The Immortal Empire – Episode 15: The Office of the Prime Minister
Not that it was some great feat of detective work, but Jim Hawking noted how much effort it took for him to see through the façade up but inside the Oroko Borono, the passenger liner that they—four Terrans, and a Ctarl-Ctarl—had boarded to transit through the Outer Periphery and into the geographic heart of the Ctarl-Ctarl Empire.
According to a plaque mounted underneath the large clock at the top of the grand staircase, the Oroko Borono started out its life as the light cruiser Orta Palona, part of the Ctarl-Ctarl Navy's not-particularly-memorable Mentrasca-class. After an unfortunate incident when its overconfident captain collided with an asteroid during its space trials, promptly ending her career, it served with distinction in both of the Freespace Wars. It sank a United Space Forces stealth raider ship, the Lusitania, on the first day of the Second Freespace War. After the war, it was disarmed and sold to the Imperial Star Navigation Line, a massive conglomeration of shipping and transport companies that to Jim didn't seem quite like a state-owned corporation but also didn't seem quite like a civilian for-profit for either.
The strange creature of Ctarl-Ctarl capitalism, or state capitalism, or something else. Jim never considered himself an expert on macroeconomics, much less alien macroeconomics, so much as small business management.
The plaque itself, of course, was in Ctarl-Ctarl, paragraphs of small, indecipherable text underneath diagrams of the ship itself on a polished brass plate underneath the clock's face. Rather conveniently, the company had mounted a number of much newer, plastic plates, each printed in a distinct language: Corbano, Nayan, Common Silgrian, and Standard Mandarin Chinese were the ones he recognized, though there were others. It didn't take a genius to speculate, even before reading, that these were translations of the explanatory text on the original plaque.
Jim shifted out of the way to make room for an elderly tourist couple, who regarded him with an affectionate interest, a reminder that he was still wearing the school uniform lent to him by Maron-Go's company wardrobe. He awkwardly adjusted his suspenders and smiled back.
"What are you up to, chibi?"
He turned. Descending the stairway, in the same too-small office blouse and miniskirt, was Bethany, Moran-Go's Ctarl-Ctarl receptionist. Already an attractive woman, he could feel himself turning a little red from the flattering angle the stairway provided, as she rather arrogantly ran a hand through her blonde hair.
"Educating myself," he said, not untruthfully. "I'm a self-taught genius, you know."
"So I've been told," Bethany replied, somewhere between skepticism and outright rudeness. The things you can get away with when people can make out the patterns on your lingerie through your clothes, Jim thought bleakly. He didn't feel like defending himself, so Bethany simply stopped in front of the clock next to him, halfway down the staircase.
"Does it bring you back?" Jim suggested.
She stared at him out of the corner of her eyes under her glasses. "I didn't spend much time on passenger liners growing up."
So you are, in fact, grown up. He managed to hold that back. "So, according to Gene, our whole plan is working perfectly, so long as I do my part and find where Aisha Clan-Clan is, so we can ring Gene's money and a cargo hauling fee out of her, presumably with the power of guilt." He sighed. "Because guilt has been such an effective influence on Aisha in the past."
Bethany was staring at him directly now. "Has it been?"
"Right. You don't know anything about Aisha Clan-Clan, do you?"
Her head shook very slightly. "She was a member of our company. Before that, she was an diplomatic officer in the Ctarl-Ctarl Imperial Navy. More or less," he explained, sliding his hands into the pockets of his khaki shorts.
"And do you think Gene Starwind's plan will work?" she mewed.
You really don't want me answering that question. Jim's mouth open and closed shortly, and he hung his head down. "In the best possible scenario, we'll have to subtract the cost of transport against Aisha's confiscated wages…well, it's not like those bureaucrats in Eisensteingrad expected fast delivery, and if they did, that's just too bad for them…" he began to trail off.
"I hope that's the case," she added quietly.
"Not to mention the percentage we owe Maron-Go now, which, I want to be clear, was very fair and reasonable!" he declared with another sigh. "This is getting way out of hand. We should've had Fred Lou recommend someone."
"Who?"
"Never mind."
Still standing the in the middle of the grand staircase, the two lingered in an uncomfortable silence. Jim stared silently at large, ticking clock just above his eyeline. Bethany's attention wandered to her blouse, crossing her arms over her chest before fidgeting with one of the strained buttons below her collar.
It only took a few minutes for Jim to feel too uncomfortable. "So, have you read this plaque? It's actually pretty interesting."
