Chapter 142: [ Book 2 ] Chapter 2: Noble Matters

Several days prior…

Imperatrix Aran’ch Rragustus, offspring of recently deceased Imperatrix Oron’ch Erutus and his fourth lifemate Quso’sh Ishran, next in line as the leader of the Royalty and destined ruler of the entire Pree race, wondered from the elegant grandiosity of the royal throne when the overgrown child that was minister Tryssnym would shut up.

Words poured from the minister’s flabby mouth like the torrential spring rain common to his native region on their homeworld of Preemona. His garish outfit was a little too tight and colorful, reflecting the latest fashion trends of the commoners.

Traditionally, the nobility—especially the Royalty—influenced the people, not the other way around. But this was how Tryssnym operated; always bringing attention to himself like an unmatched courtesan at a royal gala.

He ranted about a dispute with a neighboring region whose mountains fed the rivers cutting through his childhood home. Recent projects had altered tributaries and caused flooding.

None of which Rragustus cared about, or should have even been bothered with for that matter.

The Imperatrix guided the fate of the entire Pree race. Settling border disputes sat far outside—and far below—that realm of responsibility. The same went for Tryssnym who, as minister of economics, had far too many duties to be concerned with the affairs of his home region.

Rragustus knew the minister was and always would be the narcissistic offspring of a low-born noble.

But the Imperatrix tolerated Tryssnym, and his self-indulgent rants, because Rragustus knew how to play the long game. He’d dedicated his entire life to positioning himself to take the throne. Becoming Imperatrix meant garnering favor with the power players. Tryssnym—well known for his connections among the ruling class—was the most important noble outside of the Royalty bloodline.

Rragustus knew this was more due to the minister’s overbearing and bullying personality than the fear of him being an actual political threat. For all his grandiosity and bluster, he preferred resolutions rather than feuds or drama. Being an annoying pest to sway a vote or alter a decree was far more effective than humiliating opponents and stoking flames of vengeance.

But given the news the Imperatrix had received a few hours prior, there was no time for the minister’s games. Not when the future of their race was at stake.

“Minister Tryssnym,” Rragustus said. His regal voice, honed with deliberate practice, carried in the cavernous council chamber. Stone archways curved overhead along the length of the room. Sculptures of prominent historical figures lined the exterior walls on either side of the table. Carved from dense minerals from the great quarries of the capital region, the pearl-white veneers held thin swirls of gray striation. A five-meter diameter stained glass window bathed the room in a pleasant midday glow.

The ancient castle had stood for generations. The decisions made within its walls guided the Pree to the monumental achievement of becoming a spacefaring race. As the interim Imperatrix, Rragustus inherited the tremendous responsibility to continue that history.

At the interruption of his rant, Tryssnym slowed his words. His eyes registered Rragustus’s acknowledgment, but his mouth kept going as if on autopilot.

Rragustus wasn’t deterred. He spoke over the minister. “Your concern has been noted by the council. We have a subject of utmost importance to discuss. You may address the council should time remain at the end.”

Tryssnym dipped his head. “Yes, of course, Imperatrix. How could I let the matter of the charter slip my mind?”

A few other ministers smirked. The Imperatrix did not. He found no humor in the most consequential decision the Pree people had ever faced.

Tryssnym’s comment teetered on the edge of disrespect. But that was Tryssnym’s game. And Rragustus knew the hidden truth—Tryssnym resented that he would never achieve Imperatrix. His bloodline was too divergent from the Royalty, Tryssnym himself too unsophisticated, too homely.

That bitterness was the key to manipulating Tryssnym. Finding a weakness to exploit was a vital skill of a successful Imperatrix. Something Rragustus had learned early on observing his predecessor fail at it miserably.

“I sympathize with you, minister. We all wish for a day when the Commonwealth charter no longer consumes the discussions in this room, let alone the focus of our society,” the Imperatrix said. He smiled. “I’ve gathered us here to announce that day will soon be upon us.”

At this, the minsters perked up. Several went to speak but Rragustus silenced them with a gentle wave of his hand. “First let us begin the council.”

The Protopriest entered the council chamber He wore his cassock decorated with the colors of the spring offerings—a white base with stripes of gold and blue. In his hands, he held a copy of the Sacred Text. Placing it atop the table, he recited the Pray of the Spirits, then a selected reading. ‘The Will of the True Believer.’ A highly appropriate selection in the Imperatrix's opinion. It told the story of a priest ridiculed by members of his tribe for his incessant belief that the Spirits disapproved of the location of the village.

