Democracy's Light

Chapter Thirty-Seven

“Are you nervous?”

Tiberius flinched, half-convinced that Alicia knew everything. He hadn’t told her anything about Daria, or about Cordova, or the plan to unseat — assassinate — Colin, even though she was his lover. She wasn’t Family and, therefore, couldn’t be really trusted. The fact that Daria knew enough to bring down half of the Thousand Families was bad enough; he didn’t want to think about what could happen if Alicia and he ever had a falling out. Marriage, particularly Family weddings, rarely lasted more than a few decades.

He scowled as the ground passed by under their aircar. He’d been brought up to know that he would have a partner chosen for him by his father, just to ensure that the Cicero Family remained prominent among the Thousand Families, who would be from a Family that needed to be aligned with his Family. The act of marriage, even if it had been in name only, would have altered the balance of power for a few years, before the tides changed and the balance altered again. Alicia wouldn’t have been chosen for him, unless her Family somehow managed to develop something the Cicero Family needed; it would have been far more likely for him to marry someone like Kathy Tyler. Instead, he’d inherited the Headship and found himself choosing his own bride.

“Slightly,” he said, as the small building appeared over the horizon. By long-standing agreement, the Imperial Register was neutral ground. The handful of people who ran it had no allegiance to any Clan or Family, choosing instead to remain out of the political struggle and remain above the fray. His father had once said that they were the only honest people on Earth, although he had added, in his deliberately cynical voice, that everyone had their price, or their breaking point. “Aren’t you?”

The building rose up in front of them, a fairy-tale castle, built using the latest materials. It should have fallen crashing to the ground under its own weight, but the metal struts hidden under the shining stone held it in the air, despite looking too thin to hold up anything. The designer had allowed his imagination to run wild, creating a housing for the Register that looked magnificent, and yet slightly silly. Tiberius had wondered, when he had last seen the building, if that were the point. The entire concept was more than a little outdated.

They were greeted, as the aircar landed, by a woman wearing a monkish robe. “Welcome to the Register,” she said, in a voice that was flat and devoid of all emotion. The custodians of the Imperial Register cared nothing for social graces, or even for the people they dealt with every week. Her face, hidden within the robe, was almost impossible to see, while the shapeless robe robbed her of every trace of femininity. “Please follow me.”

She turned and led them into a darkened corridor. They followed, admiring the neatly-designed interior of the building, even if it seemed somehow unwelcoming to their eyes. Tiberius had seen some odd places before, buildings designed by children or spoilt trust fund brats, but the Imperial Register was just odd. If he hadn’t known better, he would have sworn that aliens had constructed it, rather than a human with an advanced knowledge of the human mind and a determination to ensure that no one lingered within his building. It wasn’t a place for the Families.

He scowled. The Imperial Register was the final court of appeal for the Thousand Families, the custodian of their past. The files stored within the fairytale castle could change lives or reshape the past, depending on who gained access to them. His DNA code had been stored at the Register when he’d been born, confirming him as the latest Cicero child, and again when he’d become the Clan’s Head. Every member of the Thousand Families had an entry in the Register, ranging from the legitimate children to the bastards and other accidents left in the wake of a Family member. A registered bastard child might not be in the line of succession, but a smart bastard could go far, using the Family line as a starting point. Some of them had made quite decent careers in the Imperial Navy, despite not having the right to carry the Family’s name. The only difference between them and Tiberius, he acknowledged, was that they had been born in the wrong place, to the wrong mother.

And Daria started out that way, he thought, with a flicker of grim amusement. He had wondered how his father had come to trust her and had finally realised, after spending weeks combing though the files, that Janice had been a Family bastard. Not from Cicero, which was almost a pity, but from a different Family. That hadn’t been common knowledge, not even to most of the Families, probably because her father had cut all ties with her after she had made herself Empress. It had been a unique revenge.

“You are here to link your codes and declare yourself man and wife,” the woman said. She hadn’t even shared her name with them. “Any children born of your body” — she nodded to Alicia — “will be regarded as the first tier of the Cicero Family, the Heirs to the Clan’s history, obligations and honours. You are to become a Cicero until you separate. Do you understand and accept the obligations inherent in this ceremony?”

“I do,” Alicia said. Her hand snuck into Tiberius’s hand. Her Family, being lesser, would be officially dead to her as long as she was his wife. Her children, which she might have grown in a birthing vat rather than in her own womb, would be Cicero, rather than being part of her Family. It was the only way to keep the Families straight, but Tiberius knew that some Family Members were often torn between blood and obligations. It wasn’t as if she was formally forbidden contact with her Family, but she was no longer theirs, not until they parted. “I do understand.”

“Good,” the monk said. They stepped suddenly into a lighted room. “You will be welcomed, I am sure.”

