The Admiral and the Assistant

The canister was wheeled down the halls of the Sedes Imperialis. It was eight feet long and glossy white, featureless and smooth. The cart that carried it was pushed along by one of the innumerable Imperium servants that worked in the Sedes.

It wound its way further into the interior with steady slowness.

After a long journey, it rolled to a stop outside the Emperor's private chambers.

The Emperor bustled up shortly.

"In here," he said.

The servant rolled the canister into the meeting room. The Emperor followed. As he entered, he noted again how well they'd managed to get the blood out of the carpet. Or perhaps they'd simply put in all new carpet. It was hard to say.

"Thank you. You may go," the Emperor said to the servant.

Once he was alone, he opened the clasps on the canister. It split open lengthwise, the top opening like a coffin. Within the thickly insulated interior was a fleshy puddle.

"I'm very glad to finally meet you, Dass Gunstar," the Emperor said.

The puddle slowly, agonizingly, re-formed into Dass' Duroclade shape. It was thin, drippy, stringy. His face hung long and he moved uncertainly.

"Ah, the Emperor," Dass said. "I appreciate you sending a bucket for me to travel in."

The Emperor quirked a wry smile.

"It seemed appropriate," he said. "You are valuable. The Mucilagean canister is a self-contained and protected unit. It is flame- and cold-resistant, from 2 Kelvin up to 3,000 Kelvin."

"Well, I'm flattered. If I ever need to survive re-entry in a coffin, I'll know who to call."

"You speak so boldly to your Emperor."

"Do I? Should I speak to you differently than I do everyone else?"

"Should you?" asked the Emperor.

"Probably." The lean Duroclade stretched himself.

"You may exit the capsule if you like. Make yourself comfortable. We have much to discuss."

"I'm a little leaky at the moment. I wouldn't want to ruin the flooring."

The Emperor fixed his gaze on one part of the carpet.

"I am very certain you could not ruin the carpets, even if you wanted to."

"All right, then. But I don't want to see a cleaning bill later."

Dass stepped over the side of the capsule, oozing to the floor, his body not quite rigid, not quite moving correctly.

"How are you feeling?" the Emperor asked.

"Oh, spiffy. You know, I thought I might join a pickup game of rook-fort after this meeting."

He finished climbing out, and settled wetly into one of the plush armchairs dotted around the room.

The Emperor frowned at the loosely-shaped Duroclade.

"I had thought," the Emperor said, "that you might be a little more appreciative."

"I am appreciative. I appreciate that you made Kinnit a citizen. She deserves it. Not so thrilled that it took a literal act of the Emperor to make it happen. Seems a bit much to me, but hey, what do I know about running the Imperium?" Dass waved an arm around. "Getting dragged out here to Olympus instead of dying quietly in a place I know? Not thrilled, to be honest. I'm only here because Kinnit wants me to be."

The Emperor smiled thinly.

"You don't think I'll be able to help you," he said.

Dass shrugged.

"Kinnit burned her blue chip to make you to try to heal me. I figure she's just going to be disappointed. But if she is, it will be because you couldn't do your part, not because I didn't show up."

"She will be disappointed," said the Emperor. "Not for the reasons you think, though."

"Yeah, well, I have to say, this dying business sucks real bad. I'll be happy if you fix me or kill me, either way."

The Emperor frowned.

"I'm not going to do either. I'm going to put an option before you. An unfair one."

"Well, that's how life goes," Dass said.

"One option is that I can let you die."

"Naturally."

"The other option is that I can treat you. You may not like it."

"Why not?" Dass asked.

"That's the unfair part. I cannot tell you unless you agree to it."

Dass nodded.

"Sounds a lot like intelligence work. Not enough information, and none of the options are good." Dass thought for a moment. "What if I accept it, then decide I don't want the treatment?"

"Then I have to kill you."

"Ah. So you have to reveal a secret in order to treat me."

"Yes."

"Given..." Dass waved his hands around. "…all this, I take it that the secret has to do with your longevity."

"Yes."

"This treatment you want to do... would it work?"

"Undoubtedly."

