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  “The idea of less gold is disturbing,” he replied.

  Was he toying with me? I wasn’t sure. “And if gravity were stronger, stars would have been smaller and less stable. Life would not have enough time to evolve into sapient beings. Numbers like the ratio between the forces of gravity and electromagnetism rule the nature of our universe; they allow the stars, the planets, and galaxies to exist. If they weren’t finely, exquisitely, tuned to their particular values, the universe couldn’t exist the way it does. More importantly, life couldn’t exist.”

  The Emperor scratched a spot on his upper carapace as he processed this. “But your Church says there are six numbers,” he said after a while.

  “Yes. The ratio of the strong nuclear force to electromagnetism, the difference between the masses of up and down quarks—”

  “Quarks!” he cried.

  “Sub-atomic particles that make up protons and neutrons, Your Majesty.”

  “Yes, I’ve read of these,” the Emperor replied.

  That surprised me. “Your Majesty is well informed.”

  “I’m not saying I understood all of your human science. It is far superior to what we have on this planet.”

  “Your Majesty is too gracious.”

  He bobbed upward in acknowledgment. “The principles are not that difficult, though I’m not quite ready for the details.” His fronds wiggled optimistically. “But I will be soon.”

  I stared at him, not knowing how to respond. The people of Kuh-lan-ti had no real science. How could he possibly hope to comprehend the beauty of quantum mechanics? I cleared my throat, and my spiracles emitted another anxious wheeze.

  “Um, perhaps your Majesty could begin with another part of the central teachings, something more readily obvious to your...subjects?”

  “And what would that be?”

  “Why, the very origin and intelligent design of life, itself.”

  He twiddled with his tentacles a few seconds. “Proceed.”

  “Our best scientists have spent centuries trying to replicate a natural origin of life on our planet. To no avail. Despite whatever starting chemicals, and whatever conditions of heat or electricity, they’ve never been able to turn non-living matter into life.”

  “It is difficult, yes,” he said.

  Difficult?—I thought. What would you know about it? Aloud, I steered clear of personal assessment. “Apparently. In fact, it seems to require a divine miracle, one might say.”

  “One might,” he agreed, though I detected a hint of sarcasm again. What was I missing?

  “The Prophet, Behe, anticipated this difficulty many years ago in his writings,” I continued.

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. A close examination, even down to the molecular level, reveals the Creator’s hand. The irreducible complexity of the basic molecular mechanisms of life simply could not have come into existence without divine intervention.”

  “Ah! Divine intervention.” His eyestalks bobbed down in unison; the Xichial equivalent of a nod.

  “Yes. But nowhere is this more obvious than right here on Kuh-lan-ti.”

  His interest sparked, he leaned forward. “How is that?”

  “On Earth, the structure of all species falls into a very tidy Tree of Life. We can see how every species relates in form, structure, and genetic makeup to other species. Common ancestor fossils are available all over the planet. Even though many of our biological components, like yours, seem irreducibly complex, the evidence has always been open to interpretation. Biologists of our twenty-first century stubbornly fought for a natural evolutionary process.”

  “So this Behe and Rees. They were the founding prophets?”

  “Two of the Original Six, your Majesty. The others were men named Barnes, Hoyle, and Craig. Scientists and philosophers, all.”

  “I count only five.”

  “Very observant, Your Highness. The Church of the Six thought it wise to leave room for one final prophet, someone whose observation and reasoning would cement the foundations of the teachings forever. Some believe that Kuh-lan-ti may hold the secrets we seek.”

  “Hmm, I see. And you wish to become the Sixth?”

  I turned my eyes down in embarrassment. Is it that obvious? I hadn’t just been selected by The Six. I had petitioned, applied, and lobbied.

  “If the Creator wants that destiny for me,” I replied quietly, trying to downplay my secret ambition.

  “Right. Destiny. Fate.” His voice sounded mildly mocking. Was he scoffing? Had I said something funny?

  “And with your Majesty’s help and guidance, of course.” I added.

  “Of course,” he flipped a frond in a half-distracted way. Then his mind caught up to the conversation. “What sort of help?”

