Sheriff Parimat and her Chief Deputy were the last of the playmates released from the Panoply when His Imperial Worship’s pigherds decided the Imperial pets were ready for a new assortment of friends. They stepped slowly, stiffly, through a darkened cargo bay from which all the ornaments had now been removed. The Sheriff stooped to press down a broken floor tile.
Chief Deputy Brust stopped when she did. In a voice that was flat and devoid of emotion, he said, ”I do not like to seem to criticize Your Grace’s decisions….”
“Then-hic-don’t,” she said, not looking up. “I am not-hic-in the mood.”
“But one of us should have stayed on the bridge,” he went on.
“If I-hic-was not to be denied the-hic-honor, then neither were you-hic. Besides-hic,-His Imperial Worship’s-hic-people are in command on the-hic-bridge.” These two reasons were not, in fact, the only ones she had assigned him to the venture. But it was not a Sheriff’s way to admit a need for moral support.
She stepped forward, and, forgetting not to put her whole weight on that left leg, stumbled. Regaining her balance without touching the hand her deputy extended, she demanded, “And where-hic-is His Imperial worship-hic-now?”
“I have no idea, Your Grace. I was with you.”
Now she fastened her eyes on him. “Get an-hic-idea, Brust.”
Briskly but gingerly, he stepped over to a display terminal and inserted a card into the proper slot. Sheriff Parimat winced as the first image appeared, showing the Imperial ship clinging to the side of the Rhododendron like a tick. Brust pressed in a number of commands and looked at a serie of charts.
“His Imperial Worship is moving to the labs, Your Grace.”
“Ah! Hic! Thar may put him in a good mood. I’ll just go see that Pirgy shows him all the newest tricks. You proceed to the bridge and find out what’s being done there. And remember not to sit down for another hour.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” The deputy watched her wince as she stepped up onto a travelling square, her weight resting for a moment on that sore leg. “Your Grace….”
But then she was off. He shrugged, and called up another travelling square.
At the correct level, the Sheriff found that the security bats which prevented transport vehicles from moving directly into the lab had been removed to allow the Imperial Chair to pass. She parled her travelling square in the designated spot anyway: she would not presume to Imperial privilege.
Travel was slower on foot, particularly with aching muscle and complaining stomach, but the Imperial party had gotten no farther than the first large display tank beyond the main entrance. Pirgy had, of course, stocked these tanks in anticipation of His Imperial Worship’s inspection. Beyond the glass a naked woman stood, holding an orange infant uneasily fascinated by the pointed spouts protruding from the walls and ceiling.
“What this, Mom?” the child demanded. “What this, Mom? What this. Mom?”
Vapor rose from a grate in the floor as instruments slid from their housings at Pirgy’s command. The Imperial party watched until the screams of pain dissolved into giggles, and the floor ran with a thick purple ooze.
“An impertinent little torment,” Said His Imperial Worship, turning his chair away. “Not the least pretentious. I give it two stars and a moon.”
“Those-hic-brushes were a gift from Your Imperial Worship on the=hic=occasion of the last-hic-visit,” Sheriff Parimat pointed out, as Pirgy clasped his hands and bowed.
The Emperor dimpled, looking over his shoulder. “Ah, our good Sheriff! I hope the pets were glad to see you again. Do you know, Stenge was actually started to loose his bristles, but between transplants and crems, they’re thriving!”
She had noticed this. “I wept with-hic=joy to find him so-hic-well, Your Imperial worship,” she said, though her eyes had not known tears ion eleven years.
Smiling, the Emperor turned back. “Now, Pirgy! What else do you have in your playpen?”
Dr. Pirgy was a short, square green man with immense eyes and white ears that drooped to his shoulders. The mustache that grew up the ridge of his nose to his eyebrows was bleached by the years he’d spent in Imperial service, becoming one of the elders of his craft.
Leading the Imperial party into his domain, he waved with a flourish at the technicians standing at attention in a cold, dim cubicle filled with green monitors. “In this area we study the isolation of the chemicals in the brain which indicate anti-Imperial attitudes. By measuring the levels of these chemicals, we can identify dangerous rebels years before any actual treasonous activity.”
