him with their weapons, but they could push him and all his people out into space. It wouldn’t kill them, but it would seriously inconvenience them and their mission.

“More!” he bellowed. “Foolish slime! Listen to me! Move the ship in the direction we need!”

“That’s it,” the captain said, throwing up a hand. Phutes flinched backward to avoid having any of the flying fur she had just shed land on him. “Take him to the brig. I’m tired of him turning up here every time he thinks of something else to complain about.” She marched down the ramp toward her command chair. Phutes tramped after her.

“No! Listen to me! We must change course!”

The chief guard, indicated by the deep blue flashings on his chest straps, headed him off and beckoned to him with an open palm.

“Come on, buddy. Time to go.”

Phutes turned his voice translator up to the highest volume. “No! I am not going until the captain agrees to my needs.”

The Wichu winced but didn’t back down. “She’s not gonna do that. Now, let’s move it out so she can get back to running the ship.”

“I am
not
leaving.”

“All right, buddy, have it your way.”

The Wichus unwound coils of bright yellow, flexible, woven strapping. Phutes calculated the tensile strength as best he could. Possibly, if more than 101 secured his limbs they could immobilize them, but their pitiful furry bodies could not keep him from breaking free. Still, he had no intention of allowing them to try. He backed away from the guards, putting a waist-high rail between him and the squad. The angle of incline beneath his feet changed, telling him he was on the ramp that led toward the navigation console.

One of the guards looped his strap and began to whirl it over his head. Phutes changed the vector of his descent. Behind him was an alcove into which he could move, preventing the cables from dropping down over his head. He stepped backward. A soft obstruction met him and heavy restraints locked around his chest from the back. Phutes let out a bellow of protest.

“All right, Mr. Phutes.” It was the Solinian. “Move it out. Now.”

“Ech ech ech!” Phutes spat, wriggling to avoid contact. “Don’t touch me! Remove your slime from me! Ech!”

“Who are you calling slimy, kitty litter?” the enormous scaled being demanded, breathing hot, fetid air past his aural receptor. “Creator’s Teeth, but you scream like a hatchling.”

The Kail flexed his torso, trying to tear loose from the Solinian’s grasp. The stinking, rotting organic creature held fast. Phutes writhed and kicked. He could feel the rotting organic particles clinging to his flesh. He would have to scrub himself for 1010 days to get it off! With a mighty heave, he shrugged, seeking to break the Solinian’s hold.

“You realize,” the lizard-being gritted, sounding amused, “if you tear my arms off, you’ll get covered in my blood and guts. How do you like that?”

“No!” Phutes bellowed. The stench overwhelmed his taste sensors, and the very idea made him shiver to the soles of his feet. “Stop touching me! Stop it, stop it, stop it!” His voice reached a high-pitched shriek.

Yellow bands dropped around both of them. By the time Phutes realized it, the Solinian had let go, and the restraints tightened over his limbs instead. The lizard-being moved around to stick his long snout in Phutes’s face as the Wichu guards leaned back to hold their cables taut.

“Whiner,” he sneered.

A humming noise alerted Phutes to the advent of a device on heavy wheels. A hook swam into his field of view and locked into a ring in the center of his chest. Phutes let out a honk of alarm. His feet lost contact with the floor. 11 more Wichus threw cables around his legs and tied them together. Now his whole body felt polluted.

“Let me down!”

“All together now, crew!” the captain bellowed. Phutes kicked as he dangled from a braced rig. The wheeled device, a flat platform made of nonreactive alloys, was rolled underneath him. Phutes struggled to escape. He sent impulses that would have raised a response from any electrical circuits connected to the platform, but there were none. The straps tightened around him the more he struggled. Phutes thrashed, trying to free himself. The Solinian, wearing no more expression than Phutes himself, pushed the platform off the bridge and into the lift shaft. The sturdy car carried them downward. Phutes bellowed.

“Siblings, aid me! Come to me, Fovrates!”

“Shut up,” the Solinian said. “We locked up all of your gang already. You’re the last.”

At the lowest deck, the Solinian caught the handhold and swung out of the stream, taking the cart with him. He rolled it down the long corridor, past numerous doors. Those opened up at Phutes’s supersonic summons, but no rescue came from within them.

“Fovrates, where are you? Help me!”

