Emperor Gladdex IV assumed his seat and stared out across the vast expanse of his domain. The entirety of the Sol system was now his after the rebels had been destroyed on Pluto. He was now without a doubt the most powerful man in the known universe, and history had no analogue whose empire compared to his. Napoleon? An antiquated conqueror who could barely hold Europe together for a decade. Alexander the Great? His empire crumbled with his demise. Padishah Durani? Venus, Earth, and Mars only. Gladdex had expanded his father’s empire, adding Europa, Saturn, and Pluto. No human civilization or settlement escaped his reach. Truly, he was without peer.
“Where the fuck is the clicker?” he yelled as he randomly pressed buttons on his throne. The star map vanished from the display to be replaced with two uniformed Martians kicking a soccer ball across the red desert.
“It is right here, my excellency,” said Deputy Imperial Advisor Stephan Grinder.
Grinder was a thin, balding man who always wore a leering expression on his homely face. At the moment he was struggling to remove the aforementioned sneer in the presence of the Emperor, but his efforts merely transformed his visage into a clownish facsimile of servile devotion, a mask whose lack of sincerity was obvious, even to the densest observer.
“I was hoping to discuss the eradication of the Plutonian Rebels,” began Grinder.
“I want to see the coverage on Reynard News,” interrupted the Emperor. “Tits Mcgee and Humblebuff always make me look good.”
The Emperor clicked on the viewscreen. A bleached-blonde woman with artificially-smoothed features and an enhanced bust appeared next to a squared-jawed mannequin. Both sat behind a desk and debated with a blow-up doll dressed in purple overalls and a powdered wig commonly worn by Plutonians.
“The Plutonians have shown time and time again that they are unable to govern themselves,” said the mannequin whose name was George Humblepuff. “The Plutonian leadership refused to meet with us before their capture, so we were forced to represent their laughable President with this inflatable doll.”
“What a ridiculous wig! And purple overalls! They really do deserve to be destroyed,” said the blonde woman, who resembled the previous four or five talking heads to such an extent that no one knew her name.
The screen identified her as Glenda Brazil, but that was what they had called her predecessor and her predecessor’s predecessor, and every woman had possessed subtle differences, to the point where a trained eye could differentiate that every one had been a different person, but a layman wouldn’t know the difference, and neither did the Emperor, who called all of them “Tits Mcgee.”
“You know I banged her once,” said the Emperor to Grinder. “I had a tour of the newsroom on Jupiter station, and she came on to me in the dressing room. She was a tremendous lay. Ten out of ten. Tremendous.”
Deputy Imperial Advisor Miller had heard this story many, many times before, but knew it was in his best interests to act as though he was hearing it for the first time.
“Humblebuff, he’s a great man, very smart, very polite. He got down on his knees with tears in his eyes and said ‘Thank you, Mr. Emperor, I don’t know what we would do without you,’ and it was embarrassing, you know, this big, strong man with tears in his eyes, I had to get out of there, there was too much sniveling going on, and you know how I hate sniveling, Grinder, I can’t stand it. It’s terrible, absolutely terrible,” said the Emperor, who was smiling.
Grinder knew the truth was actually contrary to what the Emperor had stated: the Emperor loved groveling and expected it of everyone, no matter how high they stood in the Imperium.
“Your excellency, there’s the manner of the Plutonian executions that demands your attention,” began Grinder. “Now I recommend a thorough beheading of the rebel leadership, with some civilian examples to reinforce that we mean business.”
“Whatever Grinder, do your business, I don’t care,” said the Emperor with a wave. “I want to talk to the businessmen. The tech guys. Applebutt and Baldo.”
“I can have them on the viewscreen shortly,” replied Grinder, his face set with grim determination.
Someone knocked on the door. The Emperor turned with sleepy-eyed surprise. He was used to people coming when he called, and unexpected visitors were a rarity.
“Well open it, Stephen. My Imperial Guardsmen are right outside the door. I fear nothing,” said the Emperor.
The door slid open and three men and one woman entered. They were dressed in the pink leggings and undersized vests worn by Senators of the Imperium, although the woman wore a powdered wig.
“Greetings, Mr. Emperor,” said a tall man with graying temples. “We are sorry to disturb you without warning, but news of our victory over the Plutonians just reached us, and we wanted to offer our counsel before a decision was hastily reached.”
He glanced over at Grinder before focusing again on the Emperor.
“So speak, Robert,” said the Emperor with obvious nonchalance.
“It’s William, your excellency.”
“Yes, yes. Senator Gorbachev. From Jupiter.”
