Chapter Twenty-four
Not Just Another Business Meeting

William Wainwright
President of the Southeastern Agricultural Co-operative Coalition (SACC)

"Emperor Burnell, may I present Mr. William Wainwright, the newly-elected President of the Southeastern Agricultural Co-operative Coalition?" Lieutenant Trainor says, and then backs away, off to attend to his next duty, no doubt.

I go hot and then cold all over and feel goosebumps rise on my arms and back despite the warm day and the suit jacket I'm wearing. The thought shoots through my head, This is what dread feels like, and I'm grateful for the lieutenant's last-minute instructions because, without them, I'm sure I wouldn't know what to do when the Emperor extends a hand in my direction. As it is, I feel as though my head's stuffed with lint and my tongue turns into a block of wood as I try to mouth the words, "It's an honor to meet you, Your Majesty." It's a good thing, too, that I only have to bow slightly because I think my muscles are suddenly too tense to bend more than a few inches.

He's much taller than I would have guessed, easily ten centimeters taller than me. Even under the bulky, military-style jacket it's clear he's fit and muscular, but lean; and there is a grace and physicality about him, even though he's standing almost completely still, that is absolutely compelling, making it difficult at first to remember Lieutenant Trainor's admonishment not to stare. I'll bet he could move like lightning, strike like a snake, or carry on laboring for days if he had the need. Per Lieutenant Trainor's instructions, I don't try to hold his gaze for long, but in the brief moment that our eyes meet before I avert my gaze, I get a sense of the man, of his grit and steel and determination. For all his poise and dignity, it's not hard to imagine him brawling his way to the top, literally crawling over the bodies of those who might have stood between him and the throne. I imagine the Empress knows better than anyone just how lucky she probably is to be alive. I don't know what he intends to achieve as Emperor, but he's the living embodiment of the phrase '…or die trying.'

And I can't help but wonder once again, What in the ever-loving fuck does he want with me?

He offers what I suppose is meant to be a cordial smile, and though I get the strong impression that it could quickly become the leer of a hungry wolf about to snatch up a rabbit and break its back with one snap of his jaws, I smile back woodenly. Then he gestures toward a low table covered with an Imperial red and white checkered cloth where pitchers of tea and lemonade have been set out along with plates of cookies and cupcakes. He picks up a glass with a gilded rim and etched with the Imperial Seal and asks me a question, and suddenly I realize he's offering me a drink.

"Sweet tea, please, sir," I reply.

As he pours my tea, he nods towards the other goodies laid out on Imperial china complete with gilded edges and the Imperial Seal, and says, "Please, help yourself."

Never in my life have I felt as though my choice of snack could be so important. Fortunately, there are only three kinds of cookies and the cupcakes. I don't think I'll look like a pig to sample one of each. I recognize the classic shortbread, and then there's some lacy little rolled up tubes that look like miniature cannoli filled with some kind of cream and something that looks like a sugar cookie sandwich only there's a hole cut in the top cookie and it's filled with some kind of dark red jam. The cupcakes, too, are a little bit fancier than one might make for an everyday treat. Instead of having a great big glob of sugary icing sitting on top of them, they look like they've had a circle cut out of the top. Then the hole was filled with some kind of yellow sauce and a dab of white creamy icing. Then the circle of cake that was cut out must have been cut in half and the two pieces set on edge in the little pool of topping because each one looks like a butterfly landing on a flower.

If this was laid out for me, I can't help wondering what kind of reception Minister Odoemene is going to get.

The Emperor pours himself a lemonade, invites me to sit, and takes a couple of the lacy, cream-filled cookies, calling them brandy snaps and saying he thinks I'll like them. I'm sure I will, even if I don't, because Lieutenant Trainor said we like you and I don't want to give the Emperor any reason at all to change his mind. We make small talk for a minute or two, and I begin to think I'm actually losing my mind. What in the hell am I doing here, sitting in a courtyard of the Imperial Palace, at the edge of a small orchard of a few dozen apple trees (some of them suffering from leaf curl), talking about my flight and my hotel room and the weather (Seriously? The fucking weather?) with His Most Imperial Majesty, Father of the Fatherland, Overlord of Vulcan, Imperius of Tellar, Rex Andor, Austin Robert Burnell?

And now, something I've said has caused him to shake his head and sigh, and I'm honestly surprised I haven't pissed myself.

