And just like that, everyone and all of their plans ran out of time.
Archbishop Gunda Korbijn was sitting in a small Xi’an Cathedral Complex courtyard, taking her morning tea, when the announcement came that the emperox would address the parliament that afternoon at 6 p.m. Korbijn read the announcement, nodded, finished her tea and then instructed Ubes Ici to make a call to Tinda Louentintu, chief of staff to the Countess Nohamapetan, and then to connect her in when he did.
Tinda Louentintu took the call, spoke very briefly to Archbishop Korbijn, no more than a few words, and then after an exchange of final pleasantries broke the connection and made a call to the Countess Nohamapetan, cloistered as she was in the Blame. Louentintu’s voice was jubilant.
On the Blame, the Countess Nohamapetan also expressed jubilance and then gave her chief of staff instructions on whom to reach and in what order. Some of those people would have their own people to contact, so were to be contacted first, followed by other people of importance, followed by others who, while not as important, would offer safety in numbers and a quorum. That finished, the countess connected with Jasin Wu.
Jasin Wu by this time had already heard about the parliamentary address and was about to start his own round of coded messages and calls when the countess called and reminded him of everything he already knew, as if he was her lackey and not the actual Managing Director of the Actual Largest and Most Important House in the Interdependency, Thank You Very Much. But Jasin held his irritation in check because he understood the value of long-term alliances and planning. When the call was done, he then proceeded with his own list, which included Admiral Emblad of the Imperial Navy, and then he had his assistant call Deran Wu’s assistant and invite his cousin to come to his office for a chat.
Deran Wu, also aware by this point of the announcement, went into his cousin’s office at his invitation, and when the assistants were cleared out and the door shut, went over their own mutual set of plans and contacts, which were different but related to the plans and contacts that the Countess Nohamapetan was aware of. The House of Wu may have found itself in an alliance of convenience with the House of Nohamapetan, but one thing that would be essential is for it to be made clear, quietly but definitively, that this was not an alliance of equals and that the House of Wu, both in its incarnation as a noble house and its soon-to-be-remodeled incarnation as the imperial house, was and would always be the senior partner.
After leaving his cousin’s office, Deran Wu did his own set of calls and messages as discussed, informed his assistant that he had an emergency meeting across town so to reschedule his meetings for the rest of the day, and then, when in the elevator down to his car, sent an encrypted message to Nadashe Nohamapetan, acknowledging that he was moving forward with their plan, and then, having done that, expressing in what he thought was a manner both jocular and sexy his own enthusiastic anticipation of how the two of them would celebrate their imminent success. Then he went to his meeting, with someone who didn’t know he was coming.
Nadashe Nohamapetan read the second message from Deran Wu with mild disgust, then put the lesser Wu cousin out of her mind for the moment, because there were other more urgent things to worry about—namely, the transferring of close to a hundred million marks out of her secret accounts and into a secure and compact data crypt she had with her on the Blame. Nadashe had had a mild panic attack when a couple of her smaller secret accounts were locked and seized and decided now was the perfect time for her to get liquid.
A hundred million marks was nothing compared to her overall share of the House of Nohamapetan corporation, but seeing as she was temporarily and inconveniently meant to be dead, her ability to access her legitimate accounts had been severely compromised. Nadashe’s mother was meant to repatriate those shares to her own holdings, but hadn’t done so yet, and at this point a hundred million marks in liquidity was better than nothing.
Of course, if everything worked as planned, Nadashe would soon be back from the dead, for starters. But much of that depended on Deran, which is why Nadashe tolerated the appalling messages from him for now. The other part of it depended on another person entirely: Admiral Emblad of the Imperial Navy. Nadashe decided it was time to put in a call to him.
Admiral Lonsen Emblad was shocked to receive messages from a dead woman. But after her identity hash checked out and Emblad was sure it wasn’t a prankster or an agent of either Naval Intelligence or the Ministry of Investigation, he and Nadashe had a long and fruitful discussion detailing promises made, payments received and plans already long set in motion, and Nadashe’s expectation of those plans to continue apace. When Nadashe had hung up, Emblad mused on messages from the dead, and also on whom he would want to place his bet on: the House of Wu or the House of Nohamapetan. He had a few hours to decide. Admiral Emblad decided to do some of that thinking at the officers’ club, with a drink.
