Diplomatic Implausibility Read Online Free PDF Page A

assorted consoles that made up Tiral’s command center on that satellite of his. Some Klingons wandered about, but most of the people me’Grmat saw were al’Hmatti, being ordered around by those selfsame Klingons. Sweat plastered the fur of the al’Hmatti to their skin, a combination of the hard work and the obscenely high temperatures that the Klingons insisted upon. Me’Grmat could not understand how any living being could tolerate such heat for any length of time.
    “Greetings, me’Grmat,”
Tiral said. None of the Klingons ever called him
Your Eminence.
As a rule, Klingons, in the course of general conversation at least, did not lie—part of that code of honor they were so proud of—and no Klingon considered the emperor to be an eminent personage.
    “Greetings, Governor. To what do I owe this honor?”
    “I need you to give a speech to the people this after
noon, me’Grmat. Today is the anniversary of our retaking
this planet, and I think the people need to be reminded of
that.”
    “Of course, Governor. I’ll be happy to.”
    That was a lie, of course. But then, me’Grmat hadn’t really been
happy
to do much of anything in years.
    Tiral signed off, and several servants came in. They bathed me’Grmat, dried his fur, combed it, placed the necklaces of his office over his head, and fitted him with the imperial tunic. The primary necklace was a string of silver with a Spican flame gem at its center; of the two other necklaces, one was of rubies, the other of kevas. When he had first ascended to the position of emperor, me’Grmat loved the idea of the necklaces, glowing asthey did with the light of his office. That was before he’d realized that he had to remain on his hind legs at all times when he wore them. The first Emperor me’Grmat had been female, as were her first five successors. It wasn’t until after the Klingons came that any emperors were male. Unfortunately, male al’Hmatti, unlike females, had wider necks than heads, so unless they stood straight up, the necklaces would fall off.
    These days, me’Grmat viewed them as little more than shining dead weight in any case.
    He looked at himself in the mirror.
When did I get old?
he wondered. He could not recall when, exactly, the bones in his face started to become so pronounced, nor when his cheeks and forehead got so sunken in, nor when everyone around him suddenly seemed larger, as if he’d shrunk.
    Hissing softly, me’Grmat frightened the servants as they finished grooming him.
You got old the same way
everyone gets old, fool. Time passed.
    After he was pronounced fit for public consumption, another servant led him to the communications center, where he would tell the al’Hmatti what Tiral wanted them to hear.
    When it was over, me’Grmat found he could not remember precisely what it was he had said. It was probably the same speech he’d given a thousand times before, about how much more prosperous taD had been over the last two hundred years, about what a savage, barbaric people the al’Hmatti were before the Klingons brought them civilization, that sort of thing. The people in the comm center all went on about how inspirational it was, but me’Grmat wondered at their sincerity. He was the emperor, after all—they would hardly tell him his speechwas awful. It meant nothing either way. If there were any al’Hmatti who agreed with what he said, they already agreed, and the speech did not matter. As for those al’Hmatti who did not agree—a number that me’Grmat was fairly sure included the majority of the people—one speech would hardly make a difference.
    But he was the emperor. This was what he did. And he would continue to do it until he could draw breath no more.
    After he returned to his chambers, Tiral contacted him, praising him, using words like
inspirational
and
forceful.
So the speech must have been a good one.
    The servants removed the necklaces and the tunic and left. Then me’Grmat lay down on his cushion, and waited