Eldrinson leaned on his cane as he walked, his hand hinged around the lyrine head at its top. His doctors had offered him mechanized braces for his legs, assuring him that he would barely notice the mesh covering. He would have none of it. He limped so much, Roca worried he wouldn’t reach the house. Yet he seemed content, much more so than on Diesha. The rural surroundings here soothed him even if it wasn’t the Dalvador countryside he longed to see.
Roca would have given him anything, anything at all, to make him happy. She wished he would let her lavish him with gifts, as Ruby queens had done for their consorts throughout the history of the Ruby Empire. But he didn’t want presents. He just wanted to go home to his family and his work as the Dalvador Bard. He never truly understood his status as her consort, what it meant that he had the right to an Assembly seat. Politics alternately bored and annoyed him. Her attempts to stir his interest put him to sleep. He couldn’t care less about her power, he had married her for love.
The scent of bell-cones on the trees tickled Roca’s nose and she sneezed. It stirred her memories from early childhood: her father, laughing as she gathered armfuls of bells and brought him the sticky mass like a present.
About a kilometer distant, the valley cut steeply upward. The house where she had lived as a child with her parents stood up there, a stone mansion with spare, clean architecture. Its windows were open to the air and its wide entrance had no door, only a polished stone border. It never rained on the Orbiter, the breezes were always gentle, and the sky never clouded. On a world where they could have perfect weather every day, they needed no windowpanes or doors.
Kurj lived there when he was on the Orbiter, which meant right now it was empty. Roca and Eldrinson were headed to a different house at the base of the slope. Spiral-leaved trees shaded it and dappled its walls. This home did have a door, and it glowed with holoart, a swirl of blue, a wash of blossoms, a hint of gold tessellations around the edges, all subtle, all lovely. Mirrored tiles paneled the roof and reflected the sky—blue sky, the color humans tended to choose. Its McCarthy-wellstone surfaces adapted to temperature changes, reflective to cool the house or dark to absorb heat, whatever the inhabitants desired. The tiles glistened in the light of the Sun Lamp.
Eldrinson spoke for the first time since they had left the magrail station. “I like it, too.”
She smiled, and his eyes crinkled with affection. When they reached the house, she touched a gold circle by the door. Chimes rang within and the scent of bell-cones wafted about them. After a few moments the sounds and the fragrance faded. They continued to wait, but nothing more happened.
Eldrinson adjusted his spectacles. “Perhaps no one is home.”
Roca frowned. “I thought Dehya was going to be here.”
“Our ship was early,” he reminded her.
“I sent a message.” She studied the door, trying to find some hint in its swirling patterns that it knew they had arrived.
“Greetings?” she asked.
“Are you talking to me?” Eldrinson asked.
“To the door.”
“Greetings,” the door said in a mellow voice.
Eldrinson jerked, his hand reflexively tightening on his cane. “The house is talking to us.”
She smiled at his alarmed expression. “You see me talk to windows and walls all the time.”
“That doesn’t make it any less bizarre.” He eyed the door warily. “House, are you going to let us in?”
“You may enter if you wish,” the house answered.
He rested his hands on the head of his cane. “Won’t it annoy the Ruby Pharaoh if you admit people when she isn’t home?”
“You and Councilor Roca are on the list of those allowed automatic entry.”
“Oh.” Eldrinson blinked. “Well. Good.”
The door shimmered and vanished.
“Ah!” He backed up with a fast step. “What is this?”
“That’s new,” Roca said. “It must be a molecular airlock.” She walked into an airy foyer inside and turned back to him. “ISC passed funding a while back for the naval research labs to develop better airlocks, but I didn’t realize they had done a model for houses.”
“Gods forbid the door should just open,” Eldrinson muttered. He limped inside, glowering, which reminded her of Soz. She held back her smile, though. Neither father nor daughter appreciated that others found their vexation charming. Both considered it an affront to their dignity.
“It’s improved technology,” Roca said.
“Then it should go away.” Eldrinson scowled at the space where the door had stood. “So what is it?”
