Fortunes of the Imperium Read Online Free

swamped most other sensations. My head swam so that the landscape around me tended to wash up and back in my vision like ocean surf. It was difficult to tell if the buildings were actually rushing toward me or not.
    It was fortunate that my crew—I liked to refer to them as my crew, though they were only assigned to me when a mission called for my specific involvement, as now—had decided to accompany me on my first outing from the travel medicine facility. Ensign Miles Nesbitt, a large and stocky fellow with beetle brows that I would have sworn were walking impatiently to and fro on his forehead, held onto the arm on the side of the wayward buildings. My other side was protected by my good friend, Ensign Kolchut Redius, an Uctu with coral-scaled skin whose parents had immigrated as youths to the Imperium.
    The most curious of the side effects was the difference in size I had undergone. I kept glancing up at my compatriots. I hadn’t realized from previous encounters how large the pores were in Ensign Miles Nesbitt’s skin, nor the intricacy of each of Redius’s scales, nor how gleamingly white were the teeth of First Lieutenant Carissa Plet or the fur of Indiri Oskelev, ensign, Wichu and demon pilot. The latter, in fact, steered us up the street, as Lieutenant Philomena Anstruther stayed behind us, possibly to catch me if I fell.
    “Why, or perhaps I should ask, how did they manage to shrink me? And why are your arms so long?” I asked, in a querulous tone I would more usually associate with my elderly great-uncle, Perleas.
    “No longer than before,” Redius said, with the breathy squeaks his species used to indicate it was laughing. “Perception yours!”
    “I suppose you don’t have to go through the same treatment,”
    Oskelev snorted. “We already have, Lieutenant.”
    “It’s part of basic habitation,” Anstruther said. “We have all undergone treatment to prevent ill effects from the biomes of major space-going races. You never know whose ship you might have to board without working hazard suits . . . sir.”
    This final sentence faded down to silence as I regarded the speaker with admiration. The final member of my coterie was a shy girl with thick, dark hair and startling dark blue eyes. Her skills in information technology probably rivaled my own, though her retiring personality undoubtedly would hold her back from otherwise well-deserved promotions. I had taken it on as one of my responsibilities to ensure that her efficiency and innovation would come to the attention of those of higher naval ranks. No sense in wasting extremely competent personnel when I so seldom made use of them myself.
    “Thomas, please,” I said. “As long as you are so much taller than I, it would be a friendly gesture if you would dispense with naval formality.”
    She reddened, a charming trait of hers. “Thomas.”
    “How long will this proportional dystopia last?”
    “It took me three days,” Nesbitt admitted. I let out a cry of protest. “The doctors said it was longer than usual. You shouldn’t be more than a day. We’ll look after you, my lord.”
    “Well, thank all powers for that,” I said, with genuine relief. “In gratitude, allow me to take you all to lunch. I know a very smart new café with excellent food not far away. . . .” I glanced up the street, which seemed to be ridiculously longer than I remembered.
    “Which one?” Oskelev asked, impatiently, holding out her viewpad, always the pilot.
    “Social Butterfly,” I said. Picking up on my voice, the graphic appeared on the enormous vid screen. Oskelev pointed ahead and to the right. Her arm stretched forward into infinity.
    “Six hundred meters. You’ll make it.”
    My team sounded as if it had faith in me. I wish I shared it. I hesitated as I reached an intersection. The signal changed so that the ground-level vehicles wafted to a halt, leaving the way clear. Yet, I did not dare to step off the curb. It seemed to be dozens of meters high.