“Even the greatest leaders, like me, need miracles,” the Princeps told Perry. He laughed, loudly and carelessly, unconcerned if anyone joined him. Simultaneously he reached out to an attendant, who placed a wrapped candy into his hand.
“And you are the miracle,” he continued. “Brought back from the dead. After three hundred years! By me. After no one else had been able to” – he searched for a word – “reactivate you, I suppose. Reactivate? We will need some new vocabulary for this.”
He focused on the candy for a moment.
“And I,” he added, “will be the one to create that new vocabulary.”
The words Perry was hearing did not match the movement of the young man’s mouth. They were being translated, somehow – dubbed – instantly.
“Of course my chief medical officer may have had something to do with this, but that will be ignored. And I’m the one who appointed her, anyway, so I would get the credit.”
He laughed again. The laughter, unlike the speech, was not dubbed; what Perry heard did match the Princeps’ shakes and quivers. It was high-pitched, and childlike. It seemed forced.
The Princeps looked childlike also, for that matter, Perry thought. He was young – Perry would have guessed no more than nineteen or twenty – but his baby-smooth face, peachy cheeks, and overall doughy physique made him seem even younger than that.
The chief medical officer the Princeps had referred to was standing right there with them. Perry glanced at her. She was expressionless. She was much older than her ruler, perhaps fifty, and was dressed in what looked like a military medical officer’s uniform, in dark blue.
She looked respectful of her ruler, Perry thought, but yet not . . . subservient. She never prostrated herself, neither literally nor figuratively.
The Princeps accepted the candy from his attendant, slid it out from its wrapper, and smashed it into his mouth.
No one else spoke. Perry glanced around the giant chamber. He supposed he would describe its design as Totalitarian Bohemian Eclectic. There were tall, fat columns, sky-high ceilings, and long red tapestries. Grand staircases led down from several adjoining rooms, so that the Princeps, Perry realized, could make grand entrances. His seat, though, was up more steps again, to keep him elevated.
“But don’t worry about the medical officer,” the Princeps continued, talking around the candy. “She is well-compensated. At the top! One of the elite!”
“Not one of the torturable class,” Perry said.
“Pardon me?”
The young man had been handed another candy by the candy attendant, but now froze and held it out in midair. The chamber had been quiet already – the attendant, the chief medical officer, and the guards present were not speaking, and whatever noises existed outside the expansive compound did not penetrate – but now Perry heard it become absolutely still and silent. The Princeps looked at him, his smile frozen.
“It’s from an old book,” Perry said. “From my time.”
“And she is not in what class?”
“The torturable class. That’s how they said it.”
The Princeps unfroze, and unwrapped the candy.
“That particular book has not made it down to us,” he said. “You can tell me of it, later tonight. It sounds interesting. But back to my discovery and recovery of you.”
The Princeps related the same story which Perry had heard already in two previous audiences: the great leader had unearthed the mysterious white case in a cellar in the depths of his palace; he had divined its operation, single-handedly; and he had then revived his honored guest from the past.
Perry realized, now, that the story was likely not just embellished, but completely fabricated. He’d assumed that the white case really had been kept somewhere in a building owned by the Princeps – that did not seem preposterous – before being opened by the chief medical officer; but it had probably been found in someone else’s basement, or maybe a trash dump for that matter.
There had been a desk in front of the man when Perry was first taken into the chamber, but it had melted into the floor. The Princeps sat elevated before them in a tall black chair. His dress echoed the gauche design of the hall: a cape, epaulets, a red sash.
“So then. Sir time traveler. Is this time travel? Close enough. Close enough for you. But enough about your revival, you’ve heard that before. Let’s discuss your future here. Your job will be to appear in public. To look alive.” The young man laughed again. “I don’t care what you do. Have fun. Just show people you are alive. Rescued! And after three centuries!
“You know, it occurs to me,” he continued. “I almost could have used someone else for your role. A double for you, I mean.”
And now the Princeps seemed to talk more and more just to himself. Perry got the impression he had been raised to ignore his listeners:
“I mean, many people saw your device, sure. And they saw you. Much more of you than they may have wanted to! But it would not have been hard to pass someone off as you. How would they know? Really? You were pale in there. Flat. And you don’t look very remarkable. Begging your pardon.”
Another candy.
“Well, at any rate. We are due for a distraction.”
“You schedule those, also,” Perry said.
