can take swift and sure actions without spending days—or years—working his way through miles of red tape or compromising with multitudes of legislative factions. A well-meaning but unenlightened monarch must rely on his advisers, each of whom has a certain amount of self-interest at stake. And a stupid, petty, self-serving monarch has more capacity for mischief, misrule, and out-and-out evil than the holder of any other office.
During the early centuries of the Monarchy, the race of Man had known all three types of monarchs, and several others of intermediate shadings. The Monarchy was officially established in 5994 (Galactic Era); by 6013, there had been seven assassinations and/or insurrections, and it wasn't until the reign of Torlon II, beginning in 6067, that any true line of succession was established. Torlon II gave stability to a crumbling galactic economy, solidified and reasserted Man's hold on his possessions, dubbed Man's empire the Commonwealth, and gave himself the title of Director. He also outlived his two sons and four daughters, and was succeeded in 6126 by his grandson, Torlon III, whose major contribution to the Monarchy was the Floating Kingdom, a huge planetoid which had originally been one of the remnants of Deluros VI, but which he sealed with a dome and equipped with the motive power to navigate
throughout the Commonwealth. The Floating Kingdom became the home of all future Directors, though
most of the bureaucratic business was still carried out on Deluros VIII—and, in point of fact, the Floating Kingdom rarely left the immediate vicinity of the Deluros system except on official visits of state. Torlon III proved sterile, and his niece, Valla I, became the first Directrix in 6148. She was followed by eight more Directors and another Directrix before Vestolian ascended to the Directorship in 6319. A small, studious man, soft-spoken and uncomfortable in public, he reached his position of power only after two older brothers had died in the same tragic life-support-system malfunction that claimed the life of his mother, Biora I. Unprepared both by temperament and training to direct the affairs of the race, he was nonetheless a man of goodwill who resolved to master the intricacies of his office and preside over the Commonwealth to the best of his not inconsiderable abilities. He had been Director for exactly five days when he found himself embroiled in a war against three star systems he had never even heard of.
“All right,” he said, when he had finally managed to assemble the bulk of his mother's advisers before him. “As most of you probably know, I was awakened in the middle of the night and informed that the Commonwealth is at war. Admittedly it's not much of a war, since there are a lot of us and not very many of them, but it's a war nonetheless. Now, would somebody here like to tell me just what is going on? I didn't authorize any war, and I've hardly been in office long enough to offend anyone. Who are the Argaves, anyway, and what is the reason for their actions?” Oberlieu, the Prefect of Alien Affairs, stepped forward. “If I may, Director?” Vestolian nodded, and he cleared his throat. “Director, the Argaves are a humanoid race, at least as high on the evolutionary scale as Man. At present they control three systems, and their own birthplace is thought to be on Darion V.” “What seems to be their problem?” asked Vestolian. “They were incorporated into the Commonwealth almost two centuries ago,” said Oberlieu. “It was soon decided that they were not contributing their fair tax load to Deluros, and your great-great-uncle, Jordin II, imposed a heavy tariff on all agricultural products exported from their systems.” He paused, seeming ill at ease.
“And?”
“It appears,” said Oberlieu slowly, “that the Argaves have been petitioning for an audience with various Directors for the past sixty years to get the tariff repealed. They claim that their economy has been in a state of continuous depression since its instigation, since all the Argave worlds are basically agrarian.” “I assume no audience was ever granted,” remarked Vestolian. “That is correct,” said Oberlieu.
“Continue,” said Vestolian.
“It appears that they have been threatening to revolt for the past few years unless the tariff was repealed. They have now done so.”
“Why was the tariff not repealed, or at least reconsidered?” asked the Director. “Only a Director can repeal a law that he himself has passed,” answered Oberlieu.
“Why was the Argaves’ grievance never brought before a Director?” asked Vestolian.
“According to my records, it was,” said Oberlieu. “Jordin II and Wilor I both refused to meet with the Argaves.”
“They've both been dead for more than half a century!” snapped Vestolian. “Are you trying to tell me that no Director has been aware of this situation for the past fifty years despite the open threat of war?” “Yes, Director,” said Oberlieu. “I think that is precisely what I am trying to tell you.” “I consider this to be nothing less than gross and criminal negligence,” said Vestolian. “We shall immediately eliminate the tariff and do everything within our power to set the Argaves’ economy back on its feet. We must also set up channels of authority to make sure that no such situation can ever arise again.”
“I'm afraid that's out of the question, Director,” said Zenorra, his Chief of Protocol. “Explain yourself,” said Vestolian “I'd prefer to do so in private, Director,” said Zenorra. “I haven't been Director long enough to have any secrets,” said Vestolian. “I see no reason for a private discussion.”
Zenorra shrugged. “If you insist.”
“I do.”
“To begin with, Director,” said Zenorra, “you can call yourself any damned thing you please: Director, Protector, First Citizen, or anything else. What you are is an absolute emperor. Now, this can be very beneficial, but it is also a two-edged sword. “For example, there are some twenty or so advisers gathered in this room with you. We are, in all immodesty, experts in our various fields. Between us, we know everything there is to know about presiding over an empire the size and complicity of the Commonwealth. Nonetheless, even if all of us were in complete agreement on a certain course of action, you could overrule us and make it stick. You are the most powerful human being, in fact the most powerful sentient being of any race, who ever lived, and you'll remain so until you are succeeded by the next Director.” “I don't see what you're getting at,” said Vestolian. “I'm coming to that. As I was saying, you are the most politically powerful being in the galaxy. Now, the first—and perhaps the only—purpose of power is to perpetuate itself. Study your history and you'll find that no leader during the Oligarchy, Democracy, or Republic, or even when the race was still Earthbound, ever willingly relinquished any portion of the power he had accumulated. Political power is not unlike water: it ebbs and flows along the path of least resistance. Under normal circumstances this path leads to one man, the man at the top; but if he makes a conscious effort to reverse the process, even with something so trivial as a tariff applied only to one race of beings fifty thousand light-years distant, he has put a small hole in the dike, so to speak, and begun the reversal of the power flow. “I realize that it's tremendously inefficient for you to be forced to make such minor decisions, and certainly each of us has the right to speak in your name. But if it's done too frequently, then our underlings
will soon be speaking in your name as well, and before long you'll have literally billions of Men giving
edicts in the name of the Director.”
“You'll forgive me if I ask a number of questions,” said Vestolian, looking unconvinced. “Certainly,” said Zenorra.
“First of all, if I am the only man in the Commonwealth with the authority to make a decision, what the hell do I have almost two million planetary governors for? Why are we employing thirty billion bureaucrats on Deluros VIII and the Deluros VI planetoids if they can't even pick their noses without my permission? Half our Navy is so far from the Floating Kingdom that they can't be contacted in less than a month; if they can't use their own initiative, just what in blazes are they doing out there?” “May I answer the first part of that, Director?” asked Oberlieu. Vestolian nodded. “Insofar as governorships and alien affairs are concerned, each governor had autonomy in the internal affairs of his planet, as long as he remains within the broad guidelines issued from Deluros. It is when interplanetary problems arise that the governor's hands are tied, though of course he is free to make recommendations, and indeed it is expected of him.”
“As for the Deluros bureaucracy,” said Zenorra, “they do indeed make decisions every day. But these are relatively minor decisions, decisions that are confined to their particular field or fields of expertise. The Navy is of course empowered to defend itself, and to interject itself as a peace-keeper in interplanetary strife among Commonwealth planets, but it may not initiate any offensive action except on your
