Laughter roared out from the Emperor's allies. Nikolayevich refused to be intimidated.
"But this foolishness will take hours, Sr. Speaker," he protested. "Polling us one by one on a thing so easily settled is the height of folly."
"Nevertheless," the Speaker said, "this is how we shall progress."
He turned to the master of arms. "Master of Arms, call the roll!"
The master of arms bristled forward. He opened the thick official logbook.
He began to drone them out: "Ms. Dexter... From the great region of Cogli, how do you say?"
"I vote yea, Sr. Speaker."
And so it went One by one the representatives rose. Each vote was carefully entered in the logbook.
Kenna's forces fanned out through the great hall. With the Speaker's help, he had redrawn the battle line. If he won this vote, the second victory would be assured.
Nikolayevich's cronies worked desperately to shore up their support. But time... slow, dragging time... began to wear against it
Still, Kenna was fuming. Yes. He would win. But now the old rule of close being good enough would be turned on its head. After Nikolayevich's outburst—loudly supported by many others—anything but total victory would appear manipulated.
This was not how the Emperor wanted to start his first day of being God.
The vote ended. Kenna had won. But the margin was slender. He could see Nikolayevich and his people out twisting appendages and shouting into hearing orifices.
And he could see that the young tusker was making progress. One of his agents on Nikolayevich's staff flashed a message to Kenna's lectern com. When the voice vote came, the message said, Nikolayevich and his cronies were planning to disrupt it with a boisterous demonstration.
Kenna wracked his brain for some other means of stalling. No matter how hard he wrung it, however, nothing came. When this was over, the Emperor would have his hide.
Where the clot was he? Some god. Not even around when you need him.
The Speaker signaled. Frantic. What should he do? Kenna had no choice. He motioned. Call the question.
"Gentlebeings," the Speaker intoned, "for the second time this day, I call the question... In the matter of PB 600323—titled, Declaration of the Eternal Emperor's Godhood—"
Doors boomed open. Boots hammered down.
The sergeant of arms gave the cry: "Gentlebeings, I present to you... the Eternal Emperor!"
Startled faces churned around.
A white-robed contingent of cultists danced through the enormous doors leading into the great main hall.
Their faces beamed in ecstasy. Some swung clanging incense pots on long chains. Others strewed rose petals down the long avenue. All wore small knives in the ropes belted around their waists. The knives were sharp and festooned with streaming red ribbons.
At their head was the skeletal figure of their high priestess— Baseeker.
Behind them, boots crushing the rose petals, came a troop of black-uniformed IS officers. Their eyes sweeping the assembly of representatives for danger. Weapons at ready.
In the center was the Eternal Emperor.
When Kenna and the others saw him, they didn't notice the other little details of the entrance. The second IS troop that followed just behind the Emperor, led by Poyndex. Or the camo-clad sniper teams that sprinted off to take up position. Or Avri directing nondescript figures to mingle among the representatives. When they'd been dispatched, she sighted Nikolayevich, and slipped toward him.
But these things blurred past the assembly's side vision. The Emperor commanded their full attention.
He was garbed like they had never seen him before. Long golden robes flowed over his muscular figure. The material phosphored, giving off a ghostly glow. Encircling his dark locks was a thin band of more glowing gold. In his hand, he carried a staff of yellow metal that flared at the top into a round standard. On the standard burned the symbol of AM2.
The Imperial formation swept along the avenue and wheeled onto the marble speaker's platform. The Eternal Emperor strode directly to the edge and faced Parliament. Weapons thunked and boots crashed down as the troops took position on either flank.
Baseeker and the cultists flowed around them to the Emperor. Then they lay on the platform at his feet. A nest of white-robed angels with knives.
Kenna stared. The others stared. For a moment he—and they—could almost believe. All the old myths stealthed into the room, spreading like fog among them. An ancient fog. Swept up from the cold depths of several thousand years. This was the being who had ruled them for all that time.
Perhaps he was a god.
"It has come to my attention," the Eternal Emperor said, "that there has been some mewling in this assembly." His voice was low. But they didn't have to strain to hear. Menace buzzed all around them.
"I don't usually pay attention to your whines," the Emperor said. "I gave you that right when I empowered this Parliament in the Imperial Constitution. It's a nuisance, I admit. But that is the nature of democracy and I have had a long time to get used to it."
In the audience, Nikolayevich barely noticed as a figure moved close to him. It was Avri.
"It is the nature of this current mewling, however, that brings me before you. I understand some honors were about to be conferred upon your Emperor. These honors, I should add, I did not seek. They were pressed on me by my subjects." The Emperor's hand flowed out to indicate the white-robed cultists.
"They say I'm a god. They have built temples to me. Temples where millions of other like-minded subjects worship. In those temples, they preach wisdom and patience and gentleness. These attributes, they believe, are at the heart of my godhood."
Nikolayevich felt a motion at his beltpak; a small lump dropped in. He brushed at it impatiently. A message from an ally, he assumed. He ignored the figure slipping away.
"I have always encouraged freedom of worship among my subjects. So, it was with some shock that I learned that these gentle folk who worship me were being brutally persecuted for their beliefs.
"In fact, I now have incontrovertible proof that this persecution was at the heart of the conspiracy launched against me by the traitor Sten. Unspeakable acts were committed by Sten against these believers because he feared their deeply felt truths stood in his way to my throne.
"For, if I am a god, who would possibly join him against me? So, you see, even my greatest enemy is a believer. A Satan set against his perfect master."
This odd dance in logic momentarily broke the spell gripping Nikolayevich. He slipped the message from his beltpak. A lump wrapped in paper. He unrolled it. The lump was a tusk, slender and finely curved—then a horror of gore at the stump. On the tusk was an ornate ring.
The ring Nikolayevich had given his lover on their first pairing day.
"This is the background to the bill your Speaker has presented on this day. A background which I kept to myself until this moment, for reasons of state security involving the traitor Sten.
"The decree will end the persecution of these innocent beings. A decree that will strike a moral blow against my greatest enemy.
"A decree that will recognize what has been so painfully obvious these many millennia. I have watched over you and your ancestors for long years. I have fed you. Clothed you. Given you the means to prosper in peace."
The Emperor's head dropped. "Ah," he said, "sometimes I am so weary..."
"Hail the Holy Emperor!" Baseeker shrieked. "Hail, O Great Good Lord."
The other cultists took up the cry: "Hail the Holy Emperor! Praise Him. Praise Him!"
Kenna gave Walsh an elbow poke. Then another. Walsh's eyes unglazed. "Praise Him!" shouted Kenna. Another nudge into Walsh. "Praise Him!" he shouted again.