The world Metropoli boasted the largest starport in all of the Skolian Imperialate, teeming with people and vehicles. Kelric's small scout ship went unnoticed in all the tumult, especially with his stratospheric clearances, which invoked veils of security most people had no idea existed.
He dulled the metallic sheen of his skin and hair so he appeared more his age. Then he donned clothes that made him look overweight. His passenger, Jeremiah Coltman, watched him with puzzlement, but he didn't push the matter. He would figure out the truth soon enough. Kelric avoided news broadcasts when he could, but his likeness was out there on the meshes. If Jeremiah worked at it, he could identify his rescuer.
They walked to the gate where Jeremiah would board a transport to Earth. The youth was wearing a blue pullover and "jeans" interwoven with mesh threads. He had purchased them at a store that sold Allied imports. Several women gave him appreciative glances, but no one otherwise paid attention to them. It amused Kelric that he could so easily hide in plain sight.
At the gate, Jeremiah offered his hand. "Thank you for everything."
When Kelric hesitated, Bolt prompted him. Put your hand in his and move it up and down.
Oh. That's right. He clasped Jeremiah's hand and shook until Jeremiah winced. Embarrassed, Kelric let go. He sometimes forgot to moderate his strength.
"You're sure you have enough funds?" he asked.
"You've been incredibly generous," Jeremiah said. "You must let me pay you back."
"It's nothing." Kelric didn't know the value of what he had given Jeremiah. He could multiply the amount by a million and it would still be insignificant to his estate. At least, that would be true for one hundred and eight more days. He had to decide what to do, or he would soon be penniless and officially dead.
A female voice spoke from the air. "Mister Coltman, please board the shuttle. We are ready to leave."
Jeremiah swung his new smart-pack over his shoulder and smiled at Kelric. "Good-bye. And good luck."
Kelric inclined his head. "You also."
After Jeremiah boarded, Kelric stood at a window-wall and watched the shuttle take off. Good-bye, he thought, to Jeremiah and to Quis.
But an idea was lurking in his mind. It had hidden in his subconscious, and now it crept into his thoughts like mist, blurring the outlines of his reality.
Had the time come to stop hiding Coba?
When Kelric visited the world Parthonia, to attend Assembly sessions in person, he stayed at the Sunrise Palace. It was built of golden stone, with arched colonnades. Trees shaded its wings, silver-bell willows and ghost elms with pale green streamer-leaves draped from their branches. Three million people lived in Selei City far below, but this region of the mountains was off-limits except to guests of the Ruby Dynasty. Tomorrow, the Assembly would convene in the city; tonight, the elite of that legislative body had invaded the palace.
Kelric wore his dress uniform. After many studies, the ISC protocol experts had designed it from a dark gold cloth that glimmered. The sheen seemed superfluous to Kelric, but it thrilled the analysts who charted how his appearance affected the public. The tunic had a gold stripe across his chest, and a gold stripe ran up the trousers, which Protocol claimed accented the length of his legs. It wasn't clear to him why anyone would give a buzz in a battleship about the length of his legs, but his bewildered comments had no effect on their efforts. They polished his boots to a shine and fastened a dark gold belt around his waist, all the time rhapsodizing about how the uniform complimented his physique. It was mortifying.
He put off going downstairs as long as he could, but finally he descended the staircase that swept into the foyer of the Grand Opera Hall. Chandeliers dripped with sunburst crystals, and gold shimmered on the walls. Guests filled the room, sparkling in their finery. Human servants rather than robots moved among them, carrying platters of drinks or pastries. So much for his mother's "small" dinner party.
As Kelric entered the Hall, he fortified his mental barriers until the emotions of the crowd receded. He was actually prodding his mind to produce certain chemicals. They blocked the neurotransmitters necessary to process the brain waves he received from other people. If he produced too many blockers, it damped his ability to think; at the extreme, to protect himself from Aristos, it could cause brain damage. But for a party, he needed only levels that were a natural and normal precaution.
A man carrying a tray of goblets bowed to him. With a self-conscious nod, Kelric took a glass of a gold drink that bubbled. He would have preferred Dieshan pepper whiskey.
A woman in a long green dress was talking to several people nearby. She glanced idly at Kelric, then froze with her drink raised, staring at him. It was odd. He lived here, after all. They were attending an affair hosted by the Ruby Dynasty; seeing a member of that dynasty shouldn't elicit surprise.
Everyone in her group was staring at him now. They bowed, all except the woman, who kept gaping, her face flushed. Then she jerked as if remembering herself and bowed as well. Bewildered, Kelric nodded to them and kept going.