Kiva Lagos, who had been the one to fuck with Nadashe’s smaller accounts, just to see what whoever was withdrawing money would do about it, received notice of the parliamentary address while visiting with Senia Fundapellonan, who was celebrating having that fucking breathing tube removed from her throat. Kiva smiled at the announcement because she was aware that plans were now set in motion and it was going to be an absolute fucking delight to see how things played out.
In the meantime she caught Fundapellonan up on the events of the day, because these days Fundapellonan had no love left for the Nohamapetans, and it would give her joy to hear of their travails, and also because Kiva just liked talking to her. Kiva considered that she might be developing a thing for Fundapellonan, which on one hand would be a very not-Kiva thing to do, but on the other hand who gave a fuck if it was “not-Kiva,” because she wasn’t some fucking fictional character destined to do whatever some goddamn hack wanted her to do.
Fundapellonan smiled at Kiva, because she kind of liked her too.
Marce Claremont did not have to be informed about the parliamentary address because he had been there when the decision had been made, a fact that still stunned and amazed him. Not about being there when the decision was made so much as where the decision was made—the emperox’s bed—and what he was doing there when it had been made, which was lying there naked after some really enjoyable morning sex. By now Marce was aware he was falling more than a little bit in love with Cardenia, not because she was the emperox (that part sort of scared the crap out of him, in point of fact) but because they were awkward in complementary ways.
And while he was now happy being a little in love with Cardenia, there was already a beginning melancholy background hum to Marce’s emotions because he knew the relationship was doomed, not because they weren’t compatible but because she was emperox, and he really was below her station. Emperoxs didn’t marry for love, and they don’t marry people who are lords basically by courtesy. Difficult times were coming, and Cardenia was going to be making some hard choices. Marce was, in a small and nearly subconscious way, preparing himself for when the hard choice Cardenia was going to have to make involved him.
Until then, however, he was doing what she asked of him: running the data he and Roynold (Come on, it was pretty much all Roynold, his brain said) had gathered from Dalasýsla, adding it to the data set she and he had already had, and then adding to that the frankly astounding amount of historical Flow stream data that Chenevert had in his possession for the Assembly and for Earth and even the Free Systems. All the data in question was no younger than three hundred and sometimes as much as fifteen hundred years old. But it meant that Marce’s understanding of the general topography of the Flow was tripling, and with that information came more, newer and hopefully better understandings of how the Flow moved in their area of space. If Chenevert were something more than virtual, Marce would have hugged him.
Tomas Reynauld Chenevert, the former Tomas XII, who if he wanted to be truthful about it had not been entirely unjustly overthrown, was aware of the parliamentary address but was not particularly concerned about it because he did not see that it involved his current interests to any significant extent. At the moment he was more interested in the small agent program that he had sequestered in a virtual sandbox environment. The agent program had tried to access the Auvergne and had been flummoxed by its entirely different—and in this part of space, unique—processing environment. Chenevert had snagged it, pulled it apart momentarily to understand its code and its programming, and understood it to be an agent of the semiautonomous AI that Emperox Grayland II had mentioned.
Chenevert thought about everything that could be done with the agent, decided at this point small steps were best, and sent the thing on its way with an invitation by Chenevert to its boss, to meet.
Jiyi, who had not received that invitation yet, knew about the parliamentary address because Emperox Grayland II had spent a significant part of the early morning discussing it with the imperial avatars in the Memory Room, most especially Rachela I and Attavio VI, and with Jiyi itself about information it had, outside of the realm of knowledge of the emperoxs themselves. Jiyi, which had no emotions or feelings in itself, outside of accessing the recorded thoughts and emotions of the emperoxs and having their avatars describe them to the current emperox, did not think anything in itself one way or another about the parliamentary address. If it had been asked to consider it, it would probably say it would have to wait until the current emperox, Grayland II, was dead and asked about it by her successor in order to give it any thought.
