Chapter Twenty-two
A Question of Appointments

Emperor Austin Burnell

We part ways with Amanda at the door, she going off to attend her duties as the head of my personal security detail and Ian escorting me to my appointment with…

Damn and blast! I've become so busy I can no longer keep track of my days!

But there's something more important that I need to address first, before it slips my mind again.

"Ian, prepare for me a two-page report on Mr. Tucker's life in prison. I want to know how he's treated, what his daily routine is like, diet and exercise, how he's sleeping, what, if any, news or social interaction he is allowed. Gather your data in person, and make it a surprise visit."

"Your Majesty?" He looks startled, not surprisingly. I suppose that like most people, he'd imagined that the next time I'd evince interest in Tucker's existence was when he was hauled forth from whatever noisome incarceration has been his lot to face the Court Martial that Admiral Hernandez was so remarkably unwise as to promise him.

Having learned from the former Commodore Tucker that surprise inspections only breed resentment, it's something I almost never do. I've found, as he told me, that people who take pride in doing their work well are always ready and people who don't never will be, no matter how much notice they're given. But this time is different.

"You heard me." I glance sideways at him and catch a faint blush that he questioned an order outside the highly specific environment of the 'morning meeting'. "I want you to arrive unannounced. You can assure them that no one will be punished based on your findings, if you think it's necessary to get co-operation. I don't really care if they're following established protocols at the moment; I just want to know what's really going on in there."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"And Ian."

"Sir?"

"Feel free to delegate or postpone any of your lower priority tasks to get it done. I'd like that report before the weekend."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

Since I arrived at the palace, 'the weekend' has just become a way to mark time, no different from 'Monday' or 'Spring'. I try to ensure that members of my staff get at least one day a week off, and I encourage Ian to arrange the schedule so that he doesn't have to put in more than nine or ten hours a day; but I personally have been working sixteen-hour (and longer) days seven days a week since Reed fled Jupiter Station.

Which I am certain has something to do with why I still can't remember to whom I am about to grant an audience. It's slightly vexatious to have to admit it, but needs must, and Ian's always pleased to have the information I need at his fingertips.

"Ian, who am I about to meet?"

"Nigel Odoemene, Your Majesty, Minister…"

"Minister of Homeworld Trade and Transit!" I finish with some satisfaction. "He's here asking for a thirteen percent increase over his last year's budget."

"Yes, Your Majesty." There are worlds of information in my secretary's tones if you listen for them, and I can hear one now. He doesn't much care for Mr. Odoemene, and to be entirely frank, neither do I.

"He claims he requested the audience because such a dramatic increase warrants a face-to-face conversation to avoid any confusion or questions about the need for additional funds over last year and exceeding the rate of inflation."

I might not remember transitory details like names, dates and times, but Lucifer, I can still retain the relevant facts!

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"But I'm going to deny his request, aren't I?" Suddenly I'm slightly annoyed with myself. Why the fuck did I want to schedule a meeting just to say 'no'?

"Last time we spoke about it, you said you would." Ian peeps at me.

"Yes, I did!" I'm now thoroughly annoyed with myself and bloody pissed off at Nigel Odoemene for wasting my time. "And do you know why I'm going to deny it? I'll tell you why I'm denying it! Because you know and I know he doesn't need a face-to-face meeting to get his budget approved. He's just trying to manipulate a novice Emperor into promising him what he wants before submitting last year's receipts and invoices and an itemised budget for this year to the Office of the Imperial Exchequer because the data probably doesn't support the increase!"

His face is wooden but his tone still speaks volumes. "Yes, sir, that's the reason you gave last time you mentioned it."

"And how long have we scheduled to spend telling this man 'No', Ian?"

"Thirty minutes, Majesty."

"Thirty minutes!" I stop so abruptly Ian nearly breezes past me. Half as long as I dedicated to a meeting that could have profound ramifications not just for my reign but for the future of my dynasty and indeed the Empire itself, and I'm planning to waste it on a schemer who thinks he can manipulate me like a marionette because I 'don't know how things are done'!