“I beg your pardon, sir, but I represent Europa,” replied Senator Gorbachev.
“Same difference. Quickly, Senator, you’re losing my attention,” said the Emperor, whose eyes had already turned toward the viewscreen.
“We recommend pardoning the Plutonian leadership,” began Gorbachev. “Their rebellion was really quite peaceful, and other than the destruction of Imperial property, more or less within their constitutional rights. We think it would moderate your image and greatly ease tensions that threaten to overwhelm our planets. Sympathy for the Plutonians runs deep, especially on Europa.”
“You must have mercy, Mr. Emperor,” said the woman. “The Plutonians are good citizens of the Imperium.”
“If they’re such good citizens, then why were they in open rebellion?” sneered Grinder. “They burned down the Imperial Consulate. The Imperial diplomat was doused in hot crude oil and covered in ostrich feathers. Officers of the Imperial Peace and Immigration Force were harassed and feared for their lives!”
“Those officers shot and killed fourteen people!” argued the woman. “Peaceful protesters who had a constitutional right to record their abuses!”
“This woman is a Plutonian, your excellency,” said Grinder. “Anything she says is suspect.”
“You shall refer to this woman as Senator Collinsworth,” said the woman, glaring at Grinder.
“They’re not good people,” said the Emperor. “Terrible, nasty people. Ungrateful. Hateful. I hear they eat dogs and cats. Worse even. Maybe babies.”
“Your excellency, the Plutonians supported you when your cousin Thaddeus attempted to retain power. You could argue that without Plutonians, your reign would never have started,” said Collinsworth. “They were only protesting the abuses of the IPIF who have been given unchecked authority by Deputy Imperial Adviser Grinder to arrest and detain anyone suspicious.”
“Where’s Applebutt? Wasn’t he supposed to be on here?” asked the Emperor, who was clicking through channels on the viewscreen.
Taking advantage of the Emperor’s lapsed attention, Grinder stepped up to the Senators and began speaking in a voice barely louder than a whisper.
“I don’t know what you all think you are doing, but you seem to be under the impression that you have political and constitutional power that you no longer possess. This is not a republic anymore. This is an Imperium. We govern by strength, force, and power. We are the superpower of the universe, and under the Emperor, we are going to conduct ourselves as a superpower. If any of you have a problem with that, then I suggest you get on board, lest you end up like the Plutonian leadership, who will be decapitated very shortly.”
“You can’t threaten us!” said Senator Gorbachev. “We’ll haul you before the Senate and make you explain your conduct and that of the IPIF.”
“No you won’t,” replied Grinder with a sneer.
“What makes you say that?” asked Senator Collinsworth.
“Did you subpoena me when the IPIF put down the Europa rebellion? Did you subpoena Baldo when he served as a Special Government Employee and fired half of the Imperial workforce? Did you limit the jurisdiction of the Supreme Imperial Court when they ruled that the Emperor can commit no crimes? Well, did you?”
None of the Senators spoke. Grinder’s sneer turned into an even uglier smile.
“See, the fact of the matter is, the Senate abdicated its power by refusing to act. Your gross negligence has rendered you impotent. You are an antiquated, neutered body full of cowards and sycophants. You could have impeached Gladdex when he took the throne illegally from his cousin, but you didn’t! You were afraid of your constituents who welcomed his tyranny if it would save them from interplanetary inflation and illegal aliens. And now, after having sat with your thumbs up your asses for years, you’re going to try and pull them out? Shove them back up there, Senators. You best grovel on your knees and beg for mercy, because I’m going to advise the Emperor to conduct a loyalty investigation focusing on each and every one of you. Because the Emperor is always right. Fuck your feelings,” said Grinder, who finished his tirade by spitting on Collinsworth’s shoes.
“What, you’re still here?” asked the Emperor, turning back to the Senators.
“Your excellency, we just need a minute more to explain…” began Gorbachev.
“No, no, I’ve already decided. We got to have the beheadings. We got to have them. They’ll be fantastic for ratings. We need them. Those nasty Plutonians have to die. Thank you for your time. Now I need to speak to Applebutt and Baldo. Goodbye.”
Gorbachev stood there for a moment, fists clinched. He opened his mouth, but then he saw Grinder, who dragged his right index finger slowly across his throat. Suddenly, the Senator turned to his companions and ushered them all unceremoniously out the door.
“Traitors,” whispered Grinder with barely-restrained fury.
“Stephen, why isn’t the clicker working? Get me something for my hemorrhoids. Hurry, quickly! This is unbearable.”
With steel resolve, Deputy Imperial Adviser Stephan Grinder went to work.
