Her answer came to him low and coiled. “What did Jaibriol Qox offer when the two of you were on Earth? What did you two say to each other, there in secret?” Her controlled façade cracked. “What was so important, Kelric, that you had to commit treason to meet him face to face?”
Kelric felt as if he were breaking. In Jaibriol, she had a grandson she would never know. He kept his barriers up, knowing even she couldn’t find what he hid. He couldn’t go back on his oath to protect the emperor’s secret, not even for the mother he loved.
“The Assembly cleared me of treason,” he said quietly. “I would never betray the Imperialate. I’m asking you to trust me.”
Roca closed her eyes, then opened them again. “You were my shining, golden child, the miracle who came when I thought I would have no more children.” She drew in an uneven breath. “But I don’t know you anymore. The military dictator is a stranger to me.”
“I’m not a dictator.” Did she know she was tearing him apart?
Moisture showed in her eyes. “I don’t know what you are.”
Of all people, he would never have believed she would doubt him. He had known the price of this peace would be high, but he had never believed it could tear at his family more painfully than the Traders had ever managed.
“No! That can’t be true.” Panic threatened Aliana as she stood facing Secondary Lensmark, the Jagernaut commander at the Skolian embassy. “You promised! You said you gave asylum to psions. If we leave now, we’ll be killed or made into providers.”
“We not go back,” Red said, his gaze never wavering as he stood at Aliana’s side.
“This commando attack on the Eubian merchant ships has changed everything.” Lensmark was pacing the room, her leather-clad figure dark against the softly abstract art on the walls. “We’ve told no one you’re here, but the planetary government has clamped down on all Skolians. If we do anything that raises suspicion, gods only know how they might react, and diplomatic immunity be damned.”
“Can’t we just hide here until it’s all over?” Aliana asked.
“Over how?” Lensmark stopped in front of her. “People are ready to explode.”
Gainor, the Jagernaut who had escorted Aliana and Red into the embassy, was standing by the wall. He said, “Secondary Lensmark, may I offer a suggestion?”
Aliana wondered why one slave had to ask another for permission to speak. Then again, Skolians didn’t consider themselves slaves.
“Go ahead,” Lensmark told him.
“We send medical tests to the Imperialate for analysis whenever a Skolian needs specialized work,” Gainor said. “Even during this clampdown, I doubt ESComm will halt those. They don’t have the facilities to diagnose every Skolian ailment, and they don’t want to be bothered with us.”
“What do you propose?” Lensmark asked.
He nodded toward Aliana and Red. “We say they’re Skolian med techs. Send them with the next off-planet shipment.”
Aliana looked from him to Lensmark, on the verge of saying she could do it, mainly because she would do anything to escape. Except she had no clue how to act like a med tech.
“It’s risky,” Lensmark said. “Sending test results offworld is a lot simpler than sending people. The port authority is doing more security checks than usual, and even in normal times their checks are intensive.” She glanced at Aliana and Red. “Do either of you speak Flag or any other Skolian language?”
“What flag?” Red asked.
“I wouldn’t know a Skolian language if it jumped up and bit me,” Aliana said. An idea came to her. “You could say we were sick. Really sick. No one can treat us here, and people die when they catch what we have. So you want us to leave. Really fast.”
“They’d never let you near the starport,” Lensmark said. “ESComm would just quarantine the embassy.”
“Oh.” Aliana was running out of ideas.
“I don’t understand what flag,” Red repeated.
Lensmark spoke to him in another language, what sounded like gibberish.
And Red answered.
Lensmark blinked. “Not bad. You have an accent, but it’s not obviously Eubian. With your broken grammar, it’s hard to tell anyway.”
“Me not broken,” Red objected.
Aliana gaped at him. “Where did you learn Skolian stuff?”
“Languages easy.” Red shrugged. “Admiral Muze talk to people in lots of languages. I hear.” He touched his temple. “Up here.”
Lensmark didn’t seem surprised. “Most telepaths learn languages fast.” She resumed pacing. “Even if he knows some Flag, I don’t see how you two could convince anyone you’re Skolian.”
“We can act dumb,” Aliana said. “We’re the, I don’t know, the rejected offspring of some Skolian diplomat. She doesn’t want us around because we embarrass her.” She gave a snort. “It wouldn’t be hard for me to act that way. Comes natural.”
Lensmark stopped in front of her. “You may be uneducated, but you are not dumb.”
Aliana hadn’t expected that, especially from a high-type like Lensmark. She spoke awkwardly. “Well, you know, I can act dumb.It’s just what people expect.”
“I not need to act,” Red said.
