Empire's End by Chris Bunch; Allan Cole

Emperor.” He slid a card from his pocket, and the Imperial emblem glowed to life, keyed to Kenna’s pore patterns.
    “Regarding Sten, I would imagine.”
    “You imagine correctly.”
    “Of course,” Sr. Ecu said, “I will render what service I can. I see no problem in cooperating, since my race’s neutrality has never extended to a confessional seal about criminals—which Sten is, correct?”
    “Of the worst order,” Kenna agreed. “He betrayed the Empire—and for no reason that anyone can ascertain except personal ambition.”
    Kenna tried to look pious, a laughable attempt. It was supposed, the Manabi knew, to look stupid, and the witness then encouraged to think Kenna the same, never noticing the razor gleam from his piggish eyes.
    “Ambition… something that makes mockery of us all, as the poet said.”
    “Sten,” Ecu mused, as if assembling his thoughts. “I frankly know very little, since the time I spent in his company was rather… frantic, might be the correct word.
    “The Tribunal and the privy council was far more on my mind than anything else. But, as I said, what help I may render, I shall. But I’m puzzled, frankly. Considering all the time Sten passed in Imperial Service, I would think your… I mean Imperial… records would be far more thorough, even considering that the greater percentage of his career was spent in… irregular pursuits.”
    Kenna frowned—and it seemed this expression was honest. “I thought so, too. But evidently not. Or else the Emperor needs to cross-correlate what records he has. Or, and this is the most likely, he’s dredging for any scrap that can bring this traitor to the bar.”
    “Where would you like to begin, then?”
    “Would you consent to a brainscan? A machine and the finest technicians of Internal Security are aboard my ship.”
    Ecu jolted, wingtips involuntarily twitching. A brainscan was not only the ultimate mental rape, but likely to produce long-term psychic damage or death, even when performed by the most highly skilled operator.
    “I will not,” Ecu said firmly, after he recovered. “While I have served the Emperor, I must officially remind you that I was never in his service, nor were any others in my race. And we have our own secrets, of course, which are not of the Emperor’s concern.”
    Kenna nodded acceptance and reached to a side table. On it were the refreshments the Manabi had provided—Kenna’s favorite brandy from Dusable, a glass, and a tray of snacks, supposedly intended to sop up the affects of alcohol, actually chemically synthesized to compound them.
    “The Emperor said you would decline, and told me I ‘was not to press the point. He did, however, add—and this is off the rec-ord, so if you are recording this meeting you are requested to so cease—the following, and I am quoting directly:
    “ ‘When Sten is apprehended, tried, and brainscanned prior to execution, any being involved with him or his conspiracy, no matter if they’re neutral, will be considered a personal enemy, and dealt with accordingly.’ ”
    “That,” Ecu said, feeling proud that his wing tendrils did not even flicker slightly at the threat, “is not the most diplomatic statement I have ever heard the Eternal Emperor make.”
    “These are not diplomatic times,” Kenna said. “And he takes the threat of Sten and the others far too seriously to waste time with niceties. However, my personal apologies for the bluntness, even though I was merely the messenger. And I also wish to apologize for the amount of your time I am now going to consume, since the Emperor wants everything .
    “I must now advise you that this conversation is being recorded. You have a right to counsel, legal advice, and medico-watch to ensure you are not under any influence, physical or pharmacological.”
    “I understand, and thank you for the dual apologies,” Ecu said. “But for me, at present, there is nothing but time. Shall we begin?‘
    He carefully began his