“It was merely an observation,” he said.
“No, no,” she whispered.
He regarded her, impassively.
She fell to her knees, before him.
“I am at your mercy,” she said. “I will do anything.”
“I will give you my address, on the summer world,” said Tuvo Ausonius. “I shall be there for a few days.”
He turned back to look at her. She was still on her knees. She held the bit of paper in her hand, with the address written on it, in a careful, precise script.
“I will take that drink now,” he said.
“Yes, sir,” she said.
“There will be no charge,” said Tuvo Ausonius.
“No, sir,” she said.
“And wipe your face,” he said.
“Yes, sir,” she said.
Tuvo Ausonius then returned to his seat. He gave his attention, for a time, to his notebooks, but then, after a little while, looked out the porthole, at the blackness of the night, and the brightness of the stars.
He saw his face reflected in the glass, and then returned his attention to the interior of the cabin.
He flicked on the viewer fixed in the back of the seat in front of him, but there was nothing there to interest him, and he turned it off.
Tuvo Ausonius was an executive in the finance division of the first provincial quadrant, and was posted on Miton. He was a level-four civil servant. There were several imperial employees under his supervision. He was also, of course, as were most imperial civil servants, of the honestori. Indeed, to the disgust of Tuvo Ausonius, appointments in the civil service, above the second level, carried the honestori status with them, whether the employee’s antecedents warranted it or not. More importantly, Tuvo Ausonius was of the minor patricians, being related in the 103rd degree to the original Ausonii. He was as yet unmarried, having to date successfully resisted various pressures brought to bear upon him both privately by superiors and publicly by directives of the imperial administration. The numbers of the imperial aristocracy, over the past several generations, doubtless for several reasons, and doubtless all quite understandable and acceptable, had tended to decline. This was, however, a source of concern to the senate and to the imperial administration. Ausonius was not clear on why he had been called to the summer world, and not the capital world, particularly at this time in the fiscal year. He feared it might have to do with appearing before a mating board, perhaps one appointed by the empress mother, he and hundreds of others, in their turn, expected to explain their prolonged bachelor status. It is not that Tuvo Ausonius had never been involved in such matters. Indeed, that fact would surely constitute his best defense against the challenges of such a board. Once, credentials having been examined on both sides, careful, mutual, detailed inquiries completed, and even pictorials exchanged, arrangements, to the weariness and disgust of Tuvo Ausonius, had been finalized. The fortunate young woman, for she was far beneath him, being related only in the 105th degree to the Auresii, was a court officer on Terennia, a position which she had occupied in virtue of the influence of her mother, a judge in a small city in the northern hemisphere of that world. Also lending her assistance to the arrangements was another significant personage of the same city, its mayor. Matters had proceeded quite far. The prospective bride had even, reportedly, embarked for Miton, from Terennia, on an imperial cruise ship, the Alaria. The Alaria, however, had never appeared in orbit about Miton. Its fate was obscure. It was speculated that an explosion on board had damaged the ship irreparably, or that, perhaps, due to detector malfunctions, it had encountered a meteoric rain of such an extent that evasive maneuvers were ineffective and of such force that the shields and hull had crumbled beneath the impacts. As the reader knows, the fate of the Alaria was other than as these conjectures would have it. Its fate, of course, in general terms, had been clear to the imperial ships which had responded to her distress calls, but, until later, it was not understood, even on certain high levels, precisely what had occurred. It had not been thought necessary, in the interests of retaining public confidence, to inform the public that the loss of the Alaria might be explained in terms other than those of accidents, for example, that its loss might be attributable to the activities of unwelcome intruders. In any event, Tribonius Auresius, for that was the unlikely name of the prospective bride, had not arrived on Miton. This eventuality was greeted with some relief by Tuvo Ausonius, but also, interestingly, with some irritation, as he had invested a great deal of time in inquiries and a not inconsiderable expense in negotiations. Tribonius Auresius was, of course, a masculine name, though its bearer was anything but masculine, as she later learned. That name had been bestowed upon her by her mother, doubtless in the interests of assisting her daughter to remain true to the upper-class ethos of Terennia, which was, we note, not unlike that of Miton. Indeed, Miton, for just such reasons, was one of the worlds on which the judge, and her colleague, the mayor, both of whom hoped to considerably improve their fortunes through the young woman’s marriage, conducted their matrimonial and economic searches. The daughter, as it might be recalled, from an earlier account, was less than enthusiastic about the prospect of voyaging to Miton and becoming the bride of Tuvo Ausonius. She had already despised him, and had resolved to make his life miserable, even to the extent of ridiculing him in public and squandering his resources. To be sure, given an assemblage of circumstances, she, doubtless fortunately for Tuvo Ausonius, never received the opportunity to put these plans into effect. Due to the same assemblage of circumstances, she was no longer of either interest or value in the marriage market, though, to be sure, she might have figured in, and would quite possibly have been found of some interest or value in, markets of other sorts.
“Your drink, sir,” said the stewardess.
“Thank you,” said Tuvo Ausonius.
The stewardess looked at him, frightened.
“Seven in the evening, on the first day after debarkation,” said Tuvo Ausonius.
That would give him time to make the necessary arrangements.
“Yes, sir,” she whispered.
“It will begin then,” he said.
“‘Begin’?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“Also,” he added, “you will come suitably prepared, suitably garbed, perfumed, adorned, made-up, you understand.”
“Yes, sir,” she said.
CHAPTER 14
There were many rich hangings in the hall, which were noted by Otto as he followed Julian, and the servitor, past guards, toward large doors, rather in the distance, rather more than fifty yards away, hung with purple velvet, leading to what he took would be an audience chamber, that of the emperor himself.
“We have waited long enough!” snapped Julian to the servitor.
“I am sorry, your excellency,” said the servitor.
There were vessels of gold and silver, too, on pedestals, here and there, in the hall.
They would make rich loot, thought Otto. To be sure, the loot of most interest to him was that of soft flesh, the sort which could be purchased in many markets throughout the galaxy. The empire was rich in such loot. Barbarian ships, usually few in number, and stealthy, sometimes struck well within the provincial quadrants, to secure it. Some raids had taken place even within the worlds of Telnaria itself.
What terror they had struck, even to the heart of the empire!
Many women of the empire awakened, frightened, in the night, hearing the smallest of sounds.
“Your audience must be brief,” said the servitor, “as the emperor fatigues easily.”