know that,” Adela said evenly. “I’ve known that from the beginning.”
“And you are not afraid?”
“ Of course I’m afraid! But I won’t turn away from what I must do. Not because of fear. Not because of envy or hatred or any other reason.”
“Not even for love?”
He felt her body stiffen. “No,” she said. “Not even for love.”
The Emperor let his hands drop away from her and called out to the computer, “Connect me with Prince Javas, Acadamician Bomeer, and Commander Fain.”
“At once, Sire.”
Their holographic images quickly appeared on separate segments of the farthest wall of the bedroom. Bomeer, halfway across the planet in late afternoon, was at his ornate desk. Fain appeared to be on the bridge of a warship, in orbit around the planet. Javas, of course, was still in bed. It was not Rihana who lay next to him.
The Emperor’s first impulse was disapproval, but then he wondered where Rihana was sleeping.
“I am sorry to intrude on you so abruptly,” he said to all three of the men, while they were still staring at the slight young woman sitting on the bed with their Emperor. “I have made my decision on the question of trying to save the Earth’s Sun.”
Bomeer folded his hands on the desktop. Fain, on his feet, shifted uneasily. Javas arched an eyebrow and looked more curious than anything else.
“I have listened to all your arguments and find that there is much merit in them. I have also listened carefully to Dr. Montgarde’s arguments, and find much merit in them, as well.”
Adela sat rigidly beside him. The expression on her face was frozen: she feared nothing and expected nothing. She neither hoped nor despaired. She waited.
“We will move the Imperial throne and all its trappings to Earth’s only Moon,” said the Emperor.
They gasped. All of them.
“Since this project to save the Sun will take many human generations, we will want the seat of the Empire close enough to the project so that the Emperor may take a direct view of the progress.”
“But you can’t move the entire Capital,” Fain protested. “And to Earth! It’s a backwater—”
“Commander Fain,” the Emperor said sternly. “Yesterday you were prepared to move Earth’s millions. I ask now that the Fleet move the Court’s thousands. And Earth will no longer be a backwater once the Empire is centered once again at the original home of the human race.”
Bomeer sputtered, “But . . . but what if her plan fails? The sun will explode . . . and . . . and . . .”
“That is a decision to be made in the future.”
He glanced at Adela. Her expression had not changed, but she was breathing rapidly now. The excitement had hit her body, it hadn’t yet penetrated her emotional defenses.
“Father,” Javas said, “may I point out that it takes five years in realtime to reach the Earth from here? The Empire cannot be governed without an Emperor for five years.”
“Quite true, my son. You will go to Earth before me. Once there, you will become acting Emperor while I make the trip.”
Javas’ mouth dropped open. “The acting Emperor? For five years?”
“With luck,” the Emperor said, grinning slightly, “old age will catch up with me before I reach Earth, and you will be the full-fledged Emperor for the rest of your life.”
“But I don’t want . . .”
“I know, Javas. But you will be Emperor some day. It is a responsibility you cannot avoid. Five years of training will stand you in good stead.”
The Prince sat up straighter in his bed, his face serious, his eyes meeting his father’s steadily.
“And son,” the Emperor went on, “to be an Emperor—even for five years—you must be master of your own house.”
Javas nodded. “I know, Father. I understand. And I will be.”
“Good.”
Then the Prince’s impish smile flitted across his face once again. “But tell me . . . suppose, while you are in transit toward Earth, I decide to move the Imperial Capital elsewhere? What
“And you are not afraid?”
“ Of course I’m afraid! But I won’t turn away from what I must do. Not because of fear. Not because of envy or hatred or any other reason.”
“Not even for love?”
He felt her body stiffen. “No,” she said. “Not even for love.”
The Emperor let his hands drop away from her and called out to the computer, “Connect me with Prince Javas, Acadamician Bomeer, and Commander Fain.”
“At once, Sire.”
Their holographic images quickly appeared on separate segments of the farthest wall of the bedroom. Bomeer, halfway across the planet in late afternoon, was at his ornate desk. Fain appeared to be on the bridge of a warship, in orbit around the planet. Javas, of course, was still in bed. It was not Rihana who lay next to him.
The Emperor’s first impulse was disapproval, but then he wondered where Rihana was sleeping.
“I am sorry to intrude on you so abruptly,” he said to all three of the men, while they were still staring at the slight young woman sitting on the bed with their Emperor. “I have made my decision on the question of trying to save the Earth’s Sun.”
Bomeer folded his hands on the desktop. Fain, on his feet, shifted uneasily. Javas arched an eyebrow and looked more curious than anything else.
“I have listened to all your arguments and find that there is much merit in them. I have also listened carefully to Dr. Montgarde’s arguments, and find much merit in them, as well.”
Adela sat rigidly beside him. The expression on her face was frozen: she feared nothing and expected nothing. She neither hoped nor despaired. She waited.
“We will move the Imperial throne and all its trappings to Earth’s only Moon,” said the Emperor.
They gasped. All of them.
“Since this project to save the Sun will take many human generations, we will want the seat of the Empire close enough to the project so that the Emperor may take a direct view of the progress.”
“But you can’t move the entire Capital,” Fain protested. “And to Earth! It’s a backwater—”
“Commander Fain,” the Emperor said sternly. “Yesterday you were prepared to move Earth’s millions. I ask now that the Fleet move the Court’s thousands. And Earth will no longer be a backwater once the Empire is centered once again at the original home of the human race.”
Bomeer sputtered, “But . . . but what if her plan fails? The sun will explode . . . and . . . and . . .”
“That is a decision to be made in the future.”
He glanced at Adela. Her expression had not changed, but she was breathing rapidly now. The excitement had hit her body, it hadn’t yet penetrated her emotional defenses.
“Father,” Javas said, “may I point out that it takes five years in realtime to reach the Earth from here? The Empire cannot be governed without an Emperor for five years.”
“Quite true, my son. You will go to Earth before me. Once there, you will become acting Emperor while I make the trip.”
Javas’ mouth dropped open. “The acting Emperor? For five years?”
“With luck,” the Emperor said, grinning slightly, “old age will catch up with me before I reach Earth, and you will be the full-fledged Emperor for the rest of your life.”
“But I don’t want . . .”
“I know, Javas. But you will be Emperor some day. It is a responsibility you cannot avoid. Five years of training will stand you in good stead.”
The Prince sat up straighter in his bed, his face serious, his eyes meeting his father’s steadily.
“And son,” the Emperor went on, “to be an Emperor—even for five years—you must be master of your own house.”
Javas nodded. “I know, Father. I understand. And I will be.”
“Good.”
Then the Prince’s impish smile flitted across his face once again. “But tell me . . . suppose, while you are in transit toward Earth, I decide to move the Imperial Capital elsewhere? What
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