Read Online The View from the Imperium by Jody Lynn Nye - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jody Lynn Nye
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protect it, and the rest of us could go throw ourselves into . . . into the black hole! It’s to the credit of the indomitable spirit—don’t laugh at me, you unpatriotic whelps!—that the Cluster has survived as well as it has.
“For two hundred years, in the face of natural disaster, invasion, pirates, famine and shortages, we have had no one to rely upon but ourselves. The Imperium didn’t have enough interest in us even to collect taxes, let alone send defense ships out to patrol our space lanes. The Imperium long ago pulled out of its death spiral, but until now they seem utterly to have forgotten about us. My grandfather used to tell me stories of the bad days, just after the Imperium turned its back on us. No one living is old enough to recall how at first our ancestors couldn’t believe that no one answered our pleas for aid. We waited too long to come to our own defense.”
“That’s not the Imperium’s fault,” Twenty-Two offered, calmingly.
“Of course it was their fault!” Councillor Marden barked. “Where were they?”
“They told us they weren’t coming,” Eighteen stated.
“When?” Zembke demanded. “When did they tell us?”
“They did,” Councillor DeKarn said, gently. “The missive is in the archives. They could not reach us in time, even if the Core Worlds had not been under attack, which they were.”
Twenty shrugged. “Our local governments chose not to believe them. That’s our fault.”
“Our planetary attorneys disagree with you,” Sixteen insisted. He looked like an attorney himself in his well-cut robes of subtly gleaming fabric, a double chin underscoring his healthy complexion, which was etched with wise quotes from antiquity in black and dark blue. “The Imperium was responsible under its own laws for our protection in exchange for suzerainty. They failed in that tacit contract.”
“Well, then,” Marden asked, “where are they?”
“They are here now,” Sixteen said. “Or, rather, they are coming. They seem to wish to take us again under their aegis. They offer support. Infrastructure. Updated systems. I say it is no more than we are owed by them.”
A lot of eye rolling followed this statement. DeKarn herself felt exasperated. “We can argue personal responsibility until the putative cows come home,” Zembke said. “And after we’ve burned a lot of oxygen, where do we end up? In the same place we started: around this table arguing about ancient history, which we have been doing for over a week now.”
“Those . . . who forget the past,” intoned Twenty-Three, as he tented his fingers on his chest, “are condemned to repeat it.”
“And those who forget they’ve said something before are condemned to repeat themselves,” Marden added, peevishly. “We’ve heard that. We’ve heard all of it. What are we going to do?”
“I suggest,” First Councillor DeKarn said, pulling them back to the present with difficulty, “that we listen to their envoy and see what it is they want. They may wish to set up diplomatic ties, not governmental ones.”
“I’ve heard the same dispatch you received, and I disagree with your interpretation,” Zembke snorted.
“So you have said, Councillor, for a week, now,” DeKarn said patiently.
Twenty-Seven waved a finger for attention. “We’re no longer subject to the Imperium. Why give them an opening?”
“Because they haul damned big guns, that’s why!” Councillor Ten sputtered. She crushed yet another spent nic-tube into the waste receptacle. Nervously, she extracted a fresh tube from the pouch at her belt, put it between her tattooed lips, and took a long sip of air from its end. “It would be a damned rout if they chose to run over us. We may be sovereign, but we don’t have a defensive force. We haven’t needed one much over the years, really. The Trade Union has pretty much just traded with us since that time . . . yes, Zembke, I realize your people are still smoking about it. I don’t
“For two hundred years, in the face of natural disaster, invasion, pirates, famine and shortages, we have had no one to rely upon but ourselves. The Imperium didn’t have enough interest in us even to collect taxes, let alone send defense ships out to patrol our space lanes. The Imperium long ago pulled out of its death spiral, but until now they seem utterly to have forgotten about us. My grandfather used to tell me stories of the bad days, just after the Imperium turned its back on us. No one living is old enough to recall how at first our ancestors couldn’t believe that no one answered our pleas for aid. We waited too long to come to our own defense.”
“That’s not the Imperium’s fault,” Twenty-Two offered, calmingly.
“Of course it was their fault!” Councillor Marden barked. “Where were they?”
“They told us they weren’t coming,” Eighteen stated.
“When?” Zembke demanded. “When did they tell us?”
“They did,” Councillor DeKarn said, gently. “The missive is in the archives. They could not reach us in time, even if the Core Worlds had not been under attack, which they were.”
Twenty shrugged. “Our local governments chose not to believe them. That’s our fault.”
“Our planetary attorneys disagree with you,” Sixteen insisted. He looked like an attorney himself in his well-cut robes of subtly gleaming fabric, a double chin underscoring his healthy complexion, which was etched with wise quotes from antiquity in black and dark blue. “The Imperium was responsible under its own laws for our protection in exchange for suzerainty. They failed in that tacit contract.”
“Well, then,” Marden asked, “where are they?”
“They are here now,” Sixteen said. “Or, rather, they are coming. They seem to wish to take us again under their aegis. They offer support. Infrastructure. Updated systems. I say it is no more than we are owed by them.”
A lot of eye rolling followed this statement. DeKarn herself felt exasperated. “We can argue personal responsibility until the putative cows come home,” Zembke said. “And after we’ve burned a lot of oxygen, where do we end up? In the same place we started: around this table arguing about ancient history, which we have been doing for over a week now.”
“Those . . . who forget the past,” intoned Twenty-Three, as he tented his fingers on his chest, “are condemned to repeat it.”
“And those who forget they’ve said something before are condemned to repeat themselves,” Marden added, peevishly. “We’ve heard that. We’ve heard all of it. What are we going to do?”
“I suggest,” First Councillor DeKarn said, pulling them back to the present with difficulty, “that we listen to their envoy and see what it is they want. They may wish to set up diplomatic ties, not governmental ones.”
“I’ve heard the same dispatch you received, and I disagree with your interpretation,” Zembke snorted.
“So you have said, Councillor, for a week, now,” DeKarn said patiently.
Twenty-Seven waved a finger for attention. “We’re no longer subject to the Imperium. Why give them an opening?”
“Because they haul damned big guns, that’s why!” Councillor Ten sputtered. She crushed yet another spent nic-tube into the waste receptacle. Nervously, she extracted a fresh tube from the pouch at her belt, put it between her tattooed lips, and took a long sip of air from its end. “It would be a damned rout if they chose to run over us. We may be sovereign, but we don’t have a defensive force. We haven’t needed one much over the years, really. The Trade Union has pretty much just traded with us since that time . . . yes, Zembke, I realize your people are still smoking about it. I don’t
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