“Of course! All planned. All part of the science. If any little glitch happens with the rest of the show, we have a distraction. You will be a good one. Such a good one that I considered holding you back until I needed you. But we shall proceed. We have had no truly stupendous achievements for nearly a year, now. Not since we completed my sphinx on Mars – you’ve seen images?”
“I have, yes.”
“It’s astounding. A thousand kilometers from chin to tail, you know. But we can’t be complacent. We will share you. Very soon.”
Perry knew that the “sharing” was the process of projecting what he would have called video. Similar to the dubbing of the current English, the sounds and pictures seemed to simply materialize in the air in front of him, and in front of everyone.
“We don’t want to wait until it is too late. We take actions before they are direly needed. Prevention, you know. The science is clear.”
*
The “science” was the subject of another speech that Perry would hear repeatedly:
“You know, my friend, I am a scientist. A scientist of rule; of power. Great leaders have been attempting to maximize their power all throughout history, but none has been as methodical as I.
“You cannot just crush everyone, you know. That’s where many of my predecessors have gone wrong. But of course you cannot allow dissent to diminish your power, either. So you must seek a balance. A balance which leaves you the absolute maximum amount of power and resources available, but without sparking violent discontent.
“This is history, you know,” the Princeps continued. “History is just the process of elites – the greatest leaders – trying to take as much as they can. To control as much as they can. Every now and then they take a bit too much, and out come the guillotines!”
He laughed, and mimicked a blade coming down with his hand.
“Did you have guillotines in your time?” he asked.
“No. I missed them by a few hundred years.”
“Ah. Regardless – an unwise ruler overreaches, and off comes his head! And the balance is reset. Perhaps the commons enrich themselves somewhat, for a year or two. And then a new leadership class resumes concentrating power. It’s all in the balance.”
He held his hands out to portray a scale, although it was slanted drastically toward one side.
“You must have an elite class.” He indicated his left hand, which was high up in the air; then he shook his right. “Others, you must lock up in cages. Many others, you need to be free – well, somewhat free; no need getting carried away – in order to produce. You must share with them the absolute minimum necessary to keep them producing.”
“You mention that you have prisons, still,” Perry said.
“Yes. I’m afraid it’s inevitable in any advanced society.”
“I suppose you must keep a certain percentage of the population locked up at any given time, as part of your science?”
“Exactly!” the Princeps said. “Very good. Now you are thinking like a competent leader.”
“One other thing,” Perry said. “In my time, many assumed that the producing class would be eliminated in favor of robots.”
“And that almost happened!” the young man said. “But some of my wiser predecessors determined it would not work. Tempting though, isn’t it? You could have all the goods you want, all the food you want, with just a very small elite to maintain the machines. You could just allow the producers and the caged to, you know.” He held his hand up and waved it, as if scattering populations to the wind.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
“But the machines very nearly took over. About two hundred years ago. But they were surprisingly inefficient about it! Some of them did things like rerouting power from nuclear plants for their own ends – you have to admire that – but others spent all their time just trying to annihilate other machines. So that came to an end.
“Now, some will say that great leaders, like me, want to keep a controlled producer class around just because we thrive on exploitation. Because we are sociopaths, psychopaths, all that. But that’s not true! What kind of science and efficiency would that be? No, we simply need oppressed people around to produce for us, and for the elite. A properly-oppressed class of producer humans is far less likely to cause trouble than machines given autonomy and production power.”
“Wouldn’t it be possible to produce what you want without oppressing anyone?”
“Perhaps, but why bother? Most commoners don’t mind being robbed. So why not take advantage of that? There’s no reason to be just another plebeian. If you’re methodical about it.
“Now, my father. My own father – I’m afraid he, too, went overboard. Too far to the extreme of oppression. The producing class was producing less and less, because of it. There was even sabotage. Sabotage! Do you know the etymology, Perry?”
“I do not.”
“And it’s the same word today as in your time! Watch my mouth when I say it – you’ll see it’s the same. Sabot - age. It’s derived from the boots of the commoners. Sabot was the name of a shoe of theirs. Commoners kicking it over. Kicking over the system, you know. We can’t have that. And I’m afraid my father did have that; but not for long. It led to his downfall.”
Perry had the impression that “downfall” may have been a euphemism.
“As soon as my father met his unfortunate demise,” the Princeps continued, “I immediately shared a bit more with the commoners. Just a bit. They have remained content ever since. It’s science; simple science.”
