Strong emotions stirred in the people around me: joy, wonder, relief. I appreciated their welcome, but their awe disconcerted me. The Assembly had long claimed the Ruby Dynasty served as symbols, that the titular nature of our positions was offset by the hope we gave the people of Skolia. I had always taken that with a dose of cynicism, knowing they hoped such words would convince us to quit fighting them. But at times like this I wondered. It was also humbling to remember that if I slipped up, all Skolia would know.
A Firestorm battle cruiser was a starfaring metropolis. We followed silver paths through a city of coppery and gold buildings. On a bronzed balcony circling a distant sky needle, armed guards paced. A magtrain hummed on a glowing rail that curved over the buildings.
As we walked, Jon spoke quietly. “Your appearance will encourage our crew. We have had a problem with morale.”
“Here on the cruiser?” I asked. “Or more generally?”
“Everywhere. The war created chaos.” He paused, the length of his silence revealing his disquiet. Then he said, “We still don’t know why the web collapsed. And we lost the Third Lock.”
Foreboding rose in me. I had thought perhaps Taquinil and I had caused the collapse when we went into psiberspace, but the Traders could have done it by trying to use the Third Lock. It took a Rhon psion to create and maintain a psiber-web. We were Keys for the Locks. If the Traders had tried it with telops less powerful than the Rhon, it could have wreaked havoc and killed the telops.
Now they had both a Lock and Eldrin. They could build their own web.
Damn.
The Locks were our history. Six thousand years ago a race of beings had moved Stone Age humans from Earth to the planet Raylicon, then vanished. The bewildered humans developed star travel and built the Ruby Empire. But it collapsed, followed by five millennia of dark ages. When the Raylican people, my ancestors, finally returned to the stars, they found ruins of the Ruby Empire, including the Locks. Those machines baffled our scientists. The ancients had mixed mysticism, science, and mathematics in ways we had yet to unravel. This much we knew: the Locks were portals into Kyle space. Three survived: one in the Orbiter, which we had found abandoned in space; a second in ruins on Raylicon; and a third as a small space station. To protect the Third Lock, ISC had created Onyx Platform, a city of space habitats. But something happened during the war, I didn’t know what, only that the Traders captured the Third Lock. They used it to locate the elusive First Lock on the Orbiter, my home. Then they sent commandos after my family.
“What happened to Onyx Platform?” I asked.
“We lost all twenty-three space habitats.” Jon cracked his knuckles, one of his rare mannerisms that revealed tension. He wasn’t truly a granite monolith; he just kept his emotions to himself. “Admiral Tahota was in command. She and her volunteers rigged antimatter fuel containers throughout the stations. Seven billion bottles.”
“Rigged? You mean they fixed the bottles to go unstable?”
Jon nodded. “When the Traders converged on Onyx, the bottles collapsed—and dumped seven hundred billion kilograms of antimatter plasma.” He regarded me steadily. “It blew the entire complex.”
His words felt like a punch to the stomach. “Two billion people lived at Onyx.”
“Tahota evacuated them. Refugees from Onyx are pouring into settlements all over space.” Grim satisfaction showed on his face. “Tahota and her volunteers didn’t die in vain, Your Highness. To break Onyx, the Traders had to send the bulk of their fleet. When Onyx blew, it took the entire invasion force. It broke the Trader military. Pulverized it.”
I absorbed that. Tahota had been one of Kurj’s top officers and closest friends. If anyone could successfully evacuate Onyx during a battle, it was she. But losing her was another blow. I grasped at a shred of hope. “Are you sure the Traders have the Third Lock? Maybe it was destroyed too.”
A shadow came over his face. “Tahota had to let it go. The evacuation hadn’t yet finished.”
I tried to hold in my disappointment. “How could the Traders miss seven billion bottles collapsing at the same time?” The “bottles” were actually containment fields. The invaders should have detected that many of them going unstable.
The corner of his mouth quirked up, which for him was a sign of great approval. “Tahota used the same trick the Radiance Fleet used to hide its ships. Her people hid the unstable bottles in stable ones.”
