"Really?" the Emperor said. "I had no idea there were so many potential converts."
"How can it be otherwise, Lord?" Baseeker said. "For is it not written in our holy scriptures that soon your worshippers will outnumber the stars in the heavens? And that they will praise your name as the one true God of us all?"
Even the Emperor was embarrassed by this. He coughed into a closed fist. "Uh... Yes. The way you put it... I suppose it does make sense."
"We only lack funds, Lord," Baseeker said, "to put this program fully into motion."
The Emperor frowned. "I've already supplied a sufficiency of funds. Have I not?"
"Oh, but you have, Lord," Baseeker backpedaled. "And in my opinion, this has been an unfair—bordering on blasphemous—burden. In my view, those who benefit most should bear the cost. Your humble subjects, Lord, should be the ones to pay.
"I do not think it seemly for a living god to pay for his own temples. But, we—your faithful subjects—have been denied this small pleasure, Lord. And it is the fault of our political leaders, I fear. They're too busy lining their own pockets instead."
"Very well put," the Emperor said. "And refreshingly so."
He turned to Poyndex. "I'm getting tired of those penny-pinchers in the Parliament. It's time for them to put their credits where their mouths are. Get together with Avri and work up some kind of funding bill. A subject so loyal as this woman shouldn't have to go begging for funds for such a worthy proposal."
"Yes, Your Highness. I'll do it immediately."
The Emperor shifted back to Baseeker. "I have one request."
"Anything, Lord."
"I'd like you to sift through the membership. Ferret out the most ardent believers."
"We would all lay our lives down for you, Lord."
"Yes... But some are always going to be more willing than others. You know the type I mean."
Baseeker nodded. The word "fanatic" was the unspoken answer.
"I want them organized into a core group. I have some of special training in mind for them. Training, Poyndex's people can supply."
"Yes, Lord"
"They are to hold themselves ready. Until they hear from me. Then they are to act instantly, and without question."
"Yes, Lord. These... missions... you have in mind? I assume they will be dangerous?"
"Yes. Possibly even suicidal."
Baseeker smiled. "I know just the type of individual we'll need," she said, rat teeth snipping off each word.
Poyndex shuddered. There was nothing new about using religious fanatics as assassins. But the image of a wild-eyed cultist waving a bloody knife was decidedly unsettling. He wiped the image away. As frightening as the idea was, he could not deny its merit.
"Fine. We have an understanding, then," the Emperor said, winding things up. "Now... if you'll forgive me..."
Baseeker leaped to her feet. "Certainly, Lord. And thank you so much for gracing me with these precious moments of your time."
She dropped to her knees again and bounced her head on the floor three times. "Praise thy name, Lord. Praise, thy name..."
And she was gone.
The Emperor turned to Poyndex with a huge smile. "Amazing. They really do believe I'm a god."
"No doubt about it, Your Majesty," Poyndex said. His survival instinct, however, kept him from smiling back. "Their beliefs may be childlike... but they certainly are sincere."
The Eternal Emperor looked at the door Baseeker had just exited. "Out of the mouths of babes," he murmured.
The mood broke and the Emperor slid a bottle of Scotch from his desk. He briskly poured a drink. And as briskly downed it.
"Now. From the sublime to pure damned foolishness," the Emperor said. "I have a complaint from my chamberlain involving you."
Poyndex lifted a brow. "Yes, Your Highness?"
"Apparently those honors I asked you to process have yet to reach his desk. And he has an awards ceremony to prepare for. A ceremony, I might add, scheduled for less than two weeks from now."
"I am so very sorry, sir," Poyndex said at his most humble. "It's my fault. And I have no excuses for it."
"Damned straight," the Eternal Emperor snorted. "For crying out loud, Poyndex, I know and you know these things are meaningless. But medals and honors are good public relations. Especially in these times."
"Yes, Your Highness. I'm sorry, Your Highness. I'll get on it right away."
"Never mind," the Emperor said. "Send the list to me. I'll deal with it." He shook his head. "Might as well. It seems like I have to do everything else myself."
"Yes, sir."
The Emperor drank more Scotch, his irritation waning. "I suppose you do have your hands full at the moment," he said.
"It's still no excuse, sir. But thank you."
"Don't thank me yet," the Emperor said. "Because I have another rather large item for your plate."
"Yes, sirr
"I've been thinking about our problem with Sten. He's been doing us a great deal of damage. But only because he's the one with the momentum. And while we're still coming up to speed, he can continue to hit us at will. Build up his image as a bold hero of the masses and all that rot."
"He's bound to falter soon, sir," Poyndex said.
"I don't like depending on luck or another being's mistakes," the Emperor said. "We need to grab the march now. Put so much pressure on him he won't know which way is up."
"I don't mean to be negative, sir," Poyndex said, "but we've already stretched our forces to the limit. And then some. At this point, even our reserve units are strapped."
"Strap them some more," the Emperor said.
"But... if there should be some emergency, sir..."
The Emperor's eyes blazed. "Clot that! Sten's been surprising us at every turn. Hitting us from every angle. My pet news stations, to AM2 depots, to the financial market."
Poyndex puzzled. "The financial market? I assumed the economy was merely suffering because of the crisis. What could Sten have—"
The Emperor gave him a scornful look. "Don't be a fool.
That had all the marks of a guerrilla action. Nothing natural about it. No. It was Sten's doing. Or one of his people."
"I see... Your Majesty," Poyndex said haltingly, not really seeing.
The Emperor snorted, frustrated. "Now get this through that thick skull of yours, Poyndex. This is the emergency. And if we don't put this fire out soon, we're going to be in even deeper drakh. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. Now, take a look at this." The Emperor moved aside the bottle of Scotch and spread out a map of his empire. Poyndex bent over it, noting the many circles, crosses, and arrows the Emperor had scrawled.
"These are the areas I think are the most vulnerable," the Emperor said, jabbing here and here and here. "The most likely places for him to hit next. We can cover if we move the Fifth Guard from Solfi... then shift the fleet at Bordbuch..."
Poyndex watched in amazement as the Eternal Emperor jabbed at the map, rejiggering his forces.
And every time his finger touched paper, hundreds of ships and thousands of soldiers were hurled across the stars.
In pursuit of a single man.
Much later, secure in his own small kingdom in Arundel Castle, Poyndex reflected on the state of the Empire.
He touched a sensor at his desk and the mural on the far wall of the command center shattered, and was replaced by an electronic version of the map the Emperor had shown him: the situation board. Crisis lights winking.
Poyndex scanned the bad news. Food riots. Rolling blackouts. Wildcat strikes. His eyes moved on. Money markets in disarray. Commodities seesawing. Panicked corporate reports. Appeal after appeal for more AM2.