“You may tell that German College that their honor comes too late,

But they must not waste repentance on the grizzly savant’s fate.

Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light;

I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.”

—Sarah Williams, “The Old Astronomer”

“I like men who are not fearful of the night. It’s easier to murder them in their sleep.”

—Tanaka Shin, translated from Japanese

Von Schmidt turned to the further diminished company. “Well, I’m sure we’re all overtaken with languor after the day’s events. Since we cannot leave this wing for the next hour or so, may I interest you in a refreshing morsel in my observatory? The atmospheric conditions are perfect for stargazing tonight.”

“Monsieur Von Schmidt!” Jean said appreciatively. “You did not strike me as one given to romantic pastimes … Or does this invitation hold more practical uses, perchance the separation of another head from its body, or an opportunity to hurl someone into space in the interests of … higher art?”

“Oh no, nothing so insidious, I assure you, my dear Jean … though I cannot vouch for the others. Also, I must confess you have me all wrong. When I was younger, I would sail from planet to planet, just to watch the sky. Ah … to see blue Terra rising from the terraces of Luna’s universal palace, to follow the grotesquely shapeless moons of Mars from the Felidae hotel, to gaze in awe at the majestic ring and countless moons of Saturn …

“Have you ever been to Metis, my friends? Have you seen Jupiter rising over its valleys of red ruin? It fills the sky with a vivid immensity, almost horizon to horizon. Astonishing, my friends, astonishing! And all around you, there are countless moons, great and small, round and irregular … Ah, it was more than I could ever desire after spending so many years under the most boring sky in the system.

“Young and rash, I would never plan my trips, I would just go from rocket to rocket and see which had the cheapest fare, and as for other expenses—looking at the sky is something even the most tyrannical of rulers cannot tax or prevent.”

The last statement was actually not true. The exiled Terrestrial heretic, Hajj Amin al-Malik, banned just that to any of his followers who left Terra with him. The Khatamul Auliya, self-styled “seal of believers,” enforced his orders by locking all his followers in underground tunnels. However, since there was no one to patrol the surface of Hajira IV, it was not inconceivable that tourists would occasionally travel on the surface and enjoy the striking terrain of bluish-purple mountains and colorfully smoking craters that dwarfed any on Terra or Mars. Due to Hajira’s vast distance from the sun, however, the sky there must have been quite boring, and one must have been careful with one’s step if one didn’t care to lose one’s footing and slip into the wilderness of space.

Khatamul Auliya is now used ironically since he literally did seal the believers. He sealed them so thoroughly, in fact, that when the movement of tectonic plates released toxic gases into the ventilation system, the extensive tunnel became their sealed tomb, only occasionally disturbed by French “archeologists.”

It seemed that the Princess was not the only member of the group who’d made this association. As soon as they left the control room, she heard Jean telling Von Schmidt, “Perhaps we should bestow our distressed professor with the additional title of Hajj?” To which Von Schmidt replied, “Oh dear, don’t remind me of that ghastly place.”

The group turned around a corner into a corridor decorated with what was doubtlessly high art in normal times. However, due to the emergency lockdown, it was currently nothing more than two rows of large black mirrors. The Princess used the opportunity to adjust a stray strand of hair and was rather dismayed to spot one Jean doing the same.

No longer agitated due to the radiation leak, but still restless, Audric snaked around the Princess like a furry tempest and ended up on her shoulder, going through her hair with his little paws, undoing all her good work in the hair department. This sort of behavior was not ordinarily expected from a sniffer, but as a member of one of the more powerful royal families of Terra, some mild eccentricities were almost demanded of the Princess.

As far as eccentricities went, a mildly inappropriate relationship with a small mammal was considered perfectly acceptable. More importantly, it required little effort on the Princess’s part. Her younger brother, on the other hand, chose to dress all in black and publish plays on the futility of life and the triumph of the horror vacui. As a Prince of the Realm, he was raising the national spirit ironically. Compared to that, having a ferret fiddle with one’s hair was positively commendable.

The Jeans looked at the Princess incredulously. “Madam, in France, we clean our hair with shampoo and water, not with filthy rodents.”