This is absurd. And it's part of the reason I'm so bloody busy I can hardly keep my head on straight.

Ex-General Reed was occasionally partial to composing 'Memos to self'. I could do worse than imitate him right now, and the first item on the list would be 'Organise my time better'. I mean, it's not like I have any to spare as it is, and the half an hour of it I had scheduled for Minister Odoemene's shenanigans can be the first time waster out of the window.

"Thirty minutes?" I inquire again in disbelief.

"Yes, Your Majesty." Ian maintains his wooden face.

"Really?"

"Yes, Your Majesty." Still wooden. Can it be that he really hasn't twigged yet that I am reconsidering?

"No."

"No, Your Majesty?" Ah. Ian's eyebrows tend to creep up his forehead when I've done something unexpected. They're not doing that now. He's just been playing along.

I exhale. "What's my next meeting?"

Ian checks the schedule. "William Wainwright, the newly elected president of…"

"The Southeastern Agricultural Co-operative Coalition. I know who he is." He's not just the new president of the largest, most productive and most successful farmers' co-op in the Western Hemisphere, he's also the direct successor of Charles Tucker II in that position, and, as a deep background search revealed, former Commodore Tucker's childhood best friend, who married the C…Tucker's high school sweetheart.

He's someone I actually want to talk to, and not just because I'd like his organisation's input on new agricultural regulations I'm planning to propose ahead of the next growing season in the Northern Hemisphere.

"It's scheduled for thirty minutes, Majesty," Ian adds.

Damn. I want more time with him.

"Is he here yet?"

With a tap or two on his PADD, Ian brings up the video feed from the foyer of the Imperial Audience Chamber. Odoemene is casting a jaundiced eye on a comically nervous gentleman who is pacing and fidgeting anxiously and inspecting the artwork.

"Where is that meeting taking place?"

"Both Mr. Odoemene and Mr. Wainwright are in the Audience Chamber, Your Majesty."

"Not any more." I've just decided that one of the fun parts of being the Emperor will be that I don't always have to meet with people I don't want to talk to and I can visit with people I want to talk to wherever I like and for as long as I want. It's an extraordinarily liberating realisation, but more than that, it means I can spend my time productively rather than waste it on time-suckers and would-be fraudsters like Nigel Odoemene. "Mr. Wainwright is a farmer. Is there someplace less formal where he would be more comfortable?"

He thinks a moment and then grins. "We have some fruit trees in the Western Courtyard, just outside of the Tapestry Room."

"And how's the weather?" I suddenly realise I haven't been outside yet today. Thinking back, I can't recall having gone outdoors yesterday, either. Memo to self, make it a point to step outside and breathe some fresh air every day.

"Lovely, sunny, nearly twenty-three degrees, Your Majesty."

Perfect!

"Ian, I'm not going to tell Mr. Odoemene that his request regarding the budget is declined."

He's so startled he momentarily forgets the appropriate protocol. "You're not?"

"No. You are."

"Me, Your Majesty?"

Aha! He wasn't expecting that. Endearingly, his eyebrows have nearly merged with his hairline, and I feel a little swell of delight to have caught him by surprise.

"Yes, I'm confident you can handle it in my stead." He puffs up proudly at that, a boyish grin breaking out at the prospect of disappointing Minister Odoemene. "But first, please have the staff set something up out in the West Courtyard. Nothing fancy, just a couple of chairs and a small table between them, and have the kitchen send up some…" Tucker didn't call his treacly brew 'iced tea', it was different in the Southern United States. Sweeter. "…sweet tea. And some lemonade. And have them send some fairy cakes, too, or biscuits, finger sandwiches, whatever suitable snack they might have on hand. Just a little something to put Mr. Wainwright at ease."

