Unnamed Journal Volume 5, Issue 1 | Page 19

The Emperor's Justice By Thomas Fitz The Stars on Gemellus Secundus are dim, filtered away by the light pollution of the Emperor’s capitol, Carca. Most nights no, or only a few, stars can be seen, and only a muddy dark grey reflects from the sky. Many nights, when my duties are done, I climb the long black tower above the Palatium, where I keep my apartments, and rather than sleep, I stare into this blank expanse. Long ago the Palatium was the house of worship to an incarnation of a Great Mother, and the tower gleamed as a priestess called the faithful to prayer. Now only silence comes from it. Now only I come from it. The shift in perspective is useful. Standing above Carca at the dizzying height, I am reminded of the smallness of the sleeping men beneath me. They are too small to be seen. They are as grains of sand in the seashore. They are barely worth hunting. I am also reminded of my own insignificance. But the leap of a few feet from where I stand would be sufficient to end my life. My body would splatter against the ground and none would mourn me. I would be replaced, and the daily lives of billions upon billions the Galaxy wide nothing at all would change. Distance alone serves to earn us this wisdom. But most of all, the unlovely light-burned sky reminds me of what I do not see. Many men here in Carca could be forgiven for forgetting that stars exist. Many would deny the existence of stars as a first principle if the Emperor commanded. But I never forget. In my moments of quiet, in my tower high above, I sense them.