He had to think of the people first. Opening a channel to the surviving Solar Navy ships, he ordered a swift and complete withdrawal of the forty-seven defeated warliners.

Kori’nh was in shock. He had just watched the utter rout of his battlefleet—the first such humiliating defeat ever recorded in their epic history. But beyond even this shameful debacle and the unconscionable loss of life, the Adar felt a deeper despair. He knew this was likely just the beginning.

Now the enemy aliens had declared war on the Ildiran Empire too.

92: MAGE-IMPERATOR

92MAGE-IMPERATOR

Reclining in his chrysalis chair beneath the Prism Palace’s skysphere, the Mage-Imperator basked in the focused sunlight that shone through the curved walls. Overhead, birds and colorful insects flitted inside the giant open terrarium, held captive by discourager fields. Sprayed mists congealed into a cloud onto which a hologram of the leader’s benevolent features was projected at the top of a column of light from his enormous throne. His face looked down like a deity upon the pilgrims and petitioners who came to see and worship him.

As it should be.

Through the thism, the Mage-Imperator sensed the tangled web of major events across the Empire. Such widely scattered thoughts and feelings were most distinct when funneled through his sons, the Designates of other Ildiran colonies, but he could also feel the glittering lights of other important people across the Empire: his military commanders, researchers, architects, even occasional pairs of lovers whose passion sparked a glow bright enough to be noticed in the noise of billions of Ildiran souls. As Mage-Imperator, he could juggle those sensations in the background while he concentrated on his benevolent duties at court.

Only he understood the priorities, the unpleasant necessities. Everyone else could remain in the dark, as far as he was concerned. The Ildiran race served him in whatever he chose to do. He was the center of the Empire, and all lifelines radiated from him.

As he brooded, a delegation of five scalies came forward, heads bowed and backs bent. They had angular faces and long snouts and moved with a fluid rapidity that gave them a reptilian flicker. The scalies were an Ildiran kith that worked in the equatorial zones, maintaining arrays of shimmering solarpower collectors under always-glaring skies. They built windmill power generators within narrow canyons that channeled the gusty breezes. Some scalies also worked in mines and quarries, excavating treasures from rugged cliff bands.

Sitting forward in his chrysalis chair, the Mage-Imperator acknowledged the delegation. Their leader, wearing an oiled leathery jerkin, approached with reverence. He wheezed, uncomfortable with the humidity in every breath he drew, and kept his head bowed low.

“My Mage-Imperator,” he said in a raspy voice, “we have brought you a gift, our greatest discovery in the cliff quarries. Our kith presents this offering to you in praise of your wisdom and the paternal care that makes our Empire thrive.”