Fierin said all the right things, and then volunteered to check and catalog a stack of new educational and entertainment chips brought in on one of the cruisers.
Chlarmon gave her a tired smile. “Thank you! I expect the school chips will probably sit there, but they’ll be wanting the entertainment vids.” She rolled her shoulders as she glanced at the children. “Until we can establish who is responsible for whom, most of them use their lack of ties to avoid schooling as much as possible.”
Chlarmon left. Fierin made herself do a slow circuit of the consoles, in case anyone needed her help. Not once did she look beyond the confines of her area; it was enough to envision Felton out there, watching. Then she sat down at the control console and reached for the stack of chips. Her heart hammered, and her palms dampened. How close could Felton get? Nausea crawled inside her: she would never know until it was too late.
She had planned this so carefully that she found her hands moving almost automatically, selecting a handreader, pushing and popping one simpleminded educhip after another, and forcing herself to watch lengthy segments. She did not know how long Ranor’s chip was. After a time the familiar images and slow voices held no meaning for her.
Several times she stretched and ran her fingers through her hair before she slid the chip between two fingers, and palmed it in one hand as the other picked up several more ed chips.
She rose to make another circuit of the children, still carrying the handset carelessly in one hand, and the chips in the other. She sat down again at a station that put her back squarely to a thick climbing wall full of rowdy five to eight year olds.
She yawned as she pretended to take her chip off the pile she’d set next to the console, and inserted her chip, at last to view what no one now alive had seen—not even the Aerenarch.
The impact of the Ivory Hall in the Mandala hit hard, an invisible blow to the chest. Pausing the vid, she forced her breathing to slow, and her face to assume a calm, slightly bored expression as she turned around to watch a little boy pick at a scab on his arm, and a little girl kick repeatedly at the wall before launching herself up the handholds again.
Then she turned back to her task.
Very soon she recognized that this was raw data. The unknown artist with the ajna had not had time to edit it, for the views of famous and powerful people circulating about the great Hall were interspersed with private talk between Ranor and the woman, both unseen—Ranor because he watched from another vantage, and the woman because the ajna was in her forehead.
Fierin paid scant attention to the political converse. Surely Ranor would not be killed for the same sort of chatter the novosti had broadcast through the Thousand Suns? At one point the woman was approached by a Kelly trinity—the Archon of that race, whose genome was now embedded in the arm of the Rifter boy Ivard. Threy congratulated Leseuer on her own trinity—She’s pregnant, Fierin realized belatedly. No. Was.
Though she knew that a bomb was going to explode it was still a shock; again she paused the vid to watch children play. She’d yawned twice before she tabbed it on again. The screen filled with a weird light Fierin knew she would have nightmares about for the rest of her life.
And then the Douloi reverted to normal human behavior, some panicking, some taking charge and giving directions with sharp voices and trembling hands. Movement was quick and chaotic; the ajna swept from side to side, as if Leseuer wanted to record everything she could. One by one, then in clumps, people fell in agonized death. The angle of the lens dropped finally, and was still.
Fierin frowned, then went back again, and this time kept her emotions under strict control as she forced herself to watch. Not one but several people had died because of this chip, and to get his hands on it, Fierin’s own lover had lied to her and had violated her privacy by ordering her things searched repeatedly. Why?
Moving the vid so slowly it was like looking at ancient stillpics, Fierin scanned every portion of the Hall visible. She did not know what to expect. Some threatening person? An attack?
When at last she did find the anomaly, it was so subtle she almost missed it.
At the beginning, after Leseuer’s conversation with the Kelly, three figures caught her eye from the among the crowd, briefly distinct in the way they all backed a few steps toward a discreet door and slipped out.
Fierin would not have caught it if it had been one person, for anyone might need to leave discreetly, but three of them, and just before a key part of the Enkainion for a member of the ruling dynasty?
Freezing the vid on the clearest view of the three, Fierin forced the enhancer to bring them closer, until the picture was on the point of dissolving into a fractal nightmare. But there they were, distinctively recognizable: Hesthar al-Gessinav, Tau Srivashti, and Stulafi Y’Talob.
He was there.
