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Odikas came from a long line of patricians, the highest caste of Kyporo. His great-grandfather was the Prime Councilor, revered and venerated, and on the rare occasions he had condescended to leave the hallowed halls of the Grand Council and stepped into the street, among the commoners, people of lesser castes knelt and touched their foreheads to the ground.
No matter how much education and cultural exposure they had, some people craved to be bowed to.
Odikas followed in the footsteps of his ancestors, climbing to the post of the highest elected official, resisting change, and doing his best to block the Dominion’s attempts to integrate the planet. His highest aspiration in life was to resurrect the old customs. He wanted to step outside his palace and see an ocean of bent backs with not a single person daring to meet his gaze. He would’ve rebelled if he could, but the Dominion managed Kyporo wisely, leaving them with little military autonomy, and the public sentiment among the younger generations wasn’t on Odikas’ side. Once the genie of freedom came out of the bottle, it was hard to put it back in.
For the forty years he was in office, Odikas flirted with separatism, made grand pronouncements about national identity and independence, and hated Kosandion’s father, who had removed the last vestiges of the old social system. When Caldenia murdered her brother, the Dominion was already facing an external threat from an alien species and domestic unrest on several fronts. His death struck the seven star systems like a meteor, causing numerous fractures. Odikas had taken full advantage of that. Kyporo was the last planet to accept Kosandion as the Sovereign, and Odikas and his faction continued to be a massive pain in the ass through his reign. Until today.
Sean pulled the earpiece out and put it on the side table between us. I took mine out as well.
“I scanned the Holy Ecclesiarch when he went to his quarters.”
Sean glanced at me.
“He’s in perfect health,” I said. “I mean he is elderly, but there is nothing inherently wrong with him. He could live another decade or two. You don’t seem surprised.”
“He doesn’t smell like a sick man on his deathbed.”
“Do really sick people smell different?”
“Usually.”
“I think Kosandion knows. I think this whole thing with the deathly ill Ecclesiarch is a sham.”
“He’s using us to clean house,” Sean said. “The Ecclesiarch’s illness is a pretext to bring everyone here and isolate them from their allies back at the Dominion. Now he can deal with them one by one.”
“You think there will be more like Odikas?”
Sean nodded. He was contemplating something.
“A penny for your thoughts?”
“Kosandion is dangerous. For Odikas it wasn’t just politics. It was personal. Kosandion recognized it, so he backed Odikas into a corner and gave him just enough rope to hang himself.”
“He is Caldenia’s nephew.”
“And that’s what worries me. I’d like to know in advance if he’s planning to settle more scores.”
Olasard stretched in my lap and turned over. We’d been so busy, I had neglected our usual cuddles, and he was determined to get all the petting he was owed. I scratched his chin.
“I can ask Her Grace. If anyone knows, she would.”
“Would she tell you?”
“I don’t know, but the worst she can do is say no.”
Sean pondered the ocean. “Every time George gets involved, things get complicated.”
“If things weren’t complicated, there would be no need for George. That’s the whole point of him.” I sighed.
“Kosandion should just marry him and be done with it.”
“The galaxy wouldn’t survive. Also, George is already married, and Kosandion isn’t foolish enough to fight Sophie for him.”
The inn tagged me. The Higgra delegation wanted to talk. I pulled up a screen to their habitat. With the Dushegubs, I didn’t bother, I just projected the disembodied voice, but the Higgra would want a visual.
The habitat appeared on the screen, a dense space of real and synthetic trees interrupted by jutting rocks with smooth tops and conveniently placed soft perches. Cyanide sprawled on the nearest perch, her huge white paws dangling over the side. Her golden eyes focused below my face and widened.
“Why did you pick him up?”
I glanced down at Olasard.
“I didn’t. He jumped into my lap on his own.”
“Why?”
“He wanted attention.”
Olasard tilted his head to give me better access to his jaw and flashed his emerald-green eyes at Cyanide.
The two cats stared at each other.
A minute passed.
Another.
“Is there something you wanted?” I asked.
“Yes.” Cyanide frowned in a weird cat way, her muzzle going slack, her forehead wrinkling.
Olasard kneaded my knee with his claws gently and looked at me. I held out my hand. Gertrude Hunt dropped a brush into it, and I began gently brushing his soft gray fur.
Cyanide lifted herself up on her forelegs and leaned all the way into the screen.
Olasard purred.
“What was it you wanted?” I prompted.
