CHAPTER 4
I opened my flattened hands across the lofty fibersilk-filled pad that supported me, trying to rid my body of weight and substance. My eyes were softly shut, my jaw just slightly ajar with my lips barely touching. Every joint, tendon and organ I possessed lay slack. I even urged my nose to relax. My meditation chamber was redolent with an earthy essential oil mix that contained vetiver, white truffle, oak gall and musk ox hair. All lights were extinguished, the doors locked and the curtains closed.
I had attempted to recede from the earthly form that had gone through such contortions and changes in size in an effort to bring it under control. As my crewmates suggested, the distortion was fleeting, but it was an uncompromising nuisance not to know what dimensions everything had from moment to moment. My studies repeatedly informed me that size, as well as time, space, other beings, every object and what I thought I could see from my own eyes were all illusion, a whim of creation that we sparks of energy all shared. If that were indeed the case, I mused, it was a pervasive and complex illusion, one that I could not dispel without a great deal more practice at mind control than I had yet accomplished. I just wanted my body to go back to the size and shape it had been before the treatment, so I could go on attempting to escape from it.
I had hoped that I might be able to achieve astral projection, but had not yet managed it. Day after day, at the hour appointed by my quotidian stars, I had put myself into a comfortable position from which I could lift my astral body and tour the stars. I must confess that the only part of me that went wandering was my mind. Every time I began to feel truly relaxed, I thought of other things I could be doing. I suppose my astral self was quite busy during those times. I discovered it was best attempted when planetside, particularly in a non-technically-furnished domicile. Even the slightest little buzz seemed to distract me, let alone the ambient noises of a working warship. But if one has already found peace in a very quiet place, why would one have to seek further peace? It was already there around one. I realized that I might be missing the point. To be able to achieve a meditative state when all around me was chaos was the intended goal. I took on an instructor for meditation, but as I kept checking to see if he was meditating, and how it looked different than my meditation, I realized he was more distraction than help. I offered my thanks but did not renew his contract. I think he, too, was relieved.
Instead, I began personal studies into the various methods of achieving higher consciousness. For the first week or so, I had fallen asleep each session, only waking when the temple bell was sounded by one of the house valetbots, which had approached my couch as if on little cat feet and retreated afterward. By this time, several weeks into my studies, I was much more proficient. Wakeful mindfulness was my watchword. I still had difficulty removing my mind from my surroundings, but I was getting better. Meditation was, as the experts decreed, most restful without having to resort to sleep.
My difficulty was in preventing my thoughts from becoming occupied by plans. I was fascinated by the thought of exploring Uctu space. My mother had been there several times, first as a young officer, later as a captain, then as First Space Lord. She had not gone since before my elder brother did his two years’ obligatory military service. I found my mind casting after her into the unknown—a far more intriguing journey than any the astral plane seemed to offer. I imagined that I could see her on the bridge of her flagship, though she looked rather younger than she did now. Not that time had been unkind to her. She was often mistaken for a decade, sometimes two, younger than she was.
“My lord,” came the softest of inquiries from just inside my sitting room door. Parsons had entered, ignoring the do not enter sign on my suite’s outer door, not to mention the five locks and intruder-apprehension system active within the anteroom. I didn’t bother to guess how he had done it; most likely even my wildest imaginings were too tame to account for his proficiency. I peeled open one eye to behold him, as serene a presence as any lama. In truth, I was furious.
“Have I forgotten an appointment?” I asked, with a hint of asperity. “For no other reason, Parsons, could I imagine that you would interrupt my hour of serenity.”
He was unmoved by my ire. He did not even trouble to lift an eyebrow.
“I regret to discommode you, my lord, but a matter has arisen. I thought it best that you hear it accompanied by the background information that you will not obtain along with the request you will shortly receive.”
No meditation was possible following such an exciting prologue. I unwound myself from the double-lotus position and rose eagerly to my bare feet.
“You have engaged my curiosity, Parsons,” I said, slipping on a pair of silk-lined sandals. “Please, join me. I enjoy a cup of gen mai cha after my attempts at meditation.” I gestured to the low table at the end of the room. It had been placed there once I had become interested in the contemplative cultures. On it was a line of three small cups, an earthenware pot painted with a frieze of bamboo leaves, a jar with matching bowl, a scoop, and a straw whisk.
I waited until Parsons had seated himself in the guest position at the head of the table. I sat at the foot. My chief valetbot, an LAI designated as OP45-AE7, rolled forth and extracted from his central cabinet a steaming cast iron kettle of hot water and three more small cups.