"I've been trying to put you at ease, Mr. Wainwright," he says. "But it isn't working, is it?"

'Be honest,' the Lieutenant told me. I'm too shit-scared to lie, so, what the hell? "With respect, Your Majesty," I ask wryly, "did you expect it to?"

He gives a rueful chuckle and shrugs. "One can hope."

Surprisingly, that does help, just the tiniest bit. Enough to let me feel comfortable saying, "I appreciate your trying, sir."

This time I get a slightly bitter smirk, and he asks bluntly, "How are things going at SACC since every Tucker in Panama City did a runner?"

Fuck me, I'm dead!

I go hot and then cold all over again, and have to believe that the only reason I still haven't pissed my pants is that I'm too tense with terror to spring a leak. "It's…uh…I…"

"Take a deep breath, Mr. Wainwright." His voice is cool and even, and I obey, though it doesn't do much to steady my plunging pulse. Incredibly, he waits, while I dart a couple of scared glances at him, analyzing that chiseled face for any sign of anger – don't stare, don't stare going through my brain like a mantra. "You're not in any trouble here," he continues, still with that massive calm. "We've had you thoroughly vetted and if your personal or business books were off by so much as a credit, we'd never have sent the invitation. Your organization could be instrumental in some of my plans for the future. That's why I want to know how things are going.

"This is just another business meeting. Talk to me as if I was the head of another co-op considering joining your coalition. What would you want me to know?"

I've had enough of those in the past few weeks. My brain scrambles for a moment, trying to organize the most relevant information. Then I take another sip of tea, followed by a second deep breath to steady my nerves.

I have no idea why he should be interested in information like this, but if Emperor Austin Burnell wants information, that's what I'll provide. It's not like I don't know my stuff, and none of it is illegal or anything.

With an effort I block out my surroundings, and in particular the identity of the man sitting opposite me, who sits watching me with the intensity of an eagle owl I saw in a zoo once. His claws are out of sight for now, but I can't forget they're there. Still – for the time being, he wants what I can provide. That's where my safety lies, and as I start to talk about matters that are completely familiar to me, some of my nervousness starts to fade.

"Well, we represent all the ranchers and farmers in eight states and parts of three others, and last year we got them the best contract terms any of them have seen in a century." I'd like to credit Mister Charlie by name for that accomplishment because he's the one who made it happen, but I've no idea how the Emperor would react to that; and I do know Mister Charlie would kick my ass for taking the risk. "Our members control all of the agricultural and textile warehousing and all of the stockyards in every port from Baltimore to the Mexican border, so anything, animal or vegetable, that anybody grows or uses to grow something that ships from those ports has to go through our storage facilities and meet our safety and quality standards. We're also working on a merger with the Great Plains-Midwestern Agricultural Alliance, but the Iowa Corn Growers Association is holding out for some special concessions and the membership of both SACC and the GPMAA are split about whether to grant them."

He's listened to me in silence, th" fingertips of his steepled, beautifully manicured hands pressed thoughtfully to his lips. "And where do you stand on the issue?"

"I'm against it." And with the Emperor asking astute questions, I explain how agricultural marketing co-ops negotiate sale prices of hundreds of different agricultural products for thousands of farmers in different geographic and growing zones. Members are free to raise whatever crops do best for them, but they have to sell a contracted percentage of their crop at the prices negotiated by the co-op. "We simply can't give the ICGA exclusive rights to negotiate corn prices for the entire organization."

"But if they have the most experience in the corn market, why not?"

"Well, apart from the fact that I don't think a monopoly is ever a good idea in any industry, let alone the production of a staple food for about a third of the planet, the ICGA membership just isn't representative of most corn producers."

As briefly as I can, I explain how Iowa's unique circumstances make it the perfect place to raise bumper crops of corn year after year. I describe how different soil types, weather patterns, water supply problems, transport concerns and labor costs affect other members' bottom line when they grow a crop and bring it to market.

"Now, SACC has never allowed its members to use slave labor or indentured servants," I point out by way of example of just one of the problems, "but the GPMAA did. We had to guarantee to subsidize their labor costs for seven years to get them to agree to divest themselves of all that cheap labor.

"I don't like to think they would do it deliberately, but if the ICGA were to lose sight of the other members' circumstances, they could easily negotiate a contract that would make it impossible for farmers in other parts of the Corn Belt to make a living growing corn."

