Chapter 1
In my earliest complete memory, my twin brother Jacob and I are lying comfortably in a nograv field some five or six kilometers above the ground. This is our birthday; we are five years old. Like me, Jake is tall and thin for his age, with wavy brown hair, eyes the color of molten gold, strong high cheekbones, and a scattering of light freckles. When we laughed together, as often we did in those days, our voices held music.
That particular night, ten billion stars lit the heavens. The air tasted cold and crisp and thin, but this high up we felt no breeze and had no real sense of movement. We simply lay on the air as though on a mattress, floating high above the planet. I searched among the stars for signs of the Freedom Brigade's ships closing in on Horizon, but of course they were impossible to find, too small and insignificant amid the greater cosmic vastness.
"Teddy," my brother said.
I looked over at him. I could see a fierce determination in his eyes and knew he was scared, but would never show it. He could put up with anything this night, when epic wonders had been promised. He always wanted so desperately to be brave like me.
"There's nothing to be afraid of," I said. I held out my, hand and he took it.
The sky lit up with lancets of white fire. Pulse cannons from the Brigade's ships split the darkness overhead with brilliant pyrotechnic effect again and again. I felt Jake tense beside me, and I squeezed his hand, trying to be brave for both of us. The weapons were in space, so of course we heard and felt nothing, and yet I imagined a far-off rumble like distant thunder.
At last the cannons stopped. Bright spots swam before my eyes. I blinked until they went away. Then, slowly, like a mist descending, white and pink and yellow streaks of light began to paint the heavens above and around us: not weapons this time, but debris cascading down in a gentle rain of color. The Brigade had blasted dozens of asteroids to rubble, creating a spectacular cosmic fireworks display such as few worlds had ever seen.
They had done this just to amuse my brother and me. It was, after all, our birthday. That's how important they considered the twin sons of Faraday Meriman III, heirs to the Meriman Empire.
That is my first important memory. My second is this:
When we were eleven, our father took us with him on an inspection tour of fifty Outer Rim planets. Officially we saw him only a handful of times in the two month trip, always when he had important speeches to deliver and we were required to stand beside him in silence as he made them. Then he wore his deep red Emperor's uniform, with twin rows of gold buttons on the front of his blouse and gold piping on the sleeves, shoulders, and chest. On his right breast he bore the Meriman family crest stitched in platinum thread: a pair of Mother Earth lions facing each other, holding a crown and a planet in their paws. He seemed a different man in his uniform: serious, unsmiling, somehow cold and aloof, a force to be reckoned with. I felt uneasy in his presence.
Unofficially we dined with him almost every evening aboard the Pegasus, the flagship of his ten-thousand-ship fleet. Then, when we were alone, he made a special effort to return to his old self, talking to us like equals, telling stories from our family history, making jokes, the thin lines crinkling up around his eyes with laughter.
But those few stolen minutes each day seemed fleeting, scarcely enough. Mostly we spent our days aboard the Pegasus as we spent them at home, in studies, strenuous physical exercise, and other training designed to prepare us for the day we took on more responsibility in running the Meriman Empire. Already we had begun receiving the deep mental stims that would allow us to govern effectively. My mind turned constantly like a well oiled wheel, analyzing, calculating, computing.
When we reached the thirty-fifth stop on the tour, an undistinguished planet called Dulap's World, Father agreed to personally address an assembly of local politicians, since that was their custom. We rode down in the planet-hopper with him, but of course his advisors clumped around him like predatory birds, rehearsing his speech. He had no time for us now.
Sighing, I crossed to the huge oval portal in the side of the planet-hopper's main salon. Jake already stood there, arms behind his back, gazing out. As always when we joined Father for a speech, we wore red uniforms that matched his in style and cut, complete with red caps with black brims, shiny leather boots, and short capes with red silk linings. I hardly recognized Jake in his uniform: he looked older, more dignified, more important. As his identical twin, I realized I must look the same . . . grown up, almost an adult, almost ready to assume the mantle of responsibility that awaited us both.
As I joined him, he continued to stare out the portal, not smiling. I cleared my throat.
"Fifteen more worlds," I told him.
"I hate it here," he said.
I put my hand on his shoulder. "Me, too. It's a horrible little planet."
"Not Dulap's World. All of it. Space. I want to go home."
"I know," I murmured. I understood how he felt. After seeing the splendors of Horizon, who could possibly want to go anywhere else?
Leaning forward, I gazed down at soft, cloud-wisped grayish sphere below us. Dulap's World. Planets should have more color, I thought: green trees, brilliant blue-green oceans, dazzling white polar ice caps. What drab, colorless people must live here.
A single continent covered most of the planet. From orbit, the mottled browns and grays of the land seemed singularly uninviting. The few small, splotchy seas seemed almost out of place.
"We won't be here long," Jake said.
"How do you know?"
"I called up Father's speech while you were dressing. It's sharp and to the point. The people here petitioned for sovereignty, but of course that's ridiculous, and they must be put in their place. He doesn't even plan on granting audiences afterward."
It sounded like we'd be back aboard the Pegasus by dinner time.
Our planet-hopper entered the atmosphere with the faintest of bumps. We descended rapidly, soaring over barren almost desertlike expanses, and soon a small spaceport came into view: several square kilometers of reinforced gray duracrete and a handful of squat brown administration and maintenance buildings. Only two other ships sat there, both small freighters. Pitiful. We had more ships on our family's private spaceport than they had on their whole planet.
As we landed gently and the artificial gravity shut off, I saw field attendants floating out to meet us on broad nograv sleds.
"At least they're punctual," I muttered.
