Skolian Empire - Skyfall Part 20

"Like Garlin?" Hope leaked into his mood. "His mind is like mine, but he has never had a problem."

"Yes. Like Garlin. But stronger."

His mood became tender. "This child is a miracle."

"Yes," she agreed softly. "A wonder."

"I composed a song, just in case it was true about the baby."

Her mood lifted. "Ah, Eldri, I would love to hear it."

He sang for her then, in Trillian, his voice heartbreakingly beautiful. She listened in joy, but also sorrow, knowing he hadn't asked the questions she most dreaded-for he didn't know them.

Roca was having too much trouble with the pregnancy. She and Eldri had too many differences, not just their hands or coloring, but also in biochemistry. They came from different stocks of genetically engineered humans. For all the midwife's experience, she had nothing resembling the knowledge she might need to a.s.sist in such a pregnancy and birth, if complications arose. To make it worse, they were in the middle of a siege, with dwindling supplies of food and fuel. Even if she and the child survived, she saw no way out of the tangle of political or social convolutions that would ensnare them-no way to stop reality from crus.h.i.+ng their fragile miracle.

13.

Cyber Slums.

The orbiter served as home to the powers of an interstellar empire.

Imperial s.p.a.ce Command had found the s.p.a.ce station adrift in s.p.a.ce, a dead relic from the Ruby Empire-or so it had appeared. Then the techs awoke it, reviving its ancient Lock, which could power a Kyle web. Centuries later, Kurj had named the station the "Orbiter" because it orbited throughout the Imperialate, never staying in one place. He christened its idyllic city "City" and he called the valley where he lived "Valley." The names made perfect sense to him, though they seemed to amuse his grandmother.

His grandfather understood.

ISC replaced most of the Orbiter's technology, but they left the Strategy Table. Modern engineers had yet to reproduce the transparent composite used in its construction. Lights glittered within its ma.s.sive top and blocky legs, illuminating the gold, copper, bra.s.s, silver, and platinum components, all visible like the mechanisms of a gleaming, antique clock.

Today, military personnel packed the Strategy Room, seated at the great oval table or standing by the metallic walls. Officers on other worlds attended as VR simulacra. All four branches of ISC were represented: the Imperial Fleet, Advance Services Corps, Pharaoh's Army, and J-Force.

The Fleet had originated in the navy on Raylicon, but now it dominated the ISC s.p.a.ce divisions. Banner Highchief commanded. When Kurj had first heard her name, he had gritted his teeth, imagining the atavistic culture that produced it. He had no romanticism for barbarism. He should have avoided a.s.sumptions, though; Highchief was a towering cyber-warrior from a high-tech culture. Hard but fair, she had a dry sense of humor he appreciated. Although in private she expressed doubts about the invasion, in the a.s.sembly she supported him.

The Advance Services Corps scouted planets. Kurj recalled how they had tried to recruit his father, Tokaba Ryestar, a civilian explorer. Tokaba had refused. When Kurj had been a small, laughing boy, Tokaba had often swung him around, saying he would much rather toss his golden child in the air than shoot people. Kurj didn't miss the irony: his father had declined to support ASC; now the ASC Commandant had voted against the invasion. Regardless, he treasured his memories of Tokaba. Recalling his father's love of peace was all that constrained his drive to obliterate the Traders, indeed, all that held his ambition for power in check.

Kurj himself headed the J-Forces, the fiercely independent pilots who faced the Traders one on one, without the mental static of crewed s.h.i.+ps to interfere with their mind-intensive operations. He had risen through the ranks, ruthless and driven to this command. Today he controlled one branch of the military; someday, as Imperator, he would control them all.

The Pharaoh's Army had existed for five millennia, during the Ruby Empire, through the dark ages when technology crashed, and now in the interstellar age. Vaj Majda commanded. As the Matriarch of Majda, she came from a long line of warrior queens. Tall and dark-eyed, with iron-gray hair and an aristocratic face, the forceful Majda-General of the Pharaoh's Army-had given Kurj his strongest support for the invasion.

Kurj considered the Majda. Even he had approved the a.s.sembly's choice of her nephew, Prince Dayj, as Roca's consort. The union would increase political stability, strengthen ties between Majda and the Ruby Dynasty, and enhance the prodigious wealth of their Houses. He suspected the a.s.sembly also hoped Roca would weaken his links to the militaristic side of Majda. He knew better, but he kept that to himself.

Personally, Kurj found his future stepfather insufferably arrogant. Dayj had, however, one exceedingly admirable quality; he obeyed the conservative traditions of his House-which meant he kept his mouth shut and stayed in seclusion on Raylicon. That made him perfect for Roca. As a Councilor, she couldn't live on Raylicon, so Dayj's presence would be nonexistent in her life.

A voice spoke on the comm in Kurj's ear. "Primary Skolia, the First Councilor is on-line."

