Shaka II Page 7

  The empire grew. We added four more new worlds in the next half year, and Earth remained preoccupied with more immediate threats. Tchaka kept building the military against the day that Earth was finally able to concentrate on the upstart Zulu Empire, but that day seemed to keep receding into the future.

  The colony worlds thrived under his firm rule. There were no jobless, no homeless; if a man couldn’t find gainful employment elsewhere, he was transferred to the nearest farm on the nearest world. We tried to establish a market for our goods among Earth’s enemies, but being aliens-and some were very alien indeed-they had scant use for most of the items we wished to sell or trade. This caused Tchaka to send us further afield, spreading our population to still more uninhabited worlds that would need our goods.

  The alien races did want something a few of our mining worlds possessed: fissionable materials. But that was the one thing Tchaka wouldn’t trade or sell them, on the reasonable assumption that the alien worlds were not trading for a planetary power source. That meant they wanted the materials for weapons or to power their ships, and those were two advantages he had no intention of giving them.

  He began taking walks around the centers of whatever cities he was visiting on his worlds, always accompanied by half a dozen bodyguards, and of course by Nandi. If one did not know better he almost looked like a man taking his pet out for a walk-except that Nandi had never worn a leash in her life, looked like no other pet in the whole of human history, and far from being merely a pet she was officially the Queen of the Epsilon Indi and the Delta Pavonis systems. Tchaka always had a small lizard or two in his pocket or the folds of his ceremonial robes, and delighted in tossing them in the air and seeing her tongue shoot out and wrap itself around them on the way down.

  I still remember the first time she missed. We were inspecting a new barracks just outside the town of Bhebhe on the new colony world of Dingiswayo. As we reached the end of the building, Tchaka produced a small lizard, no more than six inches in length except for the tail, and flipped it in the air. Nandi’s tongue shot out-and she missed it by a good two inches.

  I laughed, but cut my laughter short when Tchaka glared furiously at me. He picked Nandi up and cradled her body in his arms, a worried expression on his face.

  “She must be ill,” he said.

  “Everyone’s allowed to miss once in a while,” I said. “Even her. Even you.”

  “No,” he said. “She is perfection. If she missed, something has to be wrong with her.”

  “I suppose we can take her to a veterinarian,” I suggested.

  “Our veterinarians can only treat mutated cattle,” he said. “None of them has ever examined a member of Nandi’s species. I do not think it even has a name.” He put her down on the ground and walked a few feet away. She followed him, but she didn’t have the usual spring to her step. “This inspection is ended. We’re going back to Cetshwayo.”

  And twenty minutes later our ship took off.

  I didn’t think there was anything seriously wrong with Nandi. I thought that she may have had a mild stomach ache, or perhaps the atmosphere or gravity on Dingiswayo was not quite what she was used to, but I assumed she’d be fine again in another day or two.

  Once we landed, Tchaka took her back to his office, where she spent most of her time, in the hope that familiar surroundings would somehow cure whatever ailed her. She didn’t get any worse, but she didn’t get any better. He sent half a dozen men out to find the tastiest lizards and bring them back, he collected piles of silks and made beds in every corner of the office, but she preferred sleeping on his desk, as she always had.

  The next day he tossed a couple of lizards in her direction, and she totally ignored them.

  He turned to his assembled aides. “Out!” he commanded. “She needs rest, not distractions.”

  “But Tchaka, we have an empire to run, business to transact,” said one of them.

  I thought he might kill the man on the spot, but he was so concerned with Nandi that he merely pointed to the door, and one by one we filed out.

  I had been with him longer than anyone. I had never seen him show sympathy or concern for a friend, for a sibling, for anyone or anything-until now. I was the last to leave the office, and as I turned back I saw him holding this alien creature more tenderly, more lovingly, than any human parent has ever held a baby.

  “It is sick,” an aide whispered to me as we walked down the long hallway. “An entire empire’s business is on hold because a totally worthless pet may or may not have a stomach ache.”

