Fortunes of the Imperium by Jody Lynn Nye Page A

you will not obtain along with the request you will shortly receive.”
    No meditation was possible following such an exciting prologue. I unwound myself from the double-lotus position and rose eagerly to my bare feet.
    “You have engaged my curiosity, Parsons,” I said, slipping on a pair of silk-lined sandals. “Please, join me. I enjoy a cup of gen mai cha after my attempts at meditation.” I gestured to the low table at the end of the room. It had been placed there once I had become interested in the contemplative cultures. On it was a line of three small cups, an earthenware pot painted with a frieze of bamboo leaves, a jar with matching bowl, a scoop, and a straw whisk.
    I waited until Parsons had seated himself in the guest position at the head of the table. I sat at the foot. My chief valetbot, an LAI designated as OP45-AE7, rolled forth and extracted from his central cabinet a steaming cast iron kettle of hot water and three more small cups.
    I made the tea, and poured the first of three small cups for each of us. To my chagrin, Parsons already knew about the number and method of drinking each one. I could never surprise him. The brain that pulsed against the expressionless forehead contained more knowledge than the entire Infogrid, plus all the lost libraries of humanity. Still, I enjoyed the ceremony greatly. In no other circumstance could I picture Parsons slurping anything, but it was the custom with this tea. I made a private recording of the moment, which I assumed he would cause to be erased the moment I turned my back on him.
    “Good fortune favor us,” I said, lifting my own cups in turn. When the third ceremonial cup was drained, I produced two larger cups of handsome dark blue ceramic that could be filled as often as one pleased. I pushed one toward him. “Go on, then. Tell me about the request! Am I at last to have a meeting with the mysterious Mr. Frank?”
    Parsons regarded me with a glance that I would have called pitying. I was surprised, because I assumed he would admire my perspicacity. After all, we were fewer than ten days away from our mission. He decanted a sufficiency of tea and pushed the pot toward me.
    “No meeting with Mr. Frank is scheduled at this time, my lord. It is unnecessary.”
    I allowed my eyebrows to climb my forehead.
    “Then what is the request?” I asked. “Or should I inquire as to from whom it will come?”
    “I predict that you will hear from Lady Jil Loche Nikhorunkorn very soon.”
    I lowered the brows.
    “Jil? What does she want? How may I help?”
    Parsons took a moment to sip tea thoughtfully.
    “Perhaps you have seen on the local news a negative interaction between locals and visitors of importance?”
    I recalled the conversation I had had with my crew. “If you mean the brawl that ensued on Sparrow Island, I did hear something at lunch. When I looked it up, I found numerous links to postings by my cousins in their Infogrid files. Organized criminals, or some such thing?”
    “Some persons of less-than-savory character, sir. The press does not wish to state the condition outright without a court conviction to fall back upon to prove that the persons in question are criminals.”
    I waved my hand to dismiss journalistic delicacy, which never seemed to be employed when it came to my personal hijinks being publicized.
    “But what has this to do with Jil? How is she involved? It would never occur to anyone of our class even to associate with such pond scrapings.”
    “She insulted them, my lord. They were occupying a favorite table of hers, and she told them what was in her mind upon beholding them there.”
    “Well, of course! Any of us would have. We are the best customers Sparrow Island has.”
    “But perhaps it was not the most tactful course to take. She could have enlisted the assistance of the management.”
    “Didn’t, eh? How like Jil.”
    “She embarrassed the visitors,” Parsons continued.
    “Oh, dear,” I said, and I meant every