I made the tea, and poured the first of three small cups for each of us. To my chagrin, Parsons already knew about the number and method of drinking each one. I could never surprise him. The brain that pulsed against the expressionless forehead contained more knowledge than the entire Infogrid, plus all the lost libraries of humanity. Still, I enjoyed the ceremony greatly. In no other circumstance could I picture Parsons slurping anything, but it was the custom with this tea. I made a private recording of the moment, which I assumed he would cause to be erased the moment I turned my back on him.
“Good fortune favor us,” I said, lifting my own cups in turn. When the third ceremonial cup was drained, I produced two larger cups of handsome dark blue ceramic that could be filled as often as one pleased. I pushed one toward him. “Go on, then. Tell me about the request! Am I at last to have a meeting with the mysterious Mr. Frank?”
Parsons regarded me with a glance that I would have called pitying. I was surprised, because I assumed he would admire my perspicacity. After all, we were fewer than ten days away from our mission. He decanted a sufficiency of tea and pushed the pot toward me.
“No meeting with Mr. Frank is scheduled at this time, my lord. It is unnecessary.”
I allowed my eyebrows to climb my forehead.
“Then what is the request?” I asked. “Or should I inquire as to from whom it will come?”
“I predict that you will hear from Lady Jil Loche Nikhorunkorn very soon.”
I lowered the brows.
“Jil? What does she want? How may I help?”
Parsons took a moment to sip tea thoughtfully.
“Perhaps you have seen on the local news a negative interaction between locals and visitors of importance?”
I recalled the conversation I had had with my crew. “If you mean the brawl that ensued on Sparrow Island, I did hear something at lunch. When I looked it up, I found numerous links to postings by my cousins in their Infogrid files. Organized criminals, or some such thing?”
“Some persons of less-than-savory character, sir. The press does not wish to state the condition outright without a court conviction to fall back upon to prove that the persons in question are criminals.”
I waved my hand to dismiss journalistic delicacy, which never seemed to be employed when it came to my personal hijinks being publicized.
“But what has this to do with Jil? How is she involved? It would never occur to anyone of our class even to associate with such pond scrapings.”
“She insulted them, my lord. They were occupying a favorite table of hers, and she told them what was in her mind upon beholding them there.”
“Well, of course! Any of us would have. We are the best customers Sparrow Island has.”
“But perhaps it was not the most tactful course to take. She could have enlisted the assistance of the management.”
“Didn’t, eh? How like Jil.”
“She embarrassed the visitors,” Parsons continued.
“Oh, dear,” I said, and I meant every syllable. “Never embarrass little people. They will kill you.”
“Precisely.”
I rose to my feet more gracefully than I had in years. Tai chi and yoga had done wonders for my muscular control. I began to pace.
“She’ll have to lay low for a while. She won’t like that.”
“No, sir,” Parsons agreed.
“Well, what has it got to do with us?” I asked.
“She is accompanying us to the Autocracy.”
I halted and permitted myself to goggle. I had improved greatly on the expression since I had taken up meditation, allowing the joints to relax, and so on. A half-raised eyebrow from Parsons indicated to me that the expression was effective.
“What?” I demanded, throwing myself down beside the table. This concept called for more tea. “What about our mission? She’ll get in the way!”
“Of suspicion, perhaps,” Parsons said, verbally laying a finger alongside his nose. I nodded several times as the notion soaked into my brain.
“Ah! She will provide cover for us.”
“In a manner of speaking, my lord.”
“But the mission!” I pressed him. “What of our mission?”
“I am not at liberty to disclose the confidential details at this point,” Parsons said. “Your assignment is similar to ones that you have undertaken in the past. You are an envoy of his Imperial Majesty, Shojan XII. As such, you are to visit his most august sister, the Autocrat, in her residence on Nacer, the capital world of the Autocracy, and present his compliments.”
“As well as several gifts, I fancy. I shall have to check with the Chancellor and see what cargo we are taking on board.”
“Indeed, sir. Along our way, we have a few matters to investigate more closely, also on behalf of the throne.”
I nodded. “I had heard that some of our ships have been caught with contraband. Bad practice, I say.”
“At the very least, my lord. But both our nations believe firmly in the presumption of innocence until guilt is proven. There does seem to be a case for believing the protests in that direction from some, if not all, of the affected ship owners.”