Lensmark turned to him. “Don’t underestimate yourself, young man. You’ve a good mind.” She smiled at him. “If a lack of verbal ability translated into a lack of intelligence, some of our greatest minds wouldn’t exist.”
Red’s skepticism leaked to Aliana. So she spoke firmly to him. “It’s true. You’re smart.”
His cheeks reddened and he smiled, accenting his high cheekbones in that way she liked so much. She wished they could go somewhere and curl up together. Holding him felt safe. Good. She was always thinking about him.
Lensmark rubbed her chin. “You’re both wearing slave restraints.” Glancing at Aliana, she said, “Yours aren’t wired much into your body, just some minor bio-threads that should be easy to remove.” Her gaze shifted to Red. “But the threads from yours are all tangled up with your neural system. An expert will have to map the system before we can remove them.”
Aliana blinked. Remove her restraints? She couldn’t imagine it. She had worn them in some form or another all her life. She would feel . . . strange without them.
“Mine have traps,” Red said. “Risky to take off.”
“Don’t worry, we won’t do anything that hurts either of you,” Lensmark said.
“Surely some Skolians have restraints,” Aliana said. “Couldn’t we say we were like them?”
Lensmark spoke firmly, her gaze intense. “No Skolian wears slave restraints. We are all free.”
The Secondary’s gauntlet buzzed. She tapped a panel and spoke. “Lensmark here.”
“Commander, this is Ensign Idar. We have another petitioner.”
“Another?” Lensmark’s forehead furrowed. “Is she with you?”
“He, ma’am. And yes, he’s here.”
“Well, bring him in.” Lensmark glanced at Aliana. “Are you expecting anyone else?”
Puzzled, Aliana said, “No one.”
The room’s door shimmered and vanished. Three people waited outside; two Jagernauts and—
“Tidewater!” Aliana sped across the room, squeezed past a Jagernaut, and grabbed Tide’s hands. Happiness washed over her. “You came back!”
Tide flushed as he disentangled his hands from hers. He entered the room with his escort, two uniformed military men, stern and armed.
Lensmark scrutinized Tide as if he were a prisoner. “You’re requesting asylum?”
Tide spoke quietly. “I’m asking to defect.”
The sudden silence in the room felt like a band pulled taut. Lensmark was so intent on Tide, Aliana wondered that she didn’t snap.
“Tide not defective,” Red said.
Although Lensmark answered Red, she never took her gaze off Tide. “Those who need our protection ask for asylum. They’re the vulnerable ones, people who would die or be terribly harmed
if they stayed here.” Still watching Tide, she added, “Those who defect are in a position of power, authority, or intelligence that gives them a vested interest in infiltrating our networks. When they ask to defect, they’re saying that if we grant them asylum, in return they will give us information about Eube to prove their intent to become Skolian, and that they will accept whatever safeguards we deem necessary to ensure they can’t betray us to their superiors.”
Well, hell. That was a mouthful of words. “Tide is one of the good people,” Aliana said. “He wouldn’t betray you.”
Lensmark glanced at her and her voice gentled. “I’m sure it seems that way to you.”
“I know him really well,” Aliana said.
Lensmark considered her. “Then you can tell me what branch of the military he’s in.”
Aliana stiffened. “I don’t know if he’s military. That’s for him to tell or not.” She waited for Lensmark’s anger, instinctively tensing to protect herself from a blow.
The Secondary didn’t get angry, though. Instead, she nodded as if she respected Aliana’s answer. The longer Aliana knew these Skolians, the more they baffled her. An Aristo would have punished her for refusing to answer.
“I used to be a Razer,” Tide said.
Lensmark swung back to him. “You’re secret police?”
“My line was decommissioned.” Dryly he added, “We are considered defective.”
“Why?” Lensmark asked.
“We want names.”
Lensmark waited. When the silence grew long, she said, “So?”
“Machines aren’t supposed to want names,” Tide said bitterly.
“Gods almighty,” the Secondary said under her breath. “It’s a crime, what they do to you all.” She spoke in a normal voice. “Were you a bodyguard?”
He nodded, standing between the Jagernauts, his posture wary, his arms by his sides. “For Admiral Muze’s younger brother, Lord Orzon.”
Red drew in a sharp breath. “You not tell me that!”
“Good Lord,” Lensmark said. “This just gets deeper and deeper.”
Aliana felt dizzy. Tide had guarded the younger brother to an ESComm Joint Commander, a position high even among the high. And look how Tide had fallen. Except how was it falling when it meant he could be human? At least they hadn’t executed him. She had no doubt they would call it something else, like salvaging a broken machine for parts. Bastards.