"And do you want to actually sit out under the trees, Majesty, or would you prefer on the colonnade?"

"That's an insightful question, Ian," I nod. "Mr. Wainwright is nervous enough as it is. We don't want to make it worse with a potentially wobbly chair. Make it on the colonnade."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

He's been tapping at his PADD as I've been speaking, and knowing his efficiency, he's already sent off the messages to the staff and the kitchen to fulfil my orders.

"Then greet Mr. Wainwright, in the foyer, and while you're there, remind him of protocol when meeting the Emperor, but assure him that he won't suffer if his nervousness causes him to get something wrong. Then bring him to me on the colonnade."

He's already poised to hurry off about his errand. "And Mr. Odoemene?"

"Tell him to bugger off," I say.

"Your Majesty?" Despite the grin, he pauses, and I raise an eyebrow.

"Do we really have to be more specific than that?"

"I suppose that depends on the message you want to send, Your Majesty," he says tentatively. "Can he get himself back into your good graces by following procedure in the future? Is this a reprimand or a dismissal?"

"Not a dismissal," I decide. "More of a 'tread softly, you're on thin ice already.'"

There's the beginning of a mischievous twinkle. "May I make a suggestion?"

"Absolutely."

"I'll leave him waiting in the foyer while I escort Mr. Wainwright to the courtyard. Then, since good manners cost nothing, I'll start with an apology when I return to him."

Already I'm incredulous at the suggestion – the Emperor does not apologise, let alone to men like Odoemene – but Ian has always served me well, so I rein in my automatic response and nod for him to continue.

"'Mr. Odoemene, I'm so sorry we kept you waiting, but your audience with the Emperor has been pre-empted by a much more important visitor.'"

Ian never fails. I can feel myself smiling already. Odoemene is going to know he's been passed over for a farmer.

"'And I'm sorry we wasted your time,'" Ian continues, clearly warming to his theme – it's plain he has a good deal of insight into the situation and is delighted to be given the chance to use it – "'but the Emperor is very pissed off that you wasted his. He's asked me to tell you that he knows that you know that it's not his place to approve or deny anyone's budget. He advises you to promptly submit to the Office of the Imperial Exchequer last year's receipts and invoices along with this year's itemised proposed budget, just as you and every other minister have been doing since the foundation of the Empire. Then the review committee can make a recommendation as to if and how much of an increase or cut is appropriate, the Chancellor of the Exchequer can approve it, and, if he's not still very annoyed with you, the Emperor will sign the order.

"'If you can't provide the required documentation, the Emperor advises you to retain legal counsel as soon as possible because you will likely be facing charges of fraud and embezzlement, and since the victim is the Imperial Government, a charge of treason will automatically be appended.

"'Now, bugger off.'"

I can't help myself. I laugh aloud, and I realise it's the first time I've done so since I arrived at the palace.

"I think that would be splendid, Ian," I tell him, clapping him on the shoulder. "I'll be waiting for you in the colonnade of the West Courtyard near the fruit trees."

"Very good, Your Majesty." And with a roguish grin because he's pleased to have pleased me, he bows and begins backing away.

"And Ian," I say before heading off in the opposite direction, "one more request, before you go."

"Your Majesty?"

"Next time I decide I want a meeting for such an idiotic reason, please remind me of Mr. Odoemene. I'm relying on you now more than ever to keep my days productive and to prevent me from getting bogged down in trivia."

"Of course, Your Majesty." And off he scoots, to make Minister Odoemene's day very considerably less pleasant than that individual might have anticipated.

If you've been enjoying this story, please leave a review. Austin seems to be having a good day. He's enjoying his work, seems to be learning to use his time more wisely and is apparently having a little fun with Ian. But what's he up to with Trip's old friend Billy (mentioned during the mind meld in Dreamers of the Day and the short aside "The Friends He Left Behind Him")? And what do you think is going to happen to Nigel Odoemene?