“Did I make it?” I rasped.
“You’re in a building,” Max said. “I don’t know where. I’m getting no city mesh signals.”
I pressed my hands against my head, trying to push away the unbearable sensations.
Lights flooded the area. Ah, no! I covered my eyes and cried out. The pound of running feet made the stone floor vibrate. Closer, closer, the runner stopped nearby . . .
A deep voice spoke in modern Iotic. “Major Bhaajan?”
I opened my eyes the barest amount and saw the Uzan kneeling next to me, holding a torch in one hand. With a groan of relief, I released my hold on consciousness and passed out.
VII
Temple of the Ancestors
Chimes. I lay with my eyes closed, listening. Glass tubes tapped together as if wind were blowing through them. The chiming shimmered, soft and delicate, like a poem of musical sounds. It reminded me of lying on the forest floor, listening to a stream gurgling over rocks.
Some time later, I opened my eyes. I wasn’t anywhere near a forest or a stream, or even on a planet that claimed such luxuries. A large space surrounded me, suffused with dim light. I sat up with care, relieved to discover my headache had receded. I remembered the Uzan and a torch—
Ho! I was inside a pyramid. The ledge where I sat jutted out from the wall, its stone surface softened by a pallet of gold cushions. The ceiling sloped to a point many stories overhead. Around the edges of the large room, transparent columns rose by the walls, quietly humming machine sounds. Lights spiraled within them, reflecting off crystalline levers and ebony rods, and gears turned like the workings of an ancient, gigantic clock. A maze of shifting mirrors sparkled in one corner. Sunlight slanted through openings near the top of the structure, down to the mirrors, which gathered the light and sent it throughout the room. Against the far wall, a circular dais rose up several steps, yellow stone veined in gold. It supported three oblong boxes with statues of winged lizards perched at their corners. They looked like coffins. I hoped the Uzan hadn’t thought I needed one.
Most of all, I noticed the space. Air filled the temple. The floor stretched out in an expanse of flagstones of bronze, amber, and gold stone. They fit together in a mosaic of concentric circles with abstract designs. Except no, they weren’t abstract, they formed giant glyphs. I could read a few: that orb represented the sun, with a border of stars to indicate a day; the swirl of a sand devil combined with the symbol for sand falling down a cliff face, a double glyph that represented the passage of time.
Max, I thought. You there?
It’s not like I could go anywhere, he answered.
I smiled. I guess not.
How are you?
A lot better. It looked like my skin had lost its faint glow, but I couldn’t be sure given that the bioluminescence only showed in the dark. How about you? Did you clean out your systems?
Partially. I’m breaking down the contaminant to analyze its chemistry.
I think it’s what made my skin glow. I motioned at the temple. Do you recognize this place?
I have no record of it in any of my files.
That’s odd. It can’t be that far from Cries. I stood up, then swayed as dizziness swept over me.
Across the temple, three figures appeared in an archway, Abaj warriors in dark robes with their hoods pushed back, each with a queue of jet black hair hanging down his back. As they walked toward me, their robes shifted, revealing their clothes, black trousers and dark shirts embroidered at the hems in gold, blue, and green threads. The archway had dwarfed them, but as they drew closer, their height became apparent, well over two meters. They looked identical. I knew to call the one in front the Uzan only because he wore a medallion with the insignia of Imperial Skolia, the stylized depiction of a star exploding past a circle.
When they reached me, I nodded to the Uzan and spoke in modern Iotic. “My honor at your presence.” Quietly, I added, “Thank you for helping me.”
He inclined his head. “Your appearance was—unexpected.”
I motioned at the pyramid. “What is this place?”
“It is called the Temple at Tiqual. Or just Tiqual.”
“Ah.” I had never heard of the place. “How did you know I was here?”
“You triggered many alarms.”
“Was I not supposed to use that stairwell?”
“No, you were not.” His gaze remained impassive. “It leads to the Corridor of the Ages.”
