Jaibriol ran. Struggling for breath, he raced through tunnels of dark rock that absorbed the light. A void was gaining on him, drawing closer, closer. A talon grasped his arm—
"No!" Jaibriol sat upright in bed, his heart beating hard.
It was several moments before his adrenaline eased enough for him to breathe normally. "Father in heaven," he whispered—and then realized he had spoken in Iotic. When seeking comfort, he instinctively lapsed into his first language, though only Skolian nobility used it. Or he spoke English. He had converted to Seth's Catholic faith on Earth, finding refuge from his nightmares in the sanctuary of his adopted religion. The one tongue he never associated with succor was Highton, supposedly his "true" language.
Night filled the imperial suite. He had woken up alone, but it wasn't unusual; his wife needed only a few hours of sleep compared to his nine or ten. Although he could now manage with sleeping every other day, he had never truly grown used to the sixteen-hour cycle of this planet.
Cloth rustled across the room; with a start, he realized someone was sitting in one of the wing chairs. He didn't think it was an Aristo; he felt none of the pain their presence caused. He reached out mentally—and sensed Tarquine. He exhaled, his rigid posture easing. She was one of the few Aristos whose mind didn't injure him.
He spoke in Highton. "My greetings, wife."
"Did you have another nightmare?" she asked from the dark.
"It was nothing." He often dreamed he was trapped, and he probably would for as long as he remained emperor, which would be the rest of his life, however long that lasted.
The glint of her eyes was visible even in the shadows. "It's been a strange day."
"Strange how?" Jaibriol doubted he wanted to know, but he couldn't afford to be oblivious.
"It seems a major mercantile firm in Ivory Sector has experienced a sudden reversal of fortune. Odd, that."
Hell and damnation. What had she done? "What reversal?"
"The Janq Line that manages the firm has financial woes," Tarquine said. "Apparently their investments in several merchant fleets have collapsed." Her words flowed like molasses. "It seems these fleets were actually pirates. They preyed on Skolian space lines, kidnapping people to sell as providers. In Skolian space. Which of course we know is illegal."
What startled him wasn't that the Janq Line sent pirates into Imperialate space; half the Aristo Houses had fleets raiding the Skolians. But they were rarely caught. Of all the ways Tarquine might have brought down the Janq Line, he never would have expected this. For one, it would be difficult to achieve, given how well Aristos protected their fleets. More to the point, it was understood that no Aristo Line touched the "merchant" fleets of another. If Tarquine had aided in the Janq downfall, she had broken an unwritten law of her own people. Why?
"I'm surprised they were prosecuted," Jaibriol said.
"Well, the Skolians caught them in Skolian space with Skolian captives. They had plenty of evidence."
He wanted to demand How? but she would never admit any involvement, and he was certain no evidence existed that could link her to the situation. The idea that one of their own would leak such information to the Skolians was anathema to any Aristo—except him. He would have liked to throw all their "merchants" in chains.
He recalled his discussion with Tarquine about the Ivory Sector corporations trying to corner the export market. He spoke warily. "I find myself wondering if the Janq corporation that suffered this setback was involved in the consortium that hopes to attain a monopoly on the Ivory mercantile system."
"Oddly enough," Tarquine said, "they seem to be the major players. Or they were, before this fiasco. With their affairs in such disarray, they've had to step back from the mercantile venture. It appears the consortium will collapse."
"Imagine that," Jaibriol said sourly. He had been preparing for talks with them, to limit their monopoly. "So negotiations with the Janq Line won't be needed after all."
"Apparently not."
"And of course you had nothing to do with it."
If she heard his sarcasm, she gave no hint. "Of course."
Jaibriol sometimes thought she was like a night-panther stalking the palace, sleek and dark, deadly in her beauty. She slipped among the corridors of power as if they were trees in a jungle, her form visible and then gone as if she had never been there. How or when she attacked, he rarely knew. Telling her to stop was like trying to catch a shadow, for no proof ever connected her to the results of her operations.
"Why are you sitting over there?" he asked. It gave him an eerie feeling, as if she would fade into the night, only to reappear later with no blood on her hands, but her lovely, feral eyes glinting with triumph.