Fierin looked up at the children without seeing any of them. Hesthar’s voice, from one of the cabal meetings, came back in memory: Our problem is that none of us were there. Regrettable: I was to have represented our family, as my cousin was on Lao Tse, but my yacht would not cooperate.
Ice flowed through Fierin’s veins, nerves, and brain. They were there. And they left.
They knew about the bomb.
The understanding exploded inside her, a silent bomb. She had no idea how long she sat there until fear returned, her closest companion of late: how long had she sat there?
Feeling brittle as ice about to shatter, she forced herself to move slowly. Calmly. Normally as she snapped the chip out and slid another into its place. Breathe in, and out, though her eyes saw nothing of Meet Genz Hydroponics burbling cheerily on the vid. Instead, she saw, over and over, those three figures stepping back and vanishing through the service door, one by deliberate one.
She watched all the way through, ran her hands through her hair again and secured the horrible chip. Now she knew the purpose of Srivashti’s searches, the questionings. His having prevented her from going to Commander Nyberg as Ranor had urged her.
Now she knew why Ranor and those other people had died.
Then she took out the hydroponics chip, set it on her pile, and rose to her feet.
She began another circuit as her gaze moved from object to object. Ah. She caught her foot on the edge of a desk, and fell full length.
The handset flew out of her grasp and smashed against the sturdy support of the climbing set. Nothing could be recovered from it now.
Several children jumped; another staff member appeared, his face full of concern. Fierin twittered in apology, gabbling about being so tired she couldn’t see her feet in front of her, as she and he picked up the broken bits and restored everything to order.
She then went on with her job of viewing and cataloguing chips, moving like an automoton. Nothing she saw or said or heard stayed in her mind. Instead she saw over and over Hesthar al-Gessinav’s smug face, Tau Srivashti’s yellowish gaze coolly assessing the scene, and Stulafi y’Talob’s open gloat before the three escaped a cold-blooded massacre.
FOUR
CLAIDHEAMH MOR: IXPOTL SYSTEM
“In short, we’ve been handed an opportunity to strike a mortal blow against Dol’jhar and at the same time clean out two of the worst gangs of Rifters in the Thousand Suns.”
Captain Cameron ban-MacKenzie paused, taking in the plot room of the destroyer Claidheamh Mor.
“And we owe Neyvla-khan for Minerva,” he added.
The officers assented at that, though some looked troubled, even ambivalent.
They were Navy. They’d follow his orders. He was now senior officer, brevet commodore of the little fleet that had coalesced around his three-destroyer squadron in the Ixpotl system, and he knew he’d get obedience. But he wanted their understanding, too.
“Ally with Rifters?” Captain Agenes’s gravelly voice belied the delicacy of her features. “I understand that your Captain Lochiel is kin, but is blood thick enough in this case?”
Next to her, Captain Bonxer nodded slowly, almost
rocking back and forth, as if in deep thought. Across the table, Meliarch Refren ZiTuto, commander of the Marine detachment, sat like a statue, his night-black face impassive. Cameron still hadn’t learned to read him, but he had come to rely on his straightforward loyalty.
“You saw the vid my cousin sent over. She’s been under the command of a Rifter named Charterly, whose bonus chip has been clear of atrocities. And you can see the updated information we’ve gathered on his fleet. After seeing the brag session their ‘brethren’—” Cameron deliberately employed sarcasm, hoping to underline how little unity there was among the Rifters “—sent of their atrocities at Asampir and Ombhul IV, not to mention Malachronte, I think Lochiel, at least, has reached her limit.”
They’d all seen the vid, comprised of scenes from all over the Thousand Suns relayed via the Dol’jharian FTL comm—hyperwave, he reminded himself, wincing inwardly. It felt like he’d walked into an adventure chip, and any moment Ivard the Star Fighter would pop out of the rec room and start declaiming against the Evil Shiidra Queen.
But the hyperwave existed. The resultant vid had confirmed their worst fears, showing in graphic detail atrocities that had only been rumors or the subject of terse reports carried by the couriers that reached them at widely spaced intervals from Ares. Popping the DataNet still yielded little so far, although there were signs that Ares was reestablishing its links to the Thousand Suns at large.
