If the dreams of empire failed, they’d just be big buildings that had never been used.
It was an open secret among the high-ranking officers of Laconia’s military that the high consul’s labs had made incredible breakthroughs in human modification. One of their most important projects was dramatic life extension for the high consul himself. The captain that Singh had served under as a lieutenant had received an official reprimand for getting drunk and referring to the high consul as “our own little god-king.”
But Singh understood why that particular project for the high consul was so important. Empires, like buildings, are aspirations made material. When the creator dies, the intention is lost.
And so the creator couldn’t be permitted to die.
If the rumors were true, and the high consul’s scientists were in fact working to make him deathless, they had a chance to create the sort of empire history had only dreamed of. Stability of leadership, continuity of purpose, and a single lasting vision. Which was all well and good, but didn’t explain why he had been summoned to a personal meeting with Duarte.
“We’re almost there, sir,” his driver said.
“I’m ready,” Singh lied.
The State Building of Laconia was the imperial palace in all but name. It was by far the largest structure in the capital city. It was both the seat of their government and the personal dwelling space of the high consul and his daughter. After passing through a rigorous security screening administered by soldiers in state-of-the-art Laconian power armor, Singh was finally ushered inside for the very first time.
It was a little disappointing.
He wasn’t sure what he’d expected. A ceiling fifty feet high, maybe, held up by rows of massive stone pillars. A red velvet carpet leading to a towering golden throne. Ministers and servants lining up for a word with the high consul and plotting intrigues in whispers. Instead, there was a foyer and waiting area lined with comfortable chairs, easy access to restrooms, and a wall monitor displaying the security rules inside the State Building. It all seemed very mundane. Very governmental.
A short, smiling man with a red jacket and black pants entered through the room’s largest door and gave an almost imperceptible bow.
“Captain Santiago Singh,” he said, not making it a question.
Singh stood up, only barely stopping himself from snapping out a salute. The man didn’t wear a military uniform or any rank insignia, but they were inside the home of their ruler. It carried a weight beyond protocol.
“Yes, sir. I am Captain Singh.”
“The high consul hopes you will join him in the residence for breakfast,” the little man said.
“It would be my honor, of course.”
“Follow me,” said the little man as he exited through the same large door. Singh followed.
If the foyer of the State Building was underwhelming, the rest of the interior was positively utilitarian. Corridors lined with office space radiated off in every direction. The halls bustled with activity, people in suits and military uniforms and the same red jackets and black pants as his guide moving about. Singh made sure to salute any time he saw a rank that required it and tried to ignore everyone else. The whole human population of Laconia were the original colonists, Duarte’s fleet, and the children born there in the last few decades. He hadn’t imagined there were this many people on the planet he hadn’t met. His little guide moved through as though he didn’t see any of them and kept his same vague smile the entire time.
After a ten-minute walk through a maze of corridors and chambers, they arrived at a set of glass double doors that looked out on a large patio. His guide opened one door and ushered him through, then disappeared back into the building.
“Captain Singh!” High Consul Winston Duarte, absolute military ruler of Laconia, called out. “Please join me. Kelly, make sure the captain has a plate.”
Another man in a red jacket and black pants, this one apparently named Kelly, set a place for him, then pulled out his chair. Singh sat, dizzy and grateful he wouldn’t have to try to keep from swaying on his feet.
“High Consul, I—” Singh started, but Duarte waved him off.
“Thank you for joining me this morning. And I think we can use our military titles here. Admiral Duarte, or just Admiral is fine.”
“Of course, Admiral.”
Kelly had placed a single egg in an egg cup in front of him, and was now using tongs to put a sweet roll next to it on his plate. Singh had eaten an egg before, so while it was a luxury, it wasn’t a total mystery. The table was small—it would have been crowded with four diners—and overlooked a large patch of what looked like lovingly tended terrestrial grass. A girl of maybe twelve years sat in the middle of the grass playing with a puppy. Real chickens and Terran dogs. Unlike Noah’s ark in the old story, the ships of the first fleet had carried only a few species of animal to Laconia. Seeing evidence of two in the same sitting was a little overwhelming. Singh tapped on the shell of his egg with his spoon to crack it, and tried to keep his bearings.
Admiral Duarte gestured at Singh’s coffee cup, and Kelly poured for him. “I apologize,” Duarte said, “for pulling you away from your family so early this morning.”
“I serve at the pleasure of the high consul,” Singh said automatically.
“Yes, yes,” the admiral replied. “Natalia, right? And one daughter?”
“Yes, Admiral. Elsa. She is nearly two now.”
Admiral Duarte smiled out at the girl in the grass and nodded. “It’s a good age. Not the toilet-training part, but she’s sleeping through the night?”
“Most nights, sir.”
“It’s fascinating to watch their minds start to grow around then. Learning language. Learning to identify themselves as a separate entity. The word no becomes magical.”
“Yes, sir,” Singh said.
“Don’t pass up trying that pastry,” the admiral said. “Our baker’s a genius.”
Singh nodded and took a bite. The pastry was too sweet for him, but the bitter black coffee paired with it perfectly.
Admiral Duarte smiled at him, then said, “Tell me about Captain Iwasa.”
The bite of sweet roll he’d just swallowed turned into a slug of lead in his belly. Captain Iwasa had been stripped of rank and dishonorably discharged based on a report Singh had given to the admiralty. If his former commanding officer had been a personal friend of the high consul, Singh could be witnessing the end of his career. Or worse.
“I’m sorry, I—” Singh started.
“It’s not an interrogation,” Duarte said, his voice as soft as warm flannel. “I know all the facts about Captain Iwasa. I want to hear your version. You filed the original dereliction-of-duty report. What moved you to do that?”
One of his professors at the military academy had once said, When there’s no cover, the only sensible thing to do is move through the field of fire as quickly as possible. Singh sat up straight in his chair, doing his best version of standing at attention from the sitting position.
“Sir, yes sir. Captain Iwasa failed to enforce the newly delivered naval code of military conduct, and then when asked a direct question about those guidelines, he lied to Admiral Goyer, his commanding officer, in my presence. I sent a memo to Admiral Goyer that disputed Captain Iwasa’s statements.”
Duarte eyed him speculatively, no hint of anger on his face. That didn’t mean anything. From all accounts, the high consul was not a demonstrative man.
“The revised code that made dereliction of duty an offense punishable by being sent to the Pen?” Admiral Duarte said.
“Yes, sir. Captain Iwasa felt this punishment to be excessive, and spoke openly about it. When two Marines were found sleeping on duty, he gave them administrative punishments instead.”
“So you went over his head to Admiral Goyer.”
“Sir, no sir,” Singh said. He lowered his eyes to look directly into the high consul’s. “I witnessed an officer lying to his superior in response to a direct question about his chain of command. I notified that officer, as was my duty.”
Singh stopped, but Duarte said nothing. Just kept looking at him like he was a particularly interesting bug pinned to a corkboard. Then, as if it were a casual question, “Did you dislike Iwasa?”
“If I may speak frankly, sir,” Singh asked. When Duarte nodded, he continued. “Operating within the code of military conduct is the sworn duty of every officer and enlisted man. It is the instrument by which we are a military and not just a lot of people with spaceships and guns. When an officer shows a disregard for it, they are no longer an officer. When Iwasa demonstrated a repeated and deliberate failure to uphold that code, he was no longer my commanding officer. I merely informed the next person up the chain of command of this fact.”