Our planet-hopper equalized atmospheres and broke the environment seals. My ears popped.
Several dozen Argents, elite members of the Freedom Brigade who served as our family's personal guards, poured forth and began to scan everything and everyone with their detection equipment. So far, they had uncovered two assassination attempts against Father this year, so I knew the importance of their work and didn't mind the delay. A handful of the Argents commandeered a nograv sled from the welcoming committee and flew off toward for the arena where Father would speak: they would secure it before we arrived.
"Jacob. Theodore," a high old-man's voice said behind us. "You know your duties here, of course."
"Yes, sir," we both said without turning. It was Timon Crotie, our father's chief advisor and second in authority over the Meriman Empire.
"It is polite to look at someone when he addresses you."
"Very well." I turned, frowning. "I had not meant to be rude."
"Of course not."
Mr. Crotie had pinched cheeks, deeply set brown eyes, and a narrow, almost hatchet face. His graying black hair, cut short with more practicality than style, accentuated the thinness of his features. He wore black and gold, with the Meriman family crest on his right breast. It had been he who picked out these uniforms for us to wear today and ushered us aboard the planet-hopper. Father trusted few people as much as he trusted Timon Crotie.
"What did you want to tell us?" Jake asked.
"It is very important," he said, "that you appear quiet and dignified at all times in public. The Dulapers prize that in children."
"We know," Jake said.
"You have already told us twice today," I added coolly. Crotie had grown up without mental stims, I reminded myself: he had no first-hand knowledge of how they changed and matured you. His had been a raw talent which Father had refined in its maturity. "We have always done our duty, Mr. Crotie. Father may depend on that. As may you."
He nodded. "But you are both still children. It is easy to forget."
"Not for us." As if our stims would let us forget anything. I nodded toward the hatch. "It's time for us to go, I believe."
He glanced out the hatch, saw that the Argents had secured the spaceport, and nodded. Father, still surrounded by his advisors, was already descending through the airlock and onto the main sled's platform.
"Hurry, then. We don't want to be left behind."
Jake and I followed our father out, then came Mr. Crotie, then more advisors and Argents. A static shield crackled over us as we stepped aboard the nograv sled; it would protect us from dust and wind as we traveled. Jake and I found benches to the rear and sat, putting our feet up, watching the bustle of preparations around us. Crotie headed forward, probably to check on our father. He might be our shepherd, but Father remained his chief concern.
"What did they feed you today?" Jake asked me suddenly.
He didn't mean food, but stims. We tended to be a day or two apart on them. At the moment, I was ahead.
"The history of the N'gao Family." I made a face. Political stims were always the worst, since you couldn't see any immediate applications for the knowledge. "Did you know that six hundred and forty-three years ago, Constance N'gao lost Earth in a minor war with our eighteen-times great grandfather, Hubert Díaz Meriman?"
"Did I care?"
Probably not. I certainly didn't. It wasn't like Earth held a position of strategic or political importance even before our great-grandfather17 Hubert had removed the entire human population and turned it into a natural game preserve. Nor did I care that Fyodor N'gao had vowed to obliterate our family ten generations ago, or that Fyodor's grandson had made an honorable peace with us that had lasted to this day. The N'gaos were a minor Family now, controlling only a few hundred planets. Why should they concern me?
When everyone had boarded safely, the sled rose, raising a thick cloud of dust which did not penetrate the static shield, and headed east.
The rising sun, large and pale orange, did nothing to color the land. We glided over kilometer after kilometer of arid near-desert, broken only by clusters of lumpy vegetation. Finally irrigated farmlands appeared, orderly fields of golden wheat and rye and oats, broken here and there by small clusters of human-style buildings. Dulap's world exported a dozen different grains to the rest of the Meriman Empire, I knew; much of the work was automated or done by autons or menial aliens like shais or jibbs. Barely two hundred thousand humans lived here. All led a Spartan existence, devoting themselves to religion and eschewing material goods.
The sled landed on a private pad to one side of the arena, and the Argents waiting on the ground signaled that everything had been secured: no energy weapons, bombs, or usual power sources had been detected. One of our liaison officers—he had the Meriman Family logo blazed in silver on his right breast—hurried aboard the sled and knelt before Father. If not his manner, then his short reddish-blond hair, so unlike the browns and blacks which dominated the Dulaper gene pool, marked him as a newcomer to this world. Like all of Father's best people, he moved with the speed of a man on a tight schedule. Jake and I were too far away to hear their words, but his report apparently met with approval, since Father rose and allowed himself to be escorted inside the stadium. The rest of his advisors and attendants began to file out after him. Jake and I went last.
"The Dulapers like blood sports," Jake told me in a low voice as we waited to get off. "Every town and city has an arena like this one, where men and women fight and slay wild animals."
"That was not in the planetary report," I said, giving him a puzzled look. "How did you find out?"
"I overheard some of the Argents talking about it before you reached the shuttle."
"What weapons do they use?"
"As primitive as possible. Sometimes knives and swords. Sometimes nothing but bare hands."
It did make sense. "They live such repressed lives, this must be how they vent their emotions."
"That was my conclusion, too."
Mr. Crotie had been waiting for us at the foot of the ramp. He ushered us inside to a small, drab gray room. Hard benches lined the walls. Had the Dulapers had ever heard of cushions?
"Perhaps they're punishing us for owning their planet," Jake said with a grin, as if reading my thoughts.
"If so, they're punishing themselves, too. The arena didn't have any cushions, either."