Tiberius might have responded angrily to that remark — he hadn’t realised how cynical the monkish guardians of the Imperial Register were — but the room distracted his attention. It was a massive room, large enough to hold hundreds of people, and it was almost entirely populated by holographic people. They moved around the room in a complicated dance, sometimes holding hands, sometimes standing alone, their movements perfectly choreographed. He sucked in his breath sharply as he recognised his father, looking as he had on the day when he married his mother, holding his mother’s hand. He’d seen images of his father before, since the day that he’d died, but there was something uniquely real about the image facing him now.

“This is the core of the Imperial Register,” the monk said, as the holograms parted to allow them to walk through the room and up to a single wooden desk. “The holograms represent the current state of play within the Families, each official relationship illuminated for all to see.”

Tiberius shivered. “My parents are dead,” he said, flatly. Anger was starting to push aside the butterflies in his stomach. The entire scene was hauntingly intimidating… and he didn’t even understand why. “Why are they even here?”

“Your parents gave birth to you and the remainder of your siblings,” the monk said, as they reached the desk. “As long as their bloodlines remain in play, we keep their images here, just to remind us of how the bloodlines interact.”

“Bloodlines,” Tiberius said, shaking his head. It was a delusion that he hadn’t shared to any great extent — being born a junior son — but one that affected too many of the Families. It was the delusion that blood alone made them better than any of the commoners, that they had earned their positions merely by being born into a world of wealth and luxuries beyond the imagination of the commoners they ground underfoot, an asserted that things would never change. Things had changed. The rebellion had shattered the Families and their grip on power… and even if Daria’s plan worked, they were still going to be weakened. “Why is this so important?”

“It is what we were trained to do,” the monk said, flatly. There was absolutely no doubt in her voice. “We are charged with keeping track of the different bloodlines so that Family-owned assets are treated properly, so that Family lines are not split — or, for that matter, cursed with the taint of incest. We are the final court of appeal for any Family union and our disapproval can prevent a wedding from occurring.”

Tiberius scowled. No one would say anything, aloud, if they married without the concurrence of the Imperial Register, but people would talk behind their backs, discussing the possible reasons for the marriage being rejected. It would weaken his position considerably and, far more, weaken the position of any of his children. They would find their right to being the Heir questioned, their positions weakened until they collapsed, placing someone else at the head of the Family. Gwendolyn and the other second-tier members wouldn’t hesitate to take advantage of such weakness. How could they resist?

“Please stand before the desk,” the monk said, unaware of their thoughts. “The ceremony is brief and painless.”

The desk had a sense of age that was impossible to ignore, Tiberius realised, as they stepped onto the dais. It was simple, constructed from a fine wood that felt strange to the touch, holding only a massive paper manuscript and a single glowing globe. The monk stepped over to the other side and opened the manuscript, revealing names from long ago, written in a variety of different hands. There was no dust as she turned the pages, one by one, revealing names that had passed into legend, or in some cases into infamy.

Jason’s name will be in here somewhere, Tiberius said, remembering her father’s library. It would be impossible to hack into a paper volume, no matter how hard anyone tried. The monks guarded it jealously. Any discrepancies could be checked against the master copy. He felt unseen eyes watching them as pages turned, one by one, until she found a blank page.

“Tiberius Cicero, place your hand on the orb,” the monk ordered. It took him a moment to realise that she meant the globe. He placed his hand on it and the light brightened, just for an instant, before fading slightly. He saw a darkened image of his hand glowing on the sphere, before it faded away into the light. “Your identity is confirmed.”

Tiberius nodded. The worst nightmare of anyone from the Families was replacement, by a clone, or another Family Member, or even a computer hacker who managed to hack into one of the databases that the Imperial Register produced for the other worlds. The DNA coding, stored within the master system, would ensure that no substitutes could slip through the web and claim Family status. There were hundreds of pretenders, every year, but most of them were weeded out fairly quickly. Some of them had even been invited to join High Society in their own right.

“Alicia, no longer of any Family, place your hand on the orb,” the monk ordered. Alicia, effectively naked now without a Family, followed her instructions. “Your identity is confirmed.”

The monk passed Tiberius a simple pen. “Write your name within the book,” she ordered. Tiberius complied. Alicia, a moment later, followed him. “You are now lawfully united in matrimony until you choose to separate.”

Tiberius smiled slightly. The whole ceremony still felt slightly ridiculous, but it would help keep some of the Family’s more irritating members quiet, including the ones who had loudly wondered if he wasn’t marrying beneath himself. They wouldn’t have been happy with any choice, even the most advantageous match possible, simply because it would push them a step further away from the Headship. They would have no choice, now, but to honour Alicia as one of their own. That would gall them in so many ways…

“Thank you,” Alicia said. She was Family now. He could have told her everything, but he couldn’t take that risk, not yet. He hated thinking in such terms, but he had a responsibility to the Family. “May we leave here now?”