Corridor, river, I still didn’t get it. “And that means—?”
“You don’t recognize the phrase?” He considered me. They all did. It was eerie, all three of them identical, as if he had brought two living, breathing reflections of himself.
“No,” I said. “I’ve never heard it before.”
He spoke quietly. “Tiqual houses the third Lock. The singularity is at the end of the Corridor.”
Holy freaking bugs. I sat down again.
The Uzan also sat on the ledge, far enough away that he didn’t intrude on my personal space. His other two selves stepped back, giving this version privacy with me.
I took a breath. “Are you saying I crawled past the Lock?”
His gaze never wavered. “Yes.”
“I should be dead.” From what I understood, only a Ruby psion could use a Lock. Its power would tear apart anyone else’s mind.
“You didn’t enter the Lock,” he said. “You only went by a passage that leads to it.”
“I felt like my head was splitting open.”
He frowned. “Who let you use those stairs? You’re lucky you survived.”
I didn’t want to mention the Down-deepers. “I feel better now.”
“We treated you for both the Kyle injury and the broken wrist.”
I didn’t want to talk about Kyle injuries, because if I had them, that made me a psion. So I lifted my hand instead, peering at my wrist. They had removed the splint and applied a sheath that blended with my skin so well, it looked and flexed like a stiff hand.
“Whoever set the bone did a good job,” the Uzan said. “We’ve injected you with repair meds to help you knit. You should be able to use that hand in a day or two.”
I lowered my arm. “I appreciate the care.”
“How did you break it?”
I paused, but then decided to answer. “Dodging a jumbler shot from Calaj.”
“You found her?”
“Actually, she found me. I didn’t see her. She fired at us from the dark.”
“Who is ‘us’?”
He was certainly full of questions about things that weren’t his business. I said nothing. I had long ago learned the value of silence, that it could prod people to say more than they intended. Unfortunately, it didn’t work on the Uzan. He just sat, watching me back.
Finally I said, “I need to speak to the Ruby Pharaoh.”
“You must use proper channels to request an audience.”
I scowled at him. “You’re the leader of her hereditary bodyguards. If anyone can reach her, you can.” Hell, I was supposed to use proper channels to request an audience with him. If I kept showing up unannounced, the Abaj might decide to toss my sorry ass out of their territory for good.
“Why do you wish to see the pharaoh?” he asked.
“I can only tell her.”
He spoke firmly. “You are no condition to see anyone.”
I wished people would quit telling me that. “I feel fine.”
“You aren’t fine. You went into Kyle shock. It nearly killed you.”
“Kyle what?” The question came out before I could stop myself.
He motioned toward the other side of the temple. “In close proximity to the Lock, psions can’t take the neural stimulation created by the singularity. We go into neural overload. Some experience grand mal seizures or brain damage.”
I fell back on what, until yesterday, I had believed my entire life. “I’m not a psion.”
“You wouldn’t have felt anything if you didn’t have some ability.”
I understood now, too late, what the deepers had tried to ask me: Was I a psion? They tried to reach my mind and waited for a sign that I knew they were knocking at my mental door. I hadn’t responded because I hadn’t felt anything I knew how to interpret, just a headache.
“ISC tested me.” I felt so tired. “They said I had no Kyle rating.” When he started to speak, I put up my hand to stop him. My mind fled his words like a lizard running from a dust gang. “I’m sorry. I mean no disrespect. But I must speak to the pharaoh.” I couldn’t tell him why. I couldn’t tell anyone except Dyhianna Selei. What I had to say could get me thrown into prison.
* * *
I lay down after the Uzan and his other two selves left, but I couldn’t sleep. If he did get me a meeting with the pharaoh, it would be at the Majda palace. I wanted to be at my best when I faced her, which meant I should rest, if I could just turn off my mind. I kept thinking about Calaj. I’d known she meant to shoot an instant before it happened. That realization had saved my life and probably those of the deepers as well. It all kept coming back to my Kyle traits, which were becoming more and more difficult to deny.
