Chapter Twenty-Five
A Position of Influence
Lieutenant Ian Trainor
Personal Assistant and Chief Protocol Officer to Emperor Austin Burnell
Well, that's another job ticked off the list.
As I walk briskly back to my office, as confident as I can be that Mr. Wainwright has all the guidelines necessary to make a good impression in the flesh to confirm the one his business records gave us, my mind is already moving on to the next job on the list. My time these days ticks along as steadily as the beats of a metronome, and the slices of time are damnably thin, with a heck of a lot to be packed into each one of them if I'm to give his Majesty the support he needs.
Mr. Odoemene is hovering, clearly hoping to buttonhole me for clarification of his position, but I certainly don't have time for idle chat. So, I'm afraid I have to be a bit abrupt with him. I go over and, without giving him a chance to speak, recite something very similar to the speech I'd rehearsed with the Emperor.
"Mr. Odoemene, I'm so sorry we kept you waiting, but, as I am sure you are aware by now, your audience with the Emperor has been pre-empted by a much more important visitor. And I'm sorry we wasted your time, but the Emperor is very annoyed that you wasted his. He's asked me to tell you that he's cottoned on to your schemes and has no intention of helping you skirt the normal established routines for processing budgetary requests. It's not his place to approve or deny anyone's budget and you would be wise to never again attempt to manipulate him into giving the appearance of doing so. 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, as has been the established protocol 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, you would do well 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."
Odoemene's jaw has been steadily dropping throughout this speech, his face flushing with wrath at being spoken to in this way by someone he undoubtedly views as a mere 'glorified secretary'. He finally splutters something about disrespect and having a word with the Emperor at the next cabinet meeting and then we'll see what happens to lackeys who overstep their authority, but I'm ready to move on to the next item on my list, so I give him one last bit of advice. He can take it as a threat if he wants to.
"Oh, I wouldn't do that if I were you," I say darkly.
He opens his mouth to respond but stops himself to give me a measuring look as if suddenly realizing that I am well more than a lackey and I know it.
I want this done and dusted. I want it off my schedule and the man gone from my offices, now. So I'm brutally blunt with him, and I strip off whatever remnant is left of the kid gloves that allow him to think he can underestimate me.
"You had a meeting scheduled with the Emperor himself. A meeting which the Emperor himself decided was a waste of his time. He assigned me the task of getting rid of you. Do you really think, under such circumstances, I would utter a single word to a government minister that wasn't already approved by the Emperor himself?
"Submit your records and budget request to the Chancellor of the Exchequer and pray they are sufficient, Mr. Odoemene. At the moment you are still merely a nuisance. You don't want to find out what happens when the Emperor considers you a problem."
I walk away leaving him to sputter in shock and outrage. His position will shortly be becoming a lot clearer, but that particular side of the business is nowhere near my remit – I have more than enough to do without getting my boots into that swamp.
As I reach my desk, in the office which is both smartly styled and immaculately clean (as befits my position these days), I reach automatically to bring up the relevant details for the next demand on my attention. I already have the rough sketch of it in my mind, but my PA will have made a checklist of any relevant information I'll need to be aware of during the meeting. I need to be fully briefed before I go in, as my report to the Emperor will be one of the things that may directly influence policy on the revision of the Martian Colony mining regulations, which could one day have far-reaching conse–
My hand freezes on the PADD as I actually hear the words in my head.
My report to the Emperor may be one of the things that may directly influence policy.
Dear God.
When did that happen?
When did I become a person whose judgment carried that much weight with the supreme authority over the Terran Empire?
Yes, I've put in the work. I've made sure that every step I've made was secured, every decision backed by solid information, every word I've uttered checked and double checked. If my career has been a mountain I set out to climb, I came prepared – insofar as anyone can be, considering the completely unexpected leaps involved – and I used every safety precaution the book suggested and some it didn't. But mostly my days have consisted of steady, relentless effort, the view confined to either unyielding walls of gray rock into which I have to drive piton after piton to hold the ropes that keep me from tumbling into the depths below, or blinding snowfields, where the only landmarks are the black depths of the crevasses that gape on either side of my planted boots or the frozen corpses of men who came this way and died doing it.