Cloth rustled. Tarquine coalesced out of the shadows, walking toward him. She sat on the bed, sleek in her silken black nightshift. "Azile spoke with me today."
"Azile speaks with you many days." Azile Xir was the Minister of Intelligence, after all, and she the Minister of Finance. The fact that they didn't like each other didn't negate their need to work together.
"Some days," Tarquine said sourly, "his words are less sublime than others."
He rubbed his knuckles down her cheek. "Sublime is an overrated word."
"Particularly in the matter of reminders."
"Reminders?" He had no idea what she meant, and she had shielded her mind.
"About heirs," she said. "Ours, to be specific." Only a hint of anger touched her voice, but from Tarquine, that was a great deal. "Or our lack thereof."
Jaibriol gritted his teeth. Azile wasn't the first to bring up the matter, not by far. No matter how young Tarquine looked or how good her health, she was well past the age when most women could conceive. She had eggs in cryogenic storage, but she would need the help of specialists to carry a child.
"I've learned to ignore hints about our nonexistent progeny," he said. "Sublime or otherwise."
"You need an heir, Jai. Our firstborn will also inherit my title as head of the Iquar Line." A fierce pride infused her voice. "We must both ensure our successions."
Jaibriol did want to have this conversation. He had avoided it for years. He had spent his childhood surrounded by the warmth and love of his family, and that was what he had imagined for his children. Not the chilly world of Aristos. In his youth, he had looked forward to fatherhood, inspired by the example of his parents; now he never wanted heirs.
He said only, "It isn't safe here."
"We can protect our child. It is well known your father isolated you in your childhood." She waited a beat. "To protect you against assassins, of course."
"Of course." His palms felt clammy. Tarquine knew the truth about him. She kept his secret just as he kept hers, that she had altered her own brain so she could never transcend. It was a change Aristos considered unforgivable. If they knew, they would destroy her. It was also why Jaibriol had married her; she was the only Highton woman he could live with, for she would never transcend with him. It also gave him leverage over her to keep his secret. That over the years he may have fallen in love with his deadly wife was a thought he avoided, for he didn't know how to deal with the idea he could love an Aristo.
Tarquine knew his grandfather had secluded his father until adulthood because his father was a psion. The Qox Dynasty had wanted a Ruby psion among its ranks, someone who could wrest the Kyle web from the Ruby Dynasty. With Jaibriol's father, they finally succeeding in breeding the psion they wanted—and he rejected Eube. Instead, he sought out one of the few people like him: Soz Valdoria of the Ruby Dynasty. Jaibriol's mother.
He spoke in a low voice. "Our heir will be more you than me." It could never be a psion; Tarquine didn't have the genes. The child would grow up to transcend on the pain of his own father. It was a prospect too gruesome for him to contemplate.
"The longer we wait," she said, "the greater the chance one or both of us will die before the child reaches maturity, or even before its birth. Is that what you want?"
"No." He shifted his weight. "But I would rather have this conversation another time."
"We've avoided it for ten years."
"I know." He pulled her closer. "Tomorrow, Tarquine. We will talk about succession then."
She put her arms around his neck. "Very well. Tomorrow."
He drew her down to lie with him, deep into the silk sheets and the shadows of the night. But as he caressed her soft skin, he felt as if he were drowning. Tomorrow he would put her off again, as he had for years, but someday he would have to decide: sire an Aristo child or die without an heir and leave Eube in the hands of those who would seek to subjugate humanity.
Kelric played dice.
The cockpit of the Skolian scout ship curved around him in bronzed hues. He was traveling in inversion, which meant the speed of his ship was a complex number, with an imaginary as well as a real part. It eliminated the singularity at light-speed in the equations of special relativity. He could never go at light-speed, so he went around it much as a cyclist might leave a path to ride around an infinitely high tree. Once past the "tree," he could attain immense speeds, many times that of light. During such travel, his ship needed only minimal oversight, which meant he had little to do. So he swung a panel in front of himself and played Quis solitaire.