After he passed the group, he glanced at himself. Nothing looked wrong, and he didn't think he had done anything strange, unless they noticed his slight limp. He eased down his defenses to search for clues, but the pressure against his mind increased, and his head throbbed. The moods of his guests swirled, too many to distinguish, a thick stew of emotions flavored by anticipation, curiosity, jealousy, avarice, boredom, and sensuality. Ill at ease, he reinforced his barriers until they muted the onslaught.
"I haven't seen you at one of these in ages," a man drawled.
Kelric tensed as he swung around. Admiral Ragnar Bloodmark stood there, idly holding a goblet of red wine. Tall and lean, with sharp features, he had an aura of menace, as if he were ready to strike. His dark coloring came from his Skolian mother and evoked a lord of the noble Houses, but his grandfather had actually hailed from a place called Scandinavia on Earth. Ragnar was a Skolian citizen, however. His impressive military record and seniority should have made him the top choice to head the Imperial Fleet. Kelric had never trusted him, which was why he had promoted Chad Barzun instead, and he doubted Ragnar would ever forgive him that decision.
Although Ragnar bowed, he somehow made the gesture mocking. Kelric had always wondered how he managed that, following Imperial protocols to the letter, yet projecting disdain rather than respect. If he meant it to bother Kelric, the ploy failed; Kelric had never felt any need to have people bow to him.
"My greetings, Admiral." Kelric kept his voice neutral.
"And mine." Ragnar watched him closely. "So you will attend the Assembly in person this time?"
"I imagine so." Kelric wondered if Ragnar was probing for clues about his vote. The admiral was a Technologist. Although Ragnar had supported Dehya's coup, Kelric had no illusions about his motives. He had helped her for two reasons, the first being because he thought she could win. He hid his second, but as an empath Kelric knew; Ragnar coveted the title of Ruby Consort and the power that came with it. That Dehya already had a consort didn't deter him. Kelric had no proof Ragnar had plotted against her husband, nor would any tribunal accept empathic impressions as evidence; even if a way existed to verify them, they were too vague. But he had no intention of trusting the admiral.
"Your mother looks lovely," Ragnar was saying.
Distracted, Kelric followed his gaze. Roca stood across the hall in a sleeveless blue gown, talking with several councilors, her gold hair piled elegantly on her head. Diamonds sparkled at her throat and dangled from her ears. One man was paying especially close attention to her, and Kelric doubted his interest had anything to do with politics. He hated it when men noticed her that way. They were intruding on his father's memory.
"You're talkative tonight," Ragnar said. A laconic smile curved his lips. "As always."
Deal with it, Kelric told himself. He motioned at the crowd. "They all glitter tonight. But tomorrow in the Assembly, it will be a different story."
"The ballot on your father's votes comes up, doesn't it?"
Kelric shrugged. "Votes on the hereditary seats come up every year." He eased down his barriers so he could probe the admiral. "And always fail."
"Perhaps not this time." Ragnar had worked with Ruby psions for decades and knew how to shield his mind. He also wasn't an empath, which meant Kelric couldn't receive impressions from him as well as from a psion. Although Kelric felt his ambivalence, he couldn't tell if it was because Ragnar wasn't certain how to vote or because he doubted the vote would succeed.
"It would be unfortunate for our party if the vote passed," Kelric said.
Ragnar gave an incredulous snort. "It's ridiculous that a technology party supports hereditary rule within a democracy."
Kelric cocked an eyebrow. "Ridiculous?" Ragnar wasn't the only one to make that assertion, not by far, but most people didn't say it to Kelric's face. He saw their point perfectly well, but he had no intention of giving up his power.
"I apologize if I gave offense," Ragnar said.
Kelric doubted he felt the least bit apologetic. He sipped his drink. "It's only half a democracy."
"So it is." An image jumped into Ragnar's mind, his memory of Dehya in the command chair of an ISC flagship while a million vessels gathered in support of her coup. He had helped put her there despite his objections to her throne. His motives were purely self- interested; her ascendancy worked to his advantage if he backed her. However, he had no wish to support Roca's moderating voice in the Assembly. He wanted to conquer the Eubian Traders. Period.
Kelric couldn't keep up even his minimal link to Ragnar. His head was swimming from the flood of moods. He raised his shields, and the deluge eased.
A woman spoke at his side, her voice rich with the Iotic accent of the nobility. "So what are you two plotting?"
Kelric turned with a jerk, even more edgy. Naaj Majda had joined them. At six-foot-five, she commanded attention. Gold braid glinted on her dark green uniform, and her belt had the Majda insignia tooled into it, a hawk with wings spread. Iron-grey streaked her black hair; she was almost eighty, but she looked fifty. As General of the Pharaoh's Army, she served as one of his four joint commanders. She was also matriarch of the House of Majda and a ranking member of the Royalist Party. In the interim after the war, following the death of Kelric's sister but before Kelric assumed command of ISC, Naaj had acted as Imperator.