“A molecular airlock is a membrane,” Roca said. “A modified lipid bilayer. It contains enzymes. They’re like keys. They fit other molecules in the membrane. Locks.”
He limped cautiously back to the entrance and squinted at the door frame. “How did it vanish like that?”
“The house applies a potential to the membrane.”
He regarded her dubiously. “A what?”
“Potential,” she said. “It’s a field you can’t see. Different potentials activate different keys. The key fits the lock, and that changes the permeability of the membrane.” She motioned at the entrance. “Right now it looks empty, but really the membrane is in a new state, one permeable to air and light. And us.”
He blanched. “What if it changes while we are in it?”
Roca thought about it. “It would be like slamming a door on your body, I’d guess. But the EI should be smart enough to avoid that. When we want to ‘close’ the entrance, it applies the previous key and the door reappears.”
“Like Dehya and Kurj.”
Roca went over to him. “Dehya and Kurj are lipid bilayers?”
He laughed softly. “Judging from the look on your face, I take it that would be an odd comment.”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Neither am I.” He motioned at the door. “All this about keys and locks sounds like the Dyad. Dehya and Kurj joined the Dyad by entering Locks. Now they are Keys. Valdor only knows how that all works.”
Roca smiled, thinking it unlikely that Valdor, the larger of the two Lyshriol suns, knew how it worked. It was true, though, that the lost technology which had set Lyshriol in its unlikely orbit around a double star had also produced the Locks. The people of modem Raylicon had yet to figure out the ancient technology they had rediscovered when they regained the stars. Only three Locks existed: the Orbiter, or First Lock, found derelict in space; the Second Lock on the world Raylicon; and the Third Lock, a station currently orbiting Parthonia, but which ISC intended to move to Onyx Platform.
Perhaps ESComm had learned of the plan to move the Lock and attacked Onyx to steal it. Until her people unraveled the technology that had created these ancient machines, no one could build more Locks. However, Rhon psions could use them to create the Kyle web, with the Dyad as Keys. The Traders had neither Locks nor Keys: hence, no Kyle web. They deplored the disadvantage that gave them in comparison to the Imperialate.
“That’s clever,” Roca said. “I would never have thought to compare Dyad Keys and Locks to a molecular airlock.”
He grinned at her. “Of course it’s clever. I thought of it.”
“Such modesty.”
He smirked. “That is why you love me so much.”
A snort came from the doorway. “For your humility? I think not, Eldri.”
Roca looked around. Dehya stood in the entrance, one hand on her hip. She wore a white jumpsuit, the type used by travelers because its cloth was intelligent enough to clean itself and stay free of wrinkles.
“My greetings,” Dehya said.
“Of course for my humility,” the Bard told her. He lifted his cane and pointed it at her. “You must not be intimidated by my intellect, Dehya.”
She raised her eyebrows, which gave her waif-like face a fey quality. “Now I know you must be feeling better. You are as annoying as ever.”
He glared at her, but Roca knew he was enjoying himself. “I am not the one who cavorts around the Assembly instead of meeting her in-laws.”
“Well, I am the pharaoh, you know. Governing is what we pharaoh types do.”
“Yes, well, you should be a man.”
Dehya laughed. “Good gods, Eldri, I hope not.”
“A man should be the ruler,” he said patiently.
Dehya strolled into her house. “Men, my dear brother-inlaw, should be secluded in harems.”
He shook his cane at her. “You are deluded.”
“You would look very nice in those long robes.”
What he looked was unimpressed. “I shall send my army to take over this Orbiter and put a proper Bard on your throne.”
Her eyes danced. “If you would like to send handsome fellows here to sing, I’m sure our women wouldn’t protest.”
“I will send some genuine men,” Eldrinson offered. “Not like the ones here who let women tell them what to do.”
“Oh stop, you two,” Roca said, laughing. In truth, it relieved her to hear them argue. Even a month ago Eldrinson would have had no spirit for such bantering.
