Spherical Harmonic

by Catherine Asaro

  Roca shook her head. “No one knows where they are. Or who.”

  “What did Seth say?” I asked.

  Instead of answering, Roca glanced at Eldrin. The subject of Seth had always been awkward for him, given tibe unresolved situation.

  Eldrin didn’t look uncomfortable, though. He himself asked, “Did Seth know his foster son was Jaibriol the Third?”

  “He says no.” Roca swirled her kava. “The Allieds wanted me to talk with him because they know my expertise in reading people.”

  It made sense. As Rhon psions, we had an almost unmatched talent at discerning what people thought Roca’s years as an Assembly Councilor had honed that ability.

  “Do you think he’s telling the truth?” I asked.

  She spoke quietly. “Yes.”

  Her answer disquieted me. I felt as if a handful of gold dust were trickling between my fingers, dispersing in the wind, impossible to call back. My models all pointed to Eldrinson and Seth as the ones who knew the truth about the children. Eldrinson had taken his secrets to the grave. Roca read people better than most anyone I knew…and yet, I didn’t believe Seth. I knew him. He might fool even Roca. Of all the people alive, I was the only one with both the Rhon strength and personal familiarity to go beyond his defenses. And I had less chance than a kiss in a quasar of convincing the Allieds to let me see him.

  I turned to Ragnar. “What are our chances of pulling out Seth and Del-Kurj? And the children, if we can find them?”

  He grimaced. “We’ve already pushed the Allieds too far. If we try again, I’m almost certain they will attack.”

  “Earth has been recalling her forces from other star systems,” Chad said. “Reinforcements arrive every day. We’re painfully outnumbered now. And they’re starting to break the security on our computer networks. The longer we stay here, the worse it gets.”

  Damn. We had pulled out more of the Ruby Dynasty than we expected, but we still didn’t have all the answers—or the people—that we should have retrieved. “How much longer can we stay?”

  “It’s already been too long,” Ragnar said. “Our security is compromised. The sooner we leave, the better.”

  Kelric was watching me, listening intently. He sat with confidence in his chair, one long leg extended under the table, the other bent at the knee. More than his size dominated the room; he had an aura of authority now that he hadn’t possessed in his youth.

  The edges of wrist guards showed below the cuffs of his shirt. Although his trousers covered his ankles, the outline of guards showed through the dark cloth. It puzzled me. They resembled Trader slave restraints, less gaudy than most, works of art in fact, but still restraints. Why not take them off? It seemed unlikely he had the same problem as Eldrin, that the picotech of the restraints had to be deciphered and neutralized before the surgeons could risk tampering with them. These looked too old to be that sophisticated. In fact, they looked ancient.

  Every now and then he touched the pouch that hung from his belt. It apparently contained jeweled game pieces he used to play a type of solitaire game, which he refused to teach anyone or even play much around other people.

  As I considered Kelric, he considered me. Then he asked, “What do you know about those children?”

  “Not much,” I admitted. “I think they have some Qox heritage. Jaibriol the Third probably arranged for them to leave Earth.”

  “Probably?” Chad Barzun asked.

  I rubbed the back of my neck, wishing I could better ease the aching muscles. “We can never be sure until we find them.” And find them I would, even if it took me the next fifty years.

  Kelric was still watching me. “What do you think of this new emperor?”

  I answered carefully. “I would like to believe he wants peace.”

  “And do you believe that?”

  “I’m not sure.” I had no sense of Jaibriol III. He might be a Rhon psion. Even worse, the Triad had an empty space now. It belonged to Eldrin, but without the Third Lock we couldn’t support three people in the powerlink. Jaibriol III had that Lock. Gods, what a nightmare: the Trader emperor in the Triad. Even if he had sympathy for the Ruby Dynasty, I didn’t want him in our minds.

  I sent a private, guarded thought to Kelric. You deactivated the Lock.

  Yes.

  That is good.

  Maybe not. Jaibriol Qox witnessed it

  I swore silently. No.

  He can’t turn it back on. Only a Rhon psion can.

  I wasn’t reassured. What do you know about him?

  He let me go when he found me deactivating the Lock. Kelric paused. I had an odd sense.