"So what's the catch?"

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"It would exact a terrible price from you for the rest of your life."

"What price?"

The Emperor smiled sadly.

"That's where it gets unfair again. I can't tell you."

Dass sighed.

"Just when it was getting interesting."

"I'm very sorry," the Emperor said. "That's just the way it has to be."

"Well, I think I've got it half-figured out already. So go ahead and lay it on me."

"I'm sorry?" the Emperor asked.

"I mean, give me the treatment, or whatever."

"That was quick."

"I'm kinda running short on time, here."

"Be very sure," the Emperor said gravely. "Once you agree, once we begin, there will be no turning back."

"Yeah, well, I'm basically dead, so I kind of don't care," Dass said.

The Emperor stood and clasped his hands behind his back.

"Very well. Are you a good citizen, Dass Gunstar?"

"Not really."

"Why not?"

"I don't do the whole 'uber-patriot' thing. I don't believe that the Imperium's full of good people. Looking for the best in the people is Kinnit's jam, not mine. I believe the Imperium's full of cut-throat scum that are just looking out for themselves. I look for the hidden knife, the betrayal. The Imperium's great, don't get me wrong. but there's a lot of terrible people out there. People like Rhydak. People like Koro." He paused for a moment. "People like me."

"Understanding the flaws in the Imperium doesn't make you a bad citizen," the Emperor said

Dass shrugged.

"If you say so," he said.

The Emperor sat back down across from Dass.

"To treat you, I need to explain some things first." The Emperor took a deep breath. "According to official court documents, the Imperium was founded 800 years ago. According to those same documents, I have been the Emperor for the entirety of the Imperium. Look at me, Dass. Do you believe I'm 800 years old?"

"You kinda look it."

The Emperor's mouth twisted.

"That wasn't the question. The question was: do you believe it?"

Dass gave the Emperor a long, level look. His mouth tightened as he thought deeply. There was, of course, all manner of speculation about what the Emperor actually was. Some thought he was a genetic mutant that didn't age. Some thought there were a series of Emperors that were quietly replaced every so often. Some thought there was a secret bank of Emperor clones hidden away somewhere. And those were just the mainstream theories. If you dipped into some of the conspiracy theories, things got weird quick.

All of which left the Emperor's question. Did Dass believe that the Emperor was 800 years old?

"Yeah. I do, actually," he said finally.

The Emperor smiled.

"You're right. I remember the birth of the Imperium. I remember the trees and hills of Old Terra. I remember the discovery of the Cryptographers. The excitement of the first jumphole traversal. The first inductions into the Imperium. The first interstellar war."

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose.

"Much has changed. I have Changed."

Dass shifted uncomfortably.

"So... what does this all have to do with me? Not that it's not interesting, but I wasn't expecting a history quiz."

"You've read Origin of the Imperium, I assume?"

"Yeah," Dass said. "Well, the schoolbook version, anyway."

"It's accurate enough, as far as it goes. There are a few things it leaves out."

In spite of himself, Dass leaned forward.

"The true origin of the Imperium begins long before we discovered the Cryptographers," the Emperor said. "Where do you think the Cryptographers come from?"

Dass shrugged.

"Some creepy planet in the galaxy, I guess. Maybe another galaxy, I dunno. Hidden away somewhere."

"No," the Emperor said. "The Cryptographers are native to jumpspace. They came into our plane many thousands of years ago. Just as we find jumpspace uncomfortable, they find our space uncomfortable. We call our side 'realspace,' but theirs is just as real. It doesn't adhere to our side's concept of time or dimensions. Cause and effect mean nothing over there. It's why our scientists have had so much trouble studying it."

Dass face hung open at the Emperor's revelations.

"Ah. I see," he said finally. "That explains a few things."

The Emperor nodded.

"Many thousands of our years ago, they discovered jumpholes from their side. They haven't said, but I suspect our plane of reality is not the only one they've visited."

Dass frowned as this information sank in.

"So there might be other... 'spaces' weirder than jumpspace?"

"Probably. That's not relevant here, though."

"Sure," Dass said. "Let's stick to one batch of weirdness at a time."

