Being an Imperial Sheriff did not allow for any display of nerves. Her father had told her as much while breaking her of that childhood habit of thrusting her entire right fist into her mouth. But Sherriff Parimat was unable to keep herself from rubbing that hand on her right thigh. She had no idea why she did this, really; it happened whenever she thought of the Emperor, even when his ship was lightyears away. She hoped he wouldn’t notice, particularly in his current mood.
People had died far too quickly. Coupled with the delay in the flower shipment, this had made His Imperial Worship petulant. He sucked angrily at his straw, making the creature at the other end gnash its teeth and thrust declawed paws against the inner surface of the crystal goblet.
Sergeant Symach had volunteered a daughter to have splinters thrust under her nails. And Sherriff Parimat had offered to wear the uniform His Imperial Worship had designed for her on his last visit, the pink panty with the green handles. But he had refused to be cheered.
“That ew pump for the crushed ice transfusions may be quicker,” he announced, “But it’s not a patch on the old shovel method.” He took another deep shlorp on the straw’ light burst from the creature’s eyes as it died. That hadn’t taken long either.
The Sheriff averted her eyes. There was very little she could look at now without some pain, now that the Emperor had ordered blazing blue lights installed in every room and corridor of the Rhododendron. “Cheer the place up,” he had ordered.
She did not cry out, but did jump slightly when her little skirt was jerked up behind her. She knew at once this had to be Sergeant Bindus’sach, with his retractable claws. He had been left off the latest promotion list after his computer misstep during the pursuit of the Klamathan with the contraband postcards, and was clearly trying to revive his career by entertaining His Imperial Worship.
The Emperor did smile. “Turn around, dear Sheriff.”
She obeyed, and gelt the force field crackle as he reached through it to raise her skirt and study the marks left by the sergeant.
“Ah yes.” He let the skirt fall back into place. “Very nice, Sergeant. Do you have any ambition to carry the truncheon of the Imperial Bodyguard?”
The man’s golden eyes blazed. “Oh, yes, Your Imperial Worship!”
The Emperor nodded to an attendant. This attendant nodded to two others. Sergeant Bindus’sach stood up straighter and brushed back his eyebrows.
In little more than one beat of a flossbird’s wings, the second two attendants had pinioned the sergeant’s arms behind his back. The first attendant took up his truncheon and forced it into the sergeant’s mouth.
“We cannot,” His Imperial Worship announced, as the truncheon proceeded down into the sergeant’s windpipe, “Have subordinates showing disrespect to their superiors. I am astonished that you allow it, dear Sheriff.”
“Your Imperial Worship.”
Everyone looked up as Deputy Brust approached. The Sheriff, after a glance at Bindus-sach’s struggles, barked “Brust! Over!”
Her Chief Deputy did not hesitate, dropping at once to stand on his hands. “There are worthier servants of Your Imperial Worship aboard the Rhododendron,” said Sheriff Parimat, reaching out to pluck three hairs from the deputy’s exposed legs.
“True.” The Emperor’s eyes turned back to the struggling sergeant. “Did you have something to report, Deputy?”
“Yes, Your Imperial Worship. The Drover has reappeared on our screens. It has changed course and seems to be approaching us.”
“It is on course for Lodeon VII,” said the Sheriff.
Brust’s face had gone a little purple, but his voice showed no alteration. “Their course is consistent with an approach to Lodeon VII, Your Imperial Worship, but we have received no transmission to indicate their intention.”
The first two fingers on each Imperial hand had begun to flip back and forth across each other. But he did not speak until the truncheon-bearing sergeant collapsed.
“One more notch for you, Alsix,” he told the attendant. Then he turned to the others. “Do not intercept the Drover. Stay completely out of its way. And open up a line to Lodeon VII.” His head twisted back in the direction of the Panoply. “Lewdes! Move!”
“At once, Your Imperial Worship,” called a voice from one of the six bays which ow connected the Panoply to the Rhododendron. In seconds, a group of five women in Imperial Tech uniforms approached the group, drawing in its center what appeared to be an egg, the same height as the women.
Imperial teeth clicked as this object approached. “Excellent, excellent. There has been no damage in transit?”
The five replied, in unison, “No, Your Imperial Worship.”
“Tell Pirgy to stand by, dear sheriff.” The Imperial face bore a gentle smile. “He shall be allowed to touch our new toy.”
“I have a line to Lodeon VII, Your Imperial Majesty,” an attendant announced.
“I’ll take it on the bridge.” The Imperial chair began to move. “Tell them I want the Gaming Commission. Oh, this will be choice! Sheriff, you are dismissed to do whatever it is you do when you’re not doing what you’re assigned to do. Later, I will give further instructions about proper exercise for my pets.”
“I thank Your Imperial Worship.” Sheriff Parimat bowed very low. She held her position until the Imperial chair had moved on. Rising, she studied the large egg and the company around it. His Imperial Worship had apparently recruited quintuplets. The women even had similar walks.
“Shall I…order the…sergeant removed?” inquired Chief Deputy Brust.
The Sheriff looked down at a deep purple face. “On your feet first.”
His feet dropped to the floor and he rose. She put out a hand to steady him if he needed help. He did not appear to require any.
“Yes, Brust,” she said, withdrawing the hand. “Have him taken to the disposal unit. There is a truncheon to be removed from hs throat, cleaned, and returned to Captain Alsix, with our thanks.”
“He was always hasty.” The Deputy stepped over to a communication monitor in the wall. “His father and uncle were the same.”
“I remember.” Both men had died during her father’s term in office. Brust had been the uncle’s assistant early in his career, but had been transferred to another department before the blow fell.
She watched her subordinate give the necessary orders. Like much of the crew, he had been born on the Rhododendron, and had served here all his life. The second half of his life had been spent on the staff of the Sherriff, so she knew a great deal about him. But not everything.
Nodding to the company around the egg, they stepped onto travelling squares. As these started to move, the Sheriff said, “You never married, Brust.”
Brust showed no more surprise than when ordered to stand on his hands. “No, Your Grace.”
She smoothed a wrinkle on her skirt. “There is a reason?”
He looked straight ahead, and not at her at all. “I never met a woman on leave I felt would be appropriate here. And aboard the Rhododendron, I could not marry…a subordinate.”
“Ah.”
The Sheriff had for some time been pondering the next generation, and how to pass along the ship and the legacy of the Parimats. None of her cousins struck her as suitable for command, and her sister had been too badly damaged by Imperial favors to produce offspring.
This was probably not the right time to pursue the matter. One could revere one’s Emperor without wishing to prolong his visit. His Imperial Worship did adore presiding at the weddings of ranking officials. She recalled the wedding aboard the Azalea of Sheriff Tottoll to Lieutenant Spiem. Just after the ceremony, His Imperial Worship had divided the guests and crew into two companies, announcing he wanted to revive an ancient matrimonial custom of the Spawodoas.
“The theory,” he had announced, as his attendants disrobed the members of the party, and the newlyweds were bound to tbles, “Is that after this, nothing about married life can upset you.” He had tired of the ceremony and after eight weeks of it, ordered spiem assigned to another ship.
Of course, in the excitement of the capture of the Drover and the Dragonshelf, a mere wedding would be overlooked. Especially if the pirate and the librarian took lonh enough to die. She glanced up at Brust. What was he thinking about all this?
“The traitors are, I hope, actually headed for Lodeon VII,” he said, as if he’d heard her wonder.
This did not indicate that he was thinking along the same lines she was. But if he could stand there hoping, she could as well.
Blogsy Babbles 