ONE WEEK KING - Bliss Base
16 Apr 2018Commander-Wingnut
"Free the slaves?!" exclaimed Sir Grieves in carefully rehearsed shock. "Utterly preposterous! And quite impossible, also."
"Kindly explain," the Duke of Archer asked, knowing how dangerous the ground was upon which he tread.
He had invited Grieves aboard the Imperial Clipper "Selfless Jester," far away from the Heresy Alarms of his own station, and the ears of prying Steves. It was the only way to have a civil discussion about such a treasonous topic.
"Discuss it with me, as if I were an Outsider. Educate me."
The Knight of the Brotherhood of Gits flared his nostrils with appropriately aristocratic distaste.
"Very well, milord."
::--::
"Put aside for the moment that the Empire marches on its own thanks to the effort and loyalty of its vassals. The Emperor, blessed be Her Grace, is nothing if she has no subjects.
Put aside for a moment that if the slaves were suddenly free men, we would be completely without a workforce. The cosmic gears of the Empire would grind to a halt overnight.
Let us put aside the shattering effect that this would have on our economy and look deeper inside the citizen himself."
::--::
"To an Imperial, the matter of honor is complex but deeply rooted. Financial distress brings shame not just on the poor, but also their entire families.
A citizen, rather than take on debt, would rather sell themselves into the service of another for a fixed term to absolve the matter of poverty. The process not only legal and binding, but most importantly it is *voluntary.*
For this service, they are well cared-for and amply rewarded, and all matters of debt are absolved once they leave that service."
::--::
"What happens if a slave's debt is bought out by a higher power than their master?
Would they not be financially emancipated, and thus free?"
"Absolved, yes, but hardly free. The matter of honor remains - a slave freed by money alone would still have to deal with the shame.
In many cases, if the debt settled was severe enough, say, more than the net worth of the slave's holdings..."
"Suicide."
"Quite often, milord. The rate is especially high among cloned slaves, because only those most loyal and indentured to the service of the Emperor are selected. They all share the same fanatical devotion as their donor.
Even with noblest of oblige, you would be attacking their pride - and pride is *everything* to even the poorest Imperial citizen."
::--::
Archer groaned inwardly.
Among the many, many tasks he had been undertaking for the Kingdom of Three, one had been divesting his suddenly enormous wealth towards this exact purpose.
Every megacy he had collected, the Duke pumped instantly back into the economies of HIP 5700, 8758, and 8444 to revitalize the Kingdom's markets, divide the workload among the Steves in a more rational manner, and to abate the immense inter-system debt.
Money that (if anyone cared enough to follow its trail) belonged by all rights to Commander Wingnut, a Rear Admiral in the Federation Naval Reserves - and an undeclared enemy of the Empire.
::--::
Only recently had the idea occurred to Archer to try and tackle The Steve Problem more directly - and as it turned out, he'd been throwing his credits at a wall in either case.
"I would be committing an act of genocide against my own people."
::--::
Grieves allowed himself a trademark three-millimeter nod.
"And that would be putting it gently, milord."
::--::
22.4(a) Be it declared hence by the Word of Bob, that the act of opening a banana from the wrong end is only an Act of Heresy against the Empire if it has been decreed which end of the banana is actually Heretical.
22.4(b) The act of making indecent noises or expression, or maintaining eye contact while eating said banana is still an Act of Heresy and must be swiftly punished.
The Duke of Three
His Lordship Sir Robert Archer
Master of the Brotherhood of Gits
Serf and Squire of House Grieves
Or just Bob.
Hail the Emperor~
::--::
Hofer and Gilbert stared at the poster nailed to a church door.
The littler General released his mustache long enough to wipe a brimming tear from his eye.
"Regardless of how this all pans out in the end, some things will never be the same again."
--:-:--
"Give me an example - just for the record," inquired Wingnut's anonymous interrogator.
"Exactly how by dispensing with royal titles, Archer made anything easier for the Empire."
Wingnut inhaled. "Glad to. Four hours ago..."
::--::
There was Bob, in the galley once again amongst his loyal people - wondering, as usual, how he'd managed to get himself in so deep.
It'd been a especially hectic day.