  “It shows he is a leader with great compassion,” said another.

  “And when we walk out the front door,” said the first aide, “you will pass a hundred examples of his compassion.”

  “They were enemies of the state,” said the second.

  “And is that ugly thing a friend of the state?”

  “She is a friend of Tchaka’s,” I said. “His only friend. I would be very careful what I said of her.” I was going to add the old adage about the walls having ears, but he looked at me with such sudden terror in his eyes that I realized he was thinking only of my ears-and my mouth.

  “I did not mean-” he began quickly.

  “It’s all right,” I said. “I’m a brother, not an informant.”

  He thanked me, but he also managed to get out of my presence as quickly as he could.

  I went to a local restaurant, and while I was seated at a table, waiting to be served, I was joined by Peter Zondo.

  “Is what I heard true?” he asked.

  “Probably,” I said. “But suppose you tell me what you heard anyway?”

  “The Princess-or is she the Empress?-didn’t eat her breakfast, and the universe has come to a stop.”

  I was about to tell him not to be so sarcastic-but then I realized that he had properly assessed the situation, at least in regard to our, universe.

  “It is true,” I said at last.

  “Ten thousand women throw themselves at him, and he saves his affection for that,” he continued contemptuously. “The man is sicker than his pet.”

  “What do you want me to say?” I replied irritably. “That at least he cares for something?”

  “You know what I want you to say-and to do,” said Peter.

  “What do you think will happen if someone-not me, but someone-killed him?” I asked.

  “We would be free of a tyrant,” he said, puzzled by my question.

  “How do you know that the man who killed him, the man who could kill him, would not be an even greater tyrant?”

  “There are no greater tyrants!” said Peter passionately.

  “There have been,” I said. “Caligula, Stalin-”

  “And Rome and Russia and Brazil and New Zealand all survived them!” he interrupted.

  “Keep your voice down,” I cautioned him.

  “You see?” he said. “We are his brothers, his most trusted advisors-and we dare not speak our minds in public.”

  “You are welcome to speak your mind,” I said, becoming annoyed with him. “Just don’t speak it at my table.”

  He held his hands up, as if to cut off the conversation. He lowered his head in thought for a moment, and finally looked up at me. “If you will not do what we have discussed in the past, will you at least consider one other thing?”

  “Probably not,” I said.

  “Do you not even wish to know what it is?”

  “You’re going to tell me whether I ask or not.”

  He leaned forward and lowered his voice until no one else could hear it. “Kill Nandi,” he hissed.

  I just stared at him.

  “Maybe it will bring him to his senses,” he continued.

  “You mean the way he was before he found Nandi?” I replied sardonically.

  He got to his feet. “You are hopeless,” he said contemptuously, and walked out of the restaurant without another word.

  Late that night I found myself too restless to sleep, so I decided
to take a walk. Eventually I wound up in front of the Royal Palace, and I could see the light on in Tchaka’s suite of rooms. He had never had any trouble sleeping, and I knew he was sitting up with Nandi, trying to make her comfortable.

  I should have kept walking or returned home, but instead I remained looking up at his room for another ten minutes. Then, just as I was about to finally leave, the night air was broken by the most agonized, heartbroken scream I have ever heard in my life.

  It did not come from Nandi.

  Well, at least that’s over with, I thought.

  But I was wrong. It was just beginning.

  19.

  Nandi was given a royal funeral with full military honors. British monarchs never received a more formal send-off. She was wrapped in the flag that bore her likeness, then placed in a small golden casket, which was carried to her tomb-an indoor mausoleum in one corner of Tchaka’s office-by four large soldiers.

  But before she was brought to her final resting place, Tchaka announced that he would speak at the funeral. There were perhaps five thousand people in attendance, most of them doubtless feeling slightly ridiculous, as I myself did. I kept wondering what he was going to say, for the Zulus do not speak over their dead.