“I’d rather be touched by an honest ferret than a French dilettante,” the Princess said, and scratched Audric’s neck. It made the sort of sound cats do when they’re pleased, but poorly, because it was not a cat, nor had ever actually met a cat.

“A dilettante is a drifter, only with more money, mademoiselle,” Jean replied, not appearing to be the slightest bit hurt. “Since we were not as fortunate as to inherit a fortune from our dear papa, calling us adventurers would be more apt.”

“Adventurers rescue princesses, they don’t trade in them.”

“Ah, but the fairy tales never teach us what they do after the Princess is rescued! You can marry one, several if you’re Turkish or Chinese, but at some point, you’re bound to start trading in them. Princesses are the most commonly traded interstellar commodity, mademoiselle. Do you not agree?”

That part was true. Heirs and heiresses were as common a commodity as wheat and plutonium nowadays. The Princess, clinging to the notion of being a person, was not excited about being on the wrong end of a lucrative trade, but as her royal father often said, “A well placed marriage has the same result as an efficacious atomic strike—it can shorten a war by many years and save millions of lives.”

The boys of the Old Brigade valiantly stormed enemy ships and alien temples. They died, and their frozen corpses floated in the horror vacui or remained scattered on nameless rocks in space. The Princess, on the other hand, had to occasionally attend boring social functions and marry a harmless looking Greek prince who misspelled her name in the most hilarious fashion. All in all, she felt she’d gotten the better deal as far as sacrifices for the good of humanity went.

Still, a proper princess ought to be able to rescue herself, since any gentleman who goes to so much effort to rescue a woman he’d never met probably was not fully right in the head, and who’d want to marry someone like that? On the other hand, and lofty principles of self-reliance notwithstanding, she had an imperial father with an imperial fleet.

“You do of course realize that my royal father would rather spend ten million Eagles to rescue me by force than pay one Eagle to ransom me?”

Jean smiled. “Perfectly. In fact—”

“Et voila!” Von Schmidt announced as the party reached a wide portal of obsidian and gold. “We have completed the journey to the observatory with no further casualties.”

The observatory was charmingly anachronistic in its trappings and the latest scream in its paraphernalia. The large ornate dome, decorated with golden stars against lapis lazuli blue, was probably imported from one of the Eastern cultures, a relic of pre-deicidal times. A single sheet of light shone through a narrow cut in the dome, illuminating dust that flowed serenely in the still air. The acoustics were wonderfully humbling, and the Princess felt like shouting random words just to hear them bounce to and fro between the thick, curved walls. She made a mental note to commission a private echo chamber when she returned home, or else visit her father’s Senate, in itself an excellent echo chamber, especially when it was in session.

A large oak tree grew in the center of the hall. Its branches were orbits and their fruits, ranging in size from pinheads to pumpkins, were planets, moons, asteroids, planetoids, and other kinds of cosmic territories. The Princess tried to pass her hand through it, but found it to be as solid as a real tree. Perhaps it was a real tree. A man of Von Schmidt’s means and taste could afford this, even so far away from old Terra.

Ornate telescopes of all sizes and varieties were lined along the outer perimeter of the dome, ranging in size from about two meters, to significantly larger than the oak. Of course, this was all for recreational use only. A proper scientific telescope must orbit a planet, free of the distortion and background light of its atmosphere.

“The Right Honorable Judge of Etiquette Jeffery Valentine, 7th Duke of Maxwell, was killed in an observatory, wasn’t he?” the Princess asked, aiming to introduce some new tension into the party following the catharsis of the Professor’s transformation from trader to trade.

“Maxwell, Scotland?” Ivanov asked.

“No, Maxwell, Venus,” the Princess said. “His face was burned and his brain oozed through his ears, I’m led to understand.”

“Aren’t we in a morbid mood tonight? This one reminds me of the floating husks of Hajira IV, this one of the somewhat livelier, but no less disturbing husks of London … yes, he was. But that was his fault entirely for using an archaic optical telescope. He might as well have pressed his eye to the barrel of a laser rifle, the old fool,” Von Schmidt said.

“I do not understand. What is danger of optical telescope? Most Russians still use for fun and leisure,” Ivanov asked.

