Hell's Gate-ARC

by David Weber

  He pulled her close and held her for a long moment, and his embrace tightened as images of destruction and devastation flickered through his mind. The thought of some rapacious horde of barbarians rushing through the portal in Tathawir and the spreading out across the face the world in a ravening mass, killing and maiming everyone within reach, filled him with a sudden, icy fear that was all too real—and personal—as he felt his wife in his arms.

  "What is it, Hal?" she asked in a frightened voice as she tasted his emotions, if not their cause, through her Talent.

  "Not here, love," he murmured. "Only when we're alone."

  She bit her lip, but nodded. She'd long since been forced to accept that his work in both the Portal Authority and the Shurkhali Parliament meant there would be things to which he was privy that he literally could not share with her. Not without violating his responsibilities to Shurkhal's independence.

  But that, too, was about to change, Kinshe thought grimly. Unless he very much missed his guess, Shurkhal would no longer be an independent nation, once the dust settled and their world got down to the serious business of meeting this threat. But he couldn't say that, either, so he guided his wife across the lobby—and faltered to a halt.

  Crown Prince Danith Fyysel was standing beside the door.

  "Your Highness?" Kinshe said in surprise.

  "My father felt it appropriate that I go with you, sir," Danith said, and Kinshe drew a deep breath, then nodded.

  "Thank you, Your Highness." He managed to smile. "I was afraid your father would insist on sending a whole retinue us."

  The Crown Prince's smile was fleeting—not surprisingly, given the grim business which had brought them both here—but it warmed his eyes for a moment.

  "I talked him out of it," he said. "The Ambassador will be distressed enough, as it is, without having to cope with a whole roomful of royal retainers fluttering uselessly about."

  "Thank you," Kinshe repeated with another nod, then inhaled deeply. "I'm told there's a carriage waiting?"

  "Indeed. And an express train, as well, at Fyysel Station."

  Alimar Kinshe's eyes had widened in deep surprise at sight of the Crown Prince, and they'd grown still wider while Danith and her husband spoke.

  "What is—?" she began, then closed her lips again, blushing painfully. "Sorry. I won't ask again."

  "Let's get into that carriage," Kinshe said. "Once we're on the train, I'll fill you in. Both of you."

  The Crown Prince inclined his head gravely and led the way outside. There was, indeed a carriage—one of the royal coaches, no less, with a section of ten Household Cavalry waiting as escort.

  "I've arranged to bring it with us on a special car," he told Kinshe as they approached it, then paused as a footman opened the door. "No, Mrs. Kinshe. After you," he said as Alimar hesitated, waiting for the prince to enter first, as custom decreed. "I insist."

  "Thank you," she murmured, and Kinshe handed her up.

  The prince entered the coach next, then Kinshe climbed in, and Wilkon followed last. The moment the footman had closed the door, the coachman clucked to the horses. The beautifully matched team of four grays responded instantly, and the footman scrambled up onto the boot as they sprang into motion, accompanied by the cavalry escort.

  The Sethdona ETS station was logically located, in the heart of the capital city between the Royal Palace and the Parliament building. That placed it relatively close to the train station, as well, and traffic was thankfully light at this time of day. The journey was a short one, and when they reached the station, the carriage turned down a special drive reserved for conveyances that were to be shipped overland.

  The commander of the mounted escort had obviously been briefed ahead of time, and they proceeded directly to the correct track, where the carriage paused alongside a private passenger car which bore the royal coat of arms on both sides. Three more cars were coupled behind it. One was the special car for the carriage Danith had referred to, while the other two were standard-looking passenger cars. The first of them was obviously for the use of the Crown Prince's security escort, and Kinshe suspected that the other contained a hastily assembled support staff.

  The footman opened the carriage door, and Kinshe led the way out at the prince's gesture. He assisted Alimar down the steps, then stood waiting until Danith had joined them. As the Crown Prince led the way towards the royal passenger car, Kinshe found himself gazing at the quietly panting locomotive in something very like awe.

  "It's one of the TTE's new Paladins," Crown Prince Danith said quietly. Kinshe glanced back at him, and the young man gave him a true aficionado's smile.

  "I'm afraid I'm not as well informed about locomotives as you, Your Highness," Kinshe admitted. "First Director Limana is a huge fan, but I've been more involved with personnel administration than the Authority's freight divisions."

  "Actually, the Paladin's a bit too much engine for our purposes, but it was the best compromise available in a short time frame."

  "Too much engine, Your Highness?"

  "For four cars?" Danith chuckled, and waved one graceful hand at the maroon-and-black painted, steam-breathing behemoth. "This is a 4-10-4, Halidar. Eighty-inch drivers and something like six thousand horsepower. On reasonably flat ground—which describes a lot of Shurkhal, when you think about it—a Paladin is capable of sustained speeds well above a hundred miles an hour with complete passenger trains! Assuming, of course, that the rails are up to it."

  Kinshe blinked. That did sound a tad excessive for a mere four cars.

