Sten thanked her, and broke the connection.
He leaned back, letting the information churn around. They settled into this uncomfortable equation: Same but different still equalled different.
The com buzzed. The watch officer said she had Cind on the line. It was important.
As Sten leaned forward to answer, a question tingled at his back brain: If it wasn't the Eternal Emperor... who the clot was he fighting?
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
SOLON KENNA STOOD upon the broad speaker's platform, a block of pure white marble tabernacling out from the far wall of the Hall of Parliament. Posed beside him at his handsome best was Tyrenne Walsh. Behind them was a three-story-high portrait of the Eternal Emperor.
Kenna's powerful, polished voice rolled out across the hundreds of assembled politicians: "Distinguished Representatives... Loyal Imperial citizens... Gentlebeings.
"It is with deep humility that my colleague and I stand before you on this most historic day."
Kenna's voice dipped into an oiled, humble tone. A twitch of a finger signaled the dimwitted Walsh to bow his head.
"The people of Dusable have already enjoyed vast honors from our beloved Emperor," he said.
Kenna's old-pol brain made note there was not one titter from the group—which represented every nook and cranny of the Empire. Nor was there one whisper he could detect of the recent humiliation his people had suffered at the hands of the Emperor's enemy—Sten.
Kenna gestured to the enormous portrait of the Emperor staring out at all of them. "For reasons only our wise leader can determine, the people of Dusable have been honored once again."
Kenna's trained eyes scanned the crowd, as he spoke. Sussing out his strengths and weaknesses. Supporter and enemy. He may have been humiliated by Sten, but humiliation did not diminish his skills as a manipulator.
He and Avri had prepared well for this moment. When he was done, the Emperor's bill would be presented. A highly controversial bill, whose passage at one time had been difficult to assure.
Many favors and heaps of coin had exchanged hands in the dark corridors of the Hall of Parliament. The old mordida moved a plenitude of votes into the Emperor's column. Poyndex—for reasons Kenna chose not to ponder—had also volunteered assistance. Old files on the opposition representatives had been sifted for pressure points and blackmail. More votes were added.
Still, the matter would be close.
But, in politics, close is enough to win a kingdom.
"Gentlebeings, I am here to put before you this remarkable proposal. We are being asked to lift the veil from our eyes. To see what we have been too blind to realize for so many tragic years.
"And that is, we live in so fortunate a time that a living god walks among us. And that god is our good and holy Eternal Emperor. Whose immortality stands as an unyielding shield against the hard blows of history.
"In his sanctified embodiment, our glory goes on and on before us. Our glory. Which is his glory. And his glory, ours.
"Gentlebeings... I put the question to you. Let us now declare, once and forever, that the Eternal Emperor is our rightful god."
There was a stir. The gauntlet was down.
The Emperor was demanding godhood by parliamentary decree.
Kenna turned to the Speaker, an old, distinguished puppet of the Emperor. "Sr. Speaker," Kenna intoned, "call the question."
The Speaker's grizzled snout pushed forward, virile tusk implants an odd vanity in an ancient, wrinkled face. "In the matter of PB 600323—titled, Declaration of the Eternal Emperor's Godhood; subtitled, Be It Resolved to Amend the Emperor's Title to Read, ‘Holy,' and Any Other Word Forms Recognized As Terms of Worshipful Respect—how do you say, gentle-beings?
"All for approval... say Yea."
A choreographed chorus of "yeas" began to rise in the hall. Broken by loud shouts of protest. The shouts became a roar, drowning out the proceedings. One voice soared over that roar.
"Sr. Speaker! Sr. Speaker! Point of order, please! Point of order!"
The Speaker tried to ignore the voice. His gavel hammered down. He was particularly humiliated because the voice came from one of his own species. It was Nikolayevich, a young firebrand of a tusker.
The gavel rat-tat-tatted. Lectern pickups magnified the blows and the sound thundered through the hall. But an unruly crowd took up Nikolayevich's cry: "Point of order! Point of Order!" More voices were added, drowning out the thunder. "Let him speak! Let him speak!"
The Speaker turned helpless old eyes on Kenna. There was nothing that could be done. At least not in public. Kenna motioned: Let him speak. Then he slipped a hand in his pocket to trigger an alarm to
Arundel.
"The chair recognizes Sr. Nikolayevich, representative from the great and loyal Sverdlovsk Cluster."
The Speaker keyed the pickup that would amplify Nikolayevich's remarks.
"Sr. Speaker," the young tusker shouted, "we protest these procedures in the strongest possible terms. The issue before us is an obscenity. We will not be manipulated into seeing this become law over the will of the majority."
"From where I was sitting, young man," the Speaker said with dramatic sarcasm, "the majority was quite clear. The ‘yeas' were overwhelming. Now, if you will permit me, I will call for the 'nays.‘ And you will see how weak is your support."
"It is our right to refuse a voice vote. To demand a roll call," Nikolayevich insisted. "Let us stand up and let our peoples see how each of us votes on this matter. If the Emperor is to be a god... let his citizens see us declare it so. And on our heads be it."
The Speaker shot a look at Kenna for help. Kenna made stretching motions: Delay this.
"Very well," the Speaker said. "I will call the roll."
Nikolayevich grunted in pleasure. Sniffing victory.
The Speaker snorted. "However, since you believe this matter so sensitive—although how any of you could doubt the sanctity of our Emperor is beyond me—I will put another question to the floor first."
"Objection!" Nikolayevich shouted. "The chair may not pose another question while a previous one is still in action."
The rebel from Sverdlovsk knew his legal ground. So did the canny old Speaker. A puppet he may have been, but he was a skillful puppet.
"But the assembly does have the right—duty, as you are insisting—to decide the means of its voting. You say it should be by the numbers. I say it should be by vigorous acclaim."
Nikolayevich looked about him. His cronies were doing a quick count, polling their strength. The answer came back. Wa-verers had been heartened by Nikolayevich's boldness. For this brief moment, he had the edge.
"Call the question, Mr. Speaker," he said. Flat. "And I think you'll hear the loud shouts of ‘nay' put paid to this blasphemy."
He slammed back into his bench, nodding all around, pleased with himself.
The Speaker raised mild eyes. "Under the circumstances of your protest," he said, "I believe it would be unseemly to settle the matter with such dispatch. There will be no yeas, or nays, sir. No. Tit for tat, sir. I'll call the roll."
Flabbergasted, Nikolayevich popped up again. "Sr. Speaker, this is incredible. You're going to call the roll to see if it is permissible to call the roll?" He turned to his fellow rebels, shoulders humped in amazement. Barking laughter. But the laughter was forced.
"Yes. That's exactly what I mean," the Speaker said. "I'm elated that my thoughts to you were so clearly expressed. Sometimes, I must confess, young representatives have me wondering if somehow senility has crept up on me."