“The Spirits speak to us. We must hold this sacred ground,” the priest preached at the nightly feast.

One day, the chieftain, soured by a poor hunt, grew tired of the priest and cast him out. The tribe packed up and moved away. The priest moved on to a lesser tribe, who settled for the deserted land. The following spring, a flood came and washed away the priest’s old tribe. He, the true believer, was the sole survivor.

The Protopriest concluded his reading and padded out of the room. The other ministers appeared to catch on to the significance of the story, and shot cautious glances at the Imperatrix.

“The council begins,” Rragustus said. He offered a nod of permission to the minister of diplomacy. “Minister, please relay to the council what you told me a few hours ago.”

The minister of diplomacy leaned forward in his chair. His face had the soft features suited for charming diplomats, officials, and executives. But even his pleasing appearance could do little to dampen the serious expression he broadcast to those around the table. The other ministers recognized the gravity of the announcement and did their best to project neutrality.

“This morning I received a message from the Commonwealth Ambassador.” He paused. “She informed me that Commonwealth is sending a diplomatic fleet for the charter summit. They will arrive in approximately two cycles.”

None of the other ministers spoke, but their sidelong glances and dour expressions revealed their thoughts.

The minister of commerce said, “I don’t understand. The Acculturation movement does not have the votes to ratify the Commonwealth’s charter. Why force a vote now?”

“The Commonwealth has no other choice because their existence is running short on time,” Rragustus said. The news of the diplomatic mission had taken him by surprise too, though he had expected the inevitability of it. The loss of the planet Auturia was a blow to the Commonwealth’s power and prestige, and their inability to deduce the cause weakened their stature with each passing cycle.

“It is a bold move. Are they that desperate?” another minister asked.

The minister of diplomacy said, “The Ghupto have seceded from the Commonwealth. Other member races threaten the samanymultiple races currently negotiating their charter to seek better terms. Given our unique situation, they are in desperate need of our membership.”

“Unique situation?” Tryssnym said with an unusual edge in his voice. “Those are not the words I would use to describe the loss of the Imperatrix and several ministers in the destruction of the Commonwealth’s prized colony planet. It is the greatest tragedy of our race.”

The subject conjured a heaviness in the room. The minister of faith said, “May the Spirits guide the Imperatrix and our lost ministers to their eternal rest.”

“Praise the Spirits,” the others said and bowed their heads.

The Imperatrix counted in silence. When he determined the least amount of time had passed to quantify as respectful, he spoke.

“Despite our sorrow, we’ve been gifted a great opportunity. The unfortunate truth is we were heading toward ratification. The rot of the Acculturation movement had spread into the very heart of our Theocracy.”

What Rragustus left unsaid was the previous Imperatrix had allowed this to happen. His leadership, or lack of it, had spelled doom for their cultural integrity. His death was a blessing in disguise. Rragustus could see the same feelings in the eyes of many around the table.

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“Almost half the regents have fled Preemona to hide from the Theocracy among Acculturation supporters,” Tryssnym said. “Our opportunity is not going well so far.”

“It is a setback, but one we will overcome,” Rragustus said, and glanced at the minister of governance.

“Three more regents have pledged their allegiance to the Preservationist movement,” the minister said.

“And two others left to join their friends hiding in Preemona!” Tryssnym said.

“It’s still a net gain of one!”

“And we still teeter on the edge of failure. The Acculturation movement continues to draw prominent support. Scholars, executives, cultural icons succumb to its propaganda. Our youth is particularly vulnerable. Our disinformation efforts are failing,” Tryssnym said, shooting an accusatory glance at the minister of culture.

Rragustus suppressed a smile. Tryssnym’s skill at undercutting others was admirable when directed elsewhere.

“The Acculturation movement continues to lure regents to their side. We must secure more votes before it is too late,” another minister added.

“We will,” Rragustus said. “Our strategy does not change. You each will continue to play your role. Show the people our system works. That our culture deserves protection.

“The Commonwealth may appear to be taking the offensive, but they do so out of desperation. Beginning today, we will launch an offensive of our own. A combined-media campaign to destroy the credibility of the Commonwealth before the negotiators set one foot upon our planet. Our people will be reminded on a daily basis of Auturia, of the years of failed charter negotiations, of the Ghupto’s secession. We will continue to distance ourselves from the Commonwealth. By the time their ships arrive, the ratification vote will result in their humiliating defeat.”

The minister of commerce said, “I agree with your plan of action, Imperatrix, but I’m concerned your proposed efforts are not much different from what we’ve been doing. How will the outcome be different this time?”

