The Testimony of the Right Honorable Tubar Danak, Lord Chamberlain of the Skarsian Matriarchy
Hmmm, yes, how I first found out about the catastrophe. Lady Lorma had called me up to her chambers. Unfortunately, I didn’t respond immediately – I thought that it would be yet another of the endless details and complications concerning our upcoming wedding. Perhaps I’m too old for this. Although I am looking forward to the wedded state, the process of getting there seems an ordeal more suited to the young.
And then I got distracted by the nectarines. Baskets and baskets of them. “What are these for?” I asked.
“Congratulations,” she said, with a tone of surprise in her voice. “Skarsians always send fruit baskets in congratulations – the more expensive the fruit, the better. And right now, nectarines are the most expensive fruit on the market. They’re considered to be symbolic of good luck and long life because of the Archon. They’re also very rare, you know. Sir Kaman says it’s hard to plant a seed and not have it go native. You have to grow them from cuttings.”
“I see. I didn’t know that we had so many friends.”
“We don’t. They’re all just sycophants, trying to use us to get in good with the ipsissimal household. Nevertheless, nectarines are quite lovely in season.” She took a bite, handing me another of the fruit.
At least I’m marrying a woman of demonstrably good sense – and physical stamina. So it took a bit of time before I finally got around to asking why she had called upon me.
“Have you heard from Missy and Prince Ross? They’ve been gone a little longer than I expected.” Lady Lorma has the rather familiar habit of referring to Her Eminence the Matriarch as Missy, you see – in the absence of her deceased parents, Lady Lorma raised her from a babe.
I did not want to burden milady with unnecessary worries. “Her Eminence will do as she pleases. As long as she’s with one of the emanations of the Living God, what harm could come to her?” This was, of course, the logical statement. As I said it, I was envisioning exactly what sorts of harm could come to Her Eminence. Our enemies are nothing if not inventive. So as soon as I left my bride-to-be, I contacted Captain Zosim of the Palace Guard, who informed me that the ipsissimal couple had left the garden café several hours ago. “They seemed to be going for a walk on the beach,” he surmised.
I was torn. Besides what I believed to be exaggerated fears, I could also imagine exactly what sorts of things a man and his wife could do on a lonely beach. I certainly didn’t want to put Her Eminence and His Highness into a potentially embarrassing position.
But still.
I sent one lone microcamera, just to scope out the territory. I was certain that if His Holiness was there, he’d detect it instantly and swat it like a bug. Since Prince Ross was emanated, that would probably be the end of it. Prince Ross was a practical man; he’d understand my intent, and not tell the Matriarch, and I would escape the potential eruption of volcanic rage that would occur if she found out I’d violated her privacy.
She’d accuse me of treating her like a child. She hated that.
Damn it, I was treating her like she was the ruler of two – no three – star systems (now that Earth had declared itself a protectorate), let alone the three galaxies which, according to Combine Law, we possess exploitation rights. We have a thriving colony in one of those galaxies, and plans to open a resort in another. This woman is a head of state, and well into her sixties, and she should know better than to wander out of range of her security operatives like a teenager on an assignation.
Calm down, Danak, I told myself. After all, her husband is God.
My datapad hummed. It was a message from Zosim. “Two sets of footprints in the sand,” he said, “leading to a place where they seem to have sat. But they aren’t there now. Instead, there’s a man lying on the beach, apparently asleep. We have no idea who he is. We ran a facial recognition program, but he doesn’t match anybody local.”
“That’s a private beach. I doubt it has anything to do with this, but determine his identity before you have security escort him out.” It was troubling. If their footsteps ended, where did they go?
Zosim messaged me again. “He’s not waking, or even responding. He seems comatose.”
“Call for a medical team. Have him taken to the hospital.” This was becoming annoying. Then I decided that since the ipsissimal couple was not on the beach, it wouldn’t hurt to have a look myself.
I arrived before the medics. Because it had become a bit of a situation, several thugs – ah, SSOps agents – were on the beach along with the palace guards. They surrounded the unconscious man. He looked harmless enough, so I approached. He was a handsome lad, finely featured, with jet black hair and russet skin, a typical Terran elite. He was wearing loosely fitting kottawn clothing and had bare feet. I examined his hands. He had thin fingers, trimmed nails, soft skin. He hadn’t known manual labor. A tourist, perhaps?
I felt oddly at peace. For a moment, I regretted the necessity of disturbing him.
His hand gripped mine, and his eyes sprang open. “Danak,” he gasped. “Don’t let them move me.”
His eyes snapped shut once again, but not before I had seen them well enough to recognize them, that unforgettable opalescent blue with flecks of glowing green, eyes which I had seen in so many different faces.
“Devil take the excrement of a Tasean Wildebeest,” I muttered. “It’s His Holiness.”