He built structures of the Trader emperor. Jaibriol the Third had only been seventeen when he came into power. Kelric could barely remember being that young, let alone imagine ruling an empire at that age. Jaibriol had compensated for his deadly lack of experience by marrying his most powerful cabinet minister, Tarquine Iquar. Kelric knew Tarquine. Oh yes, he knew her, far too well. While he had been serving aboard the merchant ship Corona, the Traders had captured it and sold him into slavery. Tarquine had bought him. If he hadn't escaped, he would still be her possession.
Uncomfortable with the memory, he shifted his focus to politics. His structures evolved strangely. They implied Jaibriol Qox genuinely wanted peace. Kelric found it hard to credit, yet here it was, in his Quis.
The peace talks had foundered years ago. He had represented ISC at those talks, a military counterbalance to Dehya. They made an effective team: she the diplomat and he the threat. But for it to work, they had to get to the peace table. He had hoped Roca might sway the Assembly away from its current intransigence and back to negotiations. If they and the Traders didn't hammer out a treaty, their empires were going to pound away at each other until nothing remained.
Patterns of the upcoming Assembly session filtered into his Quis. The structures predicted an unwanted result: his mother would lose the vote. He varied parameters, searching for models that predicted a win, and found a few. They relied on her ability to sway councilors outside of the session, with a greater chance of success if he helped her. Which meant he couldn't avoid attending her infernal dinner parties. That put him in a bad mood, and he quit playing dice.
Sitting back, he gazed at the forward holoscreen, which showed the stars inverted from their positions at sublight speeds. He could replace the map with a display of dice and play Quis with the ship's EI. It seemed pointless, though. He had taught it the rules, and it played just like him, but without creativity. For ten years, he had done almost nothing but Quis solitaire. He was starved for a session with a real dice player, a good one. He had wanted to teach Dehya, had even given her a set of dice, but then he changed his mind. She was too smart. When she mastered Quis, she could unravel his secrets from his play. He couldn't trust anyone with that knowledge.
On Coba, he had sat at Quis with many Calani, saturating their culture-spanning game with his military influence until the war erupted. Ixpar claimed that capacity for violence had always been within her people, that in the Old Age, queens had warred with one another until they nearly destroyed civilization. Finally, in desperation, they subsumed their aggression into the Quis. He believed her, but he also saw what they had achieved, a millennium of peace, one that ended when he came to their world.
Kelric would never forget the windriders battling in the sky or Karn roaring in flames. In that chaos, he had stolen a rider and escaped. By then, he had known all too well why the Cobans wanted the Restriction. If he, only one person, could have such a dramatic effect, what would happen if the Skolian Imperialate came to Coba in full force? He had sworn that day to protect his children, Ixpar, and Coba.
Which was why he had to go back.
The voice droned on the ship's comm. "Identify yourself immediately. This world is Restricted. Identify yourself . . ."
The automated message kept repeating, an eerie reminder of the day, ten years ago, when Kelric had flown to this starport so he could escape Coba. It was the only warning anyone received, either in space or on-planet. The port was fully automated and usually empty. ISC didn't care who landed as long as they stayed in the port. Any Skolian who entered the Restricted zone, which consisted of the entire planet outside of the port, essentially ceased to exist. Kelric doubted anyone in ISC bothered to keep track, though. It would matter only if the Cobans held someone against his will. Unfortunately, they had done exactly that with him, for eighteen years. It had nearly killed him.
Had ISC discovered the Cobans had imprisoned a Ruby prince, they would have considered it an act of aggression subject to military reprisals. They would have put the Cobans under martial law, prosecuted the Managers involved, absorbed Coba into the Imperialate, and never realized until too late, if ever, that they had destroyed a remarkable culture. He had the authority now to prevent the military actions, but he couldn't stop his family from turning their relentless focus here if anyone discovered his interest—which they might if the port recorded his landing. So he wouldn't go to the port.
"Mace," he said. "Get a map of the Coban Estates from the port. Hide your presence from the mesh system there."
"Accessing." Then Mace said, "The files are locked."
"Use my keys." His security should top any port safeguards.
"I have the map," Mace said.
"They're keeping Jeremiah Coltman in a city called Viasa," Kelric said. "It's in the Upper Teotec Mountains, the most northeast Estate." He was fortunate it was the Viasa Manager who had bought Jeremiah's contract. Kelric had never been to Viasa, and his inviolable seclusion in the Calanya of other Estates meant that none of Viasa's citizens had ever seen him.