The Emperor nods thoughtfully. I focus on taking a few deep breaths. The way he's been staring at me as I talk, not moving a muscle, barely breathing, I suppose I should be honored to have the complete attention of the most powerful guy in the Empire, but I find it unnerving, almost like I'm being stalked by some large predator. The eagle owl comparison still holds.

"But if Iowa has the ideal conditions and the other members are free to grow whatever they want, then what's the problem?" he finally asks.

"Iowa can't produce nearly enough to meet the demand, sir. And as for the other members, some of them have made their living growing corn for generations. Different crops require different equipment, different soil conditions, fertilizer, irrigation schedules, planting and picking schedules. The cost of transition could bankrupt a lot of them if the co-op doesn't subsidize it, but those subsidies would be untenable because…"

"Because you're already subsidizing those farmers switching over from slave labor and indentured servants."

"Yes, sir." I explain how a lot of the organizations that make up the GPMAA would either break away and create a new coalition of their own or defect to other big co-ops, bordering their territory – including the SACC, which would eventually kill the GPMAA. "It could completely change the face of North American agriculture."

A slow nod. "Which could become very messy for all of us, I imagine."

"Yes, sir," I agree. "For all of our technological advancement, modern human civilization still depends on food security and the availability of potable water. Agriculture is obviously responsible for the former, but through land and water management, we also bear most of the burden for maintaining the latter. Then, because of our dependence on technology, we now require huge amounts of energy as well; and agricultural properties doing double duty as wind and solar farms or incorporating hydroelectric generators into their irrigation systems produce nearly a third of the planet's power nowadays."

"So, you're telling me that if the Iowa Corn Growers' Association insists on the exclusive rights to negotiate corn prices for the combined SACC-GPMAA, it could lead to the downfall of modern human civilization?" he summarizes. His voice has taken on a note of incredulity as he leaps onward to the potential endgame of all this (and hell, he's quick to see it), but he's right, though I'd never have dared to say it if he hadn't.

"It's an outside chance, highly unlikely and the worst-case scenario, but the potential is there, Your Majesty," I confirm, at least some of the muscles in my belly unclenching as relief washes over me. "It's not something I like to think about. It feels like I'm catastrophizing whenever I consider it, but I think it's better to be aware of and prepared for the potential for something that will probably never happen than to be blindsided on the marginal chance that it does."

"I quite agree," says the Emperor of the Terran Empire and All the Conquered Worlds, and somewhere in the back of my brain, I'm just as impressed as hell with myself, but I can't waste too much of my attention on it because he's still talking. "So, what do you plan to do about it, Mr. Wainwright?"

If I thought my choice in baked goods was momentous, my life must surely hang in the balance now, but this man didn't get where he is by overextending himself to blow out candles when there are real fires blazing around him. The coldest winter in thirty years took out a third of the Florida citrus crop and killed about ten percent of our trees; the Atlantic Hurricane season shut down most of the docks in the Chesapeake Bay for weeks and closed the Port of Charleston for a month; and now we're facing a potential drought in the Carolinas and Georgia that could wreck the cotton, rice, pecan and peach crops. Those are my fires. Until the merger, the ICGA is someone else's problem. So, I look the Emperor in the eye, just long enough to convey that I am confident in my response, and tell him exactly what I told the SACC board of directors. "Absolutely nothing."

Silence. What's he waiting for?

The penny drops and I have the distinct sensation of my sphincter loosening again. "Uh…Your Majesty!" Shit! "My apologies."

He waves a hand as if shooing away a fly, though for a moment of plunging horror I interpret it as summoning the guards to have me dragged away and reminded of the correct protocol. But his tone as he continues is one of held patience. "You're clearly the expert in this field and I am the student. You don't have to pay obeisance to me with every breath. I'm curious to know, though, how you think doing nothing will resolve the problem."

"Yes, sir, so was my board," I say, unable to hide my relief that he wasn't offended by my slip-up. "I'm confident the ICGA will give in, but there's no accounting for stupidity, so, if they don't, one of two things will happen. Either the GPMAA votes to expel them to expedite the merger, or the merger falls through and the status quo remains the same.

"I don't have to solve the GPMAA's problems with the ICGA. That's up to their directors. All I need to do is make sure the board of the SACC doesn't agree to the merger unless the ICGA's demands are dropped, one way or the other."

