Har Norma Byukan
Norma walked home. The path from her drome led through a stand of setripuu that greeted her with
bobbing, needled branches and thick, tangy aromas. She smiled up into their green, layered depths
and ran her hands over corrugated bark to return their greetings. After six intense days of
instruction in Nien-Hao, capital of Planet Regency, sandwiched between a tedious day of
interstellar travel each way, most of that just descending to and getting back up from the
Backdoors deep underground, she was glad to be home. Glad and ready to ascend to the throne of
Popovich, even if she had to build it — and everything supporting it — herself.
Pausing at her copse's edge, she peeked into her direvnya. A single, wide green street, broken by
frequent gardens and fountains, ran straight between ornate office buildings in which her staff of
Byukan-Hamil worked every day. She knew, though she couldn't see them, that residential circles
spread out around this very solid core, except where the drome intruded.
Few people walked around her direvnya. At this time of morning, her staff would be plowing data at
their desks or coordinating their departments in meetings. Everyone in place, and a place for
everyone.
Is this town ready to become a royal city? Can its residents constitute my court?
She drew up images of her staff. She flashed from the packed corridors of her Partner building to
her cozier departmental houses that marched along this green street to the nested circles where the
denizens went when they were off-duty. She flew through their myriad faces in a variety of
expressions and postures, yet every one a serious and devoted supporter of her consortium and its
far-flung grasp over this continent. She replayed their actions as seen through her office's
grotto, inspecting samples of their competence and loyalty.
Suddenly, she found herself no longer focused on her staff, but remembering a quiet room, rich with
tapestry and tradition, back on Regency. Sitting there in a low, soft chair, she described how her
staff would adjust from consortium to royal business. Her tutor stood quietly next to a shelf-wall
heavy with books. A tall, severe man who wore a powdered wig, he listened intently to her oral
essay about courts, their purpose and composition. On the last day of her lessons in Nien-Hao, she
applied herself to examinations, administered by one master tutor after another.
So much better than those first tedious and frustrating days she'd spent secluded in her own
quarters as she tried to learn about becoming a queen from the Mirnaya Direvnya. While she'd
always studied at home, the lessons had come to her, carried by physical or virtual tutors, not
through some network. She just couldn't use the Em-Deh in this way. But, of course, she couldn't
pursue her queenly research with anyone on Yeibichai either, not yet anyway. So she'd traveled
off-world. And where better to learn than a planet that specialized in monarchies, like Regency?
There, she had passed her oral exams with stellar grades. Every tutor had agreed she was born to
rule.
Nodding slowly to confirm and close out this image, Norma stepped out into high sunshine and
accepted this village as a good start. It pleased her. It would support her well.
She left her copse — not "Her Royal Copse" yet — and strode down her green street, following a
path of flagstones. She sniffed her air and found it good, crisp, and clean. She flared her
nostrils and greedily pulled it down into her, long and deep, filling her nose, stroking her
throat, spreading out through her chest, reaching nearly to her belly. Much, much better than
Regency's. I — She stopped herself. Thought underlies Behavior, she had been taught. Behavior
underlies Dominion. Therefore, she corrected herself: We will never let Popovich fall
into such disrepair. That part of Yeibichai's legacy We will keep.
Exhilarated, she turned a corner, followed a tributary path toward her residence. Even walking
felt good, the gravity just right, not the extra load of Regency. She broke into a trot, just to
sample the flex of her muscles, and surprised one of her subjects stepping out of an entrance. She
touched the man's elbow, watched his startled face pass through the shock of recognition into the
somberness of respect, greeted him, and hurried on, imagining the shockwave of news he would spread
about her return.
A moment later, in the shade of her trellis-borne morning glories, Norma put out her hand to the
rich gloss of her bronze door handle, looked directly at her agent-for-assurance's panel built into
her door, then gave the rest of her fiducia, "La Mère et Le Père, ils ont fait la fille." It
sighed, relaxing its wards, and slipped her door open. Welcome, it seemed to say, we missed you.
She hesitated, though. In the ritual just passed, her agent-for-assurance didn't examine just
skin, but also required an image of her face pronouncing certain words aloud. It didn't care what
she said, but she did. The key to her own quarters was very important to her; it amounted to the
key to her life, a life that was now changing.