The current emperox, Grayland II, who was not dead yet, did not need to be informed about the parliamentary address since she was the one who was giving it, and the one who had informed everyone when it would be. And after sufficient time had passed for the announcement to diffuse into the world. Grayland II ordered something else: individual invitations to a special reception prior to the address, beginning at 4 p.m., at the imperial palace ballroom. The reception would be short, to allow for all assembled, including the emperox herself, to make their way from the imperial palace to the parliament, on the other end of the Xi’an habitat. But, the invitations said, it promised to be unforgettable.
Each invitation came with a small printed note from the emperox herself that said that the recipient was to be recognized for their achievements and service to the Interdependency. Regrets were not to be accepted, presence required by imperial command, arrivals no later than 4:10 p.m.
Grayland was not really worried about the attendance. She was certain no one invited would want to miss it.
* * *
Kiva had arrived, as requested, at 4 p.m. sharp, dressed in a ridiculous fucking pantsuit that was nevertheless somehow in fashion and therefore acceptable for an event like this, whatever the hell that was; Grayland’s assistant was light on details but stressed that the emperox herself had requested Kiva’s presence. Well, okay, fine. It looked like to Kiva that maybe the two of them might end up doing each other’s hair and giggling about boys after all.
This prompted Kiva to look for Marce Claremont, whom Kiva was almost certain the emperox was now banging, and good for her. Kiva had liked Marce, who had been a solid if not especially imaginative lover and a decent human being in a universe that didn’t put a premium on that. That made him probably a good match for the emperox, who also appeared fundamentally decent and was probably also a solid if not adventurous bang. Not everyone could be an adventurous bang. Not everyone needed to be an adventurous bang.
That said, Kiva didn’t see Marce anywhere in the room. It was instead filled with the Interdependency’s political and economic A-list: important members of parliament, the heads or directors of noble houses, a smattering of admirals and generals, even a few bishops, including Archbishop Korbijn. Everybody at the party who was not serving drinks or finger foods outranked Kiva by a significant margin, which confirmed to her that she was at the party because she and Grayland were now gal pals or something.
Something spangly caught Kiva’s eye; she turned and saw the fucking Countess Nohamapetan on the floor, talking animatedly to Jasin Wu and Admiral Emblad, both of whom were politely attentive but also clearly didn’t give a shit about whatever she was blabbering about. Kiva starting doing the calculus of just how much trouble she would be in if she tuned up the countess right there on the fucking ballroom floor. The calculus was not in her favor; Kiva decided to get a drink to see if that would change any variables.
Before she could flag down a drink mule, one of the side doors to the ballroom opened and the emperox was announced; everyone stood and clapped while Grayland II entered, accepted their applause and walked toward an ornate lectern at the front of the ballroom. The emperox was clearly poised to give some remarks, and possibly give out some pointless fucking awards. Kiva groaned inwardly. If she’d known it was going to be that kind of event, she might have skipped out. She looked around the room and saw a couple hundred really important people who were having roughly the same thought as she was.
“Come on,” Kiva muttered under her breath, “let’s just get to the address at parliament and go crack some fucking skulls.”
As Grayland waited for the applause to die down, she acknowledged a few people in the room, waving or smiling or pointing. Grayland eventually found Kiva in the crowd and smiled, but as her eyes began to track away, she did something else.
Wait, did she just fucking wink at me? Kiva thought, and looked around the room again, to see if there was anyone else the wink might have been directed to. There was no one near Kiva that she thought Grayland would give a single real shit about. So, no, it had definitely been directed at her.
Kiva wished that she had gotten that drink earlier. Something was telling her she might be needing it soon.
“Hello, my dear friends,” Grayland said, after the applause had died down. “So many of you here today. It is a delight to see you, you who represent what could be the very best the Interdependency has to offer, in leadership and in commitment to our union. I know you are all anxious to see how I will embarrass myself in front of parliament”—this line got dutiful chuckles—“but before I do that I have a few presentations to give. Please indulge me. First, will the Lady Kiva Lagos come up to the lectern?”