Memories sparked in my mind: the fuel bottle trick had been Soz’s idea. Jon Casestar had headed the project. If we could store antimatter fuel in containment fields that twisted out of this universe, why not ships? It had taken several years to make it work, but in the end they had succeeded. That was how the Radiance Fleet penetrated Trader space; most of its ships were hidden in giant fuel bottles. It was also why our bluff at Opalite worked; the Traders knew we could hide ships.
“What happened with the Radiance Fleet?” I asked. His expression lightened. The change wouldn’t have been much for most people, but for him it made a notable difference. “The invasion destroyed the Trader capital, Your Highness. We crippled their government. Even worse—for them—their emperor died without an heir.”
My pulse leapt. Worse, indeed. The Trader emperor served a more important role to his people than the Ruby Dynasty did to ours. For one thing, he actually ruled. No elected Assembly for them; they found the concept ludicrous. They had a caste structure even within their aristocracy. The Aristos considered their emperor the embodiment of their supposed superiority. Without him or his heir, they lost not only their leader, but the symbol that defined their identity. Well, good. It would weaken them.
However, I could tell Jon had left out something. I considered him. “If the Trader government and military is in such trouble, why don’t we finish what we started and liberate the worlds they’ve conquered?” It would free trillions of slaves. We couldn’t offer them better lives in a material sense; they already enjoyed prosperity. It was how the Aristos kept so many people subjugated. But we could give them freedom.
Jon cleared his throat. “We have a problem.”
“Yes?”
“We lost most of the Radiance Fleet.”
I stared at him. “That included almost all of our forces”
“Yes.” He didn’t try to soft-pedal it. “We don’t have the military strength to overthrow them. Nor do they have the strength to conquer us.”
A stalemate. Wars weren’t supposed to end that way. “I suppose they claim they won.”
“Of course. As do we.” He walked with his hands clasped behind his back, his face drawn. “The truth? I think they’re exhausted. No one wants more fighting. But now that they have a Lock and Key, they won’t stop.”
I suddenly wanted to sit down. “That means we’re going to war again.”
“Whenever they get organized.” He sounded drained. “Your death was the final blow. The morale of our people went so low that some groups began talking about surrender to the Traders.” An uncharacteristic bitterness edged his voice. “Surrender. After we have fought for centuries to remain free.”
“But I’m not dead.”
He actually cracked a smile. “You must speak to the people.”
“Yes. Of course.” The thought unsettled me. I hadn’t spoken in public for decades. The Assembly encouraged my solitude. It made me easier to guard. But I had to find words of hope for my people. We could never give in to the Traders. How we would stand against them, I had no idea yet, but we would find a solution.
Somehow.
We stopped at the wide door to the operations bay. Jon Cas-estar wore his dress uniform, with medals agleam on his chest in red, gold, purple, and white, all bright against the dark blue of his well-pressed tunic. His dark trousers had a holographic stripe of electric blue down the outer seam of each leg. Eight Jagernauts in black dress leathers surrounded us. Vazar stood at my side, a Jagernaut Primary, her rank equivalent to admiral, indicated by the narrow gold holo-stripe on each leg of he
r black trousers and around each of her biceps. Her black knee-boots reflected light in their polished surfaces.
When Jon raised his hand, sensors in the door responded and it rolled upward like a great, corrugated scroll made from metal. The entrance was three times my height and wide enough for six people to walk through abreast. My stomach felt as if the proverbial shimmerflies were fluttering there.
Four Jagernauts went in first. Then Jon and Vazar entered. I heard no sound from the bay except the muted, ever-present hum of the ship. Nothing else gave any clue that a major control center lay beyond that entrance. El brains could run most of this cruiser, but it still needed a human crew. For all that the presence of other minds pressed on mine, I heard no voices. It was as if whoever waited beyond held their breath.
The silence unsettled me. I pulled at the sleeves of my jumpsuit, straightening nonexistent wrinkles. It was made from emerald-green cloth, with a high neck and long sleeves. The belted suit had no other ornamentation except the Imperialate insignia on my right shoulder, a gold sun exploding past a black triangle, all set within a red circle.
