“Good,” the monk said. They stepped suddenly into a lighted room. “You will be welcomed, I am sure.”
Tiberius might have responded angrily to that remark — he hadn’t realised how cynical the monkish guardians of the Imperial Register were — but the room distracted his attention. It was a massive room, large enough to hold hundreds of people, and it was almost entirely populated by holographic people. They moved around the room in a complicated dance, sometimes holding hands, sometimes standing alone, their movements perfectly choreographed. He sucked in his breath sharply as he recognised his father, looking as he had on the day when he married his mother, holding his mother’s hand. He’d seen images of his father before, since the day that he’d died, but there was something uniquely real about the image facing him now.
“This is the core of the Imperial Register,” the monk said, as the holograms parted to allow them to walk through the room and up to a single wooden desk. “The holograms represent the current state of play within the Families, each official relationship illuminated for all to see.”
Tiberius shivered. “My parents are dead,” he said, flatly. Anger was starting to push aside the butterflies in his stomach. The entire scene was hauntingly intimidating… and he didn’t even understand why. “Why are they even here?”
“Your parents gave birth to you and the remainder of your siblings,” the monk said, as they reached the desk. “As long as their bloodlines remain in play, we keep their images here, just to remind us of how the bloodlines interact.”
“Bloodlines,” Tiberius said, shaking his head. It was a delusion that he hadn’t shared to any great extent — being born a junior son — but one that affected too many of the Families. It was the delusion that blood alone made them better than any of the commoners, that they had earned their positions merely by being born into a world of wealth and luxuries beyond the imagination of the commoners they ground underfoot, an asserted that things would never change. Things had changed. The rebellion had shattered the Families and their grip on power… and even if Daria’s plan worked, they were still going to be weakened. “Why is this so important?”
“It is what we were trained to do,” the monk said, flatly. There was absolutely no doubt in her voice. “We are charged with keeping track of the different bloodlines so that Family-owned assets are treated properly, so that Family lines are not split — or, for that matter, cursed with the taint of incest. We are the final court of appeal for any Family union and our disapproval can prevent a wedding from occurring.”
Tiberius scowled. No one would say anything, aloud, if they married without the concurrence of the Imperial Register, but people would talk behind their backs, discussing the possible reasons for the marriage being rejected. It would weaken his position considerably and, far more, weaken the position of any of his children. They would find their right to being the Heir questioned, their positions weakened until they collapsed, placing someone else at the head of the Family. Gwendolyn and the other second-tier members wouldn’t hesitate to take advantage of such weakness. How could they resist?
“Please stand before the desk,” the monk said, unaware of their thoughts. “The ceremony is brief and painless.”
The desk had a sense of age that was impossible to ignore, Tiberius realised, as they stepped onto the dais. It was simple, constructed from a fine wood that felt strange to the touch, holding only a massive paper manuscript and a single glowing globe. The monk stepped over to the other side and opened the manuscript, revealing names from long ago, written in a variety of different hands. There was no dust as she turned the pages, one by one, revealing names that had passed into legend, or in some cases into infamy.
Jason’s name will be in here somewhere, Tiberius said, remembering her father’s library. It would be impossible to hack into a paper volume, no matter how hard anyone tried. The monks guarded it jealously. Any discrepancies could be checked against the master copy. He felt unseen eyes watching them as pages turned, one by one, until she found a blank page.
“Tiberius Cicero, place your hand on the orb,” the monk ordered. It took him a moment to realise that she meant the globe. He placed his hand on it and the light brightened, just for an instant, before fading slightly. He saw a darkened image of his hand glowing on the sphere, before it faded away into the light. “Your identity is confirmed.”
Tiberius nodded. The worst nightmare of anyone from the Families was replacement, by a clone, or another Family Member, or even a computer hacker who managed to hack into one of the databases that the Imperial Register produced for the other worlds. The DNA coding, stored within the master system, would ensure that no substitutes could slip through the web and claim Family status. There were hundreds of pretenders, every year, but most of them were weeded out fairly quickly. Some of them had even been invited to join High Society in their own right.
“Alicia, no longer of any Family, place your hand on the orb,” the monk ordered. Alicia, effectively naked now without a Family, followed her instructions. “Your identity is confirmed.”
The monk passed Tiberius a simple pen. “Write your name within the book,” she ordered. Tiberius complied. Alicia, a moment later, followed him. “You are now lawfully united in matrimony until you choose to separate.”
Tiberius smiled slightly. The whole ceremony still felt slightly ridiculous, but it would help keep some of the Family’s more irritating members quiet, including the ones who had loudly wondered if he wasn’t marrying beneath himself. They wouldn’t have been happy with any choice, even the most advantageous match possible, simply because it would push them a step further away from the Headship. They would have no choice, now, but to honour Alicia as one of their own. That would gall them in so many ways…
“Thank you,” Alicia said. She was Family now. He could have told her everything, but he couldn’t take that risk, not yet. He hated thinking in such terms, but he had a responsibility to the Family. “May we leave here now?”
“Of course,” the monk said, almost as if she couldn’t wait to get rid of them. She probably couldn’t. The Families weren’t supposed to remain in the Imperial Register any longer than necessary. Who knew what someone with enough time and cunning might do with access to the master copy? “I shall escort you to your car.”
They didn’t speak until they were back in the aircar, flying away from the fairytale castle and heading back to Tiberius’s estate. “You know,” he said, only half in jest, “we could skip the wedding and move directly to the honeymoon.”
Alicia elbowed him. “I think that my mother would be most disappointed if she didn’t have a chance to watch me walking down the aisle,” she said, firmly. “We can have the honeymoon right after that.”
“Of course,” Tiberius said, his thoughts returning to the wedding… and the awful deed that was going to be committed there. He wanted to order it stopped, now, but there was no choice. Daria had seen to that. They had to use the wedding as cover to assassinate Colin, regardless of his — or her — personal feelings. Alicia would never forget her wedding, even if it wouldn’t be the happiest day of her life. He felt like a heel. He pasted a caring expression on his face. “I shall look forward to it.”
“You look magnificent,” Kathy said, as Cordova posed dramatically. It was easy, just once, to act the bubble-headed idiot. He did look good, wearing a uniform that put Grand Admiral Joseph Porter’s famous uniform to shame, even if it had too much gold braid and medals for her taste. Cordova, at least, had earned most of his medals. Porter, who had died at the Battle of Earth, had obtained his through shameless servitude to the Thousand Families. “Will you keep the sword on for me?”