“Well, most Russians don’t have enfants terribles eager to divide their inheritance, do they now?” Von Schmidt sounded mildly irritated. “If the wrong lens is applied, a telescope can have a similar effect to a magnifying glass in the hands of a boy, namely that of burning objects such as ants or English aristocrats.”

“But did he not notice that the telescope was pointed at the sun?” Jean asked.

“Of course he did, but there was an optical filter installed that should have filtered enough of the light to make it a wholesome educational experience. But the false lens rapidly cracked due to the heat and a powerful ray shone forth, immolating a considerable portion of his head,” Von Schmidt replied.

“Ah, how elegant!” Jean nearly clapped with excitement. “But I disagree with you, my dear Von Schmidt, this was a wholesome and educational experience for the late Lord, if only for a short while.”

“More importantly, is lesson for us,” Ivanov said humorlessly and stepped away from the telescope.

It had then occurred to the Princess that she shouldn’t have mentioned the scandalous incident at all. While doubtlessly an excellent conversation topic for the idle rich, reminding everyone present of this unusual orphaning method ensured that she would not be able to recreate it on account of all auctioneers now expecting her to attempt a similar shenanigan on their person. Indeed, the Princess decided, from now on, it would be smarter for her not to speak at all unless spoken to first, a formidable task for a lady of her upbringing.

When she was a child, her mother firmly believed that a lady should be a source of constant entertainment. To help transform this theory into practice, she would smack the young Princess on the side of her head whenever the latter would be silent for too long or appear generally disinterested at a family dinner or any other social occasion. At the same time, her father held that one must never volunteer information, and would smack the Princess on the other side of her head if he felt she was giving more than she was receiving. While not particularly painful, these smacks made it quite difficult to eat without dropping some food on her lap, which was, in itself, deserving of a smack.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

The only time she went through a formal evening without either portion of her cranium being rattled was at the reception where her engagement to Prince Theophilos Palaeologus of Sancta Nicaea was publicly announced. That being said, her mother did kick her in the shin several times under the table, which was entirely unjustified as it is unreasonable to expect a lady to go through a formal dinner, an event that lasts for more than eight hours and includes tens of speeches by people with the capacity to bore paint as it dries, without yawning even once.

And now, since an improvised high intensity light beam was no longer a viable option for the auction, her chances to actually attend her marriage with that perfectly nice-looking young man were considerably lessened. This was a shame as the Prince struck the Princess as good company, and she was looking forward in the very least to a chance to exchange a few words with him without the parents of either party being there to dictate which words these should be.

“My dear friends,” Von Schmidt’s voice echoed majestically in the large hall, causing the Princess to feel small and insignificant in his presence, “this tree has been carefully bred to provide more than a mere decoration for this hall of quiet contemplation. Each fruit tastes like the dish most associated with its respective heavenly object, or infernal, as the case may be. Some of the more culturally diverse planets, such as Terra or Mars, taste differently depending on which continent you choose to taste. It is not a replacement for a proper seven-course dinner, of course, but I do believe you will find this a refreshing and, dare I say, enlightening experience.”

Von Schmidt, first to follow his own advice, reached up and picked a fruit from the very end of a branch, probably Pluto or Orcus. This surprised the Princess, because she didn’t know that there were people on these distant and mineral-poor planets. Nor did she know that there were colonies anywhere on the Kuiper Belt, which she always imagined as a brooding storm raining a gigantic blizzard on the solar system, though at the same time it was also a distant and strange wall, shielding the Solar System from the far worse madness of the horror vacui, a dread realm unfit for anything but nightmares and grim expeditions.

“Borscht and blintzes!” Von Schmidt announced. He gave Ivanov a rather sardonic smile. “Though I doubt this is really what the miserable exiles eat … or do they?”

“They should be thankful they eat at all!” Ivanov countered.