  Finally he stepped forward, and all eyes turned to him.

  “Cetshwayo has lost its queen, and the Zulu Empire has lost its empress,” he said, and I was struck by the fact that no one dared to even smile, let alone laugh. “This is the greatest tragedy to befall us since we left the Earth,” he continued, “and I hereby declare a mourning period to last until one year from today. This period will be observed on every planet and by every citizen of the Empire, no matter how far-flung.”

  Then, as the crowd was about to relax and begin dispersing, he spoke again. “For one year, no subject of the Empire will imbibe any intoxicants. No one will take any stimulants. No one will indulge in any sexual relations.” A brief pause. “I will not permit these guidelines to be ignored.”

  Then he turned and entered the Palace, followed by the four men bearing Nandi’s casket.

  There was an immediate troubled buzzing among the attendees. Did he mean it? A whole year? Just us, or every world? Married citizens too? A hundred worried questions, a few disbelieving remarks, and finally the crowd dispersed.

  An hour later I was summoned to Tchaka’s office, along with most of my half-siblings. If he had been crying, there was no trace of it.

  “I will enforce the period of mourning,” was his way of greeting us.

  “It may turn the people against you,” said Bettina.

  “Then we will have to find work to keep them busy, won’t we?” he replied coldly. He looked at each of us in turn, then stopped when he came to Peter Zondo. “Peter, you look unhappy.”

  “I am unhappy that Nandi has died,” replied Peter carefully.

  “Do not lie to me,” said Tchaka severely. “You have a problem. Tell me what it is.”

  “I have mourned the passing of loved ones before,” said Peter. “So has everyone else. But I cannot recall anyone ever abstaining from all pleasure for an entire year as a sign of mourning.”

  “It happened once before,” replied Tchaka.

  There was a long uneasy silence. It was obvious Tchaka was waiting for Peter to ask the question, and finally he did: “When?”

  “When Nandi died.”

  “But she just died yesterday,” said Peter with a frown. “I do not understand.”

  “Not this Nandi,” was the reply. “Nandi, the mother of the first Tchaka. That is what gave me the idea.”

  “It is a dangerous idea,” said Peter. “There are certain things the people will not put up with.”

  “There is only one thing,” answered Tchaka with absolute certainty. “Weakness.” He suddenly turned to me. “Do you agree, John?”

  “Ask me in six months,” I said.

  “They are all cattle,” he said. “In this entire empire, there is only one bull.” He stared at us contemptuously. “You will want to indulge in sex, but you won’t. You will want to drink beer or liquor, but you will think twice about it and decide not to. You want to kill me, but you haven’t the courage.” He turned his back to us. “You wish a target? Here it is.” He stood motionless for almost a minute. “No? I thought not.” He pivoted to once again face us. “Get out of here. You are desecrating Nandi’s resting place by your presence.”

  As we left, Peter leaned over to me. “Now?” he whispered.

  “He turned his back on you for a full minute,” I said. “Why didn’t you take advantage of it?”

  “I didn’t have a weapon,” he said uncomfortably.

  I grabbed him by his shoulder, spun him around, and reached for the knife handle that was just visible above the top of his belt. I got my hands on it and pulled it out.

  “For shaving?” I asked dryly.

  He glared at me and said nothing.

  “You are everything he thinks you are,” I said, handing him back the dagger.

  “Do you think you’re any better?” he said bitterly.

  “I have never claimed to be,” I answered.

  “We will both regret not taking advantage of the opportunity he gave us tonight,” said Peter.

  “It’s possible,” I admitted.

  “You take no drugs and you have no wife,” he said accusingly. “You cannot know what this will mean to us.”

  “Go away until you have something intelligent to say,” I told him.

  “We cannot let this happen,” he persisted.

  “And if we do not let it happen, who will replace him? You?”

  “Why not?”