  “We have limited data on the marvelous biology of your people,” I replied. “With Your Majesty’s permission, we could expand our knowledge of both the anatomy and biochemistry of life on Kuh-lan-ti.”

  “To what purpose?”

  “Already, we can see how special your people are, how this planet has been blessed with life that has so obviously been designed by the Creator. We would like to add greater detail to the information we have so that the hand of God on Kuh-lan-ti can never be doubted.”

  “I thought your six numbers were enough to convince you of the truth of your faith. Why would you need this as well?”

  The edge of the stone stool was cutting uncomfortably into my underbody. I eased my weight toward the central cushion gradually, so he wouldn’t get the idea I was squirming.

  “For one thing, science can never have enough data,” I answered. “And no decent table can be built on one strong leg and several weak ones. The faith of the Church of the Six is strong enough to face rigorous scrutiny but only if all the legs on which it stands are strong.”

  “An admirable observation,” he agreed.

  I pressed on. “In our exploration of the galaxy, we have encountered life on several planets, but nowhere is life as complex as it is here on Kuh-lan-ti. Only here, besides Earth itself, have we encountered another intelligence. The Six teach that the Creator made the universe for the express purpose of allowing life to flourish. And life flourishes so wonderfully on Kuh-lan-ti.”

  “Simple life must give way to more complex forms, forms that are capable of Ascension,” he said. “As it is here, so it must be wherever the An-kuh-lan is hosted.”

  Again, I had no reply to his enigmatic reply.

  ‘Wherever the An-kuh-lan is hosted’? What does that mean?—I wondered. Could that include other planets? That can’t be it. I must be misunderstanding something. Perhaps, the proper significance of the word, An-kuh-lan?

  “Forgive me. What exactly is the An-kuh-lan, Your Majesty? It is not a word whose subtleties I understand completely.”

  “The An-kuh-lan is the essence,” he answered. “That which spills into the An-tor from the An-lan. That which justifies life on Kuh-lan-ti.”

  I stared at him in silence, trying to decipher his babble. Perhaps there was some deep mystery hidden within. Long seconds ticked by as I fussed over my ignorance.

  He laughed.

  “Do not worry on these things, Wed-jay-woo,” he said. “They may become clear during the Ascension, or perhaps after.”

  I tried to formulate a response that wasn’t tinged with confusion and resentment.

  “Or perhaps not,” he added.

  He stood up, and I scrambled to my feet. The audience was over.

  “Return tomorrow at the same time,” he said. “We will tour the preparations for the Ascension Ceremony and you can continue trying to convert me.”

  He chuckled amiably as I bowed and backed out of his study.

  * * *

  “Change of plans, Wed-jay-woo!” the Emperor greeted me at the back door to his study.

  I’d hardly slept during the long Kuh-lan-ti night, and he was entirely too cheerful. The palace employee who’d wok
en me at dawn and escorted me through the gardens to the study, now deposited me in the Emperor’s care and left without a word. Employee, not guard, I noted. Come to think of it, I hadn’t seen security forces anywhere on the palace grounds.

  “Change of plans, Your Majesty?”

  “You’ve drawn the attention of the An-lan and my ascension has been moved up to tomorrow.”

  “Oh?” What else was there to say?

  He wheeled, sending his assorted draped ribbons flowing behind him, and indicated for me to follow him inside. “Today will be my last day in court. One last chance to stamp my judgment on the An-kuh-lan of my people.”

  One last chance to what? I trailed him into the study.

  The room was a flurry of activity as palace staff rushed about preparing him for court. One of his people clasped a golden ring around his central stalk as others arranged yet more shiny metal ribbons over various legs and tendrils.

  The Emperor aimed a few eye stalks at me. “Regrettably, we’ll have to cut your conversion of me short. After tomorrow, I will no longer be here.”

  He seemed inordinately cheerful for someone facing their death the next day.

  Wait! Ascension doesn’t mean death. Why was he talking as if it did? He’d be back after the ceremony and carry on as if nothing had changed. They all did. Didn’t they? My fronds rustled in confusion.