Vazar and Jon stopped at the edge of the observation platform, which was bordered by a waist-high rail. The bay below could hold hundreds of people, but from here I could see no one. Jon spoke to the assembled crew, his voice assured. I couldn’t discern the words. Then he turned and beckoned me.
My mouth felt dry. I walked forward, aware of the Jagernauts coming with me. As I approached the edge of the platform, Jon and Vazar moved apart, taking positions to either side. I restrained the urge to wipe my sweating palms on my jumpsuit and instead set my hands on the rail. I could see the bay below now. People stood everywhere: by consoles, in aisles on the Luminex floor, even in the circular cars at the ends of giant robot arms that could move anywhere within the bay but right now hung suspended in the air. A swell of emotions washed over me, muted by the natural mental barriers people raised regardless of whether or not they were psions. Uncertain, afraid to hope, unable to recognize me—they didn’t know what to think.
Jon said, simply, “The Ruby Pharaoh.”
Opalescent globes rotating in the air above us picked up his words and sent them to other globes spinning above the bay. Their colors swirled as they transmitted his voice. No one moved. No one spoke. No one even coughed or cleared their throat. They simply watched me. Their moods blended into a haze; I couldn’t discern individual responses. All I knew was that this didn’t feel right.
I ran my hand along the rail until I found its latch and clicked it open. As the rail retracted to the side, white steps formed in front of me, leading from the platform down into the bay.
Jon glanced at me, alarm sparking in his thoughts.
Let me do this, I thought, even knowing he couldn’t pick it up. Although he wasn’t a psion, he had good intuition about people.
After a pause, he gave a slight nod. Then he motioned the Jagernauts forward. Four of them descended the steps, walking with a steady tread. I followed, taking the stairs slow so I could look out at the crew that served this great city in space. Light filled the bay from the Luminex walls. Accents of color showed everywhere, the holos of people put up to remind them of the worlds they called home, green forests and russet plains, seas wild and frothy, splashes of red blossoms or bright purple birds.
They all watched me descend. At the bottom, I started to walk forward. I passed a woman on the right—and she moved with fluid grace, going down on one knee. She bent her head and rested her arm across her thigh.
Caught off guard, I stopped. But the crew didn’t. Like a wave swelling through the bay, they knelt, one after another, their heads bent, their gazes averted. Their emotions surged, easier to read now. Hope. I gave them hope.
It humbled me.
“Stand, my people.” My voice had the throaty quality it took on when I felt self-conscious. The spinning globes sent my words through the bay and the crew rose to their feet, still watching, waiting for me to continue.
“I am glad to see you all,” I said. It was hardly the most dramatic opening, but I had never liked pomp. Besides, it was true. “It gratifies me to see you stand tall. We of Skolia have thrived for six thousand years. We will continue for many more millennia. But today we begin a new era. Let us enter it with new energy, determination, and hope.” My lips quirked up. “We’re a tenacious bunch, we Skolians. We come from almost every background you can imagine, but we have one thing in common. We never give up. We’ve triumphed over time, space—and Traders. And we will again.”
Their mood was lightening, giving way to cautious optimism, at least for now. Apparently Jon was right; this was what they needed to hear, reassurance from a pharaoh who lived when all had thought she died. So I continued to talk. If it would help morale, I would do my best to provide inspiration. I just wished I felt it myself.
Alone, in the dim light of my suite, I reran the news holo. Again. I sat slouched in a softseat that molded to my every move, trying to relieve my rigid posture. It did no good. I played that holo again and again, and as I watched it, I died inside.
The broadcast showed Corbal Xir, an Aristo with great power. His mother had been a sister of the first emperor. At 132, Xir was the oldest Trader. His hair had turned white. He wasn’t the oldest living human; that honor went to my ex-husband, Seth Rockworth, who had reached 176. At 158, I was the eldest Skolian. But Xir had stopped seeming young to me long ago. He knew firsthand the never-ending strain of this conflict that wore us down decade after decade. He was also the Aristo closest to the Carnelian Throne. Since Jabriol II had left no heir, Corbal Xir was next in line to become emperor.
