able to understand that a democracy that was struggling to hold a
single system together couldn't possibly cope with what promised to
rapidly become thousands of systems. Aristocracy had worked, more or
less, in one form or another, for thousands of years, so an Empire was
a natural solution--but it was also a classic idea in space opera. And
one of her own favorite touches was the Anthem; every government seemed
to need one, so why not do as Emperor Chang had, and take an
instrumental piece already titled "Imperial Anthem" from a classic
late-twentieth-century entertainment tape? "Oh," she went on, "he
never let it interfere with serious business--but why not take what
enjoyment you can, after all?"

"No reason," Angus said with a grin. "And did your friend also like
American cowboy stories?"

"When he was a boy, yes. Until he got interested in space opera,
anyway." Susan returned his grin. "I've always thought he should have
been born a Texan."

The reminiscences continued as she was kept supplied with smoothly-potent
whiskey, and she was fully aware that she was well on the way to
being thoroughly drunk. That was all right; the Palace Guards, who
would be the first to arrive, knew their Sovereign was quite human.
And, being Marines, their medikits held sober pills she could use if
she had to.

Roughly two hours after her phone call, Susan and the rest of the
partiers were startled by the sound of a lander's null-grav engines,
then by the first notes of the Imperial Anthem sounding from the
almost-forgotten holoset. As Gordon announced Chang's death and her
accession, Susan found Angus looking at her understandingly. She
nodded to him, smiling, then concealed a sigh. Her brief crash-caused
leave was over; it was time to take on her new duties.

* * * * *

Isle of Skye, 3 Jan 2149

The scream of null-grav engines interrupted Tara MacGregor's housework.
She ran outside, to see a brilliant scarlet lander settling to earth
barely ten meters from the front door. When its hatch opened and a
scarlet-tunicked man emerged, she caught her breath. This was an
Imperial Messenger!

"Tara MacGregor?" the man asked.

She nodded silently, and the Messenger bowed to her, extending a large
green envelope. "I am instructed to deliver this with Her Majesty's
compliments, Mrs. MacGregor. She asks that you contact Castellan
Gordon with your reply." He bowed again, and left as swiftly as h