Just wait, she thought. She’d start as a bouncer for his bar. Someday she’d own the damn place. She didn’t know how, but she was going to be more than this.
Jaibriol Qox, Emperor of Eube, had a headache. He rubbed his temples, trying to ease the pain so he could concentrate on the jeweled Quis dice on his glossy black desk. The pressure from the minds of the Aristos he encountered every day, all day, were an unseen but never-ending weight on his empath’s mind. Retreating to play Quis calmed him.
His Ruby Dynasty uncle had given him the dice.
With Quis, Kelric had offered Jaibriol a gift of unimaginable proportions, a way to survive this life when he thought his mind would crack under the immense powers coursing through it. His greatest enemy was also his savior.
“You need to stop working,” a silken voice said behind him.
He lifted his head and stared straight ahead at his apparently empty office. The hint of a smile touched his face. “And do what instead?”
His wife Tarquine came around his chair and leaned against his desk, facing him. Her hair fell in a black curtain around her face, and she watched him with her upslanted eyes. “Not sleep,” she murmured.
Jaibriol leaned back in his chair, outwardly cool, resisting the urge to throw his empress across that huge desk of his and do something more entertaining than a dice game. “You want me to stop working in exchange for what?”
She arched a dark eyebrow in her perfectly sculpted face. “I need ulterior motives to enjoy my husband’s presence?”
He reached out and traced his finger across the back of her hand, barely touching her. “You always have ulterior motives.”
“There is one small thing.” Her voice was like dark whiskey. “You remember my nephew Barthol? Your Joint Commander. General of your army.”
Unfortunately. “Of course.”
“Perhaps you recall how I convinced him to sign your ill-conceived peace treaty. I gave up a little something.”
A “little” something. What she had done could change empires. He had known she would bring this to him, eventually. She had named Barthol as the Iquar Heir. If she and Jaibriol ever had children, their firstborn would be heir to the Carnelian Throne, but not to the Iquar title; Tarquine’s legacy would pass to her nephew instead. She had given up her title to the most powerful Highton Line after the Qox dynasty, doing it for Jaibriol’s deluded and probably hopeless attempt to make peace with their enemies.
“Our son will still be the Carnelian Emperor,” Jaibriol said. “He will rule the largest empire in human history.”
“At the moment, it’s all moot.” Her words were smooth but unrelenting. “The Minister of Trade spoke to me today. Yet another member of our benighted Highton caste bringing to my attention, ever so subtly, that I have yet to produce an heir.”
He had no answer, none that either of them could accept. Tarquine was a full Aristo. So was he, supposedly, though she knew the truth, that he was only one-eighth. But that was enough. Aristo genes were dominant. Any child he and Tarquine created together would be an Aristo. That child would grow up like every other Aristo, a predator who hungered for the pain of psions, a sadist who believed it was his exalted right to brutalize empaths and telepaths. It was already agonizing for Jaibriol to hide his nature every day of his life, every moment. How could he bear it with his own heir, knowing the child he loved would be driven, if he ever discovered the truth, to see his own father enslaved and tortured? He couldn’t, and so he had kept himself from siring his own heir.
However, Tarquine no longer ruled the Iquar Line. Unless she bore a child to Jaibriol, her legacy would die with her. Nor did Jaibriol want to leave his throne to Corbal or his descendants.
He stood up and extended his hand to her. “Come. Let us give our empire the Highton Heir it so desperately wants.”
She took his hand. “Never regret it, Jaibriol.” Her gaze smoldered. “Our son will be an emperor like none other that humanity has ever seen.”
Kelric didn’t know how to say goodbye. He stood in the docking bay with his wife and struggled with the words trapped inside of him. He couldn’t say what he felt, that without her, he would starve in loneliness. He didn’t know how to give voice to such intense emotions.
Ixpar stood at nearly his height, her red hair falling in a thick braid down her back, her long, long legs sheathed in knee boots, her russet tunic fitted snugly to her leanly curved body. She had the face of a queen, elegant and keen-eyed, but with the ferocity of her warrior ancestors simmering below her civilized exterior.