"No. Though technically, neither have you."
Jim laughed with some relief. "Good point. Those pocket translators supplied by Immigration are kind of a pain to use. I guess we're lucky the Empire's so bullish on multilingualism." He shook his travel bag hanging from one shoulder. "The camera-translator on my persocom is…eh…" He made a gesture with his hand to imply a mixed review.
Leaning forward towards the wall, Bethany replied with a loud "Hmmmm," as she stared at the lines of text over the thin rims of her glasses. Jim watched her, an eyebrow raised, before giving in to impatience after she failed to elaborate.
"What? What is it?"
She broke her stare and turned to him. "What? Oh, nothing. Just something strange."
"Is it that there's a paragraph missing?" Jim ventured. He was rewarded by the rare sight of Bethany's surprise, as indicated by a visible twitch of her tapered ears, and continued. "See, the Mandarin translation seems to end…here."
He drew his fingers along the original laser-etched Ctarl-Ctarl text, sharp, angular calligraphic scrawl, stopping about four-fifths of the way through. "Which leaves about eight full sentences that aren't included in the Terran translation."
"How can you tell?"
"I counted all the sentences before that point," he confessed. His reasoning was not beyond scrutiny, he knew.
Nonetheless, Bethany was impressed, putting muscular hands on her hips. "You're right. They left out the last paragraph."
Jim chuckled, fishing his persocom out of his traveling bag. "I wonder what they thought was so unimportant they left it off," he speculated, unfolding the small computer and aiming its integrated camera in the direction of the original text. "You know, the problem with the software is that it's too literal, even by Ctarl-Ctarl…"
"The Orta Palona's first tour of duty was part of the multinational foreign intervention into the civil war in the Commonwealth of Naddodnia, alongside a Terran coalition of the Tenpa, Einhorn, and U.S.S.A. Empires. Per the Treaty of New Reykjavik, two squadrons of the Empire's Fortieth Guards Task Force were diverted to assist with police actions in Acid-B Guild territory. The Orta Palona spent seven-hundred and twenty-two days in Terran space before withdrawing with the winding down of the intervention into the civil war," Bethany translated aloud in harsh monotone.
Jim lowered his computer and frowned. "Intervention?"
"Invasion," Bethany muttered, rolling her eyes. "They're basically homonyms in Ctarl-Ctarl, except for that accent mark," she said, pointing.
Yeah, well, they sound pretty similar in English too. "Wait, but this was before the First Freespace War? So there was a Ctarl-Ctarl invasion of a Terran state, Naddodnia, before the Freespace Wars?" He frowned more. "I never heard about that."
"Well, it was before you were born," Bethany pointed out unsympathetically. "I remember learning about it in primary school. The Empire sent a token force to join in the 'police action' against this civil war that was spreading across Acid-B space."
"So the Ctarl-Ctarl and other Terrans invaded this 'Naddodnia' place? Even before the First Freespace War?"
"More or less."
He rolled his eyes. "You think that would've been a bigger deal." He remembered going to school back on Homige, when his parents were still alive. Even when he could barely tie his own shoes, there were classes at school about the Freespace Wars, or the Ctarl-Ctarl Wars more broadly.
"Well, it doesn't sound like you'd ever heard of the Invasion of Naddodnia either," Bethany explained briskly. "If it's not something Imperial Star Navigation doesn't want to advertise to Terrans, maybe it's not something Terrans talk about much among themselves."
"And history was never really my strong suit," he admitted.
"Mine neither."
"Can't really be expected to remember every 'intervention' or 'police action' that happens."
Bethany's response was delayed. "An invasion is an invasion. Just ask them," she said, pointing again.
At the bottom of the grand staircase, a uniformed steward was assembling some sort of free-standing post in plain sight of anyone passing through, with a large, hand-written sign hanging from it. With a look of confusion, Jim stared at the vertical column of text, fidgeting with his persocom again even as he asked, "What does that say?"
"The upcoming international summit with the Kata-Kata will be simultaneously broadcast on all news channels," Bethany read aloud.
"The what?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "I don't remember that from the Space Forces reports."
"The summit will be beginning in two hours, sir."
The prime minister looked up from his desk. "Really?"
Mr. Risley, who was rather comfortably stretched out in an easy chair he'd dragged up to the desk earlier, opened his eyes. Koboro-Koboro hadn't noticed him closing them. "Sir, I believe their local time it would be just before noon, but the same can't be said about us in the capitol. Interstellar time zones are very complicated," he explained in a patronizing tone.