  He laughed. “Don’t worry. You’ll have plenty of other chances to convert the next Chi-ta-pron.”

  He regarded his imperial finery in a mirror. “Well, perhaps not the next one. This An-kuh-lan, this essence, will be special. An envoy of the An-lan. Apparently, you’re to be judged.”

  My proboscis dropped involuntarily again. “Judged, Your Highness?”

  He fluttered a few tentacles. “Not just you, your entire species,” he chirped, as if that were any comfort.

  What does that mean? How can they presume to judge us? The idea was ludicrous.

  He scurried toward the door leading to his dais and throne.

  “Aren’t you coming?”

  I followed him into the Imperial Throne Room. He ascended the dais and waved for me to join him. He indicated I should stand at a spot to his right and a little back.

  There were even more people lined up on either side of the shiny granite leading to the throne than there had been for my awkward approach the previous day. But, today, there were far more commoners and they were less extravagantly garbed in jewels, gold, and ribbons of fine cloth.

  I guess my initial audience had been a big deal—I realized. But if this is to be Chi-ta-pron’s last formal audience, shouldn’t more courtiers be here in recognition of that? Kuh-lan-ti court rituals and traditions didn’t seem all that close to Earthly formalities, after all.

  “Let the next case approach!” the Emperor boomed.

  A motley pair of beings stepped out from the crowd at the far end of the cleared corridor, a rat-like Sprental from the left and an imposing Golti from the right. They glared at each other and then, as protocol prescribed, stood on tiptoes and made their way down the approach to the foot of the dais.

  The Sprental did not look at all well, even to my inexperienced eye. Its scaly hide was a mottled blue and pocked with places where raw, bloody skin showed through. I wasn’t sure kee’d make it the full approach with dignity intact, but sheer force of will propelled ker successfully forward to the throne.

  The two beings flattened their undersides against the cold stone.

  “Rise,” said the Emperor. His eyestalks held both supplicants in his gaze. “So what’s your story, people?”

  The big Golti answered. “Highness, this despicable being tried to steal a slab of Hatchnell meat from my stand.”

  The Emperor regarded the motley Sprental. “But you caught ker, didn’t you?”

  “Indeed, I apprehended the miscreant,” the Golti answered.

  “And delivered quite a beating, I’d say.”

  “As befitted the crime,” the Golti answered defiantly.

  “My family was starving, Sire,” the Sprental pleaded. “This one has enough food, and more than enough profit.”

  “I’ve labored in this community for decades. I run a responsible business, your Highness,” the Golti replied.

  “Responsible? Pah!” the Sprental said. “Your prices are criminal. Where is your responsibility to your neighbors?”

  The Golti faced the much smaller Sprental and raised ker powerful arms threateningly. “Most of my neighbors think I went too easy on you,” kee said.

  Four Xichials, the same species as the Emperor himself, rushed forward from the crowd on each side, and pointed their spear-tipped axes at the Golti.

  Kee lowered ker arms and stepped away from the Sprental; even a Golti was no match for armed Xichials. The Emperor watched without comment.

  So, there are guards of a sort—I observed. Or are they police officers?

  Once the threat of violence had subsided, Chi-ta-pron closed his eyes and said, “Give me a minute.”

  In less time than that, his eyes opened again. The Emperor pointed one tentacle at the Sprental.

  “That one loses a manipulator,” he said.

  A weapon moved in a blur and the Sprental cried out in pain. One of ker four arms flopped on the floor and the shoulder stub gushed dark purple circulatory fluid. The Sprental teetered on the brink of fainting.

  “Dignity!” Chi-ta-pron admonished, leaning forward. “Control yourself!”

  The blood flow slowed, and halted. The weeping Sprental held another hand over its severed limb. How it maintained consciousness, I have no idea.

  The Emperor’s fronds rustled in approval. “Better,” he said.

  “In return for this lesson, you will be given the side of Hatchnell.” His voice became gentle. “Even the most humble of my people needs to eat. Your crime was as much poor planning and execution as it was excessive laziness. Resorting to theft requires no imagination; it is beneath your An-kuh-lan.”