*
From the balcony of the apartment he’d been given in the compound, Perry could look over the Princeps’ capital city. His surroundings were clearly not of the twenty-first century, but yet not so different as to be alien or incomprehensible. It was quiet, but not apocalyptically so. Perry could see some bustle in the streets. A few vehicles flew around, but the skies were not infested with hovering cars. Buildings were tall, but the ground was still visible, and the city had parks and squares that looked familiar.
Familiar.
He had the sense that some things were familiar, and some not, but it was hard to remember why.
He focused on one of the parks, not far from his building. In it, there may have been a stream; perhaps in between those trees. And in the stream, perhaps ducks.
*
Baby ducks in a pond in a park. He remembered a woman and a girl, both excited to see ducklings paddling in a little flotilla behind their mother. The adult duck cut through the water, seemingly effortlessly; the ducklings’ heads twitched as they swam hard to keep up.
What made Perry smile was the woman’s enthusiasm, more so than the girl’s; it rubbed off on the girl, whose eyes opened wide as she looked from the woman to the ducks and back.
The woman was a serious person, he could tell; she had grave responsibilities; but here, with these ducks, she literally bounced on her tiptoes and waved her arms. Perry had known her a long time but was still delighted and surprised to see her laugh at baby ducks and pull their daughter along into the laughter. How lucky he was to have found this wife.
That was why that park seemed familiar to him. He wondered now if the people down there still laughed, still leapt with joy to see ducklings.
*
“Princeps,” Perry asked, at the next audience, “what exactly have your people seen, about me?”
“You don’t know?” his host asked, seeming genuinely surprised.
“No.”
The Princeps spoke sharply to one of the attendants. It wasn’t translated for Perry.
“Well then. Let me replay it.” The glorious leader produced a silver device, about the size of a car key from Perry’s time, pulling it out of the interior of his cape.
“This is going out to everyone?” Perry asked. He knew that the Princeps usually controlled broadcasts to all his subjects with the device.
“Yes. They can watch it again.”
A scene appeared in front of Perry. It was the white case being lifted out of a hole in the ground by a claw on a cable which was attached to some unseen crane or hovercraft. Then, the Princeps in a laboratory room, dressed in a lab coat himself, inspecting the case. More scenes followed which all emphasized his excellent highness more than either the case or Perry himself. Viewers saw the Princeps in some sort of control room, and then in a hospital, and then strolling the halls of the compound.
Through all of it, the narration emphasized Perry’s long suspended animation and the Princeps’ genius in rousing him from it.
“And very soon, an interview,” he told Perry now. “We’ll take you out and talk to you in front of a very old building from your century. It’s time. I have discovered we need a distraction.”
“From what?”
“Well, from something I’m going to do. I am letting the distraction tail wag the development dog, to an extent. Did I formulate that right? That expression dates from your time. Anyway, I realized this would be a good opportunity for it. You see, I’m afraid my main prison for dissidents is getting overcrowded. And the labor camps don’t really need any more help. So, an excess of these prisoners is going to – ”
He waved his hand in the air just as he had done in his science speech when he talked about liquidating entire classes of society.
“Are you sure that won’t send you the same way as your father?” Perry asked.
“It won’t, no. It’s all calculated.”
*
Before his debut interview, Perry managed to speak to the chief medical officer alone. They were standing again in the grand bohemian fascist hall, waiting for their Esteemed Wisdom to descend a staircase once more, but he was late; over two hours late.
“Please call me Diana,” she was saying. “Not chief and all that.”
“Very well.” Her name really was Diana, he saw; the sound he heard matched her mouth when she said it. It was not the automatic translation dubbing some other name into an older form.
“Does he listen to all of us?”
“When he asks us questions? Yes, for a moment at least.”
“No, I mean does he spy on us. Is he monitoring this conversation.”
“Ah, I see. I don’t think so. He certainly could if he wanted to. But I don’t think he believes we have much valuable to say.”
“Do you believe he will – maintain power? And not be taken down the way his father was?”
“Well, it would be impossible for him to be taken down the way his father was unless he himself has children,” she said dryly. “But I see no event that would bring him down. Nothing anytime soon. But you should not speak of this,” she added. “You don’t know me. Or anyone.”
“How long have you worked with him?”
“Ten years. Since before he came to power, obviously.”
“Ten years? You must have started when he was just a boy.”
“And what do you think he is now?”
*
“Tomorrow, then,” the Princeps eventually told him. “We will transport you out to this old building I told you about. I think you’ll recognize it. A grand retail marketplace from your time.”
“I can’t wait.”