The prime minister raised his eyebrows. "I don't give the Crown Princess enough credit. If she's obligated to serve as the government's special envoy for something that's doomed to fail, she wants as many people to sleep through it as possible." He had a hard time picturing anyone staying awake late enough to catch the summit if the long, ritualized opening ceremonies hadn't even started yet.
"And another expensive engagement, just as productive as the last one, or the one before that," Risley declared. "And people say the government wastes money."
"Who says that? They really shouldn't slander the Foreign Ministry like that," he replied, just barely the hint of a joke in his voice.
"You don't know it's going to fail." The objection game for Georgy Koboro-Koboro, who was trying to tidy up the office by doing something with the tall stacks of notebook. "And we'll never know if we don't try."
"We'll have to agree to disagree on that, Master Georgy." Risley left his chair and approached Georgy, inspecting the notebooks and relieving him of a stack. "By the way, those don't go over there. They go over here."
"You boys don't need to stay," Tomas Koboro-Koboro announced. "Joking aside, whatever unlikely urgency that might come out of this summit can probably wait until the morning."
Georgy's eyes lit up predictably, while Mr. Risley gave him a skeptical look. "Really? That anxious to get us out of your hair, sir?"
"When did I say that, Mr. Risley?" he responded with a smile.
"They why don't you join us? Instead of asking we leave without the man in charge?"
The prime minister didn't have a response, but was interrupted nonetheless. A tone sounded from the speaker on in his desk, and the evening secretary spoke. "Your Excellency? Excuse the hour, but you have a visitor."
The three exchanged surprised glances. Risley taped his wristwatch with a finger.
"Who is it, Emil?" the prime minister asked back.
"Grand Admiral Badono-Badono."
"God help us," Risley declared. The prime minister held back a laugh. Georgy was had resumed tidying the notebook stacks.
"Go ahead, Mr. Emil." The prime minister took his blazer off a chair and attempted to add a little dignity to his otherwise slovenly appearance, fixing his collar and straightening his tie. Risley and his son gradually imitated him, but their timing was off; they were still fixing their collars when the prime minister unceremoniously plopped onto the front of his desk and the double doors to the door swung open. Clara Badono-Badono entered: a tall, almost lanky woman with dark, shaggy blond hair that framed her face while reaching down her back. She wore the dark green greatcoat of an admiral in the Imperial Navy, unbuttoned, over a sleeveless bustier made out of uniform-grade leather with tight stiches, an alternative to the combat-grade flexible breastplates usually worn as a field uniform. Most flag officers in the capital, or anywhere on Home, wore the high-collared daily uniforms that wouldn't be mistaken for field dress. The honorable prime minister couldn't look at her without speculating that she dressed this way in a dubious attempt to make herself look younger.
"Lady Admiral," he chirped politely. "How kind of you to grace us with your presence this evening. I believe you know Mr. Risley from my staff, and my son…" he explained.
Risley's hands immediately fell to his sides out of respect, and Georgy imitated, smiles on their faces. Not missing a beat, the admiral was pulling off her greatcoat and tossing it at the comparatively diminutive Georgy, who caught it awkwardly with his head.
"…Georgy Koboro-Koboro."
"Hi," the navy commander-in-chief declared, as if the greeting were a unnecessarily polite salute to the young man. She continued to the desk, causing the prime minister to rise and step aside just in time for her to sit down in her place and stare at the prime minister.
Koboro-Koboro stared back, keeping his face the picture of serenity. By contrast, Mr. Risley looked more anxiously pained. "Lady Admiral, is something the matter? Is it Her Imperial Highness?"
The admiral kept staring.
"Or some matter of the navy?" He forced a nervous laugh. "I know your chief of staff isn't as young as he used to be, much less as young as yourself…"
Her red-brown eyes twitched at him briefly with no accompanying move of her head. Risley's nervous laughter quickly faded. Georgy obediently hung her coat on a free coat hanger hanging from a metal hook near the doors.
"Or the to-be-retired pocket battleships…" Risley asked, practically whispering.
"The Crown Princess's summit with the Travelers in the Outer Periphery's neutral zone. You've seen the reports?" she asked. "Of course, because you read all the reports," she answered for him.