We sat anyway. I could hear Father's booming voice from next door as he spoke with various local dignitaries. They were discussing trade and climate control, dull stuff all, and my attention wandered to the fabric of my uniform. There were two thousand, six hundred and thirteen individual threads in my pants, I noted in a brief moment of clarity, and when those threads were stretched out, they would extend roughly oh-point-two-six-five kilometers from end to end. A useless fact. I began to pick at the threads, wondering briefly how they were made. Stims heightened mental computational abilities, or provided you with raw facts when you needed them, but only within narrow areas. Clearly no one viewed the manufacturing process of textiles as important.
"Stop that, Theodore," Timon Crotie said from the doorway.
I dropped my hand drop to my side. There were twenty-two thousand and four threads in Crotie's black uniform. Thirty-six gold buttons. Three-point-six-three meters of gold piping. Useless facts. It was hard to shut down your brain when you were bored.
Crotie knelt before Jake and me. Mentally I sighed and rolled my eyes: another lecture. When would he learn we no longer needed them?
"The speech and ceremony won't last more than an hour," he told us, straightening my collar. I searched his old brown eyes for any trace of sympathy. "This has been a troublesome world," he went on, "and your father needs you beside him to show the value he places on family. The Dulapers appreciate that. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir," Jake and I both said together. It was the same on every world. The sooner we agreed, the sooner he would leave us alone.
"Good." He nodded. "I'll make sure you get a surprise tonight after dinner if you hold up your end of the bargain."
"You don't need to bribe us to behave," I told him.
"Then you won't have to do any work to earn a reward, will you, Theodore?"
"Perhaps . . . chocolate?" Jake asked.
I glanced at him sideways. "You're not helping, brother."
He pretended not to notice. He had always had a weakness for sweets, especially chocolate. I preferred Horizon's own confections, delicate hundred-layer pastries or the table cakes served on high holidays like Father's birthday.
Crotie said, "It would not be a surprise if I told you, would it, Jacob?"
"No, sir."
Crotie stood, brushing imaginary dust from his black-and-gold sleeves. "We will be going outside in a minute. Stand up. Prepare yourselves. You will follow right after your father."
"Yes, sir," we both said again. No sense in arguing: he would shepherd us whether we needed it our not.
He led us into the larger and much more crowded room next door. Twenty Argents had changed into red and black dress uniforms and now lined the walls, but as always, Father was the center of attention. A dozen solemn Dulapers in their traditional loose-fitting gray shirts and pants surrounded him, listening raptly as he spoke. Several held datapads and expertly transcribed his every word. Father noticed us and winked in the middle of his conversation, and I grinned back. He had a way of making you feel like you belonged beside him no matter what the time or situation. No stim could do it. That was why he was Emperor.
The red-headed liaison officer entered the room again. "The entire Greater Dulap Assembly has convened, sir," he told Father. "Whenever you are ready."
"Very well," Father said. He motioned the Dulapers away. "We can finish this interview from orbit," he told them. "Our liaison office will arrange it."
Bowing, they backed away, then filed out through the side door. The liaison officer was now deep in talks with Mr. Crotie and another advisor. I could see the three of them: they had to be discussing security. Crotie had advised against this tour of the Outer Rim planets, but since Father had insisted, everyone was taking great pains to keep us safe.
Old fashioned trumpets sounded outside. Everyone in the room shifted anxiously, and two Argents pushed open huge double doors leading into the center of the stadium. I craned to see and glimpsed tiers of seats packed with men and women dressed in various shades of gray.
Twenty more Argents in red and gold dress uniforms had been waiting against the far wall. They paraded out first; they were acting as honor guard and would surround Father while he spoke. Next came Father himself—not walking, but floating half a meter above the ground on a personal nograv sled. Like a returning hero, he raised one hand in salute as he passed through the portal. Jake and I followed on foot. Next came Timon Crotie and the liaison officer, then finally another twenty Argents, these men and women dressed in full battle gear: black body armor, boots with gravity plates in the toes and heels, and helmets with the protective visors down. They all carried heavy energy pulse rifles.
Outside, without the protection of a static shield, the air felt cool but dry. Strangely aromatic pollens spiced the air, giving it a curious scent somewhere between sesame and caraway. Above, orange cumulous clouds glided across a yellowish sky.
A replica of Father's gold-and-ivory throne on Horizon, though smaller and a little less magnificent, sat in the center of the stadium on a low dais. It seemed to shine with an inner light.
Father stepped from his nograv sled onto the dais, then seated himself. All the time he gazed off into the distance as though deep in thought. His body language spoke of strength, confidence, and power. As Jake and I took our places at his right hand, Mr. Crotie and the red-haired liaison officer moved to his left. Trumpets sounded once more, but as yet nobody spoke.
I kept my head still, moving my eyes only a little to take in the crowds. There were empty seats in the upper section of the arena. Exactly eight hundred and fifty-three men and women had assembled here to listen to Father's speech, I calculated. There was a strange stillness to them which I could not quite read, and they all looked grim, as though they come already determined to find fault with whatever Father said. I liked them even less than I liked their planet.
Trumpets sounded again. The honor guard snapped to attention and gave three short cheers. As they finished, Father rose and, seemingly for the first time, noticed those gathered before him.
"We are one people in a hostile universe," he said, as we had heard him say on so many worlds before this one, words thundering out so all could hear. "We are one people, and we must continue to work as one or we will surely perish."