  “Go away,” I repeated. “I prefer the half of my blood that I do not share with you.”

  He glared hatefully at me, but finally turned and walked off. I had no desire to remain in my siblings’ company. I walked the streets alone for perhaps an hour, then went to my apartment. Tchaka hadn’t mentioned a ban on holos, so I watched a mindless entertainment for a couple of hours, then began preparing for bed. Suddenly I became aware that I was not alone any longer. I turned and found myself facing Tchaka.

  “I thought I locked the door,” I said.

  “No door can keep me out,” he said, without explaining how he had gained entrance.

  “Why are you here?”

  “I have a question, my brother,” said Tchaka.

  “I am your servant,” I replied. “You have but to ask.”

  “I know they want me dead, my half-brothers and half-sisters,” he said. “They are fools, for once I am dead they are next. And I knew when I turned my back that none of them, not Peter, not Joseph, not any of them, would have the courage to put a blade or a bullet between my shoulders.” He paused and stared at me. “You are not much of a man,” he said, “but you are better than they are. Why did you not kill me?”

  “Seriously?” I said.

  “It is a serious question.”

  “I do not know if what comes after you will be any better,” I replied.

  He looked into my eyes. “I believe you.” He walked to the door, opened it, and turned back to me. “It won’t be, you know,” he said, and then he was gone.

  20.

  For a month after Nandi’s death no one took Tchaka’s edict seriously. Most of them, especially the ones who didn’t live on Cetshwayo or hadn’t seen him with Nandi, felt it was like the behavior of a man who’d lost a beloved dog or cat, a momentary emotional aberration but something he would soon get over. You didn’t stop drinking, or going to bed with your spouse, because a man’s pet had died six or eight star systems away.

  After two months, they knew better. Villages and cities were raided in the middle of the night, and offenders killed on the spot, or else dragged off to be impaled. Restaurants that tried to sell beer or wine under the table were burned to the ground, their owners killed.

  Mthonga’s climate was ideal for growing everything, including marijuana and poppies. Initially Tchaka ordered his army
to destroy the offending fields. When more sprang up, he did to that world what he had done to Lincoln-he had it blown apart.

  The people began walking around hunched over, staring into shadows, jumping at the slightest sounds. Everyone eyed their neighbors suspiciously. Tchaka received an average of three petitions a week to terminate the mourning period. He adamantly refused.

  “I have not enjoyed my life since Nandi died,” he said to me one morning after tearing up yet another petition. “Why should they?”

  The answer was obvious, but quite beyond his ability to see.

  Four months passed, then five, then six-and now a new horror arose, for women who had become pregnant since Nandi’s death were showing the signs of it, and they and their husbands were killed on the spot. Soon no pregnant woman would leave her house. The soldiers began following lone male shoppers home, and when they found a woman with child, she and her mate would be killed instantly or sometimes impaled side by side.

  Worlds began to resemble death camps. No one looked right or left, no one laughed, no one spoke. Even if Tchaka was a dozen worlds away, even if he had never set foot on a particular planet, that didn’t mean his army, his spies, and his informers weren’t watching everyone.

  The only hope of the citizenry was that word of what was happening would reach Earth, though I don’t know what they thought Earth could do about it. Not only was Earth still spread thin throughout the Spiral Arm, engaged in half a dozen conflicts with alien races, but it was clear to those of us who knew him best that Tchaka would destroy an entire world before he would allow it to resist his rule. After all, he had done it twice already.

  One of our half-sisters, Miriam Zuma, became pregnant. Tchaka strangled her with his own hands. A brother, Jacob Nzama, tried to steal a ship and flee from Cetshwayo; Tchaka killed him too.

  “There are only four of his half-brothers and half-sisters left, brother,” said Peter Zondo when he accosted me outside the Royal Palace. “He means to kill us all. The man is in love with Death.”

  “The man is not in love with anyone or anything,” I replied. “The only thing he ever cared for is dead.”