And oxygen. There's never nearly enough oxygen at these heights, not enough to allow you to draw one unburdened breath. The harder you work the less air you pull in, but if you don't work hard, you can't get any further forward. And staying where you are is not an option; there's too much to do if the Emperor's vision is ever to be realized.
Not that it will be in his lifetime, he realizes that. Just occasionally he's allowed me brief glimpses into the revolutionary ideas he entertains, and even what I've seen tells me that however long either of us lives, neither of us will ever see the fruit of the trees he's planting.
But today, with those words, just sixteen of them that flowed through my mind when I really wasn't even thinking, hardly a ripple in the constant stream of planning and analysis that constitutes the daily reality of my life, the clouds parted for just a moment. The rock walls are still there, the crevasses still threaten, the oxygen is still hard to come by; but for the first time, without any warning at all, the all-encompassing grayness rolled back and there it is: the view. The revelation of how high I am, how far behind me are the days when I was both thrilled and honored to be given the opportunity to become the Personal Assistant to the guy who was the SiC of the MACOs.
I've heard it said before, and it's true, that once you learn how to walk it never again occurs to you what a monumental balancing act you carry out while you're busy doing other things that it would take sophisticated programmers years to make a robot do a quarter as well. You simply forget how impossible it was at first to make legs and spine align, to make your feet, ankles, knees and hips perform the infinitely sophisticated adjustments that allow you to not just stand on a flat surface but to traverse broken terrain with hardly more than a cursory glance to ensure the foot is correctly positioned to deal with the landing without risking the effective operation of the ankle, that the knee will extend or retract to allow for height differences between one step and the next. All the marvelous interplay of the spine and neck muscles acts as the most astoundingly efficient shock absorber so that your surveillance of the environment is never for one second interrupted by the immense, completely unconscious complexity of walking.
I remember when I first came to Jupiter Station I was overwhelmed by the significance of the job I was taking on, by the weight of responsibility. True, I'd had some experience in the role, but at my age, not as much – everyone in a similar role with whom I interacted always seemed to be years older than me, and some of them seemed to regard me almost as a boy trying to take on a man's job. Fortunately for me, there were enough who were prepared to give me some of the guidance I needed, and even more fortunately, Colonel Burnell (as he was then) was remarkably tolerant of honest mistakes. I truly can't remember a time when he even spoke to me sharply over something I'd done wrong. Mostly, as long as you were open about what had happened and had done what you could to put things right (and better still if you'd been able to come up with some way of ensuring it wouldn't happen again), he'd brush aside the apology. I don't think I've ever met a guy so utterly focused on results, to the extent that genuine errors by his staff were merely incidental things that once dealt with were 'out of sight, out of mind'.
That's not to imply he doesn't demand the best out of everyone who serves him. The idle and the simply careless will be disposed of in short order. So even without the annual performance reviews, which he's carried out faithfully until now (I'd imagine he might not have time from now on, though with his Majesty you really never know) I could feel confident that I must be doing things pretty right, because if I wasn't I'd have been weeded out long before this; I've seen enough to believe that he has a vein of real kindness in him, but it doesn't prevent him from being mercilessly practical.
But – now I come to be confronted by the stark reality, I have power. Me, Ian Trainor, a certified nobody from no family in particular. I get to give Government Ministers the brush-off. I have a staff of my own – well let's face it, there's no way in hell I'd get the job done if I hadn't.
And though I've carefully handled all the 'marks of respect' that have come my way in the proper manner, entering them in the 'Hospitality Book' and disposing them by official channels so there's never been any possibility of my being accused of accepting bribes (I dare say quite a few people have been startled and disgusted by that result, given how politely I accepted everything I was offered), I simply hadn't realized, until I come back to look back on it now, how many they were. Some of them were seriously valuable. One or two were probably worth something like a year's salary, but they all went the same way; and in hindsight, I suspect it probably wasn't in the least coincidental that shortly following each of those occasions I was awarded an extremely generous bonus for 'excellence in performance'. To be honest I've never connected the two before now, but it just goes to show; nothing seems to be too insignificant for the Emperor to interest himself in it. I suppose if I think about it, he has to be vigilant of everyone he trusts to give him advice – he's fully aware of the way power corrupts, and if someone has started taking bribes, he can't trust that advice to be impartial any longer. It's really remarkable (to me, anyway) the way he positively encourages people to tell him stuff that runs counter to his ideas. As I mentioned to Mr. Wainwright, he wants things to work, and if he doesn't get balanced information on an issue, sooner or later that will tell. He's not interested in 'Yes men'.
