“Staves off a civil war,” Ranatunga said.
“Do we agree that it seems unlikely that we will be dead prior to our coronation?” Cardenia asked the committee.
“That seems reasonable, ma’am,” Korbijn said, smiling.
“Then may we suggest that we table it until after then. If you like,” Cardenia nodded to Korbijn, “you may give the House of Nohamapetan excellent seats to the coronation and we will speak to Amit Nohamapetan afterwards.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Emphasis on ‘speak.’ We hope we are understood on this matter and not otherwise represented to Lord Nohamapetan.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. Then is there anything else?”
“One small thing,” Korbijn said. Cardenia waited. “We need to know your imperial name.”
“We are Grayland,” Cardenia said, after a pause. “Grayland II.”
*
“I hate the imperial ‘we,’” Cardenia confessed to Naffa.
After the meeting with the executive committee, the two of them had lifted to Xi’an, the heart of the Interdependency, in order for Cardenia, now Grayland II, to begin the formal transfer of authority from her late father to her. Upon arrival Grayland II was immediately surrounded by advisors, courtiers, flatterers, and assistants, all with their own agendas and plans. Cardenia was tired of it in the first hour and there was all the rest of her life yet to go.
“What bothers you about it?” Naffa asked.
“It’s so pretentious.”
“You are the emperox,” Naffa pointed out. “You are literally the only person in the universe who may use it without pretension.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do. I just think you’re wrong.”
“You think I should use it all the time, then.”
“I didn’t say that,” Naffa said. “But you have to admit it’s a pretty fantastic power move. ‘Oh, you have an opinion? Well, screw you, because my vote counts as two.’”
Cardenia smiled at this.
The two of them were alone, finally, in the cavernous private apartments of the imperial palace of Xi’an. All the assistants and courtiers and advisors had been shoved out the door by Naffa. There was only one more thing Cardenia had to do with her day, and it lay behind a door here in the private apartments. A door that could be opened and entered only by the emperox.
Or so Cardenia explained to Naffa, who frowned. “Only the emperox.”
“Yes.”
“What happens if anyone else enters? Are there dogs? Lasers that will burn you to ash?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Can your servants go in there? Or technicians? Are you, as emperox, responsible for tidying up? Is there a small vacuum cleaner in there? Are you made to dust the place?”
“I don’t think you’re taking this very seriously,” Cardenia said.
“I take it seriously,” Naffa promised. “I’m just skeptical of how it’s being presented.”
They both looked at the door.
“Well?” Naffa said. “You might as well get it over with.”
“Where are you going to be?”
“I can stay here if you like and wait for you to be done.”
Cardenia shook her head. “I don’t know how long this will take.”
“Then I’ll be in my quarters, the ones across the palace, you know, where the palace majordomo has exiled me.”
“We’ll get those changed.”
“No, don’t,” Naffa said. “You need your time away from everyone, including me.” She got up. “We’re still in the same house. I’m just sixteen wings away, is all.”
“I don’t think the palace has sixteen wings.”
“It has twenty-four major sections to it.”
“Well, you would know.”
“Yes, I would,” Naffa said. “And soon so will you.” She bowed. “Good night, Your Majesty.” She left, smiling. Cardenia watched her go, and then turned her attention to the door.
The door was ornate, like everything in the palace, and Cardenia realized that “ornate” was a design motif she was probably stuck with now; she couldn’t just burn everything down and start with clean lines and spaces, tempting as it might be. She was emperox but even they had their limits.
The door had no knob or access panel or anything else that suggested that it could be opened. Cardenia, sheepishly, put her hand on it to feel for a secret button.
The door slid open.
Keyed to my fingerprints? Cardenia wondered, and then walked through. The door slid closed behind her.
The room inside was large; as large as the bedroom in the imperial quarters, which made this single room larger than the apartments Cardenia grew up in. The room was bare, except for a single bench that jutted out from the wall to her left. Cardenia went and sat on it.
“I’m here,” she said, to no one in particular.
A figure of light appeared in the center of the room and walked toward her. Cardenia looked up as the figure approached; microprojectors in the ceiling were creating the image walking over to her now. Cardenia idly wondered at the physics behind it, but only for a second, because now the image was directly in front of her.
“Emperox Grayland II,” it said, and bowed.
“You know who I am,” Cardenia said, skipping the imperial “we.”
“Yes,” the image said. It had no identifiable signs of gender or age. “I am Jiyi. You are in the Memory Room. Please tell me how I may assist you.”
Cardenia knew why she was there but hesitated. “Does anyone other than the emperox come in here?”
“No,” Jiyi said.
“What if I invite someone?”
“Focused light and sound waves would make it unbearable for anyone other than the reigning emperox to come through the door.”
“Can’t I override that?”
“No.”
“I am the emperox.” And I am arguing with a machine, Cardenia thought but did not say.
“The injunction was made by the Prophet,” Jiyi said, “whose order is inviolable.”
This took Cardenia aback. “This room dates to the reign of the first emperox,” she said.
“Yes.”
“Xi’an didn’t exist then.”
“The room was moved from Hubfall, with other elements of the palace, when Xi’an was founded. The rest of the palace was built around it.”
The image of the space station of Xi’an being built around the imperial palace popped into Cardenia’s mind, so absurd as to be almost comical. “So you are a thousand years old,” she said, to Jiyi.
“The information I store dates back to the founding of the Interdependency,” Jiyi said. “The physical machinery it is stored on is regularly updated, as are the functional elements of this room and the manifestation you see in front of you.”
“I thought you said no one may enter this room but the emperox.”
“Automated maintenance, ma’am,” Jiyi said, and Cardenia thought she heard just the slightest edge of humor in the voice. Which made her first feel a bit stupid, and then curious.
“Are you alive, Jiyi?” she asked.
“No,” Jiyi said. “Nothing you encounter in this room is alive, excepting you, ma’am.”
“Of course,” Cardenia said, only a little disappointed.
“I sense we have carried this specific conversation to an end,” Jiyi said. “May I assist you otherwise?”
“Yes,” Cardenia said. “I would like to speak to my father.”
Jiyi nodded and faded out. As it did so, another form coalesced, in the center of the room.
It was Cardenia’s father, Batrin, lately Emperox Attavio VI. He appeared, looked toward his daughter, smiled, and walked over to her.