He spoke for an hour, telling stories of the wonders of the universe . . . and the terrors. He told of the alien Pollox, who had tried to enslave three human worlds before the Freedom Brigade drove them off. His anger and outrage hung thick in the air, and I shivered as he described the filthy camps in which humans had been forced to live and work and breed like animals. Next he told of the Garwan Empire, so close to our own, where aliens experimented on captured humans for their amusement, creating eight-limbed monstrosities—and worse. I shared in his anger and disgust as he painted an image of a homeworld so brutal, so savage and inhumane, that the Freedom Brigade had no choice but to destroy it. And lastly he told of the savage Irenz, whose ships raided our commerce lanes because they considered human flesh a delicacy. Horror and rage ran through me like an electric current as he described their killing rooms, where humans were dismembered and eaten, often while still alive. Hunting down the last of their pirate fleet had been a worthy crusade, benefiting all humanity.
It was a variation on his standard speech, nearly the same as he had given on the thirty-four previous worlds we have visited. His carefully modulated voice and artfully choreographed hand and head movements brought depth and emotion to his stories. The first time I had heard this speech, I cried from the sheer emotional impact.
Now, only half listening, I stared out across the faces in the crowd. What were these people really like? Did they have children? Did they play games and dance and sing? Their expressions remained fixed; dour men and dour women with sallow complexions, long noses, and pinched cheeks. Loose gray clothing muffled their bodies; no jewelry or decorations brightened their appearance. Dull people on a dull world.
I shifted my weight uncomfortably from foot to foot. How much longer until we could get back to our ship?
"All these dangers and more await Man," Father said somberly, starting to wrap things up. "It is only through strength and careful planning that we will maintain our place at the top of the galactic order. Peace. Brotherhood. Strength. These must remain our watch-words. There are other human Families who protect human worlds, but none have been as successful as the Merimans have been. With your strength and your loyalty, we will share the bounties of the universe together!"
He sat to a light patter of applause. I saw him frown and instantly I understood: On every planet before this one, the people had cheered for five or ten minutes at the end of his speeches. I glanced sidelong over at Jake and found he, too, now watched the crowd with an uneasy expression.
"They don't like Father," he whispered, barely moving his lips. "Could they be shielded from the power of his voice?"
"They fear him, at least."
"But how much?"
I had no answer. Our philosophy stims taught that love guaranteed loyalty, and after love the most powerful binding force was fear. Those who didn't love Father feared him.
A man with a short graying beard came forward from the front row of Dulapers. He wore long, sweeping gray robes, and around his neck he carried a signet ring on a chain: the only adornment on any Dulaper that I could see. This ring marked him as the planet's governor, I recalled from the planetary report. From his stance, I saw that he had undergone some minor stim training to boost his authority, but it was nowhere near as extensive as what Jake and I had already gone through, and before our father's towering presence, he seemed little more than a mewling snowdrab.
He dropped to one knee and proffered a rolled-up paper scroll. Timon Crotie retrieved it and carried it to Father.
"Sir," the man said in a strong, deep voice that I found too self-consciously controlled for my liking. Like all such career politicians, he had been protected against the little betrayals which trained senses such as mine could read in raw humanity. I could fathom no emotion in him, neither truth nor lie, neither love nor hate for Father, nor anything in between. "We of Dulap's World have served you loyally since you brought our planet under your protective arm twenty-eight years ago. Our tithes have always been timely, our children have joined your Freedom Brigade willingly, and our hearts have rejoiced in your multitude of triumphs. Truly you have ushered in an age of peace for all the worlds under your rule. However, our forebears came to Dulap's World to live apart from galactic events. Yet we have no interest in outside politics or the influence of the great Families such as yours. Indeed, we have patiently borne the loss of the cream of our youth to your Freedom Brigade and the plundering of our planetary resources. Now, though, our warehouses lie empty. Our children are gone, and there remains nothing more for you to take. Therefore, we beseech you to grant us our independence. Let us live our quiet lives in our secluded corner of the galaxy, alone and at peace by ourselves."
Father still did not glance at the scroll, but I saw his hand tighten around it until his knuckles turned white. I began to tremble; seldom had I seen him lose his perfect calm. His anger must be beyond all control.
Slowly, he stood. When he spoke, the words struck like the blows of a giant.
"It is the Meriman Family's destiny to unite mankind, to link the myriad human worlds and human Families, to bring forth a new Golden Age of Man. For the first time in generations we will stand beneath the stars and know our place is safe. We all—all humans, on the greatest of our worlds to the least—have forged an empire of equals the like of which has never existed before. Today, all voices can be heard and all men can rise to the height and breadth of their ability." His voice dropped from thunder to a roar, and warm notes of reassurance and strength crept in. "Do not view the Freedom Brigade as a drain on your planet's resources. Step from the provincial to the galactic point of view. Those who leave Dulap's World to join the Brigade are free to return here at the end of their service. If some do not return, it is because they have found new homes amidst the greater community of Man. Be happy for them, for they have risen beyond that which can be attained here."
He ripped the petition in half and cast it aside like a child's plaything.
"Your petition is denied. Any further actions along these lines will be viewed as high treason—treason not only against the Meriman Empire, but against humanity. For only in unity do we find safety!"
The man had grown very still and very pale. He bowed his head; I saw tears on his cheeks.
"Then we have no choice," he said. When he looked up, a rage equal to Father's had filled his eyes. "Death to tyrants!" he screamed, pulling a small knife from one of his pockets. He launched himself at us.
Father's honor guard shot him before he made it two steps. Crimson beams from twenty energy weapons danced across his body, incinerating him beyond recognition. Bits of gray bone showed here and there through sloughed-off skin and blackened muscle. As he crumpled into himself, little more than a smoldering lump of charred meat, the sickly-sweet smells of burnt clothes and flesh reached me, and I half gagged.
The governor's suicide attack had only been a diversion, I realized an instant later, as I looked up and found that all the Dulapers in the front row of seats had pulled out small hand-sized weapons of some kind. But how? Hadn't the Argents run checks for energy sources?