The fuck? Kiva thought, as she walked to the lectern to very polite applause.
“Lady Kiva, in a very short time you have shown yourself to be astute and extraordinarily competent in business,” Grayland said. “When I thrust you into a custodial directorship at the House of Nohamapetan, no one would have expected that you would have done so much to clean up the house’s finances and rebalance their books. You truly represent the best that the noble houses have to offer. As such, I am now appointing you to the vacant seat on the executive committee of the Interdependency. Congratulations, Lady Kiva.”
There was applause to this, and then some woman walked up to Kiva with a fucking crystal thing, which Kiva took numbly in one arm, the other arm finding its way to Grayland, who stepped back from the lectern to shake Kiva’s hand. Kiva leaned in close.
“I don’t want this fucking job, Your Majesty,” she said, quietly, in Grayland’s ear.
“I know,” Grayland said. “I need you there anyway. Sorry.”
Kiva smirked at this and turned to go back into the crowd, but Grayland caught her by the elbow. “No,” she said. “Stay up here, a little behind the lectern.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You’re not going to want to miss this,” Grayland said, and then stepped back to the lectern and called up Archbishop Korbijn.
The archbishop arrived at the lectern, dressed in archbishopric finery, or so Kiva supposed, since she didn’t actually attend church with any regularity, although she had once had sex in a cathedral, which was great, if you like cold and echoey, which Kiva discovered she didn’t so much.
“You said to me that you wanted to address an issue with me today, here,” Grayland said to the archbishop. “Here’s your chance, Archbishop.”
Kiva watched the archbishop step up to the lectern and then noticed the look on a number of the faces in the crowd: uncertainty and confusion. A few were muttering to others. More just looked unhappy.
“Your Majesty, in the last month there have been grave and important concerns about your conduct,” Archbishop Korbijn said. “Your visions of the future of the Interdependency, while comforting to many of our parishioners, have also generated legitimate apprehension among the powerful, in our church and outside of it, about your state of mind, and, yes, your sanity.”
The muttering got suddenly louder—
“With that in mind, let me be absolutely clear where the Interdependent Church stands on this matter.”
—and just as quickly, silence, which lasted several seconds.
For fuck’s sake, don’t drag it out, Kiva thought. Get on with it already.
“The Interdependent Church confirms and celebrates the nature and manner of your visions as consistent with our doctrines and faith, and stands fully behind the power and majesty of their power of revelation,” the archbishop said, and the uproar returned. “I likewise affirm that you are and remain the head of our church. We follow where you lead.”
And with that the archbishop stepped back from the lectern, kneeled in front of Grayland II, and kissed her right hand.
The room erupted.
Grayland II bade the archbishop to rise and had her stand next to Kiva. Kiva glanced over to the archbishop, who didn’t return the glance. Kiva noted she was sweating profusely.
I really wish I had gotten that drink sooner, thought Kiva. Kiva then noticed that all the serving staff had disappeared from the room, along with whatever woman had given her the fucking crystal thing she still had cradled in her left arm. Kiva decided to put the thing down.
By this time Grayland had returned to the lectern and was raising her hands to silence the room. Eventually she got her way.
“I know that last part came as a surprise to many of you,” Grayland said. “As will this next part. Each of you who were invited today were told that your service to the Interdependency would be recognized. And now it will be. My dear friends, I will make this simple. In this room, right now, if you are standing in front of me, you are now under arrest for treason.”
There was a bang as all the ballroom doors were kicked open and armed imperial guards flooded the perimeter of the room, and also formed a line directly in front of the lectern, just in case anyone was stupid enough to try to charge the emperox.
No one was. After a few initial shrieks and yells, the crowd of very impressive traitors fell into stony and stunned silence.
“Now, I know what you’re thinking. How dare I accuse you? But it’s not me who is accusing you, my friends.” Grayland nodded toward a side door, which opened and disgorged Deran Wu. There were shouts and a surge toward Deran, which was quickly stanched when the imperial guards leveled their weapons. Deran stood impassively.