“I have a few resources yet to be played.”

“Care to share them with the council, Imperatrix?” Tryssnym asked. It was a ploy. He knew the answer. “Do you not trust us?”

The answer of course was no, and many around the table knew that. Tryssnym played his power games, as he always did.

Rragustus offered Tryssnym a polite smile. “Of course. But there is always a threat of spies and hacks. As such, we must maintain utmost secrecy. But I assure you, soon enough you will witness the results.”

He stared at Tryssnym long enough to convey that the minister should not challenge the Imperatrix again.

The minister of security said. “The Commonwealth has security flotillas patrolling our system and agents infiltrating among the populace. Surely they will attempt to influence the vote.”

“They will,” the minister of diplomacy said. “But they must tread very carefully. All eyes are watching this ratification vote. If the Commonwealth is caught in a scandal, it would severely harm their reputation. Every anti-piracy patrol must be by the book, every transaction and license distribution fully documented. They cannot afford a mistake.”

“And what of Cosmogenic?” the minister of commerce said. The mention of the Commonwealth’s ideological opponent always exerted a palpable discomfort in the room. “They supposedly seek the downfall of the Commonwealth, yet they lurk in the shadows and refuse to take action to assist us or any others who oppose the charter.”

“I have received unofficial communications from them,” the Imperatrix said. “They continue to provide useful intelligence and resources behind the scenes.”

“Covert operations. Exactly what we need,” Tryssnym said.

“What we need is courage from everyone in this room,” Rragustus said. There was more bite in his voice than he intended. Tryssnym met his gaze, the minister’s olfactory slits contracting, but he kept quiet. “The future of our civilization is at stake. We must stand our ground or risk losing all that makes us unique. I have no intention of failing in the face of the spirits. We will defeat this ratification effort. Our culture will be saved.”

Several of the ministers grunted in approval. Tryssnym noticed several sets of eyeballs upon him and offered a slight nod. It was the most Rragustus would get out of the minister.

The minister of security said, “Imperatrix, though I am fully committed to repealing the charter, I must state what we already know to be true. The Commonwealth is under attack from inside and out. Internal dissenters, troublemakers, the resurgent Cosmogenic. Should our charter be nullified, the Commonwealth may very well cease to exist in short order. That could lead to outbreaks of war.”

“That is a very real possibility,” Rragustus said. “But we are in a very different position than we were before the Reconciliation. We have a security force with the capability to protect our populace. Nothing short of a formidable fleet, such as one on par with the Human Coalition Military, could threaten us.”

A few ministers nodded their approval of such a result. Others portrayed grim acceptance.

“I agree, Imperatrix,” Tryssnym said. It was a factual statement, devoid of any attempt at undermining Rragustus.

The Imperatrix looked at each minister as he spoke. “As arbiters of our race, we cannot let any decision about our future be influenced by the potential political consequences of a bloated bureaucracy who let a monumental achievement slip through their inattentive grip. I’ll give credit where it is due. The Commonwealth was able to achieve relative peace throughout the known galaxy. And here we are a short time later, ready for it all to fall apart on behalf of their negligence and incompetence. Their stunning achievement matched by an equally stunning failure.”

The ministers traded glances all around the table. Unease, even fear, flashed between them. Tryssnym patted a hand on the table.

“I am glad the Commonwealth has set a deadline. The time has come to put an end to this stalemate.”

Rragustus stood. A signal the council was ended, and his words the final statement of the event.

“These are hard decisions, with real consequences,” he said, folding his hands in front of him. “But, now is the time for bravery. Now is the time to stand our ground and resist the imminent subversion of our culture. Of all cultures the Commonwealth seeks to dissolve beneath the guise of their charter.” He lifted his arms to either side of the table. “I vow to you, and the Spirits, that we will prevail. And when we do, we will seat ourselves at the council table of galactic order. Whether that be Cosmogenic or some other body, our people will have a voice in what is to come.”

The others nodded in agreement. Even minister Tryssnym.

“Then our business here is concluded. You all know what to do.”

The ministers stood and bowed. All except Tryssnym who lifted a hand. “Imperatrix, you promised time in the end for discussion of the flooding.”

The Imperatrix stared death at Tryssnym. The other ministers glanced at each other in disbelief.

A grin spread on Tryssnym’s face. “I am only teasing, Imperatrix. We all have vital tasks to attend to. But, once we’ve dealt with this charter business for good, we will have to address these less important matters.”

The Imperatrix smiled at his political nemesis. “Minister, I look forward to the day when flooding issues are the top concern for our council.”

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