Why do you care? Max asked.
I blinked. What?
Why don’t you want to be an empath?
It makes you weak. Bitterly, I added, It makes you feel.
Your inability to face your emotions hampers your ability to solve this case.
I didn’t want to know what it said about me, that my EI was more willing to face my emotions than I was. Max, not now. I’m tired.
Mercifully, he stopped. I opened my eyes and stared at the wall above me. The symbols carved into it bore no resemblance to Iotic, and they looked much older than the mosaic on the floor. No one knew the origin of the Locks. My ancestors had found three, this one on Raylicon, and two others in space stations drifting among the stars. The Locks affected people with Kyle organs in their brains. Did they have a connection to this puzzle of Calaj? The pieces didn’t fit. Somehow she had linked with the pharaoh in Kyle space. She murdered Tavan Ganz, a well-liked young man with no connection to her. She fled to Raylicon, birthplace of the Imperialate. Goes Down-deep, bothers no one. I go down. Singer comes, talks, leaves. The deepers take me deeper. Calaj shoots at me. I shoot back. No more shots. Why not? My freaking skin starts to glow. I leave. Nearly die. Uzan and his copies help me. End of story. I wasn’t seeing the big picture here.
Max, I thought. Bring up my files on Daltana Calaj and Tavan Ganz.
Which ones? ISC sent you both their work and personal records.
I had gone over their job files in so much detail, I practically had them memorized. Calaj had an exemplary record, highly honored with a distinguished list of medals. Ganz did his job well and never offended anyone. He came across as a well-adjusted, pleasant fellow. He hadn’t seen his family in a while because they lived on the world Metropoli and he worked on Parthonia, the capital world of the Imperialate, but by all accounts he had a good relationship with them.
Calaj drank too much on leave, but so did many Jagernauts. Turning empaths into killers wasn’t a recipe for happiness. Despite the popular media thrillers about Jagernauts going berserk, however, I didn’t know any case where that had actually happened. They turned violence inward on themselves rather than attacking the people they were sworn to protect, especially someone like Ganz, who worked for the Assembly. The systems set up to protect Jagernauts would warn the J-Force doctors if even a hint of trouble manifested. Except Calaj’s safeties had failed, every last one in a complex series of safeguards. Why?
Max, give me Calaj’s personal files. She had a small family, two mothers, two fathers, and a sister, but ISC didn’t have as much background on them as on Calaj. Why two of each parent?
After a pause, he thought, They were a Jag squadron. After they retired, they all married each other.
That’s seriously weird.
Not really. The bond among squad pilots is exceptionally strong.
So Calaj grew up surrounded by empaths.
Yes, she and her sister are both psions. The sister became an artist. She creates holographic portraits. Apparently she is quite successful.
Does Calaj get along with her family?
Yes, it appears they have a strong bond.
Any indications of violence, cruelty, anything like that?
No, none.
So she had a normal life. At least, as normal as life could be for a psion. Took after her parents and became a Jagernaut.
She was promoted faster than normal.
Too fast, do you think?
Prior to this situation, she gave no sign that she couldn’t handle the responsibilities.
Maybe I was looking at this from the wrong direction. Did she have an unusually good relationship with her parents and sister? Were they closer, more affectionate than most?
He paused. Yes, it does appear so. She once referred to them as her sanctuary.
For some reason that made me think of Jak, my crime-boss lover, which made no sense. Okay, maybe it did. The dust gang of my youth—Dig, Gourd, and especially Jak—we’d given each other an emotional refuge. We never spoke about it, never admitted the intensity of that bond. It just existed, a connection so strong, it had become part of us. Had Calaj come here seeking refuge? She wouldn’t risk the family she loved after she committed murder. When she cracked, maybe she sought the deepers, a population with the greatest known density of psions, people like herself.