In the holo, Xir stood in the Hall of Circles, the audience hall in the emperor’s palace. The circular chamber had survived the Radiance Fleet invasion, but a great crack ran from floor to ceiling in its snow-marble walls. Xir towered on the center dais next to the Carnelian Throne, a chair made from snow marble, inset with glittering blood-red gems. Rows óf diamond benches ringed the dais with rubies on their high backs. Aristos sat on those benches, rank upon rank of icy human perfection. They looked unreal, every one with glistening black hair, ruby-red eyes, and snow-marble skin. Watching them made my skin crawl. They sat in silent triumph while Xir spoke.
I didn’t listen to his grandiose propaganda. I barely looked at him. I saw only one person—the man who stood next to Xir. At six-foot-one, he was half a head shorter than the Aristo lord. Wine-red hair was tousled around his handsome, haggard face, and dark circles showed under his eyes. The ripped sleeve of his white shirt revealed bruised skin. His arms were bound behind his back and a diamond slave collar glittered around his neck.
I knew that shirt. He had been wearing it the last time I saw him.
I knew that man.
It was Eldrin.
My husband.
12
Orbitals
Sleep evaded me like a skulking thief. Every time I dozed, my fears for Eldrin haunted my dreams. I thrashed around until the covers tangled my legs together. The air-bed adjusted to my every move, trying to soothe, but I still felt as if I were sleeping on rocks. Even the satiny sheets offered no comfort.
Finally I flopped onto my back and lay with my arm across my forehead, staring at the ceiling. The only light in the room came from holo panels on the walls. I had set them to show starscapes of nebulas that graced interstellar space like crowns studded with jeweled stars. But tonight those spectacular views only seemed cold.
After a while, I got up and wandered into the living room. I felt the suite’s El turn up the heat, probably to account for my wearing only a sleep shirt. The flimsy material drifted around my body, shifting in the cool air. Dim light from the bedroom filtered through the archway, turning everything a ghostly blue. No sound stirred the night except the distant hum of the ship that always lingered at the edges of my mind.
The pseudogravity from the ship’s rotation pulled at me. My weight felt like my thoughts: too heavy. I needed to act, to hel
p Eldrin, to descend on the Traders with guns blazing and bombs exploding. Except Soz had already done that. And died.
Damn it all. Soz should have waited. I could have found a solution. Before all this happened, I had been trying to predict the outcome of the war. I had modeled possible scenarios, estimated their chance of occurring, and then used the results to fine-tune the models, hoping to converge on a probable scenario. The more data I had, the better my predictions. I was always adding information, everything from big events to tiny details. You never knew when seemingly unconnected facts or contemplations would cause unexpected correlations.
Ideally, the models would converge on one scenario. But they never did. The best I could do was estimate a range of vague futures. The further ahead in time I took a model, the more it blurred. Most gave nonsensical results. A few patterns had emerged over time, but Soz’s death hadn’t been one of them. Some models predicted Eldrinson and Roca would become captives—but not of the Traders.
In others Taquinil died. I hated those models.
Taquinil. Standing in the middle of the room, I closed my eyes and put my face in my hands. If only I could find a prediction that would give me hope. Try. I focused my mind and updated my models of Taquinil with everything that had happened since I last saw him. Within moments, I had a new prediction: Taquinil simultaneously existed and didn’t exist.
Well, great. That helped. Disheartened, I opened my eyes and lowered my arms. I probably hadn’t recovered all the data in my neural nodes yet. The prediction might be nonsense. But I couldn’t be sure. That was the hardest part, never knowing for certain.
Jaquinil? I thought. Can you reach me?
An odd sensation came to me, as if a hand brushed my mind. Had the wall across the room rippled? I rubbed my eyes and discovered I was smearing tears across my face. AU the equations in the universe couldn’t take away the pain of all these losses.
Longing for hope, I started the models evolving again. But every time I tried to see Taquinil’s future, other impressions interfered. A vague sense of my ex-husband, Seth Rock-worth, kept coming up. I failed to see why, after my decades of contentment with Eldrin, I would predict a Rockworth in our future. Seth and! had never been compatible. Yet these models kept coming back to him.
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