“Indeed.” The Emperor yawned. Sheriff Parimat and the Chief Torturer exchanged a glance which contained not an iota of surprise./
In this area,” Pirgy went on, moving to another cubicle, “We have identified those chemicals involved in feelings of shame. By raising these levels, we have made a battle-hardened Ahrhach break down and sob, humiliated by the idea that his people all have four legs.”
Heavy Imperial hands padded silently together. “I must see that.”
“The original specimen is not of much use now,” Pirgy admitted. “But he is visible farther along, in the Adhesives Department.”
As the (mperial party moved forward, a small purple fruit rolled from a tray. One of Pirgy’s technicians caught it before it hit the floor, and was handing it to a trembling servant when the Emperor called, “Keep it, my dear! You do such lovely work here.”
The technician, going blue with delight, clutched it to her chest. Skin ripped up and down her face as she smiled.
“Oh, by the way,” His Imperial Worship went on, turning to look back at the Sherrif. “I have condemned your Lieutenant Le Tamo to death.”
“Thank-hic-you, Your Worship,” she replied. “I will notify-hic-his family that Your Imperial Worship took a personal interest in his-hic-career.”
Pirgy was having difficulty disarming the security field around the adhesives area, To fill the awkward pause, the Sheriff went on, “The Lieutenant was-hic-a very fine navigator.”
“Indeed.” Imperial thumbs were twiddling, always a bad sign. ”But I could see he was likely to be ticklish, and I have a new tickling machine which requires testing. Oh, and did you have plans for the pirate captain and the Dragonshelf’s pilot?”
Sheriff Parumat tried to will Pirgy’s fingers into the right formation: boring the Emperor was hazardous. “I would not-hic-presume to make such plans-hic-when Your Imperial Worship was present.” She was breathing carefully; she could not afford a hiccup in the middle of the Imperial title. “I would no doubt have-hic-ordered such mundane and-hic-routine procedure as the sand-hic-papering of the mucous membranes, and removal-hic-of all friction skin.”
The Imperial thumbs tapped together. “Do not, my dear. I have other devices I plan to test. Ah! And speaking of plans….”
The technician who had retrieved the fruit stepped over to help Pirgy with the combination. The doctor threw up his hands and backed away to let her handle it.
The Emperor, rummaging under Imperial thighs, drew out a small sheaf of paper. “I have been designing new uniforms for the crew of the Rhododendron.”
“A celestial honor, Your Worship.” She reached for the paper, bracing for the electrical tingle as the security field allowed her hands in and out, not without sharp electric impulses under the thumbnails. The new uniforms were what she might have expected: very bright, very colorful, and very unsuitable for the crew of a sheriff-class vessel. Still, when the Imperial party was on board, the crew was no more than hired entertainment.
She noticed, giving due attention to every single sketch, that the uniforms grew scantier with advancement in rank. “Now, for officials of high rank, such as yourself and Pirgy here, I’ve designed something rather special. Matching flowers will be stapled here and here, except for the Marcovians, who will require six, of course. Two of these long-stemmed….”
A device beeped on the Imperial chair. His worship beckoned to an attendant, who reached forward to press the proper button, sustaining a shock from the security field which made his hair smoke.
A voice from the chair announced, “We regret to inform Your Imperial Worship that Your worship’s shipment of flowers will be delayed. The Drover has destroyed a cargo pod.”
The Emperor sighed, and then smiled. “Og course, if the traitors had continued on the course you said they would, we’d have them now, and his might not have happened. You may all have to do without….”
The door to the adhesives unit finally slid open: Pirgy bowed, and gestured the Imperial chair forward. Smiling, the Emperor went on, “Sheriff, just send eight of your crew to the Panoply to be boiled alive in pig’s urine. That graceful woman who caught the fruit: she’s a F;utz, isn’t she, with the skin that evaporates if she is exposed to ammonia? I leave it to you to choose the other seven. I cannot do ALL the work in this Empire.”
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