“Grandfather!” The boyish voice burst out behind them.
Roca turned with a start. Eldrinson maneuvered around more awkwardly, but faster than she had seen him move since he started to walk again. A seven-year-old boy was running up a hallway deeper within the house, his black hair disheveled over his shirt collar, his gold eyes fringed by black lashes.
A smile creased Eldrinson’s face. He braced himself against the wall with one hand as the boy barreled into him and threw his arms around Eldrinson’s waist. The Bard put his free arm around the boy and hugged him back.
“Taqui!” Dehya hurried over and caught Eldrinson’s arm as he staggered under the boy’s onslaught. “You mustn’t knock over your grandfather.”
Taquinil let go of Eldrinson and looked up, brimming full of excitement, as if he were lit from inside. “I was reading cosmology. I didn’t even know you were here!”
“Cosmology?” Eldrinson asked.
“Are you going to stay with me?” Taquinil’s words tumbled out like balls bouncing everywhere. “Is it really true?”
The Bard’s face gentled. “It really is true.”
“I’m so glad!” Taquinil grabbed his hand and tugged him forward. “We can play games. I’ll show you my Bessel function generator. And you can see where I swim! It has a waterfall.”
Eldrinson laughed as he struggled to keep his balance. Dehya nudged Taquinil back so he didn’t send his grandfather toppling. The boy suddenly realized who else was standing nearby. He hurled himself into Roca’s arms. “Grandmother, you’re gold.”
Roca held him close. “I’ve always been this color.”
He stepped back. “I just forget the way you’re like metal instead of normal.”
“Taquinil!” Dehya turned red, an unusual state for the normally unruffled pharaoh. She gave Roca an apologetic look. “He didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”
“But it’s true,” Taquinil said.
“It’s all right,” Roca said, laughing. “Look at your eyes, Taqui. They’re like mine.”
He regarded her somberly. “Like Uncle Kurj’s.”
Eldrinson grunted. “No need to insult yourself, young man.”
Roca frowned at her husband. “Eldri.”
“Well, it’s true.” He winked at Taquinil. “We will have great times together, eh?”
“Yes! I’m so glad you came.” Taquinil’s smile faded. “But are you really sick? You don’t look sick.”
Dehya glanced at Roca. Did you tell him Eldrinson was sick?
Roca shook her head. She could speak mentally only with people she trusted enough so that she and the other person were willing to drop their mental barriers. Even then, it only worked if the sender focused the thought. They both shielded their thoughts from the boy.
I didn’t tell him, Roca thought. Did you?
Only that you and Eldrinson were coming. I wasn’t sure about Eldri’s condition or how much he wanted your son to know.
Taquinil was watching them. His thoughts sparkled as clear as rain water. Grandfather is here to heal his epilepsy.
Roca winced. She should have known they couldn’t hide their thoughts from the boy, at least in such close quarters.
Eldrinson gave Taquinil a reassuring smile. Maybe the doctors here can help.
I hope so. Taquinil could have spoken, since they were all in the conversation now, but telepathy with his family came so easily to him, he often didn’t seem to distinguish between speech and thought. your neurons fire too much.
Dehya put her hand on her son’s shoulder. Have you felt your grandfather’s seizures?
Like an echo. His gaze took on an otherworldly quality. It’s a storm that flares, wild and mad. It jumps until his mind aches. He regarded his grandfather. It is not demons, Grandhoshpa. Really.
Eldrinson tilted his head as if he were seeing Taquinil for the first time. In some sense he was; Roca traveled more often than her husband or grandson, so she had experienced far more of the boy’s remarkable mind. For all that Taquinil paid a price in his extreme mental sensitivity, his gifts of the intellect and his empathic kindness made him a marvel.
Eldrinson put his arm around the boy’s shoulder. You and I will chase those demons down.
We will! Taquinil tugged his hand. Come see the holo palace I built.
Eldrinson chuckled, and winked at Roca. Then he went off with Taquinil, down a blue hallway with holosunsets on the walls.
