The Holy Ecclesiarch had barely touched his plate. He was looking a bit mournful.
I drifted over to his table and murmured softly. “Is the food not to your liking, Your Holiness?”
“Your hospitality is beyond reproach,” he said.
“But?”
He looked at his plate of lean fish and vegetables arranged with such artistic flair, it should’ve been photographed for posterity. “It is beautiful. Alas, I have grown older.”
The members of the Dominion’s most numerous species experienced a diminished sense of taste in the final decade of life. It never went away completely, but for them the flavors became muted. The profiles of their meals grew spicier and bolder to stimulate their tired tastebuds. Any galactic chef knew this, let alone a Red Cleaver one.
“No worries,” I told him. “I will be back.”
I walked away to the wall, snapped up a transparent soundproof barrier around myself, and pulled up a screen to the kitchen.
“Orro?”
He appeared on the screen, a looming dark mass of quills. Things must’ve been hectic.
“What’s going on with the Holy Ecclesiarch’s food?”
His spikes trembled. “I was given specific dietary requirements due to health restrictions. Mild food only, to avoid ‘unnecessary strain’ on digestive system.” His voice told me exactly what he thought of that.
“His time is coming to an end, and mild food isn’t going to make a difference. He has only a few meals left. I will take full responsibility.”
Orro clapped his clawed hands together. “Then I will dazzle!”
“Go for it.”
I dropped the barrier. Five minutes later Droplet emerged from the kitchen, dashed over to the table, swiped off his plate, deposited a new dish, and withdrew. The new plate held a fish that had been descaled, cooked, and sliced into sections. The sections were reassembled into the original fish shape, and the whole dish was soaked in a rich dark broth. The aroma of spices drifted on the slight breeze. The elderly man took a single bite and smiled at me.
Crisis averted.
I drifted through the dining room again. House Meer was about mid-way through their meal. The Smiles delegation finished the main course and moved on to their customary tea and dessert, which meant they would stay parked for another half an hour. Half of the observers had left. Only Dagorkun, Cookie, Karat, and Tomato remained at the observer table. Tomato hailed from a republic neighboring the Dominion. He was green-furred, large, and a bit bear-like. His translation software had informed him that his name phonetically matched tomatoes, and upon arrival, he assured me that he was not a fruit.
I checked on Caldenia. She was in one of the terminal rooms, accessing the Gertrude Hunt news database. Gaston was with her. His mission for today was to stick to her like glue. I didn’t want any surprises.
Karat saw me looking and waved me over. I approached their table.
“Your sister said you would provide all necessary information to me.”
Thanks, Maud. “What can I clarify for you?”
She glanced in the direction of the semi opaque partition obscuring Kosandion and his party. “That man doesn’t strike me as unintelligent. He knows who he’s going to marry. Why is he bothering with this farce?”
The other three observers stared at me with rapt attention.
This would take a bit of time to explain. I glanced around the dining hall. Everything seemed calm. I summoned a chair out of the floor and sat.
“Ratings.”
Karat blinked. “Their ratings? He’s ranking them?”
“Not him. The entire Dominion. Everything that happens is being recorded and broadcast back throughout their territory. The citizens are watching it and vote in approval or disapproval.”
“They vote on the likability of the spouses?” Karat raised her eyebrows. “Why? This shouldn’t be a popularity contest. He is their monarch. It’s his choice.”
Trying to figure out how to explain a concept alien to most species was surprisingly difficult.
“Are you familiar with the Bluebug hivemind?” I asked.
Karat grimaced. “They are a massive pain.”
“It.” Tomato plucked some cherries from his plate with his alarmingly long claws.
“It, they, no matter.” Karat shrugged.
“No,” Dagorkun said. “That is precisely the matter.”
“The Dominion isn’t a hivemind,” Karat said. “If they were, there would be no need for the broadcast. You would only need one of them here.”
“You’re right,” I said. “They are not hivemind, but they are linked. It’s not a telepathic link via intelligence. It’s more of a collective empathy.”
“I don’t follow,” Karat said.
I would lean on Sean for this. “Have you fought on Nexus?” I asked.
She nodded.
“There must have been times in battle when your force rallied. When things seemed lost, but you saw a single knight rise to the challenge. An act of bravery, a sacrifice, a display of courage, and suddenly the mood changed and those who had been dejected before became inspired. And then you charged in a single wave and felt…”
“Exuberant,” Karat finished.
“Revived,” Dagorkun added. “We have a word for it. Kausur. Collective courage.”
“For the citizens of the Dominion, that feeling extends beyond the battlefield. It’s a loose connection but it’s always active. Even though there are different species within the Dominion, somehow they all feel a measure of this collective empathy. After a few years, those who emigrate to the Dominion also develop it. There is even a celebration to mark one’s ability to sense the collective mood.”
“That’s horrific.” Karat drained her glass. “I do not want to be plugged into anyone’s feelings but my own. I don’t like people. I don’t want to like what they like. I make exceptions for family, but there are times when I can barely tolerate even them.”
“Agreed,” Dagorkun said. “When I give an order, I don’t want to know if they like it or agree. I just need them to do it.”
Karat shook her head. “How does their army not disintegrate under the weight of all those feelings? How ever do they fight?”
“Very well,” Tomato said. “They’re a machine, disciplined and united. Their morale is impossible to break.”
“When they decide to resort to violence, it’s because an overwhelming majority of them feel it’s justified. They are united in their righteousness,” I said.
“But they’re still individuals,” Dagorkun said. “There will be dissent.”
“There is, and if the dissent grows too large, those united by it will abandon cause,” I said. “The Dominion’s civil wars are the bloodiest in the galaxy. It’s not a matter of policy or interests. It’s all fueled by emotion. Kosandion is a monarch, the executive head of their state. Their policies and laws are enacted by him, but they’re dictated by legislative, judicial, and religious branches.”
“So what happens if the Sovereign becomes unpopular?” Dagorkun asked.
“At first, it will produce a collective anxiety,” I said. “People will become more irritable. You will see the rise in general rudeness, lack of patience, and disproportionately severe reactions to small annoyances. The people of the Dominion will sense the discontent among their peers and will want to disconnect from those feelings, but there’s no escape. If the situation is allowed to worsen, the stress-related breakdowns will increase. Conception rates will drop, and miscarriages will occur more often, because the collective unhappiness indicates that now is not a good time to have a child and activates certain biological mechanisms to lower the birth rate. Their collective immunity will falter, making the population vulnerable to plagues. Brawls will break out in the streets, and there will be a sharp uptick in spree killers.”