The Thousand Emperors

‘In the long-term, I don’t think they can really survive without his guidance.’

‘Yet Black Lotus retains considerable popular support on both Benares and Acamar. In the days following the announcement of Antonov’s demise, fresh atrocities were carried out against Sandoz peacekeeping forces on both worlds. The reports I receive from SecInt tell me that new Black Lotus cells are popping up all across Temur at an increasing rate, some within view of the White Palace itself. What would you say if I were to suggest that they are, in fact, stronger than they have ever been?’

‘Father Cheng, this man does not have clearance to be cognisant of the full facts concerning—’

Cheng shot an angry glare at Karlmann Sandoz, who had spoken up. ‘I want his answer, Karlmann,’ Cheng snapped, interrupting him. ‘Do you have an objection?’

Karlmann shook his head and said no more.

‘Well, Mr Gabion?’ Cheng continued. ‘I’m concerned that Antonov’s death has done nothing more than turn him into a martyr.’

Luc ran his tongue around his lips. ‘The problem lies in the underlying root causes of the dissatisfaction that Black Lotus feeds on,’ he said. ‘The unrest on Benares, the failure of the artificial ecosystem on Acamar . . . people want someone to blame.’

Luc felt suddenly dizzy, and stepped closer to one of the bookcases in order to support himself. Everything was turning bright, while a tiny point of fire in the centre of his skull slowly expanded outwards.

‘Surely the fact that we’ve enjoyed unprecedented peace for centuries counts for more,’ Cheng demanded.

‘I . . .’

‘Mr Gabion?’ Zelia stepped forward and grabbed his arm. ‘Are you all right?’

‘I’m not sure. I . . .’

The fire expanded to fill the interior of his skull. He lurched, feeling a surge of bile rush up the back of his throat.

Not now. He reached out to the bookcase, trying to steady himself. His hand clutched at several heavy volumes, and they clattered to the floor around him as he sank to his knees.

<It’s that damn radiation,> Alicia scripted.

<No, this is too soon,> Zelia replied.

‘Gabion?’

He opened his eyes and saw de Almeida kneeling beside him, a look of alarm on her face.

This can’t be happening again, he thought. Somewhere inside him, something was seriously wrong.

FIVE

The next few hours passed in a blur. Luc had a vague recollection of being lifted out of the building by the two mechants set to guard Vasili’s body. After that there had been a journey by flier, during which he drifted in and out of consciousness.

The next time he really became aware of his surroundings, he found himself looking up at the high ceiling of a circular room that had to be at least thirty metres across. The ceiling was decorated with highly stylized depictions of astronomical symbols and of several Tian Di worlds, all wheeling around a stone pillar at the room’s centre. An iron stairway twisted around the pillar like a braid, rising through an aperture in the ceiling to another floor above. Bright sunlight spilled through an open doorway at the far end of the room, through which he could make out bristling reddish-green flora. Steps nearby led down, perhaps to some basement level.

Luc sat up with a groan, supporting himself with one hand, and found he had been placed on a broad, raised slab. A small wheeled trolley, loaded with trays of sharp-looking surgical instruments, had been placed next to him.

The rest of the room was crammed with cabinets of various shapes and sizes, and pieces of mostly unidentifiable equipment and machinery, as well as an industrial-sized fabricant that took up nearly a third of the room. A mechant hovered by the fabricant’s control panel, suggesting it was engaged in manufacturing its own replacement components.

The rush of agony that had overwhelmed him back in Vasili’s library had now faded to little more than a faint and distant throb. He swung his legs off the slab and the room reeled around him. Catching hold of the edge of the slab, he waited until the worst of the dizziness had passed, then lowered his feet to the ground and stood gently.

He felt too light to be back on Temur. More than likely, he was still on Vanaheim. But wherever he was, the climate was much warmer than it had been on Vasili’s island.

Something went thump on the far side of the room.

Luc tensed, listening, then heard the same sound again after an interval of maybe twenty seconds. It sounded like someone dropping a sack of grain onto the room’s tiled floor.

He moved with caution in the direction the sound had come from, keeping one hand out in case he took another dizzy turn. He stepped past a cabinet at the other side of the room, not far from the exit, and found himself looking at a shaven-headed man standing facing the wall, bent-over as if studying something lying on the floor. His arms hung straight down, knuckles nearly grazing the tiles.

‘Hello?’ Luc asked uncertainly.