Her leaving made him acutely aware of his age. In his youth, he had felt as if he would live forever, that time always existed to do tomorrow what he had to miss today. No longer. Every day apart from her made him aware of his time with her trickling away. Even with nanomeds that delayed his aging, making him look thirty years younger, he felt every one of his seventy years as if he had lived them twice.
“I wish you could stay,” he said.
“I too.” Her deep voice flowed over him.
“I’ll miss you.” Inside, he thought, Don’t go. I don’t want to be without you.
Ixpar cupped her hand around his cheek, her skin smooth against his face. “And I you, Kelric.” As she lowered her arm, she smiled, but the expression seemed more sad than anything else. “This summit for the peace treaty will keep you busy, though.”
He took her hand. “I swear, sometimes I think no one in the universe wants the treaty to happen but Jaibriol Qox and me.”
“Are you sure you do?” she asked. “After all they’ve done?”
“I’m sure.” Gods knew, he had little reason for his certainty. The Traders enslaved trillions of people and wiped out any who resisted. They wanted nothing more than to conquer Skolia and destroy his family. For five centuries his people had battled them in crushing, bitter wars.
“We have to stop fighting,” Kelric said. “Or we’ll wipe out the human race.”
“I don’t trust this emperor of theirs.”
“I doubt most any Skolian does.” Kelric pulled her into his arms and held her close, unable to say anything more. He couldn’t tell her that he trusted Jaibriol because the Eubian emperor was his own nephew. His family was always at risk for capture by the Trader Aristos, and methods of interrogation existed that could pry information from anyone, no matter how well protected their minds. For all that he would miss Ixpar and his children, he was glad they would be on Coba, which was better protected than most any other world in the Imperialate. The family he loved was safer there than with him.
So he would live alone with this secret that could destroy two empires.
Aliana stood at her post by the entrance to Capjack’s Bar, her arms crossed while life-sized holos of near-naked women gyrated around the doorway. Leave it to Harindor to make her a bouncer at this noxious place. Apparently she looked older than her age, though; no one seemed to realize the bar’s bouncer was half the age of the bar’s younger patrons.
“Hey, love.” A group of men sauntered up to the bar. “You a present to invite us in?”
“Yeah, right,” she said. “I’ll bounce you right through the door.”
They chuckled and went on into the bar, more interested in the real “presents,” the dancing girls who undulated in that laser-lit hell, their skin glowing with digitally-enhanced swirls of body paint.
“Enough!” a mechanical voice said from inside. A robot bouncer appeared, holding the arm of a burly man. “The girls are for watching,” the robot told the man. “Not touching.” It shoved him toward Aliana. “He’s leaving.” Then it disappeared back inside, its metal body reflecting the garish holos around the door.
“Hey.” Aliana took the drunk’s arm. She didn’t know why Harindor bothered with a human bouncer. The robots were perfectly effective and he didn’t have to pay them. He seemed to think having humans added class to his establishments.
The drunk peered up at her. “You going to dance for me?”
&n
bsp; “You don’t want to see me dance,” Aliana told him. “It’d give you a stomach ache.” She led him over to the magrail stop on the street that ran in front of the bar. “You go on home and sleep it off, eh?”
“Sleep-what?” His voice slurred.
“Here you are.” She eased him onto a bench with glowing purple lights around its edges. To the bench, she said, “Keep watch over him until the mag train arrives, okay?”
“I guess I could do that,” the bench said.
“You leaving me here?” the guy asked, squinting at her. “It’s cold. Why don’t you sit with me? Pretty girl like you shouldn’t be alone.”
Pretty. Sure. Her stepfather had never let her develop any delusions about that. She knew she was ugly. With all this fellow had drunk, she was surprised he could even tell she was female.
“I’ll be fine,” she assured him. “You take care of yourself, okay?”
“You’s too,” he mumbled, swaying.
