A natural arch of black marble domed the mausoleum. It was set in cliffs high above the city of Qoxire on the planet called Eube's Glory, named by Jaibriol's unsubtle ancestor, Eube Qox, the monumental egotist who had founded the Concord. The crypt had stood for centuries, sheltering the ashes of the Qox Dynasty.
No wall blocked Jaibriol's approach to the crypt; nothing separated the inner sanctum from the chill morning except a row of black columns. In some ways, the vaulted spaces reminded him of Saint John's Church in the Appalachian Mountains on Earth. Seth Rockworth had taken Jaibriol and his siblings there each Sunday during the two years they had lived with him. But Saint John's had filled Jaibriol with warmth, with its stained-glass windows, graceful arches, and wooden pews. For all the majestic elegance of this mausoleum, its black marble spaces felt cold.
Accompanied by his Razers, he walked between two giant columns. Mist curled around the pillars and shrouded their tops. He pulled his jacket tighter, grateful for its warmth. With the climate controls in his clothes, he could survive almost anything, even a blizzard. But no climate system could protect him from the snowfall of his emotions.
Inside the mausoleum, light orbs glowed above him and dimmed after he passed. Pearly mist softened the marble statues and wreathed the orbs, giving them an ethereal quality, as if he had entered a realm of translucent life. The obelisks he sought stood together, two thin pyramids of marble, all slanted lines, no square corners. They guarded the ashes of a man and a woman: Ur Qox and Viquara Iquar.
His grandparents.
The stark monuments mesmerized him. The reign of Ur Qox had been a long one. His son—Jaibriol's father—had spent only two years on the throne, imprisoned by Viquara and her new consort while they ruled from the shadows.
Jaibriol turned away, struggling with his confused pain. He wasn't certain why he had come here. Leaning against the steep side of the obelisk, he stared into the shadows of the mausoleum. Fog brushed his face with its damp kiss, and he wiped his palm along his cheek, smearing the clammy moisture.
Viquara Iquar had died in the Radiance War. Some said she had stepped in front of a laser shot meant for her son. Had she saved his life? Jaibriol didn't understand why it mattered so much to him, but he needed to believe she had loved her son.
Her Ruby son.
Jaibriol's great-grandfather had sired Ur Qox on a provider so he could breed a psion, an heir with a mind powerful enough to create a Kyle web. But the traits that created psions were recessive; a child had to get them from both parents. So Ur Qox had repeated the process, siring a son on one of his providers. She gave birth to a Ruby psion. Jaibriol's father.
Ur Qox had been no saint; Jaibriol had no doubt that if the emperor could have impregnated his empress with another woman's child and tricked her into believing it was her own, he would have done it to protect the secret. But no Aristo could carry a Ruby child. The baby needed a psion as its mother, and an Aristo could never be a psion; they considered the traits a weakness and deliberately kept the DNA out of their bloodlines. The fetus of a psion responded dramatically to its environment. Nurturing it in a lab or even within a surrogate proved difficult and clones were rarely viable. The stronger a psion, the greater the problems. Ruby psions were almost impossible to birth except through natural methods. Had Viquara Iquar tried to carry a Ruby child, it would have died. She had to have known her son was another woman's child. Yet she had never revealed him.
Jaibriol laid his hand against the obelisk. Its polished surface chilled his palm. He was aware of his guards in the shadows, tall and silent, like the marble edifices. Tendrils of fog drifted above him, obscuring the light spheres until they became luminous blurs, as if they were ghosts of the Qox dynasty that had lived and died before him.
"Could you love him?" Jaibriol whispered. "You called him son, and he called you mother." Only Viquara would ever know the truth.
And what of his grandfather? Jaibriol knew him only through the eyes of his son, Jaibriol's father. Ur Qox had been a distant parent, chill in his affections. Although Ur had been half Ruby, none of the traits had manifested, for Aristo genes dominated. Ur Qox had been an Aristo. Yet he never harmed his son. He had isolated Jaibriol's father in seclusion to protect him, not only against other Aristos, but even from himself.
The solitude had left Jaibriol's father craving love. He had only been twenty-four at Jaibriol's birth, three years younger than Jaibriol was now. He had been the finest man Jaibriol had ever known, a loving parent who taught him more than he felt he could ever give his own child. He knew now why it mattered so much to him to believe his grandparents had loved their son. Jaibriol's father had lived with the specter of Aristo brutality embodied by his own parents, both of them epitomes of a Highton. For Jaibriol, it would be the reverse, for his child would receive the Ruby genes only from him. Not from Tarquine.
His heir would be an Aristo.
Kelric met Admiral Barzun in the Skolian War Room.
