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Page 28.
21. Sun King
 Cyrus wearily tried to managed the circus that had until recently been the UGO Starmeer or General Assembly. He still controlled the Interior government to some extent, but Exterior, to which he had devoted his best years as Delegate, was slipping away from him. Killing Chao had been a terrible mistake. How had he allowed that? Oh yes, delusions…
Raskia was tired of waiting. Chase popped up. “Mr. Chairman!”
“Yes.”
“Raskia retracts any objection. Let the Delegate from Mercury City cease these inanities and make his statement—a sensible one, I hope.”
Acting Chairman Alger Bohr, delegate of Ramatam in the Aldeb system, bit his lip, holding a hand to his ear.
Mbe watched in growing frustration and anger. Bohr listened… to someone on his earpiece… Then he said: “You may proceed, Mr. Mbe. Begin your statement. Raskia has waived her objection.”
Mbe grabbed a policeman sitting idly in the seat of one of the advisors. “Go find that guy who’s talking to Bohr and shut him up. Kill him if you have to!” The policemen gaped uncomprehendingly. Mbe gestured angrily: “The man that’s telling Bohr how to—”
“Mr. Mbe!” Chase screamed. Bohr banged his gavel once, weakly, but sat frozen when Chase stared at him.
“Excuse me, Mr. Chairman,” Cyrus said, directing his apology well past the Raskian. “Ladies, gentlemen, what I have to say to you is brief and simple. I won’t even go to the Pit to say it. I just wish to clarify the position of Mercury City and her allies about losing the warship Exalted and other matters. Now, as in the past, forever we stand as simple servants… (Cyrus’ attention faded in and out after two days with minimal sleep) …Certainly the most outrageous accusation! How have we ever infringed on Raskian integrity? Have we blocked the path to the Assembly Hall? No! Their answer is to invade and devastate our ally Procyon…
On and on he talked, writing a message on a scrap of paper. He addressed it to the National Police Chief. He gave it to the policeman, and the policeman ran. Save him…
Seeing the policeman run off, Chase jumped to his feet. “Mr. Chairman!”
“Now, Mr. Chase…”
“Nossir! Delegate is talking to stall for time.”
“Mr. Chase, you are out of order.”
“Nossir! This is illegal!”
“He is entitled to one hour of speaking before…”
“Nossir! He has been speaking for more than ten hours this session, and said absolutely nothing!”
“Chase,” Bohr screamed, rising, “sit the hell down and shut your fat ugly mouth.”
The Hall burst into laughter, while Chase rushed forward in a swirl of fanciful white Regulean linen. Half the delegates had not appeared, and dozens were walking out. “I demand that Mercury be silenced permanently!”
Bohr pounded his gavel.
Mbe anxiously sent prayers after the policeman
Chase declared, quoting Ankh scriptures: “I am here on behalf of the people of divine Raskia to free you and your loved homelands from frater frater the demon who mocks and scorns you and calls you while holding behind his back the whip, the shackles, and the cockles!!!”
Silence resigned. This was Chase’s proclamation over the din. Sifting out of the confusion among the standing delegates and out of the galleries dark phantom figures moved, and shots rang out.
Mbe sat stunned. The Hall quieted slowly down in a sheer, fascinated horror. Silence was like a heavy weight while the Raskian henchmen took strategic positions unnoticed: The silence was general and instinctive, and there was only Chase:
Chase had torn off his billowing white garment. Now he stood resplendent in the scarlet-and-gold uniform of an ancient Denebean Sun King, his jeweled aegis radiant with deep lights, his feathered golden helmet topped by a golden disc like the sun itself.
A great eagle—a pet Scarlet Monarch, probably from Ramoor A—rose behind him and soared in glorious circles around the Hall and when it could find no way out, beat about angrily before landing in the Pit and strutting slowly, threateningly, here and there. Chase approached it cautiously and stroked its head, his voice once more loud:
Eat no more burrs, nor drink vinegar in his barren land!
Cyrus sat motionless, staring with misty fascination at the guns leveled at his face. The chairman was alone on the Bridge. His head lay backwards over his seat, and his exposed neck was scarlet; he was dead.
A shout rang out behind Cyrus, cutting through the fog. “Mr. Mbe! To the floor!” The Delegate, seeing the startled expressions on the gun men’s faces, turned dreamily.
A battery of fire erupted and Raskians crumpled all over the Assembly Hall. Many delegates also fell. Cyrus felt himself lifted, carried through the din, and let his eyes rest relieved on the arms that held him: The forest green of the National Police. He was manhandled until he lost all awareness, slipping out of range, in a hail of glimmering lights.
So died Cyrus Mbe, leader of nations.
With him died any last hope for Mercury Free Port City, and the human order in the galaxy that Mercury had led for a thousand years.
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Copyright © 2018 by Jean-Thomas Cullen, Clocktower Books. All Rights Reserved.
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