"I've identified a city that fits your description," Mace said. "But it's called Tehnsa."
"Oh. That's right." He had forgotten. "Viasa is below Tehnsa, near Greyrock Falls and the Viasa-Tehnsa Dam."
"I have the coordinates," Mace said.
A holomap formed to Kelric's left, a dramatic image of the towering Upper Teotec Mountains. The winds in those peaks were brutal. His ship was a Dalstern scout, designed for flight in planetary terrains as well as space, but it would need guidance. At least Coba had aircraft beacons. Although their culture had backslid during their millennia of isolation, they had redeveloped some technology even before ISC rediscovered them. Their windriders were small but respectable aircraft.
"The dam has a beacon that can guide us," Kelric said.
"I can't find it," Mace said. "And this map is wrong. We're passing over what appears to be Tehnsa, but the map places it southwest of here."
Kelric frowned. Although Mace continuously updated the holomap, it could only calculate the changes as fast as the scout's sensors could provide data about the mountains.
"How are you handling the winds?" Kelric asked.
"So far, fine. They're increasing, though, as we go lower in the atmosphere." After a pause, Mace added, "This port map is appalling. It hardly matches the one I'm making at all."
"Can you find the beacon?"
"So far, no."
"Keep looking."
"I'm getting a signal!"
Relief washed over Kelric. "From the dam?"
"No. It's a mesh system."
What the blazes? "Cobans don't have mesh systems."
"It's from Viasa," Mace said. "Not a guidance beacon. It's a general comm channel."
He couldn't imagine where the Viasans had obtained equipment to produce such a signal. He toggled his long-range comm and spoke in Skolian Flag, which was used by his people as a common language to bridge their many tongues. He didn't want to reveal he knew Teotecan, the Coban language, unless it was necessary.
"Viasa, I'm reading your signal," he said.
No response.
"Mace, can you increase my range?" Kelric asked.
"Working," the EI said.
"Viasa, I'm receiving your signal," Kelric said. "Can you read me? I repeat, I'm reading your signal. Please respond."
Still nothing. The scout was lower in the mountains now, and peaks loomed around them.
The comm suddenly crackled with a man's voice, words that made no sense.
"What the blazes was that?" Kelric asked.
"He's speaking Flag," Mace said. "Very bad Flag. I believe he said, 'Know English you? Spanish? French?'" The EI paused. "Those are Earth languages."
Kelric wondered if he was speaking to Jeremiah. Do I know any of those? he asked Bolt.
I have a Spanish mod, Bolt replied. I can provide rudimentary responses.
Go, Kelric thought.
Bolt gave him words, and he spoke into the comm, grappling with the pronunciation. The Skolian translation glowed on one of his forward screens.
"This is Dalstern GH3, scout class TI," he said. "Viasa, I need holomaps. These mountains are much trouble. The wind make problem also."
"Can you link your computers to our system here?" the man asked. "We will help guide you down."
"Computers?" Kelric said, more to himself than the man.
"I think he means me," Mace said. "I will make the link."
Kelric spoke into the comm. "We try." At least he thought he said we. The translation came up as I. He continued to navigate, relying on Mace to map the terrain and feed data to his spinal node. He could hear winds screaming past the ship.
"I'm having trouble linking to Viasa's mesh," Mace said. "It's manufactured by Earth's North-Am conglomerate and is only partially compatible with ours."
Kelric shook his head, wondering if anyone existed who had escaped buying products from the Allied Worlds of Earth. Coba, though? He hadn't expected that.
The man's voice came again. "Dalstern, can you send your data in an Allied protocol?"
"Which one?" Kelric asked.
Symbols transmitted from Viasa appeared on Kelric's screen, and he immediately saw a problem. The Viasa system wasn't set up to deal with starships, only windriders. It was trying to specify his trajectory in a system defined on the planet, in coordinates only they used.
"Viasa, we are maybe close to what we need," Kelric said. "Can you transform the coordinate system you use into the Skolian standard system?"
More silence. Kelric hoped his Spanish was intelligible. What he wanted to say didn't match what was coming out. Mace translated his last sentence as Can you send the equations that transform the coordinate system in your primary nav module to the system we use? He hoped it made sense to the people in Viasa.