Consoles filled the amphitheater, and robot arms carried operators through the air. Far above, a command chair hung under a holodome lit with stars, so anyone who looked up saw it silhouetted against the nebulae of space. When Kelric worked here, coordinating the far- flung armies of the Skolian military, he sat in that technological throne. It linked him into the Kyle web, which stretched across human-occupied space. Any telop, or telepathic operator, could use the Kyle web, but only Kelric and Dehya could create that vast mesh and keep it working.
Chad Barzun was waiting on a dais in the amphitheater. Crisp in his blue Fleet uniform, he was a man of average height, with a square chin, a beak of a nose, and hair the color of grey rock. As one of Kelric's joint commanders, he headed the Imperial Fleet. Kelric liked him because Barzun spoke his mind, with respect, but he said what needed saying even if he knew Kelric might not like it.
Barzun had commanded the fleet that returned Dehya to the throne. The shock of that coup had paled, though, compared to her next action, when she returned half her power to the Assembly. On his own, Kelric would never have split the power, but he understood her reasons. The time for a dynasty as sole rulers of Skolia had passed. They needed the Assembly. But unlike before, the Ruby Dynasty now had equal footing with that governing body.
Chad saluted Kelric, extending his arms at chest level and crossing his wrists, his fists clenched.
Kelric returned the salute. "At ease, Chad."
The admiral relaxed. "My greetings, sir. Are you leaving soon?"
"Later today." Kelric grimaced. "Unfortunately."
Chad smiled slightly. "I don't envy you this vacation."
Kelric didn't envy himself, either, having to spend time with the Imperial Court. "I'm taking a few days alone first."
"Very good, sir." Chad's voice quieted. "Let yourself rest. Gods know, you've earned it."
"I'll try," Kelric lied.
They spent the next hour going over the Imperator's duties, which Barzun would oversee in Kelric's absence. If necessary, Chad could reach him through the Kyle web. Given that he believed Kelric was taking a long-overdue vacation, though, Kelric knew he would make contact only in an emergency.
Later, Kelric rode the magrail to a secluded valley of the Orbiter. He limped across the gilt-vine meadows, past Dehya's house. Holopanels on her roof reflected the sky and Sun Lamp several kilometers above. The spherical Orbiter was designed for beauty rather than efficiency; half its interior was just a sky. He could see the tiny figures of people walking by the sun. If they looked up, they would see the ground with its mountains and valleys curving above them like a ceiling of the world.
He hiked up the slope to his house. Inside, his duffle was where he had left it, on the desk in his office. He took his dice pouch out of the desk and tied it to his belt. Then he went to a black lacquered stand in the corner. Resting his hand on its top, he slid his thumb over its design, the Imperialate insignia, a ruby triangle inscribed within an amber circle. The gold silhouette of an exploding sun burst past the confines of the triangle. The symbol of an empire. The Imperialate claimed it was civilized, but a heart of barbarism beat close beneath their cultured exterior.
Bolt, his spinal node, interjected a thought into his musing. Kelric.
He roused himself. Yes?
According to your schedule, you depart from docking bay six in twelve minutes.
Kelric pushed his hand across his close-cropped hair. He couldn't put this off any longer. With a deep breath, he tapped out a code on the sunburst insignia. A hum vibrated within the stand as if it had come to life after a long sleep, and a drawer slid out. His Coban wrist guards lay inside.
The ancient guards were crafted from gold. Their engravings showed a giant hawk soaring over mountains, the symbol of Karn, largest and oldest city-estate on Coba. He picked up one of the guards and snapped it open. The hinge worked, though he had left it untouched for a decade.
Kelric couldn't put on the guards, however. He already wore gauntlets. He brushed his thumb over the massive cuff on his forearm, a marvel of mesh engineering. He had found the gauntlets in the Lock chamber. His ancestors had lost the knowledge to create Locks, and his people had yet to recover it, but they could use the machines they found derelict in space. These gauntlets were part of that ancient technology. They provided him with a mesh node, a comm, and a means to link to other systems. He felt certain they had intelligence, probably beyond his ability to understand. He had worn them for a decade, yet he still didn't know how they had survived for five thousand years or why they let him use them.
He clicked open a switch on his gauntlet—and it snapped closed. He pried at the switch, but this time it didn't move at all. Trying to open the entire wrist section didn't work, either. Odd. The gauntlet looked normal: small lights glowed on it, silver threads gleamed, and the comm glinted.
Come off, he thought. He didn't want to damage it; the gauntlets could never be replaced. Destroying them might even be murder.
If you won't open, he added, I can't put on my wrist guards.
Both gauntlets snapped open.
Kelric blinked. Apparently they liked his Coban guards.
A socket showed in the skin of his left wrist. Normally the gauntlet jacked into that socket so it could link with his internal biomech web. He took his gold Coban guard and, handling it with care, he clicked it around his wrist, lining up a hole in the gold with his wrist socket. Before he could do anything else, his gauntlet snapped around his arm and fitted to the Coban guard as if they had always been joined. Filaments wisped out from the gauntlet, protecting the soft gold.