  Yes?

  That he was a psion.

  Ah, hell.

  Roca glanced from Kelric to me. “What is it?”

  I took a mental step back. Although Kelric and I had guarded our thoughts from them, Roca was too savvy not to realize we were communicating even if she couldn’t pick up our thoughts. I had to be careful. If rumors spread that Jaibriol III was a psion, few would believe them. But someone might investigate. Even worse than the nightmare of Jaibriol III in the Triad of his own free will was Jaibriol III forced into the Triad by the Aristos.

  I chose a story close to the truth. “I think Jaibriol the Third might have loved that girl Seth fostered.” She could be his sister, after all.

  Ragnar looked intrigued. “For the emperor to love a woman who isn’t an Aristo would be considered an abomination by his people.”

  “It would make him vulnerable to censure,” I said. “If he really means to negotiate peace with us, we want him in power. Not weakened.”

  You don’t want them to know what I suspect? Kelric asked.

  I’d rather not. We can talk in private. Kelric probably already knew what I had to say; if Jaibriol III was a psion, he had more reason than any other Aristo to negotiate with us. We wanted him on the Carnelian Throne. That meant we had to protect him. Keep his secret.

  A strange prospect, that the Ruby Dynasty would shield a Trader emperor.

  31

  Queen’s Gamble

  In the end, we had no choice but to leave Earth without Del-Kurj or Seth. We still had no idea what had happened to the three children. I didn’t care how long it took; someday I would find them. Someday I would learn what Seth knew. And someday we would bring Del-Kurj home. But for now we had an explosive interstellar situation on our hands.

  By the time the Pharaoh’s Fleet reached Parthonia, the capital world of the Skolian Imperialate, we had accumulated most of Imperial Space Command’s remaining forces. They rallied when the news spread that Skolia had its Pharaoh and a new Imperator. Ships gathered to us like starved travelers offered an unexpected sanctuary. I had previously wondered at the Assembly’s conviction that the Ruby Dynasty provided symbols of morale, but now it became clear they were right, probably far more than they had ever wanted to know.

  It caused a scandal that Kelric had chosen to seek asylum on Earth, even knowing they would hold him prisoner. Apparently I wasn’t the only one who had feared his assassination. When we took up orbit around Parthonia, we came with the majority of ISC’s forces and overwhelming public opinion on our side. The Assembly had little choice but to surrender. But it wasn’t enough to have their surrender; we needed the symbol that represented them.

  I dreaded this. Of all the actions I had ever had to take as Pharaoh, this was one of the worst. But if we intended to establish our authority as a government, then according to every tradition of the Ruby Empire, this had to be done.

  So I sent my generals to imprison my friend and colleague, Barcala Tikal, the deposed First Councilor of the Skolian Assembly.

  The Hall of Chambers stood in Selei City. In this great vaulted cathedral, with its spacious hall and polished columns, our founders had declared the birth of the Skolian Imperialate. Blue sunlight filtered through leaded glass windows. Dust motes drifted in the slanting rays. Soaring arches reached far above our heads, and birds flew through the upper spac
es of the groined ceiling.

  Kelric and I walked with four columns of military personnel, two on each side of us. Jinn Opsister led them, and Ragnar Bloodmark and Chad Barzun walked with us. Media techs came as well, recording everything. No part of these proceedings would be broadcast live, though; we knew too little about how it would go.

  I felt acutely the absence of Jon Casestar and Vazar Majda. However, another Majda had come to the great Hall of Chambers.

  The Majda.

  Naaj waited on a dais at the end of the spacious hall. Multicolored light from stained glass windows bathed her tall figure. A retinue surrounded her: officers from the Pharaoh’s Army, high-ranking members of her House, and her Jagernaut bodyguards. She stood in their center, watching us approach.

  Kelric and I climbed the dais together, and the general’s retinue parted to let us approach Naaj. At six-foot-five, she towered. Narrow gold bars glinted on the shoulders of her dark green uniform, and a stripe of darker green ran down her trousers, disappearing into her knee-boots. Her dark belt had the Majda insignia tooled into it, a hawk with wings spread. Close to seventy, she still had lean, muscled limbs and excellent health. Iron-gray streaks showed in her close-cropped hair.