  "Father told the line supervisors speed was of the utmost importance," the Crown Prince continued more soberly. "There's not a locomotive on Sharona that will get us there more rapidly than this one."

  Kinshe's jaw muscles knotted at the reminder of why they were here, and he nodded. Then they were climbing up into the plushest train car he'd ever seen. Attentive rail stewards showed them to their seats and offered refreshment while the carriage and team, along with the escort's horses, were rapidly loaded. Within ten minutes, the mighty Paladin gave a deep-throated "chuff" of steam, and the special train began to move.

  They maintained a decorous speed through the city, but they began to speed up as soon as they reached the open desert. The acceleration was smooth, yet as he watched the eastbound rails and ties of the double-track blur beside them, Kinshe realized that the Crown Prince's speed estimate had been completely serious.

  It was an astonishing and exhilarating sensation to move at such speed, and he was reluctant to pull his attention back to the business at hand. Partly, he knew, that was a form of cowardice. He didn't want to think about it, but Alimar needed to know why they were racing through the desert at such enormous speed.

  So he told her.

  "They did what?" His wife, normally a gentle and loving soul, stared at him with eyes of naked fury. "They butchered an innocent girl? What kind of monsters are these people? They must be punished! Tracked down like jackals and punished!"

  "Yes." Kinshe nodded, his expression grim. "They must be—and they will. In fact, they may very well already have been. Don't forget, our information is a week old. A column has already been dispatched to confirm what happened and rescue any of our people who may have survived, and I imagine they've made contact with the other side by now . . . one way or another. But you have my word, Alimar; the people who could perpetrate this kind of atrocity won't escape justice."

  As he spoke, he met Crown Prince Danith's eyes. The heir to the throne had not yet married, but he had sisters. The look that passed between them was a vow made in Shurkhal the blood-debt honor: not another Shurkhali woman would die. Not one.

  Kinshe couldn't help wondering what King Fyysel's ultimate vote in Conclave was going to be. The parliamentary representative knew the Crown Prince shared many of his own political convictions, but if Sharona ended up voting in a world government, Danith Fyysel would lose his opportunity to wear a crown.

  "My father and I have alre
ady spoken about the most important aspect of Shurkhal's participation in this Conclave, Representative Kinshe," the Crown Prince said, as if he'd read Kinshe's mind, and his tone was as formal as his choice of titles. "He specifically instructed me to share our thoughts with you, since you are both a senior member of Parliament and a Portal Authority director. Both of us know Sharona must have a world government. At the same time, Father has already sworn on blood-honor that we will never tolerate a government run by Uromathia. His exact words were, ah, "death before Uromathia,' I believe."

  "That certainly sounds like your father, Your Highness. Rather mild for him, actually," Kinshe observed with a grimace, and the Crown prince's lips twitched.

  "You know him well. What I want to say, however, before this matter even comes to vote, is that I support Father's position absolutely. I hold the survival of Sharona far higher than any petty desire to sit on a fancy chair in Sethdona. We can't afford that kind of nonsense."

  "Your Highness," Alimar Kinshe said softly, before her husband could speak, "you've just proven how worthy you would have been to sit in that chair."

  Danith Fyysel blinked in surprise. Then the Crown Prince of Shurkhal actually turned red for a second or two before he finally managed a chagrined smile.

  "Thank you, Mrs. Kinshe," he said. "That may be the greatest compliment I've ever received."

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Andrin's head was throbbing by the time her father called a much-needed break. She sat, rubbing her temples, and watched servants carry an early luncheon into the Privy Council Chamber. Despite her father's forceful personality and Shamir Taje's skill as an organizer, they'd managed to accomplish only a fraction of what they really needed to do in the time they had. Hopefully, it was the most important fraction, and her father was undoubtedly correct about the need for all of them to eat before launching into a Conclave which would undoubtedly run for many hours.

  And so they ate, sitting at the inlaid table, covered protectively with a crisp white linen cloth, while they continued to cover critical bits and pieces of business in side conversations. When they'd finished, the servants whisked away the remnants, then refilled wine cups and served hot tea, New Farnalian coffee, and steaming mugs of the New Farnalian cocoa Andrin and several other Councilors enjoyed. They also re-stoked the coal fire on the hearth, which Andrin appreciated. The heat at her back was as delicious as the rich cocoa in her mug.

  She listened to the side conversations and realized how little she truly understood about what the Councilors were saying. It quickly became clear to her that she simply lacked the critical building blocks of known facts to tie the other conversations together in any comprehensible fashion. Unfortunately, she couldn't exactly break into the discussions and request explanations and definitions—certainly not under this sort of emergency time pressure. Yet if she didn't ask now, how would she be able to remember the proper questions later?

  She pondered the problem for a moment, then asked one of the servants—a girl perhaps three years older than she was—to find her a notebook and a pen. She also asked for a filled inkwell, in case the pen's internal reservoir ran dry. The servant hurried back with the requested items, and Andrin thanked her sincerely.