A faint smile. "Thus, avoiding the downfall of Human civilization."

"Yes, sir!" I can't resist a smirk. While I'm well aware of the importance of agriculture to the survival of the Human race, I don't often think about what I do except in terms of helping my members be successful farmers; but just for this moment, I realize that I've become kind of a big deal over the years. It's nice to have someone else recognize it, even if he does halfway scare the shit out of me.

The smile doesn't quite vanish, but I feel the predatory arrowhead of his attention focusing even further. It's still not hostile, but it's intimidating. "And how does a citrus grower become so knowledgeable on the intricacies of the production, marketing and distribution of corn?"

"I study up on it, sir, as my job requires. I talk to experts, visit farmers who earn their living from it, read agricultural journals and scholarly articles, track historical weather patterns and market trends, whatever I have to do to get the information I need to make good decisions."

"And who tends your crops while you're doing all this studying?" he asks.

"I've put in a lot of late nights over the years, sir." I explain how even before I was elected president of the SACC, I was often tasked with resolving smaller issues. Taking my life in my hands (after all, I don't suppose I was called here to criticize his staff for not doing their job properly), I use the opportunity to warn him that some of his apple trees are sick and tell him about the time apple growers in the coalition were having trouble getting pesticides and antifungals. "I had to negotiate contracts with our suppliers, so I needed to know what chemicals treated which diseases, which were most common in different parts of our territory, which were most dangerous, and so forth; and sometimes that kind of thing requires visiting the members' farms. So, when I have to travel, I keep in touch with my wife, who acts as a manager, and we have two foremen, one in charge of the facilities and one overseeing the work in the orchards, to make sure things get done properly and on schedule.

"And by the way, that looks like fire blight curling those leaves. If I'm correct, your gardener just needs to cut out the withered branches and spray it with a copper solution, then, next spring, he'll need to keep an eye on it and spray it again if the leaves start to curl up. It might take a few years, but with proper treatment and co-operative weather, he should be able to save the trees."

He nods, clearly considering what I've said, and we sit in silence for a bit. I get the strong impression that he's weighing a decision, and I'm just sipping my tea and trying not to think too hard about where I am and who I'm with.

Finally, after an eternity that might have lasted all of ninety seconds, he speaks. "Mr. Wainwright?"

I turn to face him, remembering just in time to drop my gaze so I don't seem impudent. "Yes, Your Majesty?"

"I would like you to do two things for me," he says, and my stomach clenches and my heart rises into my throat.

"Yes, sir?"

"Firstly, I would like you to prepare a commercial agricultural report for me, not just on your region or North America, but globally." He picks up his PADD and starts entering information as he speaks. "It should cover all the major agricultural industries on Earth and have four sections. These to include a brief history of the past hundred years, current trends, projections for the next decade and century, and recommendations for how to improve production and distribution of agricultural products in order to adequately feed, clothe and shelter everyone on Earth.

"I realize it will require quite a lot of research, so I'll be arranging you a stipend to pay for travel and assistance, as needed. Just be sure to keep and submit very accurate records of your expenses. I'd like to have the final report within the next six months, but if that's an unrealistic expectation, speak to Lieutenant Trainor or whomever he designates to be your point of contact to arrange a more suitable timeline."

The Emperor does not make suggestions. This is an order, and saying 'No' is not an option. Still, I'm so stunned by it that it's a moment before I can muster the appropriate reply. "Yes, sir." Behind the answer, however, my mind is churning frantically. Even with the help, how the hell am I supposed to find time for something like that?

"Please understand that I am not asking you to neglect any of your other responsibilities to do this," he adds, and I drop my gaze again as I feel him turn the intensity of his gaze from his PADD back to me. "You know how to delegate responsibilities. The stipend will more than cover the cost of hiring multiple experts from around the world to write each section of the report. Think of yourself as the chairman of a committee, not the sole author of this document. Let the committee members write the report and hold them each responsible for putting accurate information in their respective sections, then you can read the final document and offer your suggestions. If you need to hire additional help to tend your own crops, you may use the stipend for that, as well, just, again, be sure to keep and submit accurate records."

"Yes, sir," I nod again, relieved. I guess that's how I'm supposed to find the time.

"And secondly, I would like you to strongly consider accepting a post in the Imperial Cabinet, Minister of Homeworld Agriculture."

