She turned and left. Nniv afterward told her that Greff swallowed the poison. Of course he was saved-in a house full of servants suicide is difficult to accomplish and Greff had no real intention of dying, just of forcing Esste to stay with him.

It had taken all of Esste's Control, however, not to turn back, not to change her mind at the entrance of the star-ship and plead for a chance to stay with Greff. Control had saved her. And Ansset's song insisted: Leave me in Control. Do not break my Control. It was night. She sat by the table, the electric light on overhead. Ansset was asleep in his corner of the room. She did not know how long ago he had gone to sleep, how long ago his song had ended, or how long she had sat stiffly by the table. Her arms hurt, her back ached, the tears that her Control had barely contained pressed behind her eyes and she knew that the victory today had been Ansset's. There was no way he could know what parts of her past were most painful-but his singing could evoke those memories anyway, and she dreaded the morning. Dreaded the morning and the songs Ansset would sing, but she lay down anyway, slept instantly, dreamed nothing, and the night passed in a moment.

18

Riktors Ashen arrived unannounced on the planet Garibali, his last stop but one before Tew. He preferred to arrive unannounced on Mikal's errands. Yet there was no sign that he had flustered anyone; there was no panic when he presented his credentials at customs. The official there had simply bowed, asked him his preference of hotel, and arranged a private car to take him there. It disturbed Riktors because it meant that things here were worse than reports had hinted. The problem might be just the nation of Scale, where he had landed, or it might be the whole world, but they had been expecting an imperial messenger-and on a nominally free world, that meant that they knew there was some reason an imperial messenger ought to come.

Someone had been busy calling. The hotel staff was ready for him when he arrived. Riktors watched with amusement as the elaborate courtesy occasionally gave way to terror-in the hotel, at least, Mikal's emissary had not been looked for.

There was a woman waiting for him in his room.

Riktors closed the door. Axe you an official or a whore? he asked.

She shrugged. An official whore, perhaps? She smiled. She was nude.

Riktors was unimpressed. However efficient they were in Scale, they certainly had no taste. Talaso, he said.

Yes? she asked, puzzled.

I want to see him.

Oh, no, she said helplessly. I can't do that

I think you can. I think you will.

But no one sees him without an appoint-

I have an appointment, He reached out his hand, touched her neck almost affectionately. But there was a small dart in his hand, and though she winced at the sudden, sharp sting, the drug worked quickly.

Talaso? she asked sleepily.

Immediately.

I don't know, she said.

But you know who does

She led him out of the hotel. He did not bother dressing her; she was incapable of feeling any shame under the drug, and Riktors felt it appropriate. Symbolic, perhaps, that the entire world stood naked before him.

It required the drugging of another confused official before Riktors Ashen stood outside the door of Talaso's office. Talaso's receptionist called the guard, of course, and there were three soldiers with weapons leveled, prepared to kill Riktors before he was allowed to enter. But then the door opened and Talaso himself stood there, poised and self-assured.

Let Mr. Ashen come in, please. I meant to see him tomorrow, but since he is so impatient I will see him now.

Reluctantly the guards let him by, and Riktors entered the room. He immediately began the formal accusation. You are known to be constructing starships capably of military activity. You are known to be overtaxing. You are suspected of having a police force three times the legal maximum, and you are accused of dominating and requiring tribute from at least four other nations on Garibali. The facts, the suspicions, and the accusations are enough to bring you to trial before the emperor. If you resist arrest, I am authorized to pass judgment and execute sentence myself. The charge is treason; you are under arrest.

Talaso did not lose his smile. Perhaps, Riktors thought, perhaps he does not realize the danger. Or he thought that because my tone was so matter-of-fact he could resist or delay or argue.

Mr. Ashen, these are serious charges.

You will come with me immediately, Riktors said.

Of course I honor the emperor, but-

This is not your trial, I have no time to listen to your protests, and it will do you no good. Come along, Talaso.

Mr. Ashen, I have responsibilities here. I can't just leave them on a moment's notice.

Riktors looked at his watch. Any further delay or attempt at delay will constitute the treasonous crime of resisting the emperor's arrest, for which the penalty is death.

You forget, said Talaso, that I have three guards standing behind you and you made the foolish mistake of coming to my nation, to my city, alone.

Whatever gave you the idea that I am alone? Riktors asked mildly.

Talaso looked irritated; this, Riktors knew, was his first realization that he just might have been too confident. You are the only passenger who debarked from a registered passenger ship.

The emperor's soldiers have already won complete control of the port, Talaso.

It's a passenger ship! Talaso said angrily. You can't fool me. The sealed identifier declares it to be a passenger ship! The identifiers are absolutely tamperproof-

By the emperor's own decree, Riktors said.

Shoot him, Talaso said to the guards, who stood with their lasers in hand. But they were already collapsing from the drug Riktors had released by clamping the muscles of his buttocks tightly while scuffing his boot along the floor. Talaso's terror suddenly won out, and he was trembling and shouting for help as he fumbled for a weapon in his desk.

Talaso, you are guilty of treason, sentenced to death; look at me.

Talaso tried to hide behind the desk; but he did look at Riktors, just for a moment. Just long enough for Riktors's dart to strike him in the eye.

Talaso clutched at his face; then the poison struck. He vomited violently, so violently that his jaw dislocated. He sprawled on the desk until the spasms began. His muscles contracted sharply. He jerked and flopped over like a fish drowning in air, until one of the spasms struck with such force that his neck broke. Then he lay still, his hair matted with his own vomit, his face turned at an angle from his shoulders that it could never have assumed in life.

Riktors grimaced. It was an unpleasant business, serving as Mikal's emissary. Soil, he had done it well enough these past years, and at last he had been promoted to the palace guard. He could have been moved into the job of assassin, an ugly business of stealth and well-contrived natural deaths, a dead-end assignment. Riktors was sure he would have been a good assassin, and he had good friends among that most private group-but much better to govern. That was the part of his job that Riktors actually liked, and thank God the emperor had chosen to let him follow that path instead of the other.

He turned and opened the door. More guards had just arrived. Riktors killed them all, along with Talaso's receptionist and the official whore and the confused official who had led him here.

Then he called in other bureaucrats from nearby rooms. He brought them into Talaso's office and showed them the corpse. I assume there was holographic recording equipment running, he said. There was. Duplicate it and broadcast it immediately throughout Scale and all over the world. The official he looked at was confused. My friend, Riktors said, I don't care much what your job has been before. I am the government of Scale now, in the name of the emperor Mikal, and you will do what I say or you will die.