No answer. Phutes sought to put himself in contact with any grounded metal, to tap into the vibrations humming through the ship to reach his kinsman. His limbs were pinioned so that he couldn’t touch anything but the nonresponsive plastic.

At last, the enormous Solinian yanked the cart to a halt in front of a wide door. Around him. Phutes could hear bellowing of his fellows from rooms along the corridor.

“We are here, brother! Help us!”

“I cannot!” Phutes called back. “I am trapped! Break out, come to me, for Yesa’s sake!”

He heard the buffeting of bodies against heavy obstructions. The trapped Kail were throwing themselves at walls and doors.

“You are close to normal,” Phutes appealed to the Solinian. “You have more native silicon in your body than these rotting Wichu. Let me free! We can take over this ship and free ourselves of the carbon-based menace. Help me, scaly being!”

“That’s Mr. Carbon-based Menace Scaly Being to you, rocky,” the creature said, showing a mouthful of shardlike teeth. “Forget it. You can sit in here until we get to the platform ship.” At the top of the door frame was a brilliant white eye bolt. The Solinian pulled one of the cables securing Phutes through it, then hoisted him off the cart with one massive shrug. Phutes kicked and swung, trying to free himself, but his momentum only propelled him through the door. The Solinian swung it closed. It boomed shut, and bolts shot deep into the walls around it. When Phutes rolled to his feet, the pinioning cables fell to the ground. He immediately tried to shoulder his way out of the door. It was as though it had become one with the frame embracing it. The Solinian shouted over the boom each impact made.

“Someone’ll be around with some lava dust and water later on. In the meantime, yell all you want. The captain will let you know when we reach the platform. Quit banging! You’ll hurt yourself. The captain doesn’t like it when the passengers hurt themselves.”

Phutes stopped heaving his body against the door. He would find a way to be free of this prison! He looked around.

“Are you all right, my brother?” Sofus asked, his voice echoing hollowly. “I am on the next rock to you.”

“I am intact,” Phutes said, putting all the indignity he felt into his words. “I am filthy! Are you well?”

“We are. I did not get my bath before the slime surrounded us all and took us. They
touched
us. How dare they?”

“We’ll make them pay for the indignity,” Phutes assured him. “Can you speak to Fovrates?”

“No. There is no metal here. We are all speaking by voice only. Do you think they took him into custody as well?”

“I don’t know. He is considered one of them.”

Sofus paused a long while. Phutes knew he was offended by the very thought of being one with the hairy Wichu, even though it was part of their long-term purpose.

“We must get out of here and complete our mission.”

“We will find a way,” Phutes assured him. “Yesa is counting on us.”

He threw the cables away from him. They were of no use, being too small for him to manipulate with his thick hands. Phutes took careful inventory of the chamber. Except that the floor was made in two levels with a step down of approximately .11 of his body height, and that it was 10 times as wide, but almost 11 times as tall as his body, it was featureless. The gray-black walls were lined with more plastic and nonreactive polymers. He could get no nourishment there. That must be what the Solinian meant: he would be brought nutrients and the means to clean himself. The lower part of the floor was furnished with a drain that smelled sickeningly of decaying organic compounds. It was meant to hold one such as he in solitary confinement.

Phutes looked up. But he was not in solitary confinement, not when he had the means to communicate with his fellow Kail. In the center of the ceiling, a light fixture gave off a weak approximation of the sun’s light he enjoyed on the motherworld. He stood under it and smelled the air carefully. It did not stink of organic compounds. In other words, it must be fed by electricity, not chemical reaction. If he could reach it, he could use it.

The slime who had built the prison had taken Kail physiology into consideration, but not Kail intelligence and determination. While it lacked electronics that could be corrupted by his influence, it could still be forced to serve his needs. He tossed aside the round drain cover in the lower floor, set his hands on either side of the opening provided, and heaved.

It took nearly 1100 hours, but the plastic began to bend upward. Phutes’s brachial and dorsal joints strained mightily. He hoped that his structural integrity would prove greater than the ship’s plates. He refused to believe that it was impossible. At 11101 hours, a section of the floor broke off in his hands, sending him tumbling back against the wall. It boomed with the impact.

“Brother, are you all right?” Sofus shouted.

Phutes regarded the chunk of plastic in his grasp with grim satisfaction. It measured 10 times the diameter of his head, and was nearly 11 times as thick.