Kurj subvocalized his response:Understood.Sensors in his throat interpreted and transmitted the answer to his ear comm.

The simulacrum of the First Councilor formed across the table, so lifelike he looked solid. Kurj added his voice to the murmur of acknowledgment. "My honor at your presence, sir."

The First Councilor nodded, his dark eyes scanning the room. As the elected leader of Skolia, he was the supreme commander of ISC, even over the Imperator. Kurj thought it an absurd division of power.

The Imperator should rule; without him, Skolia would fall to the Traders.

A woman's voice rang through the Strategy Room. "Imperator Skolia." The great platinum doors opened-and Jarac entered.

Kurj rose to his feet along with everyone else. Towering and ma.s.sive, Jarac strode to a heavy chair embedded in the far wall. As he sat down, techs fastened him into the cyber-throne, plugging its exoskeleton into his neck, spine, wrists, and ankles. It linked him to the War Room, giving him full access to any data needed by this council. He would become the focal point of the meeting, its central command unit. Its Key.

Kurj wondered how Jarac felt about the a.s.sembly overriding his vote against the invasion. Jarac had long supported the division of power that put the First Councilor over him, but Kurj thought it must bedevil him now, knowing that if he had full command, he could refuse to lead the invasion.

The woman spoke again: "Her Highness, the Ruby Pharaoh."

They all remained standing. The pharaoh's simulacrum formed at the head of the table, along with those of the officers who served as Operations, Communications, Plans, Intelligence, Logistics, and Security.

After she settled into her chair, everyone else also sat down.

So began the meeting to formalize their invasion.

Kurj had his recommendations ready: send in the J-Force first. The split-second response times and accelerations of s.p.a.ce warfare were beyond normal humans, but the Jagernaut-s.h.i.+p combination could handle them. Robot drones would fight most of the combat, but the creativity of human minds added an edge that could mean victory.

"Jagernauts can succeed where drones alone would fail," Kurj told the a.s.sembled council. "Both in s.p.a.ce and on-planet."

Jarac's voice rumbled. "Settled planets and habitats must remain untouched. I want no civilians hurt."

Kurj gritted teeth. Certainly he intended to protect civilians. But Jarac insisted on too many limitations; it would curtail the ability of ISC to act as a coherent force. He didn't understand his grandfather. The Imperialate couldn't survive if it lost its technology, and for that they needed platinum. Without the Platinum Sectors, Skolia would fall. Kurj had won this time, on the invasion, but what about the next time? And the time after that?

The day would come when he had to challenge Jarac.

Submerged in the web, Kurj cloaked his ident.i.ty and became a dark, anonymous figure. His slum-spiders were following leads on systems buried so deep, he would have never found them with normal searchers. But he had designed these searchers himself, and they went where respectable spiders never ventured.

Kurj didn't like what he found.

He had uncovered nothing about "Roca Skolia" since she vanished, but references to "Cya Liessa"

abounded. In one cluttered info-shack he listened while two avatars "appreciated" her dancing.

Never heard of ballet,one said.

Who cares what you call it?the other answered.Take her out of the f.u.c.king costume and "dance" all night. Now THAT would be art.

Kurj sent a fire-pulse through the net and scorched the info-structure for their shack. It collapsed around them in a conflagration of error messages.

He followed another lead to an erotica site, where his mother topped the list offemale artists to see naked. He torched the list and made sure they couldn't rebuild their database there.

In an underground seraglio hidden by illegal psiware, he uncovered a site dedicated to rape scenarios of celebrities, with VR technology that allowed a user to experience the simulations. His mother was listed under "less well-known gems," along with files of her dancing that had been doctored so she was wearing nothing but a slave collar.

Kurj was gripping the arms of his chair so hard, his fingers spasmed. He incinerated the entire site, bringing down its server and every site linked to it. Then he sent the data to his Intelligence people. They would take care of it. If the creators of this site had any connection with Roca's disappearance, he would dismember them with his own hands.

He couldn't take any more after that. He withdrew from the web and slumped at his desk, his head in his hands. Every day he awoke knowing he had provoked her disappearance. For all of his conflicted feelings about Roca, he loved her. No matter what her faults, she had been a wonderful mother. If she had died-or worse-it would kill him.

Whoever had taken her would pay for their crime.

14.

Song of the Heart.

The days pa.s.sed in a blur. Roca slept often, letting her body adapt to the many changes she was experiencing. She didn't know how much her physiology varied from Eldri's, but given her exhaustion, she suspected the differences were considerable. Her body was trying to compensate.

Although she could handle the stronger gravity reasonably well now, no longer mistiming her motions or stumbling, it added to her fatigue. She still managed her dance exercises every morning, wearing leggings and a sweater against the cold, but she had begun to question whether she could carry their child to term.

She needed more help than they could give her at Windward. Every dawn she awoke praying the Dalvador army had arrived, and every day she learned the same disheartening news: the siege continued.