After waiting a moment to make sure he wouldn’t fall over if she left him on his own, Aliana went back to the bar and leaned against the doorjamb, watching the street. Gods, this was boring.
“You’re new,” someone said.
Aliana turned with a start. She hadn’t heard anyone approach, not a good sign, because most people weren’t that quiet unless they were trying to sneak up on you.
A man stood a few paces away, with dark eyes and bristly dark hair. He was taller than anyone she knew, with muscled shoulders and biceps bulging under his jacket. Gods. He was big.
He came closer. “You work here?”
“Bouncer,” she said, watching his hands. He kept them in the pockets of his leather-and-mesh jacket. Not good. He could have a weapon in there.
“You’re a bouncer?” His laugh rumbled. “Right.”
“You going in?” Aliana asked, irritated.
“Maybe I’ll stay here with you.”
“I’m busy.”
He stepped closer. “I’m Tidewater.”
“I’m not interested, Tide.”
“Right.” He put his hand on her arm.
She jerked her arm, throwing off his hand. “Blast off.”
Tide regarded her with curiosity. “You’re tough, you think?” He moved fast, shoving her up against the wall. “Or maybe not, hmm?”
“Oh, grow up,” Aliana muttered. She twisted and clumsily threw him off. She still wasn’t used to the strength of her dense muscles.
She hoped he’d decide she was too much trouble and go inside. He didn’t seem hostile. But he came at her again, and in that instant she flashed on all the times Caul had beaten her. Fury roiled over her, a rage that had spent sixteen years in the making. When Tide tried to toss her off balance, she whirled away and kicked as hard as she could, stabbing with the heel of her boot. It should have caught him in the stomach, but when her foot reached him, he was gone.
They really fought then, hard and intense, not a tussle like she’d had with a few other patrons. She was so angry, she didn’t care that the damn robots didn’t show up to help like they were supposed to. Tide kept evading her blows. This guy was trained. It made no sense. Pros didn’t pick fights with girls outside piss-cheap bars. If she hadn’t been able to sense his intent with her mind an instant ahead of his strikes, he would have knocked her out within seconds. Even with that, their bout only lasted a few minutes before he pinned her on the ground. Staring up at him, she wondered if he intended another kind of assault. It would be stupid, especially in front of the crowd that had gathered. Guys like this earned their pay by doing their boss’s dirty business quick and quiet, nothing public. He wouldn’t trash his reputation just to take out a kid. That was stupid—
Unless someone had hired him to do it.
She scowled at him. “Tell Harindor he’s an asshole, sending his strong man to beat up his new bouncer.”
To her unmitigated surprise, Tide laughed. “Yeah, well, his bouncer got in a few cracks of her own.” He jumped up and stood there, offering his hand to help her up.
Aliana ignored his hand as she climbed to her feet. “He trying to prove a point or what?”
Tide shrugged. “I was supposed to bring you to the sweet house after I knocked you out.”
Great. Just great. “So why didn’t you knock me out?”
“Girl, you throw a fist like a Balzarian she-devil. Your training is crap, though.”
“Don’t got no training.”
“You should.” He pulled his jacket back into place, his huge biceps flexing. “Is this really what you want, to be a bouncer?”
She crossed her arms, making her far less impressive biceps bulge, too. “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t.” In other words, it was better than the alternatives.
He glanced at the motley crowd, which was dispersing now that they realized no one was about to die. Then he turned back to Aliana. “Are you a provider?”
Heh. Strange question. Providers were small and pretty, neither of which came close to describing her, besides which, if she was a provider, she sure as blazes wouldn’t be here. “Why would you ask something like that?”
“Your hair, eyes, skin. The coloring is exotic, like a provider.”
“If I was a provider, Tide sweetheart, I wouldn’t be chewing the air with you.”
He smiled as if she was funny. “I’ll talk to Harindor, see if I can get you some training.”
“Yeah, sure.” She didn’t believe he’d do chug-chits for her, but he didn’t seem so bad now that he’d quit trying to toss her around. As for her “exotic coloring,” well, that was nuts.