The prime minister very deliberately turned to Risley, then back at the admiral. She the later did not speak further, he added, "And we wish Her Highness the very best fortune in the negotiations. Peace in our time."
"Yes, peace in our time," she repeated. "That's what everyone's saying."
The admiral crossed her arms over her chest. "The Chief of the General Staff recommended the dismissal of the under-minister…"
"Sorry, my Lady Clara, which under-minister?" Risley asked innocently
"The Secretary for Kata-Kata Affairs under the Foreign Ministry!" she snapped angrily.
"Whom the General Staff recommended for dismissal with honors for reasons of ill health and long service," the prime minister quietly recalled.
The admiral's posture began more tense. "We want him sacked, and your office stopped it."
The prime minister gave a brief, self-depreciating grin. "Not so much my office…"
"You stopped him."
"Admiral would you like some tea?" Georgy asked awkwardly.
"And why was that?" Clara growled, her canines revealing themselves.
The prime minister reached over to his desk and opened a drawer containing the day's business. "As it happens, I firmly agree with the notion that Secretary Dom-Dom's distinguished career in the service of the empire has earned him a posting more befitting his age..."
"What the hell does that even mean?" she snarled.
"...but we can't just replace the Secretary for Kata-Kata Affairs in the Foreign Ministry in the middle of a round of talks. Harvest would, quite naturally, take it as an afront…"
"They don't even like Dom-Dom!"
"But they like his deputy secretary, the one who's been visiting the Supreme People's Assembly at behest of the Central Committee of the Party," Georgy pointed out. Risley looked surprised.
"…as well as politically undermining Her Highness's negotiation position in the strongest political terms," the prime minister continued. "Certainly the navy would never intentionally undermine the Crown Princess."
"That geriatric secretary is the one undermining Princess Fatima," she countered.
Koboro-Koboro titled his head slightly. "Possibly, but governance is the art of the possible. In fact, your predecessor, the Lady Rihanna, shared a story with me very shortly after my inauguration about her time on the Supreme Council for Peacetime Policy…"
"Oh God, not Soban-Soban again. I never get tired of…" she swore, "…tired of hearing about the legendary Rihanna Soban-Soban. At least she had the damn decency to retire."
Koboro-Koboro cleared his throat. "I hope the decision of this office doesn't appear as intransigent. For the sake of good policy and good…"
"Shut up," she ordered. The prime minister obliged with a blink. "That's what you do, isn't it? Talk, talk, talk."
He smiled again, opening his palm. "That's what we're doing here, isn't it?"
She smiled back wickedly. "But you see, Your Honor, I'm might not some elected civil servant in the bureaucracy."
"But we were both appointed by Her Imperial Majesty, the Sovereign," he reminded her.
"There is no 'we'." The admiral's left hand shot out with violent speed from across her chest and grabbed the prime minister's tie, causing him to jerk forward by the neck.
"There's that talking again. You don't know when to stop. Even Marianna couldn't shut you up," she asked, sounding nearly complimentary towards the end. The prime minister, still looking perturbed, didn't answer. "So, talk then."
Having released the scrap of cloth, the command came very slowly and carefully, followed by unkind stares at the two younger men. The prime minister took the meaning. "About what, Lady Admiral?"
"What do you think? Emperor Anton I's great legacy when he appointed you."
He nodded at the mention of the Sovereign's late father, not bothering to correct her on the details as he fixed his collar and blouse. "If my private opinion, I am not optimistic regarding the Crown Princess's mission in the Neutral Zone. But the matter is near and dear to the Sovereign's heart, and even in failure we can prove that the throne still wants peace with the Kata-Kata, even if Her Highness's father doesn't sit in it. And it is the belief of the Sovereign, as you know, that without the Democratic People's Republic, this Holy Empire is incomplete, no matter how many centuries should pass. And that reconciliation is the destiny of the Ctarl-Ctarl, not simply demonstrating our supremacy over the other sapient species in the Orion Arm over and over again with mass conflagrations that pose little genuine challenge or risk."
The prime minister was glowering at her. She took his point: it was no secret that the Imperial Ctarl-Ctarl Navy was popularly held as the driving political force through each of the Terran wars, including both of the Freespace Wars. For more than a century, since first contact with Earth, the navy's leadership had pushed for each war with the promise of victory at any cost, which they delivered. That article of faith was less fondly looked upon since Marianna IV's abdication.
"And what should we believe, Lord Prime Minister?" the admiral asked.
"We? Sorry, wasn't there no 'we'?" Risley asked tensely.