"The Cryptographers found our galaxy. At first, for them, it was like many others: interesting, a curiosity, nothing more. A nice place to visit, for those so inclined."

"Our 'plane of existence' was... what, a flower garden for them?"

"Hmmm, more like a jungle to explore, but either one is close enough. In any case, in the course of visiting, they discovered the Voretas Astralis. The Maledicta Nihilum."

"Ah, let's pretend for a second that I haven't kept up with my studies in Old Imperial. What does all that mean?"

"They're the Starborn Eaters. The Ash-tongues. The Accursed Nothingness. The Feeders."

"Oh...kay. Sounds ominous."

"They feed on sentients. The Cryptographers have trouble explaining it, but best I understand, they feed on a sentient's thoughts and emotions. Their soul, if you're so inclined. They travel around the universe, visiting populated galaxies, and... eating them."

"You're kind of freaking me out," Dass said. "I thought the Cryptographers were creepy."

"Oh, the Cryptographers are far from the creepiest things in the universe."

"So these Feeders are conquerors, then? A massive army that flies around, munching up sentients?"

"They're more like farmers. Each populated galaxy, for them, is like a garden. They eat, but they leave enough to let each galaxy repopulate over time. They clear a galaxy out, then move on to the next one. They make a circuit of the universe every thousand years or so."

"Neat. So we're just a vegetable dinner for a bunch of elder gods."

"I've heard worse analogies."

Dass shifted uncomfortably.

"So. The Cryptographers defeated them, right?"

"Oh, no. That's not their style. The Feeders are no threat to the Cryptographers. They don't like the taste, apparently."

"The Feeders are still here?"

"Yes. They're due back in our galaxy in about two hundred years."

"So what are the Cryptographers doing here, then? Enjoying the scenery until it all gets burned down?"

"Ah, now we're getting to it. Our galaxy-- our universe-- represents an fascinating puzzle for them, you see."

"I'm glad they find our imminent consumption so interesting."

"Fundamentally, the Cryptographers asked the question: 'what's the smallest change we could make to the universe in order to destroy the Feeders?'"

"I thought they didn't care about the Feeders."

"They're not threatened by the Feeders, but they don't like them. At all."

"Huh. So why don't they just fight them, then?"

"That's not what the Cryptographers do. They solve puzzles. They love puzzles. When the Cryptographers discovered the Feeders, suddenly our universe represented one of the grandest, most complicated puzzles they'd ever found."

"Wait, wait, wait. You're telling me that the Imperium, the sentient species of the galaxy, all our war and conflict-- it's all some kind of pastime for the Cryptographers?"

"More or less."

"That's sick."

"Maybe. But they're on our side in this."

"So what's the puzzle?"

"The puzzle is this: can the Cryptographers make one small change to the smallest populated galaxy in the Feeders' rotation, one tiny alteration to stop them entirely?"

"Wait, we're supposed to stop the Feeders?" Dass said. His brow furrowed. "And we're the smallest?"

"Yes. The one change that the Cryptographers made is that they introduced us to jumpspace early. Far earlier than we would have discovered on our own. After the Feeders have eaten, the sentients they visit have lost their ability for interstellar travel, if they ever discovered it at all. They visit each galaxy often enough that the sentients there never get the chance to learn and grow enough to discover each other, to band together."

Dass' mouth opened as he realized.

"The Old Terran jumphole," he said. "That's why the Cryptographers showed it to the Terrans. It vastly accelerated their ship technology. Once the Terrans realized the entire galaxy was nearly in reach, they focused on making their ships interstellar."

"Yes. The Cryptographers squirreled themselves away on a planet in our system, so that we wouldn't find them until we had the technology to take advantage of the jumpholes."

"Why Terrans? Why not another species?"

"Often have I asked the Cryptographers that question. Never have I received a satisfactory answer. My suspicion is that they simply find us interesting. Fun, if you will."

Dass waved his hands.

"Okay, this is all great, but I still don't get what this has to do with treating my condition."

"Because," said the Emperor, "the treatment will require opening a new chapter of your life."