That evening's dinner was delivered to the tent by the maid, but Captain Miller had no appetite.
The dinner was quite lavish. The Emperor, in another tent, seemed to care greatly about his guest's health. Even out in the wilderness, there was no need to struggle for survival; he could enjoy highly nutritious field rations and meat Captain Miller had never tasted before. That alone should have been satisfying enough—supposedly, the Praetorian Guard had killed a lion while gathering intelligence. He had no moral qualms about eating a protected animal. What had truly robbed him of his appetite was the information he had received from the Emperor.
At the center of the enormous tent stood a rough long table hewn from logs. The tall man in armor sat behind it, looking exactly as he had in Miller's dreams. The instant he saw the Emperor, he felt the sheer force of His presence. The tent was not crowded in the slightest; it could even be called spacious, yet Miller found it difficult to breathe. Even so, Captain Miller felt an overwhelming pressure, as though the air around him itself proclaimed that the Emperor's authority could strip him of even his breath and heartbeat. Unlike the gentle manner in which they had spoken in his dreams, this time he felt intense fear.
It was not as though he had never met politicians.
Before becoming a NASA astronaut, he had been a test pilot for Lockheed Martin Corporation. More than once, he had faced auditors sent by Congress and the Pentagon, and when necessary, he had been questioned by members of Congress. Some people might become nervous around those in high positions, but he despised those cunning, greedy politicians. They always kept one eye on their own wallets and the other on whatever