"I believe what Her Imperial Majesty believes," the prime minister interjected. "As one of Her Highness's dearest friends, why don't you give that a try?"
The impolite suggestion seemed to surprise her. "You don't think I do?" she asked indignantly.
"The Sovereign declined to dismiss Dom-Dom, didn't she?" Risley asked.
The admiral glared at him. Risley gave a deep, tired sigh. "Lady Admiral, is there anything else we can do for you?" he asked impatiently, expecting a rebuke. Instead, jaw clenched, the admiral rose from the desk, prompting Koboro-Koboro to take an obviously step out of her way. Georgy scrambled for her greatcoat and was waiting by the door where Badono-Badono took it from him, slinging it over a muscular shoulder.
"This would be when Marianna or Anton's admirals would've warned you that you were making enemies." She looked over her other shoulder. "But we see what good that did, don't we? Pray that the Crown Princess proves us wrong and succeeds."
"I already was," he assured her, hands behind his back in supplication. He kept them there until after the admiral had shut the closed the doors behind her, before giving a tired sigh.
"The nerve of her!" Georgy whined. "You'd think we two hours from a coup d'état!"
Risley sighed. "As distasteful as we might find her kind, Grand Admiral Badono-Badono is one of the most constant obstacles to an actual military coup."
Georgy stared at him. "Mr. Risley's correct. Their competency in leadership aside, the admiral, and her coterie, possess a special loyalty to the Sovereign that their predecessors only owed her father. Even if it is in their best interest, somehow, they won't betray her. They would sooner give up their commissions, which I don't think is very likely either."
Georgy scoffed. "The law and the constitution ought to be enough prevent a military takeover, and not this circle of sycophantic bullies." Risley took him by the cheek and squeezed, causing him to cry in pain.
"My, my, Master Georgy! That's a big word for you!"
Georgy's father held back laughter. "Well, there hasn't been a military coup since the House of Hashiyo-Hashiyo came to power. Maybe people never really grow out of their habits."
Though he'd released Georgy's cheek in the face of protest, Risley was now grinning conceitedly at him. Georgy batted him away in irritation. "If you boys stop playing about, maybe we can finish and leave before the next unexpected visit," he offered gently.
"And what if she succeeds?" Georgy asked, looking up. "Mr. Risley, please don't laugh. What if Her Highness and Secretary Dom-Dom meet with the Kata-Kata Politburo in the Neutral Zone, and they actually agree to terms, and the Premier of the Kata-Kata Republic agrees to meet with the empress? Then what do we do?"
Risley was visibly holding back laughter. The prime minister scratched his brow and considered it. "If that should happen, then we will have to convince Premier Thoro and the rest of the politburo that the massive navy of the Ctarl-Ctarl Empire, the largest in the known universe, does not exist to unilaterally enforce our vision and will on the rest of the galaxy. That it is exists for its inherent social and institutional value, thereby ensuring them that it is not completely contrary to their pacifist ethos, and not to sow violence and discord among the Terrans and other powers."
"And that's going to be very difficult with idiots like Badono-Badono running around, whether they realize it or not," Risley added.
Terms to Know:
The Democratic People's Republic of the Kata-Kata – The independent Kata-Kata republic located in Deitros Carinos, not far from the border between the Inner and Outer Periphery.
Imperial Ministry of Foreign Affairs – Also called the Foreign Ministry, a cabinet-level ministry of the Imperial government that manages diplomatic and foreign relations. The foreign minister, alongside the rest of the cabinet, is appointed by a newly-appointed prime minister with the sovereign's approval (and often recommendation).
- Secretariat for Kata-Kata Affairs of the Foreign Ministry – Sometimes incorrectly described as a ministry or sub-ministry, the administrative agency under the Foreign Ministry is responsible for planning and implementing policies between the Ctarl-Ctarl Empire and the Kata-Kata Republic. Its head, a sub-minister or secretary, is appointed by the Foreign Ministry, officially from candidates submitted by parliament. It languished for decades into irrelevance until the reign of Anton I, who aspired to reconciliation between the empire and the Kata-Kata.
Homige – Also called Olimidge, the star system was the political and geographic center of U.S.S.A.. Rather than Earth, it was the Treaty of Homige outlined the conditional surrender of the Earthling Empires to the Ctarl-Ctarl Empire. In the Outlaw Star manga, Jim is implied to have been born on Homige eleven years earlier.