Still. In spite of the fact – maybe even because of the fact – that I haven't used my influence to make myself a whole lot richer, the change in my financial position is another thing that makes my head spin when I stop to think about it. I earn more than the CEO of some small companies. I don't just have a luxury flat here in San Francisco, I have the use of a beachfront condo in Malibu (though to be honest, my family go there for holidays more than I do). The days are gone when Mom went to work because the family finances wouldn't stretch to cover the bills otherwise, and they've been able to afford to move to a house in a much better district. Nothing too grand, because she says she wouldn't feel comfortable, but the sort of place where you don't have to go around religiously last thing at night making sure every door is both locked and bolted. I think it still gives her a kick when she sees footage on TV of the Emperor attending some conference or other and I'm usually there somewhere in the background, a member of his personal staff.
Yeah. I still have to stop and catch my breath when I think about it. I'm a member of the personal staff of the monarch of the Terran Empire. He listens when I tell him things. He has that – that quality – I'm not sure it's a 'gift', because it can be damned unnerving – of listening to you like you're the only thing that exists in the Universe. Definitely at first there were times when it really creeped me out, like I was being stared at by a hungry wolf or something, but when I got used to it I realized it's just his way of paying absolute attention – he's not just listening to the words, he's weighing up your body language and your tone and everything else, pulling in all the details to help him evaluate the information. Just once I saw him catch someone in an attempt at a lie to protect themselves, and it was so quick, he pounced so fast it was like looking at an owl dropping onto a mouse in the grass; I half expected to hear the squeak. I definitely did hear the squealing afterwards as he ripped the lie into shreds and tore the truth out of the guy. That was the day I saw the duranium fist under the velvet glove. I mean, I've always been convinced it was there, but when you actually see it in action – man, it's something else.
A pop-up on my screen indicates that I've received an e-mail from the Emperor. I click to open it, and upon reading it, set myself reminders to fund an account for Mr. Wainwright's research, choose someone from my staff to liaise with him, and schedule a conference call to introduce them. Briefly, I consider having someone compile a list of potential research assistants and contacts, but part of the reason we wanted Mr. Wainwright for this task is that he's an expert in the field not already enmeshed in government affairs. I decide instead to let him know assistance in finding people to help him with the project is available for the asking, but he shouldn't feel obliged to consult us. The Emperor feels that the less anyone tied to the current government is involved with the report, the more likely it is to be accurate.
I resume disposing of other mundane tasks, and my mind turns back to its previous train of thought.
Even the Empress notices I exist sometimes. Not like she engages me in conversation or anything, but now and again she's asked me to take a message to him about something and of course I oblige. She's perfectly civil, though that's what you'd expect of an Empress I suppose. Not that that's too accurate a guide, because I've heard plenty of gossip about some supposedly very high and mighty ladies who can be absolute bitches, but I can only speak as I find, and Empress Sato seems very comfortable with things at the moment. I have to say it was a bit embarrassing being so close to events when the Emperor consummated the marriage (I tried not to peek, but yeah, I'm human) but if it bothered her, she's never given any sign of it. In hindsight I suppose she has much more important things to worry about than a relatively insignificant member of her husband's entourage (and a gay one, at that) getting a glimpse of what's usually confined to her husband or a gynaecologist; and if I'm honest, I found the sight of her husband's ass with those beautifully tailored pants slipping down it far more arousing than anything she had. I definitely had my work cut out not to take the opportunity of staring at that.