Father was on his feet, shouting. But before he could finish, the Dulapers opened fire.
That particular night, ten billion stars lit the heavens. The air tasted cold and crisp and thin, but this high up we felt no breeze and had no real sense of movement. We simply lay on the air as though on a mattress, floating high above the planet. I searched among the stars for signs of the Freedom Brigade's ships closing in on Horizon, but of course they were impossible to find, too small and insignificant amid the greater cosmic vastness.
"Teddy," my brother said.
I looked over at him. I could see a fierce determination in his eyes and knew he was scared, but would never show it. He could put up with anything this night, when epic wonders had been promised. He always wanted so desperately to be brave like me.
"There's nothing to be afraid of," I said. I held out my, hand and he took it.
The sky lit up with lancets of white fire. Pulse cannons from the Brigade's ships split the darkness overhead with brilliant pyrotechnic effect again and again. I felt Jake tense beside me, and I squeezed his hand, trying to be brave for both of us. The weapons were in space, so of course we heard and felt nothing, and yet I imagined a far-off rumble like distant thunder.
At last the cannons stopped. Bright spots swam before my eyes. I blinked until they went away. Then, slowly, like a mist descending, white and pink and yellow streaks of light began to paint the heavens above and around us: not weapons this time, but debris cascading down in a gentle rain of color. The Brigade had blasted dozens of asteroids to rubble, creating a spectacular cosmic fireworks display such as few worlds had ever seen.
They had done this just to amuse my brother and me. It was, after all, our birthday. That's how important they considered the twin sons of Faraday Meriman III, heirs to the Meriman Empire.
That is my first important memory. My second is this:
When we were eleven, our father took us with him on an inspection tour of fifty Outer Rim planets. Officially we saw him only a handful of times in the two month trip, always when he had important speeches to deliver and we were required to stand beside him in silence as he made them. Then he wore his deep red Emperor's uniform, with twin rows of gold buttons on the front of his blouse and gold piping on the sleeves, shoulders, and chest. On his right breast he bore the Meriman family crest stitched in platinum thread: a pair of Mother Earth lions facing each other, holding a crown and a planet in their paws. He seemed a different man in his uniform: serious, unsmiling, somehow cold and aloof, a force to be reckoned with. I felt uneasy in his presence.
Unofficially we dined with him almost every evening aboard the Pegasus, the flagship of his ten-thousand-ship fleet. Then, when we were alone, he made a special effort to return to his old self, talking to us like equals, telling stories from our family history, making jokes, the thin lines crinkling up around his eyes with laughter.
But those few stolen minutes each day seemed fleeting, scarcely enough. Mostly we spent our days aboard the Pegasus as we spent them at home, in studies, strenuous physical exercise, and other training designed to prepare us for the day we took on more responsibility in running the Meriman Empire. Already we had begun receiving the deep mental stims that would allow us to govern effectively. My mind turned constantly like a well oiled wheel, analyzing, calculating, computing.
When we reached the thirty-fifth stop on the tour, an undistinguished planet called Dulap's World, Father agreed to personally address an assembly of local politicians, since that was their custom. We rode down in the planet-hopper with him, but of course his advisors clumped around him like predatory birds, rehearsing his speech. He had no time for us now.
Sighing, I crossed to the huge oval portal in the side of the planet-hopper's main salon. Jake already stood there, arms behind his back, gazing out. As always when we joined Father for a speech, we wore red uniforms that matched his in style and cut, complete with red caps with black brims, shiny leather boots, and short capes with red silk linings. I hardly recognized Jake in his uniform: he looked older, more dignified, more important. As his identical twin, I realized I must look the same . . . grown up, almost an adult, almost ready to assume the mantle of responsibility that awaited us both.
As I joined him, he continued to stare out the portal, not smiling. I cleared my throat.
"Fifteen more worlds," I told him.
"I hate it here," he said.
I put my hand on his shoulder. "Me, too. It's a horrible little planet."
"Not Dulap's World. All of it. Space. I want to go home."
"I know," I murmured. I understood how he felt. After seeing the splendors of Horizon, who could possibly want to go anywhere else?
Leaning forward, I gazed down at soft, cloud-wisped grayish sphere below us. Dulap's World. Planets should have more color, I thought: green trees, brilliant blue-green oceans, dazzling white polar ice caps. What drab, colorless people must live here.
A single continent covered most of the planet. From orbit, the mottled browns and grays of the land seemed singularly uninviting. The few small, splotchy seas seemed almost out of place.
"We won't be here long," Jake said.
"How do you know?"
"I called up Father's speech while you were dressing. It's sharp and to the point. The people here petitioned for sovereignty, but of course that's ridiculous, and they must be put in their place. He doesn't even plan on granting audiences afterward."
It sounded like we'd be back aboard the Pegasus by dinner time.
Our planet-hopper entered the atmosphere with the faintest of bumps. We descended rapidly, soaring over barren almost desertlike expanses, and soon a small spaceport came into view: several square kilometers of reinforced gray duracrete and a handful of squat brown administration and maintenance buildings. Only two other ships sat there, both small freighters. Pitiful. We had more ships on our family's private spaceport than they had on their whole planet.
As we landed gently and the artificial gravity shut off, I saw field attendants floating out to meet us on broad nograv sleds.
"At least they're punctual," I muttered.
Our planet-hopper equalized atmospheres and broke the environment seals. My ears popped.