“Come now, don’t be shy! Savor the stars. Explore the cosmos with your tongues! Any observatory offers you the opportunity to see and hear the universe, but how many allow you to taste it? Courtesy of our lovely Princess, proper dinner cannot be served for an hour. Please, do not make me a bad host who starves his guests. Gospodin Ivanov, you look hungry, my dear boy, hungry enough to eat all of Saturn? Consider it a dare, my young friend. Jean and Jean, I know how apprehensive you are about your physique, but won’t you even nibble on some asteroids that, much like yourself, carouse around the sun? Perhaps if these are too plain for you, you will brave the exotic flavors of the horror vacui? Tanaka, honor me by breaking a Sinii planetoid with me. It has already broken us, so shouldn’t we at least return the favor? And you, my dear lady, a taste of the Americas for you and your adorable pet? Why, you look famished! I do hope this is by necessity and not by choice; the prospect of marriage shouldn’t lead a young lady to starvation. To have all this wealth and hunger just like those from whom this wealth was taken, why that’s absurd! You might have the whole of Terra if you like, I’m positively certain your royal father would approve! Please, my dear friends, do not deny yourselves this exclusive, exquisite, and extrasolar pleasure! Do take a bite, I beseech you.”

The Princess shrugged and decided to try something truly outlandish, something that previously only the heroes of the Old Brigade had tasted, along with explosive decompression, lethal gamma radiation, poisonous gasses, shrapnel traveling at nearly the speed of light, and occasionally Space Stone Age weapons hurled at them by star-shaped sentient fungi inspired by radical socialism or giant viruses that infected worlds and wrote wistful romantic poems about the experience.

She brushed her hand through rozovoi space, filling it with pea-sized trans-Neptunian objects. Audric gave the little pile a quick sniff and showed his approval by somberly nodding his tiny head. She looked at the colorful medley of little worlds, wondering which one of these was her uncle’s inglorious tomb and which one hid the remains of her rebellious friend, Jessica Von Braun, who sailed into the horror vacui and never returned. Where were the Turks’ secret bases and on which ones did yet undiscovered alien species live in blessed ignorance, unaware of the machinations of the great interstellar powers?

Then, in one quick motion, she spilled the contents of her hand into her mouth. It was quite bland, but had an unpleasant metallic aftertaste, like blood. Quite disappointing, but then again, a name such as horror vacui promised nothing but horror and vacuum, neither of which was a common ingredient in any cookbook.

She gave Audric permission to look for food and he settled for nibbling on what was initially proposed to the Princess—Terra. His choice of central Europe pleased her, as it was an appetite shared by her family and people.

The Princess noted that Ivanov and Von Schmidt distanced themselves from the tree and the other guests and were quietly discussing something in German. The occasional glances the two men threw at her were most disconcerting. When the two shook hands and Von Schmidt slapped the Russian on the shoulder, her stomach became restless with anxiety.

At the same time, the Jeans were attempting to make conversation with Tanaka, who looked at them like insects he couldn’t be bothered to squash at the moment. He replied to all their provocative questions with brief growls and grunts.

Conceiving of nothing better to do, she decided to try to have a reasonable conversation with Tanaka, whose zaibatsu owed much of its success to her country’s generosity and whose ancestors owed many of their glorious dead to her country’s militancy.

She waited until the Jeans despaired of the effort and went on to badger Ivanov and Von Schmidt. She approached Tanaka, trying to present herself as casual yet regal. “May I ask you, why does your zaibatsu wish to participate in this sordid affair?”

“No,” Tanaka barked, nothing except his lips showing any signs of animation.

“Do you realize the immense damage your mere presence here could cause to our countries’ commercial and diplomatic relations, should details of this affair become publicly known?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know what happened the last time our nations fought? Your poets bemoan the ignominy of your defeat to this very day.”

“Yes.”

So someone high in the Japanese corporate ladder was willing to risk dragging the entire empire into a devastating and quite hopeless war with practically no hope of monetary or political gain. Suddenly, a disturbing thought occurred to the Princess. Several years ago, when she was going through the more antisocial stage of adolescence, she attended a luncheon honoring the new Yasuda (or was it Mitsui?) ambassador. The man was accompanied by a humanoid drone that was painted in garish colors and appeared roughly female, as is the custom among the kazoku. The Princess commended him on his doll and asked if this was his wife. The ambassador scowled at her and said, “oo!” which, for all she knew, could have been a death sentence or declaration of imminent suicide. Both came surprisingly easy to the Japanese.

