I didn’t condescend to answer. Of course I would die for Sidonia. She was my entire universe. I loved nothing but her and valued nothing but her existence. Without her, there was no reason for me to exist.
Death would be a mercy compared to that.
2
THAT VERY EVENING, the entire household—people and Servitors alike—gathered in the heliosphere, the clear dome at the top of the orbiting fortress. As much as the Matriarch pleaded with him, the Senator never bothered with services unless there were visitors. Today he attended for appearances’ sake, but he didn’t bother to hide his insolent smile from the Inquisitor.
The Inquisitor, after all, had just thoroughly inspected the fortress. He’d found nothing worthy of reporting to the Emperor. A clever man would not gloat, but the Senator was a fool.
The Matriarch had accorded the Inquisitor an honored seat just behind the family for the service. We all watched in thick silence as the star rose over the curvature of the planet below us. The windows were crystalline, refracting light in just the proper way to send it scattering to certain points of the room where mirrors were positioned. For a split second, the bright rays all converged upon a single point: the ceremonial chalice at the center. It ignited the oil within. We gazed at the burning chalice as the perfect angle to the star shifted, dispelling the blinding glare of the lights. The blessing began.
“And so,” spoke the vicar, lifting up the burning chalice, “through our birth star, Helios, the Living Cosmos chose to spark life on planet Earth and gave rise to our most revered ancestors in that ancient era when the stars were but distant points against the infinite dark. Humanity was veiled in ignorance in those days, devoting themselves to worship of deities imagined in their own likeness, unable to recognize the true divinity of the universe itself all about them. . . .”
My gaze crawled the room, passing from the intent vigilance on the Matriarch’s face to the ill-concealed disdain on the Senator’s. Next I looked to the Inquisitor, who was staring intently at the Senator’s back. Then I looked to Donia, whose wide brown eyes were fixed on the chalice as the vicar recited the story of homo sapien genesis. Sidonia had always possessed a strange fascination with the tale of the solar system of human origin, and the sun, Helios, that had nourished the first human beings.
She was devout. She’d tried to convert me to the Helionic religion as soon as I was acquired, and she’d brought me to a service to entreat the vicar to bless me with the light of stars. I didn’t quite grasp the concept of the Living Cosmos or souls yet, but I hoped to be blessed because Sidonia wished it for me.
The vicar refused. He informed Donia that I had no soul to bless.
“Diabolics are creations of mankind, not of the Living Cosmos,” the vicar told Donia. “There is no divine spark in them to illuminate with Cosmic light. This creature can observe the blessing as a gesture of respect to your family, but she can never participate in it.”
As he spoke, there was a strange expression on the vicar’s face and on the Matriarch’s. I’d just begun to figure out facial expressions, and I recognized it even then: total revulsion. They were disgusted by the mere notion a Diabolic might be favored by their divine Cosmos.
For some reason, the memory of the looks on their faces made my stomach clench even now as I listened to the vicar. I chose instead to resume watching the Inquisitor, the man who would report the details of this visit to the Emperor. His word could condemn Senator von Impyrean if he found the Impyreans insufficiently pious. Worse, his words could condemn Sidonia.
If anything happened to her, anything, I would hunt this man down and kill him for it. I memorized his proud, cold features—just in case.
The vicar’s voice droned on until the nearby star mercifully sank behind the curvature of the planet. Then the lights dimmed within the heliosphere but for the burning chalice. The vicar drew an earthclay lid down over the top of it to extinguish that fire.
A deep, hushed silence followed in the darkness.
Then one of the Servitors turned the lights back to full. The people left the heliosphere first—the Impyreans, the Inquisitor, and then the vicar. After that I filed out along with the Servitors.
The Senator escorted the Inquisitor toward the bay doors, not even offering him the courtesy of a night’s sleep at the fortress. I followed them at a careful distance, my keen hearing able to pick out their parting words from a corridor behind them.
“So what’s the verdict?” boomed the Senator. “Am I sufficiently pious for the Emperor’s taste? Or do you, too, wish to call me ‘the Great Heretic’?”
“It is your manner that offends the Emperor,” the Inquisitor replied. “And I don’t believe the Emperor will find it improved. How boastful you almost sound about that hateful name you’ve acquired! Well, heresy is dangerous, Grande, so I’d advise you to watch your step.”
“Senator. You will call me that.”
“Of course, Senator von Impyrean.” The words were spoken as a sneer.
With that, the Inquisitor and the Senator parted.
I found Donia, where she’d planted herself by a window overlooking the bay doors. She refused to move until the Inquisitor’s ship pulled out and disappeared into the black. Then she ducked her head in her hands and dissolved into tears.
“What’s wrong?” I demanded, my alarm mounting.
“Oh, Nemesis, I’m so relieved!” She raised her tearstained face and laughed. “You’re safe!” She hurled herself forward and threw her arms around me. “Oh, don’t you see? He may be mad at Father, but you’re safe.” She buried her head against my shoulder. “I could never live without you.”
I hated when she spoke like this, as though I meant everything to her when in reality, she was the one who meant everything to me.
Donia continued to weep. I wrapped my arms around her, a gesture that still felt unnatural and strange to me, and contemplated the oddity of tears. I had no tear ducts and was totally incapable of weeping, but I’d seen tears often enough to know they were about pain and fear.
But it seemed they could come from joy as well.
As the sole heir of a Galactic Senator, Donia would be expected to take her father’s seat after he retired. That meant she had to cultivate political instinct now and learn to speak to others among the Grandiloquy, the Empire’s ruling class. Her social skills would fashion the future alliances of her family and ensure their continued influence. The virtual forums were her only means of practicing social niceties. I’d never seen these forums myself, but Donia had explained to me that they were set in a virtual reality where people used avatars to interact with one another.
Twice a month, Donia was forced to attend formal gatherings on the forums, where she’d meet other young Grandiloquy in far-off star systems who were destined to inherit power in the Empire. The meetings were a painful necessity for her. As she prepared for the day, her shoulders were slouched, dejection in every line of her body.