Several dozen Argents, elite members of the Freedom Brigade who served as our family's personal guards, poured forth and began to scan everything and everyone with their detection equipment. So far, they had uncovered two assassination attempts against Father this year, so I knew the importance of their work and didn't mind the delay. A handful of the Argents commandeered a nograv sled from the welcoming committee and flew off toward for the arena where Father would speak: they would secure it before we arrived.
"Jacob. Theodore," a high old-man's voice said behind us. "You know your duties here, of course."
"Yes, sir," we both said without turning. It was Timon Crotie, our father's chief advisor and second in authority over the Meriman Empire.
"It is polite to look at someone when he addresses you."
"Very well." I turned, frowning. "I had not meant to be rude."
"Of course not."
Mr. Crotie had pinched cheeks, deeply set brown eyes, and a narrow, almost hatchet face. His graying black hair, cut short with more practicality than style, accentuated the thinness of his features. He wore black and gold, with the Meriman family crest on his right breast. It had been he who picked out these uniforms for us to wear today and ushered us aboard the planet-hopper. Father trusted few people as much as he trusted Timon Crotie.
"What did you want to tell us?" Jake asked.
"It is very important," he said, "that you appear quiet and dignified at all times in public. The Dulapers prize that in children."
"We know," Jake said.
"You have already told us twice today," I added coolly. Crotie had grown up without mental stims, I reminded myself: he had no first-hand knowledge of how they changed and matured you. His had been a raw talent which Father had refined in its maturity. "We have always done our duty, Mr. Crotie. Father may depend on that. As may you."
He nodded. "But you are both still children. It is easy to forget."
"Not for us." As if our stims would let us forget anything. I nodded toward the hatch. "It's time for us to go, I believe."
He glanced out the hatch, saw that the Argents had secured the spaceport, and nodded. Father, still surrounded by his advisors, was already descending through the airlock and onto the main sled's platform.
"Hurry, then. We don't want to be left behind."
Jake and I followed our father out, then came Mr. Crotie, then more advisors and Argents. A static shield crackled over us as we stepped aboard the nograv sled; it would protect us from dust and wind as we traveled. Jake and I found benches to the rear and sat, putting our feet up, watching the bustle of preparations around us. Crotie headed forward, probably to check on our father. He might be our shepherd, but Father remained his chief concern.
"What did they feed you today?" Jake asked me suddenly.
He didn't mean food, but stims. We tended to be a day or two apart on them. At the moment, I was ahead.
"The history of the N'gao Family." I made a face. Political stims were always the worst, since you couldn't see any immediate applications for the knowledge. "Did you know that six hundred and forty-three years ago, Constance N'gao lost Earth in a minor war with our eighteen-times great grandfather, Hubert Díaz Meriman?"
"Did I care?"
Probably not. I certainly didn't. It wasn't like Earth held a position of strategic or political importance even before our great-grandfather17 Hubert had removed the entire human population and turned it into a natural game preserve. Nor did I care that Fyodor N'gao had vowed to obliterate our family ten generations ago, or that Fyodor's grandson had made an honorable peace with us that had lasted to this day. The N'gaos were a minor Family now, controlling only a few hundred planets. Why should they concern me?
When everyone had boarded safely, the sled rose, raising a thick cloud of dust which did not penetrate the static shield, and headed east.
The rising sun, large and pale orange, did nothing to color the land. We glided over kilometer after kilometer of arid near-desert, broken only by clusters of lumpy vegetation. Finally irrigated farmlands appeared, orderly fields of golden wheat and rye and oats, broken here and there by small clusters of human-style buildings. Dulap's world exported a dozen different grains to the rest of the Meriman Empire, I knew; much of the work was automated or done by autons or menial aliens like shais or jibbs. Barely two hundred thousand humans lived here. All led a Spartan existence, devoting themselves to religion and eschewing material goods.
* * * *
The sled landed on a private pad to one side of the arena, and the Argents waiting on the ground signaled that everything had been secured: no energy weapons, bombs, or usual power sources had been detected. One of our liaison officers—he had the Meriman Family logo blazed in silver on his right breast—hurried aboard the sled and knelt before Father. If not his manner, then his short reddish-blond hair, so unlike the browns and blacks which dominated the Dulaper gene pool, marked him as a newcomer to this world. Like all of Father's best people, he moved with the speed of a man on a tight schedule. Jake and I were too far away to hear their words, but his report apparently met with approval, since Father rose and allowed himself to be escorted inside the stadium. The rest of his advisors and attendants began to file out after him. Jake and I went last.
"The Dulapers like blood sports," Jake told me in a low voice as we waited to get off. "Every town and city has an arena like this one, where men and women fight and slay wild animals."
"That was not in the planetary report," I said, giving him a puzzled look. "How did you find out?"
"I overheard some of the Argents talking about it before you reached the shuttle."
"What weapons do they use?"
"As primitive as possible. Sometimes knives and swords. Sometimes nothing but bare hands."
It did make sense. "They live such repressed lives, this must be how they vent their emotions."
"That was my conclusion, too."
Mr. Crotie had been waiting for us at the foot of the ramp. He ushered us inside to a small, drab gray room. Hard benches lined the walls. Had the Dulapers had ever heard of cushions?
"Perhaps they're punishing us for owning their planet," Jake said with a grin, as if reading my thoughts.
"If so, they're punishing themselves, too. The arena didn't have any cushions, either."
We sat anyway. I could hear Father's booming voice from next door as he spoke with various local dignitaries. They were discussing trade and climate control, dull stuff all, and my attention wandered to the fabric of my uniform. There were two thousand, six hundred and thirteen individual threads in my pants, I noted in a brief moment of clarity, and when those threads were stretched out, they would extend roughly oh-point-two-six-five kilometers from end to end. A useless fact. I began to pick at the threads, wondering briefly how they were made. Stims heightened mental computational abilities, or provided you with raw facts when you needed them, but only within narrow areas. Clearly no one viewed the manufacturing process of textiles as important.