Roca turned to Dehya. “Your son is good for Eldri.” She spoke aloud; unlike Taquinil, most of them had trouble maintaining telepathic conversation for long.
“Taquinil loves him so much.” She walked with Roca outside, into the dappled shade of the trees. Dehya was twenty-five years her senior, as a child, Roca had admired her genius sister, and as adults, they often turned to each other for support. But Dehya’s marriage had nearly destroyed their bond. Roca knew her anger should have been directed at the Assembly rather than the victims of its machinations, but her heart couldn’t hear that logic. The situation had created a rift between her and Dehya that took years to heal. Roca was only able to accept it when she saw how much Eldrin thrived with his family.
Lately he even seemed euphoric, so much that it didn’t seem normal. It troubled Roca; she wondered if he had “help” for his mood. Since his separation from his family, he was drinking more. But perhaps she was overreacting. The last time she had seen him, at the Ruby Palace, he hadn’t touched the rum-laced kava that Kurj had enjoyed.
“How are things with you and Eldrin?” Roca asked.
Dehya was quiet for a moment, her gaze downcast as they walked under the trees. Then she said, “I miss him terribly.” She looked up at Roca. “I don’t understand why he can’t come home. I’ve been afraid …”
Roca waited. “Yes?”
“That he doesn’t want to come back.”
“He does.” Roca had no doubt on that score. “He’s worried he’ll hurt Taquinil. Or you.”
“He would never harm us.”
“Intentionally, no.” Roca hesitated. “Does Eldrin still see the therapist?”
Dehya frowned at her. “Of course not. He isn’t sick, and I don’t want people making him think something is wrong with him. He gets enough of that rubbish from the Assembly.”
“No, he’s not sick.” Roca drew her to a stop in a cluster of spiral trees. “Dehya, he can be healthy and still be troubled in his life. He needed that counseling. It was one of the reasons his father and I arranged for him to come here eight years ago.”
Dehya’s delicate fist clenched at her side. “If you mean he was traumatized by going into that barbaric war with your husband when he was sixteen, then hell yes. But that’s over now.”
“It’s not over.” It frustrated Roca that Dehya could be so brilliant in so much, yet so blind in this. “It isn’t just
the war. It’s everything, the differences in his father’s culture and mine, his feelings of inadequacy compared to Althor, and now Althor is dead—”
“Inadequacy?” Dehya stared at her. “He has no reason to feel he is less than his brother. They are completely different.” A shadow crossed her face as breezes shifted the trees. In a subdued voice, she added, “Were completely different.”
Were. Roca spoke past her grief. “We know that. But see it from his view. Althor is two years younger than Eldrin, but they hit puberty together. By that time, Althor was bigger, stronger, faster, better in school, and at ease with modem culture. Althor qualified for the Dieshan Military Academy when Eldrin could barely learn to read and write.”
Dehya crossed her arms. “Eldrin isn’t stupid.”
“I didn’t say he was stupid!” Roca wanted to shake her. “You’ve seen the records. His father isn’t stupid, either, he’s neurologically incapable of written language. Eldrin inherited whatever causes it. Eldrin learned to read because we caught it earlier, but he may have lost something valuable in the process. We just don’t know. Althor learned to read when he was three; Eldrin when he was seventeen.” Her voice quieted. “Althor was, to everyone on Lyshriol, the epitome of the warrior, the golden prince, the star warrior who rode the skies in a glowing ship.”
“Eldrin is an artist,” Dehya said. “His voice is an unmatched gift.”
“I agree. But Lyshriol culture values warriors.” Roca pushed back the tendrils of hair blowing over her face. “The girls in Dalvador wanted Althor, including the girl Eldrin liked. Even if Althor never said anything, Eldrin knew his brother had no interest in those girls. That, in a culture that considers heterosexual marriage the only valid expression of sensual love. Eldrin couldn’t deal with all the contradictions and comparisons.”
The Final Key: Part Two of Triad (Saga of the Skolian Empire) Page 10