And the guy himself. Even in my dreams I can hardly bring myself to think of him as 'Austin', especially not now, but man, I've got it so bad for him. I have sexual partners, very carefully selected – he's not going to allow anything like an unsatisfied libido to come between me and peak efficiency, but even those are vetted, members of a select agency who do what they do because they enjoy it, not because they have to earn a living from it – but even though I never in even the most unguarded moment allow myself to say anything of it aloud, I live out an impossible daydream.
Another pop-up. His Majesty is asking me to send him the qualifications of the gardener assigned to the apple orchard and to schedule ten minutes with him tomorrow after lunch. This is easily done, and when I find he's just a boy in his early twenties who was hired as a labourer right out of high school with no training, I also include the information on his supervisor. I make the appointment tentative and make a mental note to ask about the reason for it the next time we speak. If this is just another time-waster like Mr. Odoemene and not an appropriate use of the Emperor's limited time, I'll ask if I may relay his concerns to the head gardener to resolve.
You can't help who you love, can you? I wouldn't ever have the presumption to say anything, but sometimes I wonder if he has any idea at all what I feel about him. You'd think proximity would wear away the fascination – I spend hours in his office every day, and not a word is said between us for much of that time – but even after I've spent myself with a lover the previous evening, it doesn't change a thing. The surface of my mind may be thundering along dealing with the endless flow of tasks I can't afford to neglect, and still one movement of his arm reaching out for some item on his desk will catch my attention and I'm captivated by the idea of how those muscles must ripple under the smooth naked skin. Or he'll walk past me to the bathroom, and I catch a faint waft of that beautiful woody, slightly musky smell that hangs around him, and I'm snatched into a dream of inhaling it from his bare body. When I'm even jealous of the amount of attention he gives that dratted kitten when it slips in to plague us, man, you know I've got it bad. It's not that I particularly dislike Rama – he's actually a cute little guy – but when he gets to sneak under the Emperor's desk and I don't, I can't help but wish we could trade places. One thing I can tell you, I wouldn't be playing with shoelaces.
Damn, that's made things uncomfortable. I'd better make sure my chair's safely pulled under my desk before I comm anyone of a sensitive disposition.
Almost on the thought, the buzzer goes. Cursing that even now my pulse jolts for a very unprofessional reason indeed, I answer it. He most likely wants to mention something that will have a bearing on the meeting later on.
But apparently not. "Do you have anything particularly important scheduled at 16:00 this afternoon, Ian?"
"Nothing that can't be put off, your Majesty." Mentally disposing of the representatives of a good dozen Cabinet Ministers who'll have had this meeting in their calendars for weeks.
"Good. I've been thinking I'm getting somewhat soft lately with all this sybaritic living. I think it would help keep me on the straight and narrow if I have a training partner – someone to work out with every day. A bit of sparring, jogging – just something to stop me turning into an idle fat hog.
"If you'd be willing, of course."
I hope, I pray, that he has no telepathic abilities in that moment. Because man, I would give him the workout of his life every night. But as it is, I can't express how thrilled and honored I am to be asked this – I mean, asked, like he couldn't just say 'This is what you're going to be doing, like it or not'.
From bitter experience I know exactly the oaths that are going to fly when I drop this on my secretary. I heard Commander Tucker trying to schmooze that treacherous bitch Chastain when he had to change his schedule at a moment's notice, and even then, I could imagine what she said when he closed the connection, chocolate éclairs or no chocolate éclairs. But no way am I going to pass up an opportunity like this.
"I'll have the appropriate clothes ready for both of us, your Majesty."
"I'll look forward to it. Perhaps you can brief me on your meeting while we go – any parts of it that aren't classified of course.
"Burnell out."
I feel like I could melt into a puddle of goo on the spot. I'm so pathetic. And yet if you offered me a cure tomorrow, I wouldn't take it.
When you can't have whatever you want, I've always been a believer in wanting whatever you can have.
If you're enjoying this story, please leave a review. Isn't Ian lovely? He's been working diligently all this time, the faithful servant to a man he admires and, oops! All of a sudden, he's SOMEBODY! How would you feel? And what of his infatuation with Austin? Will it ever be requited?