For the sake of clarity, the Princess asked Tanaka, “Do you plan to murder me?”

“I wish to avoid this. Your father is a man of honor.”

This wasn’t a negative reply per se. On the other hand, it had been a stupid question. Had Tanaka wanted to kill her, she would have been dead already. Zaibatsu samurai do not care for the preservation of their life or health, only for their jobs. Neither her suit nor her weakened anti-kinetic field would have stopped a man like Tanaka from eviscerating her and then writing a haiku commemorating her demise. He would be lasered or microwaved within seconds of the attack, of course, but this would have changed little for the sliced and diced Princess.

She suspected that there was nothing to be gained from proceeding with this conversation, but felt she hadn’t exhausted its potential yet. “You do realize that blackmailing my family by threatening to harm me is dishonorable, cowardly, futile, and ungrateful?”

“Yes.”

“Then why are you here?”

“It is the will of the Exalted Heavenly Sovereign.”

“Well, you better hurry presenting your emperor’s insipid offer to Von Schmidt then. Presently, he seems quite enamored with Ivanov and I must say the Jeans’ device looks like a noteworthy contribution to Von Schmidt’s collection as well. Frankly, I shudder at the thought of falling into these French scoundrels’ hands. Do you know the offer that won my brother’s heart, during the negotiations of—”

“Indeed!” Tanaka stood up briskly and walked away toward Von Schmidt and Ivanov.

“Well, that was quite rude …” the Princess mumbled to herself. Audric was back inside her suit, probably sleeping off his meal.

Either lacking in social finesse or possessing too much of it, Tanaka just stood behind Ivanov, not uttering a word and making the former shift uncomfortably. Eventually, Ivanov excused himself and left to pretend to look at the stars.

Von Schmidt smiled at Tanaka as if the Japanese’s interruption were a pleasant surprise. “Ah, Tanaka, you never got to make your offer. What delightful jewel from the mysterious orient does the emperor send to tempt me?”

“You will be rewarded with the unique privilege of partaking in the sacred tea ceremony of the Mother of Eight Million Spirits that grants Majestic Enlightenment of Star Moon and Eight Million Stars,” Tanaka said.

“I see,” Von Schmidt snorted. “Do tell your religious bureaucrats that this offer is unacceptable for a Princess, and that I make the following counteroffer. The mother of, eh, numerous objects may sit in my presence as I partake in the mundane breakfast ceremony.”

“You make light of my offer and the spirits of the Empire and our honored ancestors?” Tanaka’s nostrils flared, but otherwise his countenance remained perfectly calm.

“An object must exist in order to be made light of. No, I'm rather filling in the void of your proposal.” Von Schmidt subtly took a step back and the Princess noticed him discreetly slipping a hand into one of his pockets.

The two men looked at each other in silence. Their repositioning was so subtle that only someone trained to look for assassins would notice.

Disappointingly, Tanaka’s final reaction was measured and reasonable. “Very well. When communication is restored, I will consult with my superiors on a gift suitable for empty soul of atheist egoist.”

The Princess hoped for something more haiku-worthy on Tanaka’s part, but one cannot expect to succeed in all endeavors. And truly, who can understand the Oriental mind?

“You have me all wrong, Tanaka-san,” Von Schmidt said, his stance relaxing. “I am a hedonist, not an egoist. Rational self-interest is not egoism and exploring new sensations is as important as exploring new regions of space, is it not?”

Tanaka didn’t honor this with a reply and so the conversation faded into nothingness. Von Schmidt became lost in meditation, the Jeans talked in hushed tones, and Ivanov carefully examined each and every telescope and took notes as well as pictures, occasionally showing his handiwork to the Jeans who giggled in reply. Tanaka sat like a statue. Because he didn’t keel over, the Princess assumed he was breathing, but try as she might, she couldn’t actually notice any signs of breathing, blinking, or any other of the activities traditionally associated with being alive.

Then the entire room shook violently and a deep indentation appeared in one of the gates, which swung a few times on its hinges before collapsing to the floor with a thundering boom.