  Beneath your essence—I translated.

  The Emperor’s eye-stalks shifted to the Golti and narrowed in anger.

  “But, you!” he said. “I would expect much better of you, considering your many hundreds of cycles. Violence amongst brethren hurts the essence of all it touches. I hereby add an additional ten-cycle to your life. May your An-kuh-lan spend them in contemplation of charity.”

  The Golti slumped.

  What kind of punishment is that?—I wondered. It sounded like ten more years of life for the shopkeeper. How was such a thing Chi-ta-pron’s to give? Anyway, the Golti appeared to be running a prosperous business. Ten more years of comparative wealth didn’t sound all that bad. And to award the Sprental the very item he stole! Wouldn’t that just encourage more thieving?

  The Emperor wasn’t done. He regally descended the three stairs to the main level.

  The Golti’s eyes grew wide. For a moment, they seemed to challenge Chi-ta-pron’s own glare. Then kee lowered ker body to the floor and drew a noisy breath.

  Chi-ta-pron circled the Golti once, twice, three times. On the final pass, he plucked the axe-spear from the outstretched limbs of one of the guards. The Emperor whirled the weapon over his head in a display of dazzling skill, and circled the prostrate Golti again. The crowd started chanting. As the axe sped faster and faster, the chants became louder and the words blurred into a frenzied cry.

  The blade sliced suddenly downward and cleanly through the Golti’s neck, killing ker instantly.

  I gasped. It was inaudible over the shriek from the court.

  Everything became quiet. Chi-ta-pron bent down and plucked the severed head from the floor. He looked into ker lifeless eyes.

  “When you return, you shall see life from this poor Sprental’s perspective,” he said. “Perhaps that will help you remember empathy.” He dropped the head and walked back up the steps to the throne.

  My vision became hazy as I fought back a gut-churni
ng revulsion. I don’t understand; I thought kee was granted more life. What changed? A team of staff rushed forward to remove the body and clean the pool of blood before it stained the stone floor.

  The rest of the morning passed in a dreamlike haze. My mind reeled, trying to make sense of what I’d seen. How could Chi-ta-pron, whose own activities consumed the vast majority of economic output from his people, condemn another being to death for a simple “crime” of greed?

  My awareness emerged from its protective shell briefly for one other case.

  A dozen supplicants pushed one of their members forward and presented a nervous Xichial to Chi-ta-pron.

  “What is this?” the Emperor asked.

  A Klantray slithered forward to answer. “Majesty,” kee said. “Lap-re-yol is the finest person in our community. Ker generosity in sharing ker time and resources to make everyone’s lives better are legendary, and renowned throughout the city. Though poor kerself, kee collects food and goods to help families in need, and spends ker days educating our young.”

  “Indeed,” Chi-ta-pron replied. “I have heard of you even here in the palace.”

  The Xichial, Lap-re-yol, lowered ker body humbly to the floor. “Majesty,” kee said. “I am not worthy of notice from such as you.”

  The Emperor laughed. “Even the An-lan speak of your works.” Several of his eyes narrowed. “But good works, sacrifices for the collective, are no shortcut for your An-kuh-lan. You know that. There is no easy path to ascendency. Maximal diversity of experience is supreme.”

  “Your Highness is wise with age,” Lap-re-yol replied.

  Another friend of the Xichial spoke up. “Your Majesty, Lap-re-yol is only a few short cycles from the throne. We implore you to speed our deserving friend toward ker fate. Many cycles ago, when kee was new to the world, kee committed a terrible crime against ker An-kuh-lan and received a justly harsh punishment. Kee has absolved kerself of that crime a hundred times over, in cycles since. We ask for a summary judgment.”

  The Emperor settled onto his cushion and eyed the motley crew of friends. “I will consider,” he said and closed his eyes. Several minutes passed and the spectators grew restless. Finally, Chi-ta-pron opened his eyes and said, “Judgment is mine to render.” He stepped down from his throne and laid his tentacles on the palm-like fronds of the Xichial still cowering on the floor.