“I hope I will,” Marce said. “And I kind of hope I don’t, too.”
They left the train at the palace station and Verson led Marce to a landing for people who had business at the imperial palace. Because Marce had an actual appointment with the emperox, Verson led him to the front of the line, annoying everyone who was waiting. Marce mouthed his apologies as Verson directed him forward. Another presentation of documents, another scan, another brief questioning, and then they were through, and Marce was handed off to a young woman, Obelees Atek, who worked at the palace proper. She gave Marce a pass to affix to his blouse, and then started walking, inviting Marce to follow. Marce waved good-bye to Verson and walked after Obelees.
Ten minutes later Marce sat in the anteroom of Emperox Grayland II’s office, having passed through a few public areas that displayed more opulence than Marce had ever seen in his life. Until this moment he’d thought the ducal palace on End was the standard for obnoxious opulence, but the imperial palace made it look like the loft of an arriviste, and made his own home, a mansion by any definition, look like a hovel. The imperial palace was stuffed with a millennium of gilded baubles, a testament to the self-interest of a family and the political system that supported it. The anteroom was likewise tastefully stuffed with treasure, including the statue of Prophet-Emperox Rachela I by the sculptor Meis Fujimoro. It was famous throughout the Interdependency and probably worth more than the incomes of some entire human habitats.
Marce looked around and wondered how an emperox, someone so intimately invested in the preservation of a system like the Interdependency, could ever be able to act on the news he had to give her.
You’re a lord yourself, Marce’s brain reminded him. You’re invested. And yet here you are.
Yes, but I’m not the emperox. I benefit from the system. She is the system.
An emperox sent your father to End to study this.
That emperox is dead.
“Lord Marce.” Marce looked up to see Obelees motioning to him. It was time to meet the emperox. Marce got up and walked into the office.
When you first meet the emperox, a bow is sufficient, Obelees had said to him as they had walked to her office. Some like to kneel, and you may if you like. But you will have only a limited time with her and that will cut into your time. After your introduction it is expected that the emperox will initiate and lead the conversation. Speak when spoken to; answer any questions. When your appointment time is up or if the emperox dismisses you early, bow and exit the room. Always be respectful and reserved. Your emperox deserves no less.
Marce entered the office of the emperox, took one look at the surroundings, and laughed out loud. Obelees Atek frowned at him.
“Is something funny, Lord Marce?” asked a young woman, standing in front of a desk. She was wearing imperial green. This was clearly the emperox, and equally clearly he’d just blown his entrance.
He bowed. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” he said. “I was surprised by your office.”
“How so?”
“I … well. Ma’am. It looks like a museum exploded inside of it.”
Obelees Atek sucked in her breath and apparently was now waiting for the emperox to sentence him to a beheading.
Instead she laughed, openly, loudly. “Thank you,” she said, with emphasis. “This has been exactly my thought for the last nine months. Sometimes I’m scared to walk around in here. I’m worried I’m going to bump into something and break a priceless historical artifact. I’m terrified of my own workspace, Lord Marce. I’m working up the courage to redecorate.”
“You’re the emperox, ma’am. I’m pretty sure they’ll let you.”
“It’s not whether I can. It’s whether I should.” The emperox nodded to Obelees, dismissing her. Obelees bowed, shot Marce one last visual warning to behave, and left. As she did Marce noted that he was alone in the room with the emperox; she had no assistants or ministers or secretaries with her.
“Tell me the thought you just had, Lord Marce,” the emperox said, and motioned for him to sit in a chair in front of her desk.
“I was thinking that you have less staff than I expected, ma’am.” Marce sat in the chair. She remained standing, leaning on her desk.
“I have even more staff than I imagine you expect,” she said. “And usually I will have them sit in on my meetings. I have a lot of meetings, Lord Marce. You might not believe how many. I couldn’t possibly keep them all straight without help. So they’re with me,” the emperox motioned to her desk, “and I sit behind this and I use the imperial ‘we’ and everyone is very respectful and polite, and no one ever laughs at this absolutely ridiculous office when they come in the room. But you did.”
“Yes, ma’am. Sorry.”
“I’m not. On the contrary I’m glad you did. But I’d like to know why you did, if you don’t mind, Lord Marce.”
“I suppose because I’m overstimulated, ma’am.”
“You make yourself sound like an eight-year-old given too much sugar,” the emperox said, smiling.
Marce smiled back. “It’s not a bad metaphor,” he admitted. “My entire life has been on End, ma’am. It’s not exactly the backwater everyone makes it out to be, but it’s not … this. Hub. And Xi’an. And this palace.”
The emperox wrinkled her nose and Marce was suddenly aware that whatever he had been expecting from this meeting, this was not it. “It’s awful, isn’t it?”
“Uh,” Marce said.
The emperox laughed again. “I’m sorry, Lord Marce. I didn’t mean to make you feel like I was trying to trap you into a faux pas. But you have to understand. I wasn’t meant to be emperox. I didn’t grow up with all of … this, as you say. It’s as alien to me as I imagine it is to you.”
“I am nobility, ma’am. It’s not alien. It’s just a lot.”
“Yes. Yes. Again, thank you. You’ve perfectly encapsulated what I’ve been feeling about my life for the last year.”
“I aim to please, ma’am.”
“You have,” the emperox assured him. “So far, this may be my favorite confidential meeting I’ve had to date.” She smiled again, and cocked her head. “And this is why I’m sad that now we have to ruin it by talking about the end of civilization.”
Marce nodded. “So, you know.”
“You didn’t assume that I granted you this audience because I am in the habit of welcoming minor nobility, did you, Lord Marce? I mean, no offense.”
“None taken,” Marce said. “I just didn’t know what you knew and how much I would have to explain to you.”
“You may assume that I know as much as my father did about what your father was up to on End, why he was sent, and what the implications of his research are.”
“All right.”
“So now that we have that out of the way, my first question: Are the Flow streams going to collapse?”
“Yes.”
The emperox let out a heavy breath. “When?”
“It’s already begun. We estimate the Flow stream from End to Hub has already collapsed. The Yes, Sir, the ship I was on, was probably the last ship to make it through.”