  Kelric faced her like a statue of aged gold. He wore dark gold trousers and a darker gold pullover, reminiscent of a uniform. His pouch hung from his belt. He had a different quality now than that of the beautiful young man who had wed Naaj’s elder sister. His understated quality of authority compelled attention.

  No one moved. No one spoke.

  My unease grew. Too much time had passed without Naaj’s acceptance of Kelric as Imperator. At best, further delays would weaken his support among those loyal to Majda; at worst, we might have to imprison Naaj and her followers. I had no wish to depose the Majda Matriarch as well as the First Councilor: It would further destabilize an already depleted Skolia.

  Naaj glanced at me, her gaze unreadable. Then she turned to Kelric. With formality, she performed the ancient salute given by the General of the Pharaoh’s Army to its commander, a salute descended from the only branch of our military that dated back to the Ruby Empire. Clenching her fists, she crossed her wrists and extended her arms out straight. Her voice carried in the hall. “The Pharaoh’s Army welcomes you home, Imperator Skolia. Our oath of fealty is yours, now and for as long as Majda may serve the Ruby Dynasty.”

  An almost visible exhalation of relief came from my retinue. But watching Naaj, I finally knew the truth. She guarded herself well, but I knew. She hadn’t wanted to acknowledge Kelric. Today she had chosen the path laid down by her ancestors, but if she had believed she could have kept the title of Imperator, she would have fought for it. I doubted I would ever fully unravel how she viewed Kelric’s ascendance; she had too much expertise in shielding her thoughts, gestures, and words. This I also knew, however: when Majda gave an oath, it became a matter of honor. She would keep her word.

  Kelric’s voice rumbled like slow thunder. “You honor the Ruby Dynasty with your fealty.” He had an odd look, as if the oath ceremony jarred him. But he nodded to Naaj, accepting her as the General of the Pharaoh’s Army.

  When Naaj turned to me, I became even more aware of her imposing presence. I wondered what she saw when she looked at her pharaoh. Did I seem lacking, a pale remnant of the warrior queens from our past? Nowadays, the pharaoh’s duties were more involved with the mind than with battles. Whatever she felt, she revealed only the dignity of her position. With regal grace, she went down on one knee and bent her head.

  I didn’t expect her words.

  “Majda honors the Ruby Pharaoh,” she said. “For Skolia and the Ruby Dynasty, I enter this circle to give my oath. I swear to hold your House above all else, as you hold the future of Skolia in your mind and hands. On penalty of my life, I swear that my loyalty is to the House of Skolia, only to Skolia, and completely to Skolia.” Then she raised her head. “May your reign be long and glorious, Pharaoh Dyhianna.”

  Good Gods. The House of Skolia. No one used that title for the Ruby Dynasty now. In this modern age, the General of the Pharaoh’s Army gave her allegiance by swearing the Army would perform for the glory of Skolia, in honor of the Assembly. Naaj had given me an oath that no one had spoken for thousands of years.

  “You honor me, General Majda.” I touched her shoulder. “Please rise.”

  Naaj stood. Then she turned to one of her officers, a colonel in dark green. She said, simply, “Bring him.”

  My stomach felt as if it dropped. I didn’t want this.

  Guards brought the prisoner out through an arched doorway behind the dais. Long and angular, with a piercing gaze and dark hair, the man stared straight ahead. He wore simple clothes: dark slacks, a gray shirt with a high collar, and dark shoes. Prison cuffs circled his arms, the modern equivalent of chains, lights blinking within them to indicate they were active. They would inject a neural blocker if he tried to escape. To me, they were an ugly reminder of Trader restraints. I wanted to take them off and crush them under my boot. But if I intended to overthrow the Assembly, I had to finish this.

  The guards brought him up the dais. As the group stopped in front of me, the hall became silent.

  With motions slow and stiff, the prisoner went down on one knee and bowed his head. Then Barcala Tikal spoke in the resonant voice that had made him such a renowned orator. “The Skolian Assembly acknowledges Dyhianna Selei as Pharaoh of Skolia.” He raised his head and finished in a numb voice. “I surrender to your authority. May your reign be long and glorious.”