A peak suddenly reared up on his screens. With accelerated reflexes, he jerked the scout into a vertical climb. G-forces slammed him into his seat as he veered east and dropped past another crag with a sickening lurch. The scout leveled out and shot through the mountains.
"Gods," he muttered. He spoke into the comm. "Viasa, where is beacon to guide aircraft in these mountains?"
A woman answered in terrible Spanish. "Say again?"
"The warning beacon. Where is it?"
"Broken." Her accent didn't mask her suspicious tone. He had just revealed he knew more about Viasa than almost any offworlder alive.
The man spoke. "Dalstern, we have holomaps for you, but we still have a mismatch in protocols. We are working on it. Please stand by."
"Understood." Kelric wiped the back of his hand across his forehead. "Mace, how is our speed?"
"Too fast. The deeper we go in these mountains, the more complex the terrain. I can't recalculate the map fast enough."
Kelric leaned over the comm. "Viasa, I need maps."
"I'm sending what I have," the man answered.
"Received!" Mace said. A new holomap formed, centered on a magnificent waterfall that cascaded down a cliff. In the east, a pass showed in the mountains. With a rush of relief, Kelric veered toward that small notch.
"Dalstern, did that come through?" the man asked.
"I have it," Kelric said. "I pull up."
"Viasa should be beyond the cliffs," Mace said. "I don't have the landing coordinates yet."
Kelric grimaced at the thought of setting down in a mountain hamlet without guidance, on a field that was probably too small. "Maybe we'll see it when we get through the pass."
The holomap suddenly fragmented. In the same instant, Mace said, "I've lost the Viasa data stream."
Damn! Kelric spoke into the comm. "Viasa, we have problem."
"We too," the man said.
Sweat dripped down Kelric's neck. Mace was doing his best to reconstruct the holomap, but they needed more—
With no warning, a wall of stone loomed on his screens. Kelric had no time to be startled; Bolt accelerated his reflexes, and he swerved east before his mind grasped what he was doing. Cliffs sheered up on his starboard side as they leapt into the pass. Closer, too close! He careened away, but that brought him too close to the other side.
Suddenly they shot free of the cliffs. Ahead and below, the lights of a city glittered like sparkflies scattered across the mountains. The rest of the majestic range lay shrouded in darkness beneath the chilly stars. Bittersweet memories flooded Kelric, and incredibly, a sense of homecoming, all of it heightened by the adrenaline rushing through him. He had never seen Viasa, but he knew the way of life, culture, language, all of it. Until this moment, he had never let himself acknowledge how much he missed those years he had spent submerged in Calanya Quis. He had given up everything for that privilege: his freedom, heritage, way of life, even his name. It had almost been worth the price.
"We need a place to land," Mace said. "Or I'm going to crash into that city."
"They must have an airfield."
"I don't see one."
Kelric spoke into the comm. "Viasa, I need set-down coordinates."
The man answered. "We're working on it!"
Kelric could guess the problem. They didn't know starship protocols. The Cobans learned fast, but no one could jump from elementary physics to astronavigation in ten minutes. Jeremiah was an anthropologist. Although most college students learned the rudiments of celestial mechanics, he had no reason to know how to guide down a starship.
"I'm mapping a landing site," Mace said. "I'll try not to hit too many buildings."
Kelric spoke into the comm. "Viasa, I have no more time. I guess coordinates."
"Dalstern, I have it!" the man shouted. Holomaps of Viasa flared above Kelric's screens.
"Received," Kelric said. Then he realized he was going to careen right over the origin of the signal, which meant he might hit their command center. "Suggest you get out of there," he added with urgency.
A sparkle of lights rushed toward the ship, and towers pierced the starred sky. A dark area ahead had no buildings. With a jolt, Kelric realized they had sent him to the Calanya parks, probably the largest open area in Viasa, even bigger than the landing field.
The Dalstern was dropping fast, past domes and peaked roofs. A wall sheered out of the dark and grazed a wing of the ship, sending a shudder through it. Gritting his teeth, Kelric wrestled with the Dalstern, struggling to avoid the Estate buildings.