And I'm right down the rabbit hole again!

This time I can't help it. I sit there gaping at him like a landed fish, so flabbergasted I even forget the prohibition against staring. "Your Majesty?"

The smile's back. It softens his whole face. It doesn't make him any less dangerous, but even wolves can take on an almost benevolent expression with their cubs. "It will be a while before I'm ready to offer it to you, if I do – several weeks to a few months at least. And while you're the front runner and I'm not considering anyone else right now, I can't guarantee that, when the time comes, I'll still select you; however, if and when you're offered the position, I will need an answer almost immediately.

"I know it's not a decision you can make on your own and it should not be made lightly. For now, you may discuss it with your wife, your children, your parents and your parents-in-law. No one else. If any of the people I've named cannot be trusted to keep a secret, do not tell them.

"You're free to decline, and there will be no consequences if you do. You're serving the Empire well right where you are, but if you think you can do more, if you want to make a bigger difference and help more people, you should really think about this opportunity."

I swallow hard in a dry throat. I'm surprised my head hasn't exploded in the past few minutes. I have no idea how I manage to speak when I do, let alone keep my voice sounding calm and level. "Yes, Your Majesty, I'll give it careful consideration."

He seems pleased with my response and beckons a guard over to see me out. I stand when he does and shake his hand when it's offered.

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Wainwright," he says with genuine warmth. "It was a most interesting conversation. Someone from Lieutenant Trainor's office will get in touch with you early next week regarding that report."

"It was my pleasure and my honor, Your Majesty," I manage to reply without sounding giddy with relief that the meeting is over. He was a very good host, but he's still the most powerful man in the Empire and intimidating as hell. "Thank you for having me. I look forward to getting started on that project soon."

I carefully back up three paces before I turn and follow the guard back into the palace and out through the visitors' gate.

Outside, I turn up my face to the sky. I've gotten through an interview that could have seen me thrown into a cell and forgotten about, and what I'd thought fifteen minutes ago was the ceiling of opportunity has suddenly been blasted away, leaving the vista of influence beyond anything I could ever have dreamed of.

'Minister of Homeworld Agriculture'. A member of the Imperial Cabinet. How the hell will Mel look when I tell her about that?

A shadow crosses the sun. The same shadow, the one that's lurked at the back of our world ever since Admiral Black came hunting an engineering genius who was just finishing his academic career.

Trip soared high too. Got to be the Head of the Imperial Engineering Corps. But that didn't save him, and even now I know there's a corner of my wife's heart that I'll never touch, because it's his. It always was and it always will be.

If I got the offer and accepted it, will she wonder if I could ever be in a position to ask about him? I don't imagine for a second she'd even think I might put in a word for him, but I know she'd wish I could. And I suppose, if I'm honest, I'd wish it too. If he wasn't the guy my wife is still in love with, I'd find it so much easier to admit he was the nicest guy who ever drew breath, and those figures that were released to the world after his trial proved he'd earned his downfall by caring more about the poor and forgotten than he did about his own safety.

Still. For all the Emperor's cordiality, he's still a predator and the claws are still there. And then there are the back-stabbing subordinates and two-faced peers to contend with, petty, power-hungry people who will crawl over as many bodies as it takes to get where they want to be and think nothing of the chaos and destruction they leave in their wake. The decision of whether I accept the offer if I get it is something Mel and I will have to make together. It would mean a new school for Nova and we'd have to hire protection for the kids, our parents and siblings against kidnapping for ransom and random lunatic assassins. Mel, Nova and I would have to move house or install a transporter pad, which would be ridiculously expensive and require its own built-to-spec power system, because there's no practical way to commute from Panama City to San Francisco for work.

On the other hand, it would be the opportunity to do a lot of good for a lot of people, and I imagine the salary would be enough to get Mel and me, the kids, and all of our extended family and closest friends out of debt and living comfortably for the rest of our lives.

But regardless of whatever happens next, I don't pretend to be a hero like Trip, and I'm not risking everything I have on a fool's errand.

I just hope that corner of Melissa's heart that will always be his can forgive me.

If you're enjoying this story, please leave a review. Do you think Billy made a good impression? Will he get the job offer? If so, will he take it? Do you think he's prepared for all of the danger and intrigue associated with serving in the Imperial Cabinet? Will he use the chance to put in a good word for Trip?