She was also his sister-in-law.
Ragnar bowed to Naaj in perfect style and managed to make it even more sardonic than with Kelric. "My greetings, General." He raised his glass to her. "Oh, my apologies. You prefer the dynastic address, yes? Your Highness."
Naaj cocked an eyebrow at him. "Apology accepted." She knew perfectly well he was baiting her.
Kelric nodded to Naaj, and she nodded back, both of them excruciatingly formal. The House of Majda was the most powerful noble line, and thousands of years ago they had been royalty in their own right. Now their empire was financial, with holdings vast and lucrative. They had served the Pharaoh's Army since before the Ruby Empire and provided many of ISC's top officers.
Over forty years ago, Kelric had wed Naaj's sister—and lost her soon after to assassination. After the Radiance War, when Kelric had shown up to claim his title as Imperator, he had feared Naaj would refuse to relinquish either the title or the substantial Majda assets he had inherited from her sister. As Matriarch, however, she was honor bound to protect the widower of the former Matriarch. If not for that kin-bond, he wasn't so sure she wouldn't have tried to depose him.
She spoke with impeccable courtesy. "Your House does honor to your guests, Your Highness."
Well, that was safe. He gave a safe response. "We value the honor of your presence." He eased down his barriers, but Naaj was guarding her mind, and she blocked him.
"We were discussing my father's votes," Kelric said.
She inclined her head. "His memory lives with honor."
He returned the gesture. That seemed the extent of their ability to relate tonight: nods and platitudes about honor. At least she spoke with respect. Kelric's father had been a farmer from a relatively primitive culture, which had appalled the Royalist Party. Personally, Kelric would have far rather spent his time on a farm than in the royal court, but he could hardly tell Naaj that, not if he wanted her votes.
"We venerate his noble memory," Ragnar told Naaj, his eyes glinting.
"So we do." Her expression remained neutral despite his use of noble for a farmer. Kelric wondered why Ragnar bothered trying to bait her. No one could fluster Naaj.
As Naaj and Ragnar parried with barbs disguised as small talk, Kelric began to wonder if Ragnar provoked Naaj more than she let on, for her shields slipped, and Kelric sensed her mood in unexpected detail. She intended to back Kelric tomorrow even if he counseled peace. She preferred action against the Traders, but she would follow Kelric's recommendations even if her House wished otherwise— because she respected his judgment.
That floored him. She sure as hell hadn't felt that way when he had assumed command of ISC. As the head of a conservative House, she followed ancient customs from a time when men were property and kept in seclusion. Modern Skolia had an egalitarian culture, and Naaj was too savvy to let her personal views destroy her career; she knew she had to deal with him as Imperator. But she had obviously doubted his leadership ten years ago. He hadn't realized how much had changed since then.
And you? he asked himself. Do you see Coba the same way Naaj used to see you? He had never considered it in that light.
"Good gods," a sensual voice said. "Kelric, what have you gotten into, caught by these two?" A woman with dark eyes and night-black hair was strolling up to them. Her glistening red gown could have been painted onto her prodigiously well-toned body. Ruby balls dangled from her ears, and her ruby necklace was probably worth more than a fully armed Starslammer warship.
Naaj gave the woman a dour look. "You're out of uniform, Primary Majda."
"So I am, Cousin." The woman, Vazar Majda, smiled lazily, with the ease of someone who was both off duty and out of Naaj's line of command. A former fighter pilot, Vazar now served in the upper command echelons of the Jagernaut forces, or J-Force.
Ragnar bowed to Vazar, and this time he even looked as if he meant it. He raised his goblet. "You're stunning tonight, Primary Majda."
"Thank you, Admiral," Vazar said. With a wicked gleam in her eyes, she grasped Kelric's arm. "I'm rescuing this golden apparition from you two." Then she dragged him away.
Laughing, Kelric tried to extricate his arm. "Vaz, you'll give people ideas about us."
"Oh, they'll get them anyway." She drew him through an alcove and onto a balcony above the palace gardens. Out in the balmy night air, she closed the doors and sagged against the wall. "Gods, I thought I was going to suffocate in there. How can you stand these parties?"
He leaned against the wall and smirked. "That's a good question. The place is teeming with my sisters-in-law."
"Given all the brothers you have, that's no surprise." Her smile faded. "Had."
Kelric's mood dimmed. He had lost a sister and a brother in the Radiance War. Soz and Althor. Althor had been married to Vazar.
"Ragnar is right," he said, offering her a less painful subject. "You could be a lethal weapon in that dress."
Mischief returned to her eyes. "What about you, eh? Roca's greatest weapon, her gorgeous, powerful, bachelor son."