“I look forward to finding that out,” I said. “I have been intrigued by the case. Why did those pilots believe they could slip goods past the scrutiny of the Uctu customs officials? I can scarcely sneak an extra bottle of wine by ours.”
“It is one of the matters on which we will make enquiries, sir.”
“And the others?”
“My lord?” Parsons inquired, rising to his feet in one smooth motion. I stood up as well. I was not going to allow him to escape that easily.
“You have still given me no information regarding the rest of my responsibilities! I suppose nothing I can say can shake you on this point?”
“Nothing at all.”
“Then how am I to prepare?”
Parsons allowed a small smile to play about his lips, no doubt under strict adult supervision.
“If I may suggest, my lord, prepare in your inimitable fashion. You will need to be in excellent physical condition to withstand the rigors of the change in gravity. Your system already has been equipped with modifiers to prevent damage to you from the atmosphere, water and food. Continue to fortify yourself with information on the culture and the people you are shortly to meet. I have forwarded to you a detailed biography of the Autocrat. If you study it closely, I believe you will find insights that will give you an advantage in strengthening the friendship between two great houses.”
I was delighted by his confidence in me.
“I could ask nothing better, Parsons. Then I will cast the bones to see what portends for us. I’ll let you know what precautions we need to take.”
Parsons nodded. I escorted him to the door.
My mind was of such clarity following my meditation that I felt it was the perfect time to look into the future. I had various devices that I had purchased or had made to use with the assorted methods of divination that I was studying.
My favorite device was the crystal ball that I had had shipped in from one of the outer worlds of the Imperium. The perfect sphere was carved from eye-clear rock crystal, colorless, cool and surprisingly heavy. Though I saw little more than my own hands on the underside through its depths, it was a marvelous item with which to play.
It occupied a table near the bow window that looked out upon my mother’s garden. I had of late taken to erecting my soothsayer’s tent beside the iris bed, to allow the reflection of the handsome purple flowers to reflect in the clear depths of the sphere until such time as my mind filled it with other visions. From a distance it looked as if I kept a severed head underneath a cloth. More than one visitor had jumped in startled surprise. Once in a while, it caught me unawares as well.
Not troubling to put on my fortune-teller’s robes or bring out the tent, I sat at the small table near the window and whisked the covering away. The globe looked back at me like a colorless eyeball on a socket made of ebony wood.
I set my hands underneath it and looked into its heart.
I stared for what seemed like hours. Condensation formed between the pads of my fingers and palm. I implored the universe to favor me with an insight regarding our enterprise. How would I know the truth when I saw it?
My eyes ached with the strain of gazing. Then, to my surprise and delight, a tiny thread of cobalt-blue light arched from the mound of one thumb, crossed the arc of the globe to the tip of my left forefinger, where it exploded into minute sparks. Fireworks!
It must be a reflection. I was not so deluded as to believe I had suddenly acquired the ability to see complex illusions like skyrockets exploding. I looked up. The blue sky was clear but for a few whipped-cream clouds and the tapering contrail of a departing spacecraft. But where had the vision come from?
I was not going to get answers from cudgeling my own brain. It had only seen what my eyes had. But I took the image for inspiration for the near future. I was going on an adventure. The next step, naturally, was a going-away party!
I spread the silken cover over my crystal ball and retrieved my viewpad from its charging cradle on my desk. I fell back into my favorite armchair to gather inspiration. Fireworks, first and foremost. Then, food and drink. Next, other entertainment, including musicians, magicians, and a palmist I knew to be reliable and discreet. Decorations! Prizes, to be randomly distributed, according to rules that I would make up on the spot. Then, the guest list, the people I wished to come and enjoy it all.
Pro forma, my cousin the emperor was first on the top of the page, though he never attended any of our parties. Shojan had far too many official events and functions to attend. I didn’t expect him, but all due homage would be paid if he did show up. I made arrangements for the portable Chair of State to be present, under its own marquee in the colors of his coat of arms, with a royal blue ribbon stretched across the arm rests to prevent anyone else sitting in it and taking mocking pictures for their Infogrid files (it had happened; I possessed images taken of many violators. Though it might not be creditable, I was never one of them.). The rest of the guests would be those with whom I most enjoyed being. Ah, the fun of it!
When I finished constructing the theme of the party and assembling the vendors, stationers, and entertainers, I felt rejuvenated. My soul soared. My body was full of energy. My mind kept racing ahead, anticipating the delight on my guests’ faces and the joy in my own heart. I tapped away on the viewpad, enjoying myself more and more as I went along.
Meditation truly was good for one’s morale.