In spite of all the ways these Lost Worlds and their inhabitants could change over the centuries, in many respects the human animal remained as it had always been. Whenever the Empire would come to assert its claim, there would be those who foolishly and fruitlessly resisted and those who fearfully submitted at little more than the flexing of the Lord Admiral's little finger. Then there was the third sort who thought to ply their masters with flatteries while weaving plots of treachery. It was clear which sort the Comte was and it was all so terribly tedious.

Kapitän Subedar understood the necessity of playing along with such farces. Liaisons such as himself had an important role to play in ensuring a smooth transition of power. Even if the host nation was uncooperative, the mere presence of Imperial officers on the ground had a way of shifting the political winds. Factions inclined to cooperate would become bolder about cutting a deal to secure the best conditions possible for themselves, while more belligerent factions would feel pressured to act, giving the Lord Admiral the pretext to apply harsher methods to ensure compliance. The only problem was that in the latter case, the liaison often served as an expendable pawn. It was not the sort of thing they would tell you about when you apply to the Political Officer Corps.

Kapitän Subedar was no connoisseur, but he knew that the obsession over vintage was mostly bunk. It was more the skill of the vintner than the quality of the harvest that made for a good wine and even the purported experts had been proven to not have nearly as discerning palettes as they pretended. It made for a fine racket, though, and even in the Empire, such pretenses were kept up despite all the scientific evidence disproving their validity.

The Comte raised his glass and Kapitän Subedar returned the gesture.

As Kapitän Subedar sipped the champagne, he could not tell much difference from any other champagne he had tried and he imagined that if the Comte was subjected to a blind taste test, he would not be able to tell either. Of course, etiquette restrained the Kapitän from saying as much.

When the Comte was finished draining his glass, he saw that the Kapitän had not made nearly as much progress, prompting him, to say, "Forgive me for saying so, Herr Kapitän, but in our country it is seen as an insult to the wine, and to the host, to leave a glass unemptied."

If his purpose was not diplomacy and the courting of a compliant partner for the planet's reclamation, Kapitän Subedar may have pointedly left the half-full glass on the table or else spill the contents out on the floor. There was no call for him to deliberately give offense, though, and so he continued to slowly drink away at the wildly overvalued wine.

Kapitän Subedar did not want to admit to the manifold inefficiencies of the Empire, the Gordian knot of bureaucracy and intrigues, the nepotism and the corruption. You would do well not to give voice to complaints about such failings. You would do better yet to not even give thought to them. It was the job of political officers like him to ensure this, so it would be all the worse for him if he was the one to tread into the forbidden territory.

And while there was that part of his brain that could not deny the flaws of the Empire, what was a better alternative? The brutish military dictatorship of the Alliance? The inhuman and machinelike Commune? Or perhaps any of the tiny little states scattered throughout the galaxy like this one waiting to be subdued by the Empire or one of the other great powers? Was there any sane person who could make that argument?

It would seem that the Comte did not need Kapitän Subedar to breathe a word of what was swirling around in his head. He simply gave another of his broad smiles as he took the bottle of champagne and personally refilled the Kapitän's glass before going on to refill his own.

He raised his glass and, thinking that the sentiment was something worth drinking to, Kapitän Subedar raised his glass as well.