“And without the Shiavona we haven’t a hope in hell of surprising Hreem and Neyvla-khan in the Barca system,” added Kor-Mellish, Cameron’s first officer.
Agenes spread her hands and shrugged. “Bring them in, then, as you suggested. Let’s get a reading on them.”
Cameron tabbed a control.
“Too bad she couldn’t have brought one of those hyperwaves with her,” Bonxer commented, his teeth showing as he said the word ‘hyperwave.’
The others muttered in agreement. The last courier, overheated near to failure by the many skips it had made, had brought a training course in the new non-relativistic Tenno semiology from Ares. It would be a help, but not much.
The door slid open. Two Marines stepped into the room and took up station to either side as Lochiel entered, followed by her two lifemates, Messina and Bayrut. Cameron was relieved that his cousin had taken his hint; they’d dressed plainly, and as all were middle-aged, they looked like respectable civilians, not like swaggering Rifters.
Then he forgot them when the first Kelly trinity he had ever seen in the flesh waltzed into the plot room.
His curiosity turned to surprise when Meliarch ZiTuto stood up and gobbled a greeting at the Kelly trinity. He broke off, coughing, but the effect on the Kelly was starting. Threy swarmed across the room and surrounded him, the tall Marine and the three Kelly slapping and poking at each other as the trinity’s honking and hooting rose to a crescendo and died away.
Elena Agenes’s fine eyebrows shot up toward her hairline. “Where did you learn that?”
ZiTuto cleared his throat. “I spent three years on the Kelly homeworld,” he replied hoarsely. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t attempt the name. I was in the honor guard of the Panarch’s Rogate Plenipotentiary.”
He turned back to the Kelly and coughed a phrase; in the middle his name was embedded. The Kelly hooted back. Cameron heard the word “Shtoink,” and other sounds that conveyed nothing to him.
Not so to the meliarch, who executed a profound deference, which was triply echoed in lesser degree by the trinity. Cameron glanced at his cousin, who shrugged. She and her lifemates were as mystified as he was.
ZiTuto braced up to formal attention. “It is my honor and privilege,” he said, “to make known to you Shtoink, Nyuk2, and Wu4, second of the trinity of the High Phratry, Lesser Anamnesis of the People and Regent-in-Waiting to the Eldest, whose Memory is the People and the People the Memory.”
The resultant silence broke when Lochiel finally spoke. “I don’t understand. Are you telling me—?” She stared at the Kelly trinity as though she’d never seen them before.
“A Rifter Kelly is—” said Rufus Bonxer simultaneously.
Shtoink interrupted with melodious sound, as though clearing her throat. She said to Lochiel, “Ourthree name was a clue, but being Rifters, you took it as mockery of the Eldest and the Blessed Three of Lost Earth.” Her head-stalk swiveled toward Cameron. “It is not our custom to keep three eggs in one nest, especially—you will forgive my frankness—when dealing with as dangerous a species as you humans.”
Another of the trinity hooted briefly.
“Thus you have never seen, and never will, the third of the trinity of ourthree phratry. A precaution whose wisdom, you will agree, is confirmed by the lamentable news from Arthelion.”
Captain Agenes said to Cameron, “How do we know that threy are who threy say threy are? I mean, threy’re Rifters, or threy’re with Rifters.”
“There has never been a Rifter Kelly,” Shtoink said. “Not in the sense you humans take the Riftskip. We can no more leave our phratry than we can go singleton. To be forgotten by the People, that is the true death for us.”
“Like the Faceless One,” ZiTuto said, and the Kelly trinity shuddered, all three of them moaning a threnody that raised the hairs on Cameron’s arms.
“No Kelly has ever suffered so—nothing you humans have done has ever terrified us so much as what you did to your own ruler for his transgression.” The Intermittor arched her head-stalk, drawing attention to the gaudy boswell clasped midway along its length. “To your question: wethree have credentials.”
Cameron tabbed his console. A flicker of light washed the room, answered by a jewel-like glint from the Kelly’s boswell. A green light glowed on his console, followed by the dispassionate voice of the computer.