He cracked the banana, and the lights went dark again.
BWONK
BWONK
BWONK
Everyone looked at him.
"Oh, COME ON!" exclaimed the frustrated Duke.
::--::
"This end?"
"Yes, Bob."
"This is the bad end."
"I'm very certain of it. That is the local custom, I'm afraid to say."
"Who is the issuer of the decree?"
"It was decided this morning by Magistrate Carter MacDonald, of the HIP 57-"
"Judge Steve?"
"Judge Steve, yes, milord."
"Bob, please.
Very well, I shall discuss this with all of the Judge Steves personally.
Emperor's Blessings, Kitchen Steve."
"Blessings be, Bob."
::--::
It was pretty clear that the mission was coming apart, but not in the way even the keenest analytical mind could ever have predicted.
And Wingnut still had no clue what he had been sent here to do.
::--::
The fact that this was the second time in two days that a Majestic-class Interdictor was hovering alongside the orbital platform "Bliss Base" was a sure sign of that.
The Interdictor was three times the size of the orbital platform itself, so fair bet that nobody missed it. The last time it had appeared - yesterday, to be precise - Archer had become a Duke.
For the second time in two days, the ship's Royal Shuttle (A sparkling white Imperial Courier by Gutamaya, natch) was touching down to a procession of trumpeters.
::-::
"Presenting His Excellency,
The King of Three - Imperial Senator Neville Grenadine.
All RISE."
The fanfare was deafening.
Thankfully. the noise drowned out Archer's pained whimper at the sight of the Courier shuttle. Archer was afraid of looking directly at the Majestic Interdictor - it would be ANYWHERE ELSE he could have looked - and the striking sight of such massive, elegant horribleness would send him to the floor in convulsions.
That would NOT be appropriately regal.
::-::
The King's Duke, His Lordship Sir Robert Archer, the Master of the Brotherhood of Gits, Serf and Squire of the House of Grieves, was the first to greet his Excellency.
We can skip detailing the pleasantries.
If we didn't, this would become a whole extra chapter's worth of typing.
All we need to know is that His Excellency understood how his new Duke had forever changed His Kingdom.
As they finally broke the embrace that ended a secret-handshake routine that lasted for ten minutes *, the King held Archer by the shoulders, at the most royal of arms' length.
*
Twelve, if you count the bawdy chorus delivered in limerick form.
::--::
"Bob."
"Your Excellency."
"My dear Bob.
Has anyone -ever- told you how much you remind me of the son I've never had?
I have such great plans for your future."
::--::
Prince Archer managed to stifle another whimper.
--:-:--
Shadow President Felicia Winters was stunned.
Her instructions, in her own fashion, had been precise.
One report, every twenty-four hours.
But the office of the Shadow President is a very busy one, and there were times that even she might have a small backlog in her inbox.
This was why she assigned handlers.
After all, how much could you really expect from a deep-cover spy who had only been in the field for six days?
--::-::--
Just now, she was catching up on the Interstellar Factors agent's last three reports, having remembered to do so after dealing with several recent Alliance expansions and a black operation for President Hudson of the most pressing urgency.
As she read, page by page, her already alabaster skin became whiter and whiter until even an Advanced Discovery Scanner would not have been able to register her albedo.
She looked up at the gathered congressmen, all of whom were patiently awaiting her next order of business.
--::-::--
Winters had no words for them.
They offered her nothing.
She bowed her head, setting the tablet onto her magnificent teak desk with a pronounced gentleness. One hand, trembling with a manic, uncertain violence, slowly rose to her reading glasses, plucked them from her ears, and folded them softly.
These, she set down on top of her tablet.
Anyone in the room would have sworn the stillness lasted for at least ten minutes.
She remained still, eyes closed and hands folded as if saying a prayer.
At last, the Shadow President inhaled, being the first person in the room to dare take a breath.
"The following people will stay."
Four names, each of whom looked like they were about to fill their shorts as they were called.
"The rest of you will leave immediately."
--::-::--
The door was already clicking shut before the inchoate screaming and ranting began.
Something smashed, and one of the Federation congresswomen in the hallway choked on a fearful sob.