"Stop that, Theodore," Timon Crotie said from the doorway.
I dropped my hand drop to my side. There were twenty-two thousand and four threads in Crotie's black uniform. Thirty-six gold buttons. Three-point-six-three meters of gold piping. Useless facts. It was hard to shut down your brain when you were bored.
Crotie knelt before Jake and me. Mentally I sighed and rolled my eyes: another lecture. When would he learn we no longer needed them?
"The speech and ceremony won't last more than an hour," he told us, straightening my collar. I searched his old brown eyes for any trace of sympathy. "This has been a troublesome world," he went on, "and your father needs you beside him to show the value he places on family. The Dulapers appreciate that. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir," Jake and I both said together. It was the same on every world. The sooner we agreed, the sooner he would leave us alone.
"Good." He nodded. "I'll make sure you get a surprise tonight after dinner if you hold up your end of the bargain."
"You don't need to bribe us to behave," I told him.
"Then you won't have to do any work to earn a reward, will you, Theodore?"
"Perhaps . . . chocolate?" Jake asked.
I glanced at him sideways. "You're not helping, brother."
He pretended not to notice. He had always had a weakness for sweets, especially chocolate. I preferred Horizon's own confections, delicate hundred-layer pastries or the table cakes served on high holidays like Father's birthday.
Crotie said, "It would not be a surprise if I told you, would it, Jacob?"
"No, sir."
Crotie stood, brushing imaginary dust from his black-and-gold sleeves. "We will be going outside in a minute. Stand up. Prepare yourselves. You will follow right after your father."
"Yes, sir," we both said again. No sense in arguing: he would shepherd us whether we needed it our not.
He led us into the larger and much more crowded room next door. Twenty Argents had changed into red and black dress uniforms and now lined the walls, but as always, Father was the center of attention. A dozen solemn Dulapers in their traditional loose-fitting gray shirts and pants surrounded him, listening raptly as he spoke. Several held datapads and expertly transcribed his every word. Father noticed us and winked in the middle of his conversation, and I grinned back. He had a way of making you feel like you belonged beside him no matter what the time or situation. No stim could do it. That was why he was Emperor.
The red-headed liaison officer entered the room again. "The entire Greater Dulap Assembly has convened, sir," he told Father. "Whenever you are ready."
"Very well," Father said. He motioned the Dulapers away. "We can finish this interview from orbit," he told them. "Our liaison office will arrange it."
Bowing, they backed away, then filed out through the side door. The liaison officer was now deep in talks with Mr. Crotie and another advisor. I could see the three of them: they had to be discussing security. Crotie had advised against this tour of the Outer Rim planets, but since Father had insisted, everyone was taking great pains to keep us safe.
Old fashioned trumpets sounded outside. Everyone in the room shifted anxiously, and two Argents pushed open huge double doors leading into the center of the stadium. I craned to see and glimpsed tiers of seats packed with men and women dressed in various shades of gray.
Twenty more Argents in red and gold dress uniforms had been waiting against the far wall. They paraded out first; they were acting as honor guard and would surround Father while he spoke. Next came Father himself—not walking, but floating half a meter above the ground on a personal nograv sled. Like a returning hero, he raised one hand in salute as he passed through the portal. Jake and I followed on foot. Next came Timon Crotie and the liaison officer, then finally another twenty Argents, these men and women dressed in full battle gear: black body armor, boots with gravity plates in the toes and heels, and helmets with the protective visors down. They all carried heavy energy pulse rifles.
Outside, without the protection of a static shield, the air felt cool but dry. Strangely aromatic pollens spiced the air, giving it a curious scent somewhere between sesame and caraway. Above, orange cumulous clouds glided across a yellowish sky.
A replica of Father's gold-and-ivory throne on Horizon, though smaller and a little less magnificent, sat in the center of the stadium on a low dais. It seemed to shine with an inner light.
Father stepped from his nograv sled onto the dais, then seated himself. All the time he gazed off into the distance as though deep in thought. His body language spoke of strength, confidence, and power. As Jake and I took our places at his right hand, Mr. Crotie and the red-haired liaison officer moved to his left. Trumpets sounded once more, but as yet nobody spoke.
I kept my head still, moving my eyes only a little to take in the crowds. There were empty seats in the upper section of the arena. Exactly eight hundred and fifty-three men and women had assembled here to listen to Father's speech, I calculated. There was a strange stillness to them which I could not quite read, and they all looked grim, as though they come already determined to find fault with whatever Father said. I liked them even less than I liked their planet.
Trumpets sounded again. The honor guard snapped to attention and gave three short cheers. As they finished, Father rose and, seemingly for the first time, noticed those gathered before him.
"We are one people in a hostile universe," he said, as we had heard him say on so many worlds before this one, words thundering out so all could hear. "We are one people, and we must continue to work as one or we will surely perish."
He spoke for an hour, telling stories of the wonders of the universe . . . and the terrors. He told of the alien Pollox, who had tried to enslave three human worlds before the Freedom Brigade drove them off. His anger and outrage hung thick in the air, and I shivered as he described the filthy camps in which humans had been forced to live and work and breed like animals. Next he told of the Garwan Empire, so close to our own, where aliens experimented on captured humans for their amusement, creating eight-limbed monstrosities—and worse. I shared in his anger and disgust as he painted an image of a homeworld so brutal, so savage and inhumane, that the Freedom Brigade had no choice but to destroy it. And lastly he told of the savage Irenz, whose ships raided our commerce lanes because they considered human flesh a delicacy. Horror and rage ran through me like an electric current as he described their killing rooms, where humans were dismembered and eaten, often while still alive. Hunting down the last of their pirate fleet had been a worthy crusade, benefiting all humanity.