"Huh." Kelric squinted at his arm. He cautiously snapped his second Coban guard around his other wrist. That gauntlet immediately closed, repeating the same procedure as the first.
Bolt, Kelric thought.
Attending, Bolt answered.
Why did my gauntlets do that?
I don't know. Bolt projected a sense of puzzlement.
Do you know why they wouldn't come off before?
Based on past incidents, I would say they believe it would endanger you to remove them.
What, by my standing in my perilous office? I might stub my toe.
It does seem far-fetched.
He touched the wrist guard. Its gold seemed warm compared to the silver and black gauntlet. Can you find out why they did that?
If you mean can I talk to them, the answer is no. But we exchange information all the time. I sometimes read patterns in their data. If I direct our exchange, with your wrist guards as the subject, I may glean some insights.
See what you can find out.
I will let you know.
He gazed at the lacquered stand. His Calanya bands still lay in its drawer, gold rings that could be worn on the upper arms as a sign of honor, if a Calani wished. They indicated his Level, the number of Estates where he had lived in a Calanya. Most Calani were First Levels. Attaining a higher Level was a matter of great negotiation, for what better way for one Manager to gain advantage over another than to obtain one of her Calani? His Quis held immense knowledge of her Estate, strategies, plans, everything.
Toward the end of his time on Coba, Kelric had lived at Varz Estate. His Quis had vaulted the already powerful Estate into world dominance, but his submerged fury had also gone into the dice. His life had been hell. Harsh and icy, the Varz queen had been a sadistic nightmare. By that time, Ixpar had ruled Coba, a young Minister full of fire. She had freed Kelric from Varz—and so provoked the first war Coba had seen in a thousand years.
I've an analysis of your gauntlets, Bolt thought.
Kelric put away his memories. Go ahead.
They consider whatever you plan to do dangerous enough that you need them for your protection. However, apparently they deem your wrist guards acceptable, even beneficial, to your needs or emotions.
His emotions? Even he wasn't sure how he felt. He stared into the drawer. One of his Calanya bands was missing. It had come off during his escape from Coba and probably lay buried somewhere in the ashes of Ixpar's Estate.
Kelric gathered the bands and packed them into his duffle. Then he left for the docking bay.
"Prepare for launch," Kelric said. The cabin of the ship gleamed, small and bright. An exoskeleton closed around his pilot's chair and jacked into the sockets in his spine.
As the engines hummed, Bolt thought, Your bodyguards aren't here.
Kelric didn't answer.
Mace, the ship's EI, spoke. "Bay doors opening."
A hiss came from around Kelric as buffers inflated to protect sensitive equipment in the cabin. His forward screens swirled with gold and black lines, then cleared to reveal the scene outside. Two gigantic doors were opening, their toothed edges dwarfing his vessel, and the rumble of their release growled through his ship. Beyond the doors lay the glory of interstellar space, its gem-colored stars radiant against the dust clouds and the deep black of space.
Bolt's thought came urgently. You must not leave without security.
I have it. Kelric laid his hand on the massive Jumbler at his hip. The gun had to be big; it was a particle accelerator. It carried abitons, antiparticle of bitons, the constituents of electrons. With a rest energy of 1.9eV, bitons and abitons produced nothing more than orange light when they annihilated. But that was enough. In the atmosphere, the beam sparkled as it destroyed air molecules; when it hit anything solid, the instability of the mutilated electrons blew apart the object.
One gun is not enough to guard the Imperator, Bolt thought.
The ship is armed. And I used to be a weapons officer.
Even so. You should have—
Bolt, enough.
With a great clang, the docking clamps released Kelric's ship. He maneuvered out of the bay, leaving the Orbiter along its rotation axis. The great notched edges of the doors moved slowly past, as thick as his ship was long. Communication between Mace and the dock personnel murmured in his ear comm. To them, the launch was routine. No one knew he was alone. He had told Najo, Axer, and Strava he was taking his other guards, and he told the others he would be with Najo, Axer, and Strava.
As his ship moved away from the Orbiter and through its perimeter defenses, Kelric spoke into his comm. "Docking station four, I'm switching off your network and onto the Kyle-Star."
"Understood," the duty officer replied. "Gods' speed, sir."
"My thanks." Kelric cut his link to the Orbiter, but contrary to his claim, he made no attempt to reach Kyle-Star, the interstellar mesh of communications designed to guide starships.
Bolt, he thought. Download my travel coordinates to the ship.
I don't think you should do this alone.
I've made my decision.
I'm concerned for your safety.
I appreciate that. Now send the damn coordinates.
You are sure you want to do this?
Yes! I'm also sure I don't want to argue with a node in my head.
Bolt paused. Then he thought, Coordinates sent.
"Coordinates loaded," Mace said.
"Good." Kelric took a deep breath. "Take me to Coba."