FSF, January-February 2010 Read Online Free PDF Page A

engines are idling.
    We have existed inside a war of sudden and vast violence, yet neither officer can react to something this close, this sudden. Hawthorne tries to rise to his feet, and in doing so drops the cup of cold soup into the Emperor's lap. He looks down, offering some quick apology. Then he looks up again as I shoot him in the forehead, sending him off into the cold, bottomless water.
    "Son?” Zann exclaims. “What is this—?"
    I shoot him last. I shoot him twice. That second shot is revealing. I have never liked the field marshal as an officer: too talented for armies that deserve less brilliance at the helm, too much genius stubbornly achieving wonders when what is required is to change the nature of this endless conflagration.
    Zann's body crumbles into a uniformed heap.
    I go to the Emperor, kneel, and say, “Sire. I didn't know what to do. And then I realized you weren't sure which man was your enemy...."
    The handsome, badly weathered face stares at me carefully.
    "To save you and your office, I killed each one of them."
    "Yes, I see,” he whispers. Then a little louder, “Your weapon, Castor. Give it here, please."
    I place it in His hand.
    He says, “Yes, I thought you might take this wise course. Which is why I like you, son. Why I trust your good sense and your rational soul. You adore the nation that you serve, enough even to do this awful deed."
    "Thank you, Sire.” I bend low, I kiss His soggy, water-bleached feet. “Thank you."
    "But here is the crux of the matter,” the Emperor continues. “I have fallen out of love for this collection of worshipping and foolish people. My feelings, in fact, are nothing but bitter anymore. And how can I serve such a throng when I know another being is more suited?"
    My eyes lift.
    He smiles at me. “You misunderstood what I told you, yes. Which is entirely reasonable, yes."
    "Sire—"
    "None of the dead were the assassin,” he claims.
    And in another moment, He gives me the most terrible proof.
    * * * *
    The mist lifts in time to reveal a flat, wet island of no possible significance. Even from offshore, Marvel betrays the comfortable poverty common among places that barely belong on any map. My first inclination is to continue on my way, shepherding my fuel until I reach more fruitful destinations. But the boat's engines hesitate again, and one simply refuses to start up again. I sit at the wheel, aiming for what looks to be a small city. Locals gather on the wharf, watching the approaching fishing boat. But nobody seems particularly interested in this stranger. I am just another refugee: a curiosity and a small distraction from their little days.
    Suddenly my last engine chokes on the nefarious water. I drift nearer, and one last time, I spin the dials on both radios, learning nothing except that our enemies have improved their jamming techniques.
    When I can make out each face, I stand.
    The gasp is audible, prolonged but full of doubt. Could it be? Is such a thing remotely possible? Each man and woman asks the same inescapable question, but it is the boy standing in front who thinks to yell at me, demanding answers.
    "Where are you from? Who are you? And why do you wear the Emperor's uniform and crown?"
    I say nothing. When it serves my interest, I will answer. What matters most is to study those who study me, employing that calm parental glare that I have seen used every day in the Emperor's court. Then to the boy, I call out, “Swim to me. Grab my line and tow me in."
    To his credit, the boy hesitates.
    Then some older fellow says, “Do it,” and the boy launches himself, covering the cold water with a few strong strokes, grabbing the soggy rope and fixing it in his teeth, turning and grunting as he serves my bidding.
    Others join in, although not always the best swimmers. Legs kick and hands fight for their hold, and the effect of so much confusion and wasted energy gets me to the wharf no earlier than I would have on my own. Yet by the end, a