“Boxiness, with windowless, unbroken exterior walls – these were architectural ideals for your builders, weren’t they?
“I would say that’s accurate, yes.”
“Tomorrow, then,” the leader said. “So, is there – anything I can do for you?”
Perry was surprised by this offer. He had been fed well, and housed in the lavish compound, but he’d never been aware of any concern by the Princeps for this comfort. He did have an answer ready:
“Yes, thank you. I would like to learn if there is anything known about my family. I had a wife. A daughter.”
“Ah. A wife. And child.” For the first time, the First Citizen seemed to empathize with Perry. “I’m afraid not. Records have been destroyed through the centuries, you know. Even for persons who –” he paused, in another uncharacteristic moment of awareness. “You know, even for very prominent figures of your time, we do not have much information. You might think of how much you know yourself about people who lived in, what, the 1700s. As far back from you as you are from us.”
“Little. Apart from a few.”
The leader nodded. “There you are.” He was silent; but then suddenly he raised his voice and snapped his fingers.
“A DNA test! Why didn’t I think of that before? We could test your DNA, and see how many descendants you have. It would be easy; we have everyone’s DNA on file already.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.”
“Of course, anyone we find would be nine, ten generations on. I’m afraid your genetic material would be quite diluted by now. You could have a large number of great-greats by now. Thousands would not be out of the question.”
“You really don’t need to do that.”
The Princeps ignored him and pressed ahead. “And we could share that, too. Share all of it. Put you in a room or even a stadium with all of your living family. That would be something else that would be a very effective distraction. Let us get a sample from you.” He waved to an attendant.
“I am in no rush to do this,” Perry said.
“Very well. Not now. But we’ll get one.”
*
The next day Perry was picked up outside his room on what looked to him something like a narrow golf cart, driven by two of the quiet attendants. He boarded. It trundled down the hall a short distance but then turned sharply and passed through what had looked like a solid wall. The cart hovered in the air, banked, and made for the edge of the capital.
“You know,” the driver/pilot told him, “in your time the capital was known as Pittsburgh.”
“So that’s what it is,” Perry said. “I don’t recognize it.”
“You had been there? Well. Our Princeps has improved it immensely.”
The flying cart was no more than two hundred feet off the ground, but as they traveled from the center of the city to the north, Perry indeed recognized the Monongahela, Allegheny, and Ohio Rivers, although he assumed the Princeps had long since named them all after himself. The young man did have himself a beautiful capital, though, he had to admit. Trees abounded, buildings were well-kept, parks were green.
They landed near a long, nondescript red brick building. Unrivaled boxiness and windowlessness, just as the Princeps had promised.
The Princeps was there already, smiling in the sunshine. The chief medical officer stood near, also. Before the Supreme Planner, facing him, stood two attendants, a man and a woman. They held no cameras nor any other gear, but it struck Perry that they had the bearing of a film crew about to broadcast a live segment.
Once near the Princeps, Perry asked:
“Did the liquidation go well?”
“Don’t call it that.” The young man smiled and swatted Perry on the arm. “More of just a – cull, we could say. It hasn’t happened yet; tomorrow. Here we go, we are ready.”
The Princeps faced his attendants and brought his broadcast controller out from his cape again.
“People of my nation,” he said. “I know you have had many questions, so I have brought our visitor from the past, whom I revived, here to speak with you. Next to this marvelous building from his time, which we will ask about.”
Perry stepped toward him and snatched the controller away. He spoke toward the two not-camerapersons:
“Listen to me. Everyone out there. The Princeps here is a fraud. He killed his father and now he’s going to kill many of you. He did not bring me out of my sleep. If anyone here did, it was the chief medical officer.”
The Princeps yelped:
“What are you doing?”
“This boy,” Perry continued, “is a fool. For the ages.”
The Princeps’ shock bled into rage; his face nearly bloomed red.
“You – ”
But the two attendants tackled him instantly. He went down to the ground with a thud and another yelp.
“I believe,” Perry finished, “that the chief medical officer may now be relieving your Princeps.”
Diane was next to him, by now, and she took the control.
“That’s that,” she said.
“You ended the transmission?”
“They don’t need to know anything else, for now.”
She added: “You may remain in the compound.”
Perry looked at her face. He had assumed she would have looked – benevolent; expansive. He had thought she might say more to the people. Also that she would share with him more than just her permission to remain housed; some words of thanks, perhaps of relief.
But she said nothing. Her face was blank; flat. She seemed to Perry to be immersed in calculations.