Without moving, raising her head, or lifting her hand, she said, "Change fiducia to 'Norma
Regent,'" then confirmed the new value by repeating, "Norma Regent," this time with a throaty coo
so the words flowed rich and full from her.
Norma smiled and paused to look back down the path toward her direvnya. Yes, yes indeed, Our Staff
working and living here will make splendid subjects, the first of millions. A sense of arrival
washed over her, confirming that she was ready to start the work of making herself Queen of
Popovich.
She pushed her way inside. Nothing had changed. No surprise, but reassuring nonetheless. She
strode through the cheeriness of her entrance room to the foot of her staircase. There, she
hesitated again, peeked into her parlor at her parents' portrait, at their smiles of approval, then
raced up her stairs toward her office.
In the back of her mind, she imagined her automata springing into life from the maintenance lull
they'd assumed on her departure. She knew she couldn't beat them, that they'd be ready for her
when she stepped into her office.
The dome patterned with pastels arched over her. Except for the greasy-gray smudge at Ganj Dareh,
Popovich still belonged to her. She enjoyed the smug smile that broke out and pressed at her
cheeks.
Another moment, then she ordered, "Message queues, please."
Cyan replaced rose-red, sky-blue, and pink to present a depthless backdrop to the stark images
Norma used for queues. Stacks of bricks, rough-drawn as though sketched in charcoal on sepia
paper, surrounded her. Height proportional to count of messages, the stacks represented challenge
and opportunity, the drudgery of dealing with petty minds and the joys of aligning them to her
purposes.
Directly in front of her, at top priority, Tidhar's queue showed as a modest pile. Norma pointed
at it and ordered, "Summarize."
In a low-pitched drone, the office said, "Progress reports. Returning tomorrow late-day."
"Ah!" Norma closed her eyes. Tidhar's smooth, hairless body preened before her in full arousal.
Anticipation washed over her thighs, groin, stomach. She rode the feelings, the changes in her own
body, for just a moment, then re-opened her eyes. The monochrome stacks hovering around her cooled
her ardor, enabled her to focus on the business at hand.
"Next," she said. The charcoal ranks shifted. A new queue, taller than Tidhar's, labeled "Jik
Dain Bedlip," took the center position. "Summarize."
"Where the fuck are you?" replied the office.
"Ha!" Norma shouted. "A little more, please."
"The Rendezvous progresses. I'm taking over every combine I need to make this project work. Is
that what you want? Where are you?"
"Good, good," Norma murmured. Dain was proving himself just as she expected. "Next!"
A queue, comparable in size, but labeled "Jac Irwin Codedivisionma," replaced Dain's with a quick
blip and a receding wave of change in the other stacked images.
Norma smiled broadly. Irwin's anxious as well, she thought, but about completely different
things. "Summarize."
"I demand a Limited meeting/can-be-seen of the entire Team of Partners as soon as possible. We
must deal with a situation that threatens the stability of the entire Byukan-Hamil Consortium."
Does Irwin want a showdown? Whether he does or not, We do. "See if you can reach Irwin for Us?"
A moment later, the office hung Irwin's face off to the side. "Norma," he said immediately, "are
you ... all right?"
"Fine, Irwin, fine. We're available if you want to take that meeting."
"I'll have to assemble the others."
"Tell you what, Irwin, let's do it properly." Give Us some time to implement a few new,
regency-based ideas, set up an interim structure or two. Besides, Tidhar should meet Dain
face-to-face at least once before he is sent to kill him. "Bring everyone over here tomorrow
evening for a Limited can-feel. Just the eleven of us."
"Norma, I'd like to convene as soon as possible."
"Tomorrow evening, Irwin. That's when We're available."
"Very well, Norma. We will all ... see you then, in person."
"Good-bye, Irwin."
"Good-bye, Norma."
Alone with her queues again, she drew a long breath and spread her arms. If We want to rebuild
properly, We must raze the previous structure. It wouldn't be the first time a monarchy rose from
the ruins of a mobocracy. A new era for the continent and for her. In particular, We have to find
a crowbar big enough to take Irwin out cleanly and completely ... She remembered then how La Mère
et Le Père had laid the foundation for their own authority — now hers — in Byukan-Hamil's
policyware. We shall delve there first.
Norma shivered with the promise of her future.