Eldri's seizures worsened. At first he had only the mild type where he blanked for a minute or two, then came back to himself, disoriented but otherwise unaffected. He often knew it was coming by a pain in his abdomen, though he had trouble describing the feeling, sometimes calling it nausea, other times an ache.

During the episode, his fingers might jerk, but usually he simply sat. She felt his seizure like mental static, followed by blankness. The frequency of the seizures increased as the siege continued and supplies ran low.

He tried to hide hisgrand malseizures, but Roca knew: they burned like a fire racing across her mind.

One day she found him arguing with Garlin in his office. As she entered, Eldri stiffened and fell to the ground, going into one of the worst convulsions she had seen.

Dismayed, Roca dropped to her knees next to him on the rug, whose plush thickness protected his jerking limbs. Garlin knelt on the other side, but they could do little more but watch, helpless as Eldri jerked. It was several minutes before he went limp; within moments, he was asleep.

Garlin spoke stonily. "You should leave."

"No." Roca looked up at him. "I shouldn't leave."

He spoke wearily. "Lady Roca, he doesn't want you to see."

"I live with him." She shook her head. "I feel it, Garlin. These big seizures come every six or seven days now."

He stiffened, clearly about to deny her words. But then his shoulders sagged. "Sometimes every five."

She swallowed. "How bad are they?"

"A minute or two. One went on for much longer." His voice shook. "I thought it would never stop, that he would die from lack of air and the strain on his body."

Roca's voice caught. "We must help him."

"Somehow." The sorrow in Garlin's voice made her wonder how she could have ever doubted his motives.

He carried Eldri to his suite and put him to bed with Roca's help. For a while, they both sat vigil, but as the day grew into evening Garlin had to leave, to tend other matters at Windward. Alone with Eldri, Roca climbed onto the bed and sat against the headboard. She held him while he slept, his head nestled against her hip.

And she cried.

"Surrender?" Garlin stared at Roca. "Are you insane?"

She stood with him in the Vista Hall by an open window. Chill air blew her hair around her body. In her side vision, she could see Brad standing by the bench.

"Is it less insane to sit here in Windward while our supplies run out and Eldri grows worse?" She twisted her hands in the fur s.h.i.+rt she wore over her swelling abdomen. "What if he hurts himself during a convulsion? What if one day they don't stop? We have to get help." She pressed her hands against her belly, her heart filled with the blindingly intense love that had gripped her since she first felt the child move within her. "We have to get me help, too. I can't give my baby the right nutrition. G.o.ds only know what I should be doing that I'm not. Is it that bad to surrender? Better to be their prisoners than dead."

"Lord Avaril wishes to be Dalvador Bard. He cannot do so as long as Eldri lives." His voice had an oddly gentle tone, unusual for him. "He probably would have spared you if you hadn't been pregnant. He would have kept you for himself, but you would have lived. Now you carry Eldri's heir. Avaril can no more let you live than Eldri."

Roca closed her eyes, feeling the icy wind. Then she glanced at Brad, sending a silent plea for help in her gaze.

Brad came forward. "There must be something we can do."

"You have suggestions?" Garlin asked.

"Are you sure we can't climb down the chasm around the castle?" Brad asked.

Roca suspected Garlin's answer would be the same as the other times she and Brad had asked, but she kept hoping he would think of something new. "Perhaps it has some unknown outlets."

"No," Garlin said. "It just ends. And it is a long way down. I doubt even I could make it from up here."

Brad gestured at mountains outside, and the warriors encamped there. "Are you really so certain you can't sneak a messenger out through that blockade?"

A shadow pa.s.sed over Garlin's face. "We have tried. Three times."

That caught Roca by surprise. "Do you think they got through?"

"Nay, Lady." He answered harshly. "The first time, Avaril sent the scout's severed head back to us. The second time he sent the man's intestines. The third, his heart."

"Good G.o.d." Brad blanched. "That's sick."

"But effective. We have sent no more scouts." Garlin's voice quieted. "I regret the two of you are caught in our war."

"I knew when I came here that I might have to deal with life-threatening situations." Brad glanced at Roca. "But none of us could have imagined this, with a Ruby heir."

Softly she said, "Nor could have I."

Roca went down the drafty staircase, with its cracked stairs and stone walls. It ended in a rough-hewn doorway that opened into a room built from blocks of stone. Stripped to their waists, wearing heavy trousers and boots, their chests slick with sweat, Eldri and another man were practicing with their swords, those monstrosities Roca could barely lift. Torches on the walls cast flickering light over the two men and made large shadows on the walls. Metal clanged, echoing in the underground room.

Mesmerized, Roca sat on the lowest steps. Although Eldri could often sense her presence, today his practice absorbed his attention. She loved to watch him move. He fought with deadly grace, parrying and lunging with an expertise that took her breath away. But it frightened her, too. He and his opponent were holding back to avoid injury, but G.o.ds knew they could still skewer each other.