  “I accept your surrender.” With painful formality, I touched his shoulder. “Rise. Please.”

  He stood slowly, as if pressed by a weight. In my side vision, I saw Ragnar watching with vindictive satisfaction. I had never fully realized how much lie wanted to see the powers of Skolia humbled. Yet Barcala had never been an arrogant man. He governed well, with far less intrigues than the noble Houses. If Ragnar wanted this for Barcala, how must he feel about the Houses? I couldn’t help but wish that Jon Casestar stood at my side, rather than Ragnar.

  The techs would prepare a news holo about this ceremony. For now, Naaj spoke to her officers, arranging Barcala’s transfer to Roca’s Pride. She kept her voice neutral, but I felt her anger. She wouldn’t soon forget that we had forced her to bring Barcala here in chains.

  So began my reign.

  Roca and I met in her suite. I told my bodyguards to wait outside, and I deactivated the visual and audio sensors inside. Had I also disengaged the physiological monitors that let Security know we were alive and well, they probably would have ordered my bodyguards back in. This way, we at least had a modicum of privacy.

  I sank into a molded chair. Roca sat in another at right angles to me, drinking wine from a goblet, her long legs crossed, her hair tumbling in great shining lengths over her body and the chair. Despite her subdued mood, she radiated vitality.

  The difference in our ages meant I had been well into adulthood when she was born. For years I had felt more like her aunt than sister. Then one day I realized my “baby” sister had become a grown woman with her own job and family. Soon she was an interstellar celebrity, renowned for her ability as a dancer. Over the years her political work within the Assembly had taken on more importance, until she earned election to one of its most coveted posts, the Councilor for Foreign Affairs.

  Roca and I had grown even closer during those decades, as we weathered the storms of our family and the Imperialate, through wars and the loss of loved ones, but also in joy, when good came into our lives. We didn’t always agree, having our arguments like any siblings. But most of all we loved each other. After Eldrin and Taquinil, I was closer to her than anyone else. Seeing her now, safe and alive, I felt a gratitude so deep I couldn’t find words to express it. If I turned sentimental on her, though, it would probably embarrass us both.

  “You’re pensive tonight,” she said.

  I slanted her a wry look. “I just overthrew the government.
I’m allowed to be pensive.”

  A fierce pride came into her gaze. “Never doubt your choices, Dehya. The Assembly has manipulated, controlled, and condemned us for centuries. Yet despite all that, the Ruby Dynasty has risen again. It is our right. They took it from us, but we have overcome them.”

  I blinked at her vehemence. From past discussions, I knew generally what she thought, but we had never talked about this situation, at least not in the concrete terms we now faced. “I hadn’t realized you felt that strongly about it”

  “Until now, we had no choices.” She swirled the wine in her goblet. “Politics, diplomacy, foreign affairs—it fascinates me. I could no more step back from it than I could stop breathing.”

  I spoke quietly. “Perhaps you would make a better Pharaoh.”

  “Why? Because I enjoy governing and you don’t? The desire for power is no guarantee a person will make good use of it.”

  Would I? A good use of power wasn’t enough. It had to be the best possible use; otherwise the Traders would conquer us. Then all humanity would lose. If we fell, the Allieds would be next. That was probably why, in the end, they hadn’t fired on the racer; we needed them and they needed us.

  “Why do you doubt yourself?” Roca asked.

  “I don’t.”

  “Dehya, I know you.”

  I paused, knowing I couldn’t put her off with platitudes. So I spoke frankly. “I’m not sure the mindset of the Ruby Dynasty is a good model for leadership.”

  “You want perfection.” She took a swallow of wine. “Every government has flaws. I’ve no doubt about your fitness to rule.”

  I leaned forward. “I know I can do well as Pharaoh. It’s the position itself I doubt. Aristocracies are outdated. Why does humanity need another?”

  “Because we can do a better job than the Assembly.”

  “They weren’t doing a bad job.”

  “No?” Anger edged her voice. “Skolia needs the Ruby Dynasty to survive. The Assembly was destroying us. The more desperate they became, the worse we suffered.”

  I thought of my son. “You know about Taquinil?”