  "That be my pleasure, Your Grand Highness," the girl murmured, almost too low to hear as she swept a deep curtsy that took her nearly to the floor. She glanced up, needing Andrin's eyes for just a fleeting instant, then looked down again, almost fearfully.

  "You see," she said, speaking in a rush as if it took all her courage for one hurried burst of words, "it's just forever I've been wanting a chance to serve you. If you be needing anything else, I'll be waiting just outside. Just you open that door a crack and ask. I'll go and fetch anything you'd be wanting."

  She rose with a surprising grace and retreated from the room. Andrin watched her go in mild astonishment, then pulled her attention back to the ongoing discussion, sipping cocoa, listening, and jotting down occasional questions or ideas. At length, the mantle clock chimed the half-hour, and her father signaled for silence and turned to Alazon Yanamar.

  The Privy Voice sat in a waiting attitude, eyes closed, clearly Listening for the incoming message from First Director Limana. Or, rather, from the chain of Voices between Tajvana and the Privy Council Chamber. The arrangements and coordination required for Voices to relay over truly lengthy distances could be unbelievably complicated, especially at a time like this, when individual, totally secure links had to be maintained between the Portal Authority in Tajvana and every national capital on Sharona. Not even the EVN could maintain a real-time link to the various colonial governments, since no Voice could communicate with another through a portal. But Andrin knew that there were other chains of Voices, stretching down the transit chains between universes, to provide the fastest message turnaround humanly possible.

  Then Yanamar's eyes opened so suddenly Andrin actually twitched in shock.

  "Your Imperial Majesty," the Privy Voice said, in a deep, rich voice filled with subtle tones, one so beautiful Andrin would have given all the silly baubles in her jewel box to possess its equal. "First Director Limana has begun the Conclave. The Portal Authority's Head Voice, Yaf Umani, is transmitting what he sees and hears."

  Her voice shifted suddenly. It took on not simply a different timbre, but a different rhythm and accent as she repeated the words of a man a quarter of the world away. That was remarkable enough, but what stunned Andrin was the projection that abruptly appeared at the far end of the room. It was a three-dimensional image of a man standing at a podium in a room she'd never seen. There were others present, seated between themselves and the speaker, and a map of the newly discovered portals hung behind him. The man at the podium was looking right at them, even though he couldn't possibly have actually seen them.

  Andrin had always known Voices could receive and transmit detailed images of actual events, but less than one Voice in ten thousand could actually project those images for non-telepaths to see. Despite her birth, she herself had seen that particular Talent used exactly once, when the universe-famed Projective Falgayn Harwal had visited the Imperial House of Music here in Estafel. She still shivered inside when she remembered how Harwal and his dozen highly-trained, powerful assistant Voices, had filled the entire Opera House with a projection of the New Tajvana Chior's eight thousand singers and voices.

  But Harwal was unique, the sort of Talent who arose perhaps once every two hundred years. Although Andrin had always known there were others with the same ability, if only on a far smaller scale, she'd never actually seen it done. Not this closely and intimately. No wonder Alazon Yanamar was her father's Privy Voice! Her Talent must be indispensable to a man who governed an Empire that covered several major islands and most of a continent.

  She wondered if the Portal Authority's Head Voice could do this, as well. Probably, she decided. Then Yanamar's voice dragged her attention back to the meeting underway.

  "Honored heads of state of the sovereign nations and colonies of Sharona and the various advisory councils and board members with you. For those of you who have never personally met me, I am Orem Limana, first Director of the Sharonian Trans-Temporal Portal Authority. In that capacity, I thank you for joining this Conclave. May we have a roll call of official members of the Conclave, please?"

  Yanamar' recitation didn't quite match the movement of Limana's lips, but it was incredibly close. It was almost uncanny watching the eerie projection and listening to Yanamar's voice repeating the words of the man speaking in a room three thousand miles away.

  The Privy Voice repeated a seemingly endless list of names as First Director Limana proceeded alphabetically down the official roster of nations and colonies. Andrin watched the map of Sharona as he spoke, trying to fix the names of various heads of state in her mind, but she had to give up within moments. She uncapped her pen once more and made her first note of the Conclave: Memorize the names of every head of state on Sharona and our colonies. She looked down at
it, and, after a moment's consideration, added, And their heirs, if they're monarchies, and their seconds in command, regardless of what form of government they have.

  She managed not to groan as she contemplated the size of that task, but it wasn't easy.

  Once the First Director had completed the daunting task of merely determining that everyone was listening, he turned to the reason he'd summoned the Conclave in the first place.

  "I'll begin by reminding every person participating in this Conclave that the news of this attack is to be considered a level-one secret under the Portal Authority Founding Charter, at least until such time as the family members of those killed, wounded, or captured in it have been notified about what's happened to their loved ones. Official Portal Authority representatives are en route even now, taking word to each of the survey crew's members' immediate families.

  "I would further ask that this news not be made public until such time as this Conclave has formulated a plan to ensure Sharonian security in the Karys Chain and its approaches. The more we can do to reassure the public at the same time we finally break the news, the less panic is likely to ensue. Are we agreed on that point?"