The scout slammed down into the park and plowed through the gardens with a scream of its hull on the underlying bedrock. Trees whipped past his screen as the Dalstern tore them out of the ground. A wall loomed ahead of them, and he recognized it immediately, though he had never seen this one before. A huge windbreak surrounded every Calanya in every Estate, and he was hurtling straight at Viasa's massive barrier.
With a shattering crash, the scout rammed through the wall. Kelric groaned as the impact threw him against his exoskeleton. The ship came to a stop balanced on a cliff that sheered down beyond the windbreak. Debris from the wall cascaded across the front of the ship. His lamps revealed a spectacular view; the Teotec Mountains rolled out in fold after magnificent fold of land, a primal landscape of dark mists and snow-fir trees.
The Dalstern began to tip over the edge.
Kelric tore off the exoskeleton and jumped to his feet. So much for his plans to land discreetly.
"We don't have much time," Mace said. "I can take off now, but if I tip too far, I'm going down that cliff."
"Coltman will come," Kelric said, more to assure himself than Mace. Jeremiah was smart. If a way existed to reach the ship, he would find it. At least, Kelric hoped so. He cycled through the air lock and jumped to the ground, into a wild night, with the notorious Teotecan winds blasting across his face. Two people were running across the parks toward him, a tall woman and a husky man.
He knew the man.
Kelric froze. His hope of managing this without anyone recognizing him had just vanished.
Pounding came from the other side of the ship. Kelric ran around the fuselage and found a youth banging on the hull.
"You have to get out!" the young man shouted in Spanish.
Kelric reached him in three ground-devouring strides. He grabbed the youth's arm and swung him around. The fellow looked up with a start, like a wild hazelle caught in a hunter's trap.
"I come for man called Jeremiah Coltman," Kelric said in his miserable Spanish.
The man inhaled sharply. "I'm Coltman."
Kelric took his chin and turned his face into the starlight. His features matched the images. He lifted one of the man's arms and read the glyphs on the armband: Jeremiah Coltman Viasa.
Relief washed over Kelric. "So. You are. We must hurry."
The Dalstern creaked as it tipped further. Alarmed, Kelric took off, pulling Jeremiah with him as he ran for the air lock.
A woman's voice called in Teotecan. "Jeremiah, wait!"
Kelric spun around. The woman and man had stopped a short distance away. The woman's attention was on Jeremiah, but the man stared at Kelric as if he were a specter from the graveyard.
Kelric's hand fell to his gun—and Jeremiah caught his arm. The youth had courage to touch a man with a Jumbler, the weapon of a Jagernaut, one of ISC's notorious biomech warriors. Had Kelric had less control of his augmented reflexes, Jeremiah's impulsive action could have just ended his young life.
"Please," Jeremiah said in Spanish. "Don't shoot them."
Kelric lowered his arm. Watching them, the woman came closer. She was tall and elegant, with a regal beauty. A thick braid dusted by grey fell to her waist. The man was about forty, and he wore three Calanya bands on each arm. Third Level. He had been a Second Level when Kelric knew him.
"Don't go, Jeremiah," the woman said.
The youth's voice caught. "I have to."
"Viasa has come to care—" She took a deep breath. "I have come to care. For you."
"I'm sorry," he said with pain. "I'm truly sorry. But I can't be what I'm not." He glanced at the Third Level, then back to the woman. "And I could never share you. It would kill me." He sounded as if he were breaking inside. "Oh God, Khal, don't let pride keep you apart from the man you really love. Whatever you and Kev said to each other all those years ago . . . let it mend."
"Jeremiah." The starlight turned the tears on her face into silver gleams.
The ship scraped and shifted position as if warning them, impatient in its precarious balance. Kelric spoke to Jeremiah in a low voice. "We have to go."
The youth nodded, his gaze on the woman.
"Good-bye, beautiful scholar," she said.
Jeremiah wiped a tear off his face. "Good-bye." Then he turned and climbed into the ship.
With one hand on the hatchway, Kelric stared at the Coban man. The Third Level looked stunned, but his gaze never wavered.
Kelric spoke to him in Teotecan. "Don't tell anyone. You know why."
The man inclined his head in agreement, silent as he kept his Calanya Oath.
Then Kelric boarded the scout.