“Of course,” the monk said, almost as if she couldn’t wait to get rid of them. She probably couldn’t. The Families weren’t supposed to remain in the Imperial Register any longer than necessary. Who knew what someone with enough time and cunning might do with access to the master copy? “I shall escort you to your car.”

They didn’t speak until they were back in the aircar, flying away from the fairytale castle and heading back to Tiberius’s estate. “You know,” he said, only half in jest, “we could skip the wedding and move directly to the honeymoon.”

Alicia elbowed him. “I think that my mother would be most disappointed if she didn’t have a chance to watch me walking down the aisle,” she said, firmly. “We can have the honeymoon right after that.”

“Of course,” Tiberius said, his thoughts returning to the wedding… and the awful deed that was going to be committed there. He wanted to order it stopped, now, but there was no choice. Daria had seen to that. They had to use the wedding as cover to assassinate Colin, regardless of his — or her — personal feelings. Alicia would never forget her wedding, even if it wouldn’t be the happiest day of her life. He felt like a heel. He pasted a caring expression on his face. “I shall look forward to it.”

“You look magnificent,” Kathy said, as Cordova posed dramatically. It was easy, just once, to act the bubble-headed idiot. He did look good, wearing a uniform that put Grand Admiral Joseph Porter’s famous uniform to shame, even if it had too much gold braid and medals for her taste. Cordova, at least, had earned most of his medals. Porter, who had died at the Battle of Earth, had obtained his through shameless servitude to the Thousand Families. “Will you keep the sword on for me?”

Cordova glared at her. “I look like a doorman at one of the hotels that are trying to move upmarket,” he said, angrily, as he struggled with one of the fastenings. The uniform wasn’t designed to be easy to get into without help, but he’d insisted on dressing himself. “If I ever meet the idiot who designed the Imperial Navy’s uniforms, I’m going to challenge the bastard to a duel and gun him down without mercy.”

“I think he died a few hundred years ago,” Kathy said, tactlessly. Colin’s reformations had included a new style of uniform for daily wear, but no one had had time to update the dress uniforms yet. With Admiral Wilhelm on the rampage, it wasn’t something that anyone wanted to waste time upon. That hadn’t stopped several officers from trying to find other ways to waste time. Colin had purged them from the Imperial Navy and not, in her view, a moment too soon. “I still think you look splendid.”

“Perhaps I should go naked and claim I’m wearing traditional clothes from that nudist colony,” Cordova said, as he studied his image in the reflecting mirror-field. “Perhaps I should not show up and claim that I’m dressed as the invisible man.”

“Men,” Kathy said, shaking her head again. Cordova did look spectacular, but the uniform was unwieldy, even without the ceremonial sword he wore at his hip. Kathy knew little about sword-fighting, but Cordova had assured her that no one in their right mind would wear a sword like that if they expected to be using it. She was one of only three people who knew that the sword was real… and that Tiberius expected Cordova to use it on his benefactor. “Are you sure that you’re ready?”

Cordova scowled. Tiberius had tipped their hand, accidentally or otherwise, although she was still fairly sure that he hadn’t realised that they’d taken what they knew to Colin. The wheels within wheels were still spinning and she wasn’t sure how much anyone knew, even Colin himself. The plan was simple enough, but if it failed, they would end up carrying the blame for Colin’s death.

Have Colin killed, but not by anyone, she thought, in a burst of surprising anger. She hadn’t realised how much she’d cared until she’d been forced to start making hard choices. She must have grown up a lot over the last few years. Have him killed by one of his allies, so no one knows who to trust, and watch the Provisional Government come apart…

“No,” he said, with a touch of amusement. “I’m not ready, but we don’t have any choice.”

He looked down at his timepiece. “Twenty minutes until we have to depart for the Cicero Estate,” he added, thoughtfully. One finger stroked part of his outfit and he winced. “Perhaps I should put on something more comfortable.”

“Perhaps you should just stay as you are,” Kathy said, firmly. She stepped up to him and gave him a hug. It had been far easier dressing herself, even though she tended to take longer to dress than he did, but she only needed to wear a dress. She’d wondered about buying a really expensive dress, but instead she’d chosen a basic dress. Style never went out of style, as her mother had once said. “If that… outrage against the human eye gets damaged, we won’t have time to fix it.”

Cordova shrugged. “And that’s a problem?”

“Yes,” Kathy said. She could sense his concern and, indeed, she shared it. He understood space combat. Fighting in a crowded room was asking for disaster. “If things start to go wrong together, we could end up dead.”