So what if she had metallic skin, eyes, and hair, all gold? It meant nothing.
You hunt us as your prey
You assault and enslave
You force us bound to stay
For pleasures that you crave
—From “Carnelians Finale”
IV
Direct Words
Seen from outside, the Orbiter space station was a giant dark orb stark against the backdrop of interstellar space. Inside, the hollow sphere was a wonderland.
The interior consisted of two hemispheres. In the morning of the station’s thirty-hour day, its Sky hemisphere glowed in a coral-hued dawn as the Sun Lamp appeared on the horizon. The great yellow light traveled across Sky on its disguised track until it reached the opposite horizon and Sky blazed with a fiery sunset. The horizon separated the Ground and Sky hemispheres, with grass on one side and a dimpled blue surface on the other. You could cross from land to sky in one step.
With a diameter of four kilometers, the Orbiter rotated once every ninety seconds, creating “gravity” for anyone on its inner surface. Its rotation axis pierced its north and south poles, both of which lay on the horizon. The pull of the gravity was at right angles to that axis, so the ground was flat at the equator, but walking toward either pole was like climbing a slope that became steeper and steeper. The gravity decreased as the slope increased. Bio-architects had landscaped Ground into hills that matched the incline, until at the poles, they became vertical cliffs with zero gravity. If you were moving, a Coriolis force pushed you sideways; the faster you moved, the greater the push, nothing too serious, but enough to make some those unfamiliar with the effect dizzy.
Airborne robots patrolled the lower gravity areas, where a misplaced step could cause a fall. Hikers who fell onto Sky from the steeper mountains could slide with ever increasing weight down a slope of several kilometers. If you were careful, though, you could easily walk on either hemisphere. Sometimes the Sky filled with people relaxing or playing sports.
Parkland covered the flatter regions of Ground, meadows of cloud grass that rippled in the soft breezes of the always perfect climate. The spires of City rose in their center, a place of ethereal buildings and graceful arches in blue, rose, and lavender. Partway from City to the north pole, the mountains hid a valley. The Orbiter’s best security guarded that peaceful dell, and the best security known to the Skolian Imperialate guarded the
Orbiter, which traveled through space on a deliberately randomized trajectory. Those many layers of security made the simple valley one of the best protected areas within three empires.
That idyll sheltered the homes of the Ruby Dynasty.
Roca was drowning in pain, kneeling on a cold surface, her arms bound behind her back, her ankles tied. The ragged remains of her nightgown covered her, and her hair had fallen around her face. The Luminex floor provided the only light in the room; shadows dimmed the walls and shrouded the ceiling.
“Awake, I see,” a woman said behind her. She spoke in Highton, the language of Aristos.
Roca looked around. A tall woman in black clothes stood there, her face lit from below by the floor. Her black hair glittered and her eyes glinted red.
“It is exquisite, the suffering of a Ruby psion,” the woman said. “In providing me with transcendence, you exalt yourself.”
Roca gritted her teeth. Pain blazed in her arms, legs, torso, everywhere. That was what the Aristos meant by transcendence, the brutally heightened pleasure they derived from the pain of a psion. The more powerful the empath or telepath, the more the Aristo transcended.
They craved Ruby psions.
An octagonal entrance appeared in the wall behind the woman. A man stood in the opening, tall and powerfully built, in a black military uniform, his glittering black hair cut short.
“My brother,” the woman told Roca. “Raziquon.”
Raziquon walked forward and nodded to his sister.
“She is yours for now,” the woman told him. “Do as you please. Just remember that ESComm wants her alive.”
And he did as he pleased, while Roca screamed and screamed and screamed . . .
Roca sat up in bed with a gasp, her heart pounding so hard she could barely breathe. It took several moments before she comprehended that she wasn’t a prisoner, she was here, home, on the Orbiter, the space station that served as a governmental center for the Skolian Imperialate.
Carnelians Page 3