Two Thousand Years

The Hegemon Eternal's throne was a tall tube of strong high-transparency polymers, capped by metal rings that set it into the dais at the center of a throne room only befitting to one of such status as the Hegemon. Darkness shrouded the walls of the room away from the central dais and the walkway that led towards the door, where the few permitted an audience would walk towards the throne of their ruler.   It was filled with a mixture of liquids only known to the Hegemon's closest attendants, developed over many years to help ensure his Eternality. This, of course, also befit the Hegemon. In His throne room, only He was premitted immersion, as is the natural way of all life to be, while visitors were forced to creep on the dry floor, like inferior land creatures.   Even the head attendant was no exception. He was squeezed into a wet suit, water-filled helmet tightly fitting around his head. It was a good suit, using a very absorbent natural sponge from a somewhat recently conquered archipelago world whose half-aquatic natives had been very cooperative in providing useful materials like that sponge, though the plan to establish a forward supply base in their system had run severely behind schedule after a minor rebellion and its theft of several transport ships. It was also fitted with a quick-connect hose that allowed the attendant to move around the throne room without the heavy water circulation and oxygenation backpack that usually came with wet suits like this. The attendant was quite fond of this latest generation of suits, much more comfortable than previous models and far slower to dry out. Despite all this, he was forced to crawl on all six limbs in the lack of buoyancy, like a lowly land creature, in front of his master's majestic upright stance. Such was the life of the Hegemon Eternal's attendants.   The attendant was, of course, a clone of the Hegemon. Only His closest family would be allowed to attend to the leader of the greatest empire in the galaxy, and who could be closer family than an exact genetic duplicate? Not quite exact, however, since the attendants had controlled lifespans, so they would never be Eternal.   Occasionally, people claimed to be distant descendants of the Hegemon, rightful heirs. They may as well have been right, but it was a pointless argument—the Hegemon was Eternal, so he would not have an heir. All of these attempts ended in execution of the claimant and their supporters.   At his usual station near the foot of the dais, the head attendant checked the day's schedule. There was only one audience, a newly appointed Supreme General of the Fleet. Not many were granted the privilege, so days where the attendants were the only ones apart from the Hegemon himself in the chamber weren't uncommon. It was a long-held tradition, however, for newly promoted high military officials such as this to be granted an audience as a reward for their service. This particular one was quite young for his post, his file noting him for harsh treatment of his subordinates and the occasional... creative interpretation of orders from above. His particular achievements included bringing that sponge-producing planet back under proper control, establishing a new local government and bringing the supply base plans back on track. A free thinker, but a very effective one, somewhat of a double-edged sword. The attendant hoped the General would not take that free thinking too far in front of the Hegemon—it would be a shame to lose a man as capable.   A soft chime, amplified by the cavernous throne room, announce the arrival of the General. The guards outside talked on the video link, but the attendant made sure to mute the sound. The Gjar where convenient servants on land, having been bred for obedience for centuries since their subjugation, but their land creature language grated in his ears, even when passed through a translator. They never had anything to say that the files didn't anyway, and of course they wouldn't be permitted inside the throne room. Their usefulness lay mostly in their strength on land, enough that even proud aquatics would not challenge them in their habitat.   The gate slowly opened, and the General entered. He was wearing a military-issue combat wetsuit, heavy high-endurance oxygenator backpack offset by powered exoskeleton reinforcement and deep treads for added grip and power on forelimbs and hindlimbs. The helmet was mostly dark metal, with only a narrow viewing slit that was mostly a backup to the more advanced system of cameras and retinal projection. It was a practical suit, sacrificing comfort for mobility and protection. The throne room complex had more comfortable suits, though not quite to the level of those worn by the attendants, that visitors could borrow, but most of the military officials permitted an audience chose to wear their combat suits instead, even in this most well-guarded center of the Hegemony. Many simply simply preferred equipment they were used to, though in some it was paranoia that the borrowed suits would not be under their control.   The General slowly made his way towards the dais without speaking, only the whirring of exoskeleton motors and the clacking of hard rubber treads on the stone floor echoing through the chamber.   "Supreme General. The Hegemon Eternal, Supreme Ruler of the Universe, welcomes you in his chambers." His voice rang out of the speaker embedded in his helmet, echoing around the cavernous space.   The General stayed silent as he advanced further, until he was right up to the dais. He looked up at the Hegemon in His throne, then to the attendant, back to the Hegemon, and again to the attendant.   "I came here to speak to the Hegemon, not be insulted by a mere attendant omitting most of my titles and accolades," the General said, anger thinly veiled in a calm tone.   The attendant drew water through his gills. This was quickly turning into towards the kind of audience that ended in execution.   "I speak in the Hegemon's place, until such time that he shall deem you worthy to speak to directly." It was a well-practiced phrase, one that had turned many near-executions back towards a calmer direction, though most that it did salvage did not start as badly.   The General paused for a short time before speaking again. "Would the Lord Hegemon Eternal at least be as kind as to look at me?"   Taking a glance at the unmoving Hegemon in His throne, the head attendant replied, "The Hegemon will honor you with his gaze—"   "Yes, yes, when I shall be deemed worthy, I get it," the General rudely interrupted. They stared at each other in silence for some seconds, as far as the General's narrow visor permitted eye contact. The only sounds reverberating through the hall were the whirring of servo motors as he impatiently tapped his forelimb, and the hollow sound as the rubber treads hit the floor repeatedly.   "If we may return to the main topic?" the attendant finally said. When the General offered no objection, he continued. "Your achievements in subjugating primitives and strengthening the logistic network of the Fleet have earned you the title of Supreme General and all the privileges it accompanies. You will be induced into your new role shortly by Fleet High Command. In addition, the Hegemon has permitted you the use of the title of Champion of the Hegemon Eternal, may it bring you honor."   The title of Champion was a piece of bait that often helped to calm down those whose first audience with the Hegemon was at risk of going awry, though the attendant didn't have much hope left for this particular General.   "Have you any questions to the Hegemon or this humble servant?" he asked. A standard formality, though it often ended up being the tipping point that decided whether the audience would end in execution.   "I do, actually," the General said. "What is this farce? Who is really in control?"   The attendant tilted his head. "The Hegemon Eternal is in control, of course, as He always has been and always will be, for He is Eternal"   "Spare me the official answers," the General spat, "I know all of them. You want me to believe this pickled husk is our ruler? He's been dead for years, hasn't he?"   The attendant opened up the right menu on his screen, but held himself back for the moment. He looked up at the Hegemon, the withered figure floating quietly in the liquid of His throne. "Most day-to-day decisions are made by His advisors, with only the most important points decided by the Hegemon himself," he explained patiently.   "I've heard that one, yes. Back in school, when I was a child. And when that time comes, you speak for Him as you're doing now, I presume?"   "The Hegemon speaks for himself when he shall—"   "Deem it worthy, I get it. I've seen enough. The Fleet will know what's happening here." The General turned and started to leave, hurried gait sending the motors of his exoskeleton suit into a whirring frenzy.   "Will you now," the attendant said calmly. "You do understand that everyone in the Fleet of your rank or higher has been in this room, and seen the Hegemon, and not made a public scene about it."   The general stopped in his tracks and craned his head around to look back at the attendant. "There will be plenty in the lower ranks who support me and help fight for the truth if necessary. You overestimate your power over the rank and file."   A chuckle escaped the attendant. "Ah, you're missing my point. Do you really think you are the first one to ever realize the reality of our leader? Have you never heard of a General being summarily executed for disrespecting the Hegemon after an audience just like yours today? Have you not done your research?"   The general turned back around and continued his way out more calmly. "I don't see any weapons on you. Your guards outside will be easy to take care of in this suit, even without my weapons. You have no power over me."   The attendant revised his earlier assessment of the General. Creative he might be, but seemingly only in military matters. No capability for thinking of non-violent solutions. A common pitfall of the military academies that was hard to fix.   "The Hegemon is disappointed in your lack of creativity," he said as he pressed the button on his screen that opened the General's helmet, dumping the precious water he would need to breathe. The general tripped and collapsed in surprise, craning his head back. Fear was in his face, now exposed to the hostile air, his attempts at getting water through his gills resulting in a feeble wheeze.   "Every military-issue suit responds to commands with the Hegemon Eternal's authorization," the attendant said. "You should have expected that."   Small attendants' doors opened at the back of the room, light from their quarters shining through. They had been alerted by the command that would end the General's life, to get ready to dispose of the body and clean the throne room. They were all clones of the Hegemon, just like the head attendant, though most of them had even shorter engineered lifespans, since only a handful would be trained to replace the current head attendant once his pre-ordained days ran out.   "How... long?" a distorted version of the General's voice came from the suit's speaker. Subvocalization systems, the attendant recognized.   He weighed not answering the dying man for a second, then decided for it after all.   "Two thousand years," he answered. "The Hegemon Eternal has been dead for two thousand years."