It was a variation on his standard speech, nearly the same as he had given on the thirty-four previous worlds we have visited. His carefully modulated voice and artfully choreographed hand and head movements brought depth and emotion to his stories. The first time I had heard this speech, I cried from the sheer emotional impact.
Now, only half listening, I stared out across the faces in the crowd. What were these people really like? Did they have children? Did they play games and dance and sing? Their expressions remained fixed; dour men and dour women with sallow complexions, long noses, and pinched cheeks. Loose gray clothing muffled their bodies; no jewelry or decorations brightened their appearance. Dull people on a dull world.
I shifted my weight uncomfortably from foot to foot. How much longer until we could get back to our ship?
"All these dangers and more await Man," Father said somberly, starting to wrap things up. "It is only through strength and careful planning that we will maintain our place at the top of the galactic order. Peace. Brotherhood. Strength. These must remain our watch-words. There are other human Families who protect human worlds, but none have been as successful as the Merimans have been. With your strength and your loyalty, we will share the bounties of the universe together!"
He sat to a light patter of applause. I saw him frown and instantly I understood: On every planet before this one, the people had cheered for five or ten minutes at the end of his speeches. I glanced sidelong over at Jake and found he, too, now watched the crowd with an uneasy expression.
"They don't like Father," he whispered, barely moving his lips. "Could they be shielded from the power of his voice?"
"They fear him, at least."
"But how much?"
I had no answer. Our philosophy stims taught that love guaranteed loyalty, and after love the most powerful binding force was fear. Those who didn't love Father feared him.
A man with a short graying beard came forward from the front row of Dulapers. He wore long, sweeping gray robes, and around his neck he carried a signet ring on a chain: the only adornment on any Dulaper that I could see. This ring marked him as the planet's governor, I recalled from the planetary report. From his stance, I saw that he had undergone some minor stim training to boost his authority, but it was nowhere near as extensive as what Jake and I had already gone through, and before our father's towering presence, he seemed little more than a mewling snowdrab.
He dropped to one knee and proffered a rolled-up paper scroll. Timon Crotie retrieved it and carried it to Father.
"Sir," the man said in a strong, deep voice that I found too self-consciously controlled for my liking. Like all such career politicians, he had been protected against the little betrayals which trained senses such as mine could read in raw humanity. I could fathom no emotion in him, neither truth nor lie, neither love nor hate for Father, nor anything in between. "We of Dulap's World have served you loyally since you brought our planet under your protective arm twenty-eight years ago. Our tithes have always been timely, our children have joined your Freedom Brigade willingly, and our hearts have rejoiced in your multitude of triumphs. Truly you have ushered in an age of peace for all the worlds under your rule. However, our forebears came to Dulap's World to live apart from galactic events. Yet we have no interest in outside politics or the influence of the great Families such as yours. Indeed, we have patiently borne the loss of the cream of our youth to your Freedom Brigade and the plundering of our planetary resources. Now, though, our warehouses lie empty. Our children are gone, and there remains nothing more for you to take. Therefore, we beseech you to grant us our independence. Let us live our quiet lives in our secluded corner of the galaxy, alone and at peace by ourselves."
Father still did not glance at the scroll, but I saw his hand tighten around it until his knuckles turned white. I began to tremble; seldom had I seen him lose his perfect calm. His anger must be beyond all control.
Slowly, he stood. When he spoke, the words struck like the blows of a giant.
"It is the Meriman Family's destiny to unite mankind, to link the myriad human worlds and human Families, to bring forth a new Golden Age of Man. For the first time in generations we will stand beneath the stars and know our place is safe. We all—all humans, on the greatest of our worlds to the least—have forged an empire of equals the like of which has never existed before. Today, all voices can be heard and all men can rise to the height and breadth of their ability." His voice dropped from thunder to a roar, and warm notes of reassurance and strength crept in. "Do not view the Freedom Brigade as a drain on your planet's resources. Step from the provincial to the galactic point of view. Those who leave Dulap's World to join the Brigade are free to return here at the end of their service. If some do not return, it is because they have found new homes amidst the greater community of Man. Be happy for them, for they have risen beyond that which can be attained here."
He ripped the petition in half and cast it aside like a child's plaything.
"Your petition is denied. Any further actions along these lines will be viewed as high treason—treason not only against the Meriman Empire, but against humanity. For only in unity do we find safety!"
The man had grown very still and very pale. He bowed his head; I saw tears on his cheeks.
"Then we have no choice," he said. When he looked up, a rage equal to Father's had filled his eyes. "Death to tyrants!" he screamed, pulling a small knife from one of his pockets. He launched himself at us.
Father's honor guard shot him before he made it two steps. Crimson beams from twenty energy weapons danced across his body, incinerating him beyond recognition. Bits of gray bone showed here and there through sloughed-off skin and blackened muscle. As he crumpled into himself, little more than a smoldering lump of charred meat, the sickly-sweet smells of burnt clothes and flesh reached me, and I half gagged.
The governor's suicide attack had only been a diversion, I realized an instant later, as I looked up and found that all the Dulapers in the front row of seats had pulled out small hand-sized weapons of some kind. But how? Hadn't the Argents run checks for energy sources?
Father was on his feet, shouting. But before he could finish, the Dulapers opened fire.