Kelric grimaced at her. "ISC needs an entire protocol division to make me look this way." He grinned as a wicked thought came to him. "We should set them loose on the Trader emperor. He'll surrender just to make them go away."
Vazar's laugh rumbled. "I imagine so." Then she said, "Roca wants you to sway votes."
He couldn't let that opening go by. "What votes?"
"That's why we're all here, isn't it? If the Assembly eliminates your father's votes, your mother loses power."
Well, that was blunt. It was one reason he liked Vazar; she didn't play at intrigue. He lowered down his barriers. It wasn't as painful out here, where distance and several walls muted the torrent from the Opera Hall. He probed at her mind.
"The drawbridge is up and the moat full of sea monsters," Vazar said. "You can't come in."
He squinted at her. "What?"
"You've a luminous, powerful mind, Kelric, but subtlety was never your strong point. Quit snooping."
He lifted his goblet to her. "I was knocking at the door."
She stood against the wall, facing him, curved and deadly in her glittering red dress. "If you want to know how I plan to vote, the answer is 'I don't know.'"
Damn. Her Assembly seat was hereditary. How could she not know her position on a ballot that jeopardized her own votes?
"I didn't realize a question existed," he said.
"I'm not Naaj. There's a reason I'm a Technologist instead of a Royalist." She shook her head. "If anyone should wield those votes, it's Roca. But should we concentrate so much power in unelected seats? Even without them, she's one of the most influential councilors in the Assembly."
Kelric's voice cooled. "That's right. She earned it through election."
"No one elected her to your father's votes."
"Better her than anyone else."
"Why should anyone have them?"
He spoke quietly. "My mother lost two sons and a daughter in the Radiance War. The Traders captured and tortured her husband, several of her children, and herself. She more than any of us should hate them. And believe me, she's capable of it." He knew Roca's darker side, the anger she wrestled with, but when she walked into the Assembly Hall, she put it behind her. "Yet she counsels peace, now that we have a Trader emperor who claims he will negotiate with us."
"She's an invaluable voice of moderation," Vazar said. "But if we reaffirm that power for Roca, what happens when the next person wants it? And the next?" Her gaze hardened, reflecting the pilot who had become infamous in battle. "And maybe moderation is the wrong counsel."
He couldn't argue. Sometimes, when his anger or grief became too great, he wanted to launch his war fleets and destroy the Traders, even knowing his forces and theirs were too evenly matched to ensure any outcome but misery.
"If we don't negotiate peace," he said, as much to himself as to Vazar, "this hostility will never end. Do you want a thousand years of war?"
Vazar pushed back her hair. "No." She stared down at the gardens. "Have you talked to Brant?"
He followed her gaze. In the garden below, Brant Tapperhaven was walking with a woman. As head of the J-Force, Brant was another of Kelric's joint commanders, and like most Jagernauts, he had a fierce streak of independence. He also abhorred the idea of inherited votes. Kelric was glad Brant didn't hold an Assembly seat; he might have gone against Kelric tomorrow.
"We've discussed it," Kelric said, and left it at that.
"Who is that girl with him?" Vaz asked.
"I don't know." He watched the couple stroll under colored lamps strung from silver-bell willows. The woman was lovely with her dark hair and sensual grace. She reminded Kelric of Rashiva, the Manager of Haka Estate on Coba. Haka ran the prison where he had spent one of the worst years of his life, after he killed his guard trying to escape. Then Rashiva had taken him out of prison and made him her Calani and husband, under coercion. It had outraged the Minister who ruled Coba, for Haka was an antagonist of the Ministry, whereas Kelric's former Estate, Dahl, had been the Ministry's strongest ally. Within a year, the Minister had pardoned him and he had no choice but to return to Dahl.
They had never allowed him to see Rashiva again, but seven months later, she had given birth to a son. She claimed the boy was premature, the son of another man, but rumors spread about his violet eyes, a color never before seen on Coba.
The same color eyes as Kelric's father.
Something was building within Kelric, something ten years in coming. He kept hearing Jeremiah's words: They're so peaceful here. Imagine if they let their top dice players loose on all those barbaric Imperialate warmongers.
Watching the woman in the garden, he spoke quietly. "She looks like my ex-wife." It was the first time he had mentioned anything about his life on Coba to any Skolian. It felt as if alarms should blare or bells toll.
"You think so?" Vaz peered at the woman. "Corey wasn't that pretty." She flushed and quickly added, "I mean no offense to her memory."
"I know. None taken."
She gave him an odd look. "Why would you call my cousin Corey your ex-wife? You two were married when she died."
Softly he said, "I wasn't talking about Corey."
"Who else could you mean?"
Ten years of caution, ten years of silence: he couldn't break it so easily.
"We should go back inside," he said.
Vaz was watching him intently. "All right." For now she let it go.
But he knew her silence wouldn't last.