My theory had a gaping hole, however. How would she know they were all psions? Until last year, no one had documented that “little” fact, including the deepers themselves. Even now, no offworlder knew about their Kyle results except the highest of the high clinks in ISC. Calaj wasn’t among that group. For psions to connect, their brain waves needed to interact, which meant they needed to be close to each other. No way could she have connected with the deepers from offworld.
I thought back to my conversation with the pharaoh about the cyber-riders. Max, does Calaj have traits in common with the riders? Anything—personality, technical background, interests?
She is a mesh engineer. Apparently her nickname is “tech-mech goddess.”
Interesting. Check her genetic profile. What can you tell me about her biological origins?
She is a genetically modified human.
Yah, well, so were we all. My ancestors messed with their DNA to adapt to life on other worlds and widen their gene pool. I wondered if she was pure Raylican. With all the tweaks our ancestors made to their genetics, few people are truly Raylican anymore.
Except the Majdas, of course.
Right. Supposedly they were the purest Raylicans. Given that over the ages, many of them had married offworlders, we in the Undercity were probably more Raylican than the current crop of Majdas. Not that anyone would dare suggest a dust rat had a purer heritage than royalty. Couldn’t have that. Now that ISC knew about the Kyle abilities of my people, they wanted to establish a genetic map for us, to figure out where our priceless genes came from—all this interest, after they had ignored us for, oh I didn’t know, a little while, like thousands of years. Big surprise, they couldn’t inspire any cooperation from my people.
Give me a moment to analyze Calaj’s genetic profile, Max thought.
All right. I closed my eyes and wished I could sleep. I tried to find less provocative thoughts, like mentally listing the codes for machine parts in the waste removal manual of the Advanced Services Corps. Yah, that was exciting. I couldn’t believe all the useless information I’d accumulated over the years.
I was almost asleep when Max suddenly thought, I have an answer.
I rubbed my eyes. Yah?
It took a lot of searching and involves deduction on my part.
You mean you guessed.
Yes. Secondary Calaj descends from the Down-deep population.
No shit.
Yes, shit.
I smiled. How do you know?
She has certain genetic
markers that are rare even among psions. They showed up only in the deepers who came in for testing last year.
I stiffened. How the hell would you know that?
Calaj’s genetic map is in her ISC files.
Hers, yes. Not the maps of those twelve Deepers who came for testing.
You have access to their maps.
Indeed I do. And I never put that secured information on your system.
I found it on the Majda system.
For flaming sake. Max was cracking Majda. In theory I approved of these powerhouse sleuthing abilities he was developing, but no damn way could I have my personal EI breaking into such highly secured systems. I was the one who would get arrested.
Cut it out, I told him. No more breaking and entering.
My apologies. He didn’t sound the least bit remorseful.
Your emotive functions aren’t working, I told him, irked.
According to my diagnostic updates, all of my functions work just fine.
Max.
This time he did put remorse into his response. I won’t undertake such efforts in the future without your go-ahead.
Good.
The deeper genetic maps weren’t the only ones I compared to Calaj’s records.
Who else?
Yours.
I scowled. Screw that.
I don’t think that’s anatomically possible.
You aren’t allowed to spy on me, either.
I’m practically inside your mind. Besides, I’ve always had your genetic map.
I couldn’t actually remember if I had given it to him. It had never mattered. I didn’t know why his observations put me on edge today. Okay, apparently I’d inherited some deeper DNA. So what? Max was right, I needed to get a grip on my inconvenient emotions.
How many generations back do you think Calaj’s deeper heritage goes? I asked. It had to be a long time since her people had left Raylicon, given that no hint existed in her files about such origins. It wouldn’t surprise me if her family had hidden that aspect of their heritage.
I would guess five generations, Max thought. Maybe more.
I closed my eyes. I need to think.
Someone touched my shoulder. Startled awake, I jumped up off the ledge, my fist swinging. Fortunately, I stopped myself in time, because otherwise I would have punched the Ruby Pharaoh.
The Bronze Skies Page 12