“Deran was good enough to detail the entire conspiracy for us,” Grayland said. “And I have to say I was impressed with the theatricality of it. To have Archbishop Korbijn denounce me in front of the parliament as she was saying the benediction and to announce a schism in the church. To have the Countess Nohamapetan rise and accuse me of arranging the assassination of her daughter Nadashe.”
“You did!” the countess shrieked. “She’s dead because of you!”
“She was alive this morning when I messaged her,” Deran Wu said, and there were gasps. “She’s on your ship right now.”
“Admiral Emblad,” Grayland said. “You would stand and tell me that the Imperial Navy was no longer mine to command, and then, as the final blow”—Grayland shifted her gaze to the man standing next to the admiral—“you, Jasin Wu, would stand and announce that the House of Wu, my own house, could no longer support me as emperox, and that you were only one house among dozens. Those houses, as you can see, all represented here, now.”
Holy shit, this is amazing, Kiva thought. The room fairly echoed with stunned silence.
“Which reminds me,” Grayland said, and nodded to the side door again.
“Oh God, what now,” Archbishop Korbijn said.
A trim man came through, dressed in black, and stood in sight of the crowd.
“Cousin, you might remember Captain Cav Ponsood. You contracted his ship, on behalf of the Countess Nohamapetan here, to chase down and destroy the ship carrying Lord Marce Claremont of End. You did so because the countess believed Lord Marce was important to me, and by killing him, she would hurt me.”
Kiva looked at the Countess Nohamapetan, who despite her every effort against it was smiling at the idea of Marce Claremont blasted to bits in space.
Fuck it, Kiva thought. I’m kicking her ass in.
Another man walked out of the side door. Marce Claremont. He looked over at the countess.
“You missed,” he said. “But you killed nearly every other member of my crew. That’s on you, Countess.” He stepped back, behind Grayland. Kiva caught how he looked at her. Oh, yeah. They were definitely boning.
“Now,” Grayland II said, from the lectern. “I know why I’m here today. Let’s talk about why you are here today. You are all here because of what you think of me. You think I am weak. You think I am a naive child. You think my concerns about the collapse of the Flow streams stand in the way of your businesses and your own plans for power. You think because I claim visions I am unstable, or delusional, or cynical. You think because I am an accidental emperox that I should not be emperox at all. You think these things, some or all of them. And because you think them, you conspired to cast me aside. To raise my cousin Jasin in my place. To carry on the status quo as long as the Flow streams allow, and leave to others to worry about what happens next.
“Well, my friends, last night, I had a vision. A new vision. And in that vision, I saw all your plans. I saw all your schemes. I saw all your frauds, and your cheats, your secret affairs and your secret bank accounts. I saw every one of you as you are, not how you present yourself. And in that the vision, I saw you here, in front of me. Humbled. As you are, right now.
“Tell me, you who could be the very best the Interdependency has to offer, yet choose not to be: Who now is weak? Who has been naive? Who is cynical? And who is the emperox here?
“You have doubted me. Doubt me no longer. You have come to destroy me. I am not destroyed. You have come to burn me. I am the consuming fire. You will feel what it is to burn.
“That was my vision, and my prophecy. And now it is yours.”
Grayland let that entire fucking masterpiece of a sermon linger in the air until Kiva felt the goose bumps on her arms.
And then just as suddenly, she clapped her hands. “Well, okay then. Now I have a parliament to address, so—”
“I killed him!” the Countess Nohamapetan screamed at Grayland.
“Pardon?” Grayland said.
“Your brother! Rennered! I had his car doctored!” The countess stepped forward, toward Grayland, who didn’t move. “I am the reason he drove into that wall. I killed him. I am why you became emperox at all! You owe it to me!”
Grayland considered this as she came away from the lectern, walked to the countess and looked her in the eye.
“Lady, I don’t owe you shit.”
And then she walked out of the ballroom.
“Fucking best party ever,” Kiva said, to Marce.