speak it so plainly, to cast his trust in me into words, acted as a tonic upon me. I knelt to the floor
in silent devotion.
“Go, my servant. Bring my Justice to the stars.”
*
*
*
The North Wing of the Palatium is the seat of government in our universe, and as small
and tawdry as that implies. The place swims with people and business, toads currying favor and
negotiating agreements and shaving laws. I have never entered it without feeling murderous
intent, with no particular purpose, burn within me. I could kill them all so swiftly. Nothing would
stop me. Not for the last time, I hoped that one day Stygius would command me to do that very
thing.
I walked among them, alternately fat or skinny, and they swerved to avoid my step. Not a
one dared to speak to me or prevent my purpose. No one attempted to waylay me. No one in the
Galaxy may bar my path from any place. I have no responsibility to or for anyone, save the
Emperor.
At the center of the wing, in a circular room with many doors, and a green and gold
pattern to the walls, I found the man I sought, surrounded by flunkies, fielding questions and
giving directives with bland concern. With the merest of nods he acknowledged me, then leaned
back in his chair and lifted his hand. The servants became aware of my presence and, as if an ill
wind had blown into the room, gathered their trifling tomes and scattered. I stood my ground
with my arms folded as they left, pale and crimson robes draping my shoulders. I felt their fear. I
delighted in it.