“IDENTITY CONFIRMED.” A long, melodious trill followed, triply echoed by the Kelly. “SUBJECT TO BE ACCORDED SOVEREIGN DEFERENCE AND RIGHTS.”
Cameron rose and repeated the deference Meliarch ZiTuto had given the Kelly, his astonishment prickling through his nerves as awe. This Kelly was second eldest of the race, possessor of genetic memories older than human intelligence. And, following the death of the Kelly Archon at the hands of Eusabian of Dol’jhar, the ruler of the Kelly race.
“Be welcome, Elder,” he said. “We appreciate yourthree candor.” He hesitated, then added, “My cousin reported yourthree wish to be conveyed to Ares.”
“Yes. There is to be found the relict of the Eldest, who awaits rebirth.” The Intermittor’s head-stalk looped in a sinuous movement that somehow conveyed the sense of a smile. “But we will not insist that you abandon your present plans. It may be that we will be of some assistance, although not personally.”
“How do youthree know this? How can you know what’s happening on Ares?” Captain Agenes’s voice was doubtful. “The couriers we’ve received had no such news.”
Cameron frowned, wondering if her persistence was based on a latent strain of xenophobia, and, if so, how that had gotten past the gnostors of Noology at the Academy. Then he forced himself to relax. It’d be a wonder if worse things didn’t pop up, with what they’d been through. At least, he thought wryly, this sudden revelation had distracted everyone from their distrust of Lochiel and her shipmates. One thing at a time.
“Your pardon, Elder.” ZiTuto made a deference, then turned to Agenes. “The Kelly can express virtually any concept via biochemicals, so any surface anywhere a Kelly has been can be like a newsfeed for those who come later. I would guess that is how threy know; certainly enough time has passed since the war began for all sorts of news to spread via any ship that has ever been even briefly boarded by a Kelly—or via humans in contact with threm.”
They’re the most trusted doctors in the Thousand Suns, Cameron thought. Lots of opportunities to plant messages. And they have threads on the DataNet as well.
The Kelly Intermittor said, “That is the essence of it.”
The other two emitted a sharp scent. Was that amuseme
nt at the pun? He wished he knew more about these sophonts who had adopted so much of human civilization with such enthusiasm.
“We have word by way of Rifthaven not only of the Eldest’s relict but of the Panarch’s as well.”
“What!” The plot room erupted in noise as everyone voiced questions or reactions at once.
Cameron raised his voice. “The last courier confirmed the death of the two elder sons of the Panarch and his pending exile to Gehenna. But nothing has been known of the youngest.”
“The new Panarch, Brandon hai-Arkad, was taken near Rifthaven by the same ship that carried the relict of the Eldest. That is why we know wethree must go to Ares, since he was undoubtedly escorted there.”
“New Panarch?” Cameron’s throat tightened.
The noise died away, all attention on the Kelly.
Lochiel blanched, her expression stricken. “Oh, Cameron, we didn’t think . . . we assumed—” She stopped.
“There was a propaganda vid from the Suneater,” Messina spoke, her gray gaze sober. “We didn’t think it appropriate to include it in our message. We assumed you already had the news from Ares.”
The Kelly moaned. The head-stalks of all three stood straight up. “Wethree have trespassed. Not for us was it to bear that news to you.”
Bayrut spoke up, his voice rough. “Eusabian’s son Anaris destroyed the Panarch’s ship above Gehenna. We know nothing more.”
Rufus Bonxer made a ritual gesture, and others bowed their heads, or looked away as they processed yet more terrible news.
“We’ll give you the vid,” Lochiel said in a low voice—no trace of triumph or gloat, underscoring the differences among Rifters. “There has been no mention of Brandon hai-Arkad in the hyperwave broadcasts.”
Of course Eusabian would not admit the failure of his plan to destroy the Arkad dynasty, Cameron thought. He dropped his gaze to his hands, hoping no reaction showed; the little he knew of the new Panarch was not inspiring.
“We’ll want that vid, and any other data you have that was relayed via hyperwave,” Cameron said finally. Then, to the rest of his officers, “As regards His Majesty . . . I will make an announcement.” He turned to the Kelly. “For now, Elder, please continue.”
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