Lensmark spoke carefully to Tide. “Why do you want to defect?”
“Admiral Muze’s men are looking for me.” Dark circles showed under Tide’s eyes. “After the attack on the merchants, he gave the order to destroy any surviving Razers in my line.”
“Why?” Aliana asked. “You had nothing to do with it!” Aristos would never, in a million years, make sense to her.
“ESComm is cracking down on everyone.” Tide grimaced. “And that Carnelians song is everywhere. We can’t escape the goddamned thing. It’s oil on a fire.”
“That prince is a terrible person,” Aliana said. “How could he do that to his own brother?”
Lensmark spoke tiredly. “I know you won’t believe this, but Prince Del-Kurj didn’t release that song. It was done by someone who wanted to stop the peace process. We don’t know who.”
Aliana just looked at her. Of course Skolians would say that.
Lensmark considered Tide. “If ESComm found out you’re here, they would probably drag you out of the embassy regardless of any agreements between our governments. Given the current tensions, they would retaliate against us as well, maybe imprison or execute people from this embassy. Why should we take that chance?”
“I know a great deal.” Tide sounded like a coil wound too tight. “From the highest levels of the Highton government. I can tell your military.”
Aliana mentally reeled, barely able to absorb the impossible event she was witnessing, a Razer—bred, designed and programmed for loyalty above all else to his Aristo masters—offering to betray the highest of the high.
“I see why ESComm wants your line destroyed,” Lensmark said dryly. “If you actually intend to do what you claim.”
“Yes, I’ll do it.”
“You’ll have to submit to extensive tests.”
“I understand.” Tide’s voice grated. “Yes, I’ll betray them. And yes, that makes me scum.”
“I’d say it makes you human,” Lensmark said. “To us, freedom is a right belonging to all humans, and the drive to seek freedom from slavery is a powerful, priceless right—a human right.”
“Then you will give me asylum?” he asked.
“Oh yes,” she said, a dangerous glint in her eyes. “Count on it.”
XIII
The Hymn of Carelli
Barthol stood alone on a pier far above the surging waves of the ocean. Driven by fourteen moons, the tides of Glory were a glorious testament to the beautiful ferocity of the planet. They thundered below on the private shoreline where the Iquar lands bordered the sea. Giant swells crashed into the columns that supported the tall pier, water jumping high into the air, big spherical drops glittering beneath the night sky.
The moons made a dramatic presence tonight. The two that orbited closest to Glory were visible, one near the horizon and the other more overhead, but neither was large in the sky; the tiny satellites looked more like big stars. In contrast, Mirella was a great disk overhead. Named for the first empress of Eube, the wife of Eube Qox, it was the largest of any moon as seen from the planet. In honor of his empress, Eube had resurfaced it in carnelian, so it glittered like a huge red jewel.
Viquara, the third largest moon as seen from Glory, was nearly full and almost overhead. Named by the third emperor for his wife, it sparkled white, for he had resurfaced with diamond in her honor. The second largest moon was a crescent above the horizon. The second emperor, Jaibriol the First, had surfaced it in gold and named it Zara for his wife, who had also been his sister, the only woman he considered worthy of his name. Barthol could relate. Who else was good enough for him, Barthol Iquar, but a woman with Iquar genes? He gritted his teeth. The only candidate worth considering was Tarquine, one of the few people he could neither control nor command.
The current Jaibriol, the fifth emperor of Eube, had of course named the fifth largest moon Tarquine. His alterations to the satellite struck many people as bizarre, but it all made perfect sense to Barthol. Jaibriol treated the moon like a geode, resurfacing it in a steel-diamond composite that shone silver in the sky. Unlike his predeccesors, he had altered the interior as well, turning it into crystalline structures in violet, emerald, and rose, a geode of celestial dimensions. Yes, it fit Tarquine perfectly, may the gods curse her vile ascendance to power.
Barthol considered it too simple to say he hated Tarquine. Her certainty that she dealt with matters of empire better than him grated, yes, but what he hated far more was that she might be right. No. He refused to accept that possibility. He was better suited to rule Eube than either she or Jaibriol. The empire would have been far better served had his plans against them succeeded, but Tarquine had outwitted him by surviving when she should have died, she and that wretched husband of hers. Nothing would ease his fisted anger, no matter how many providers he whipped or how many of them he buried his cock inside of, not even when their screams sent him into the highest transcendence. Nothing took away his rage. The universe was wrong. It needed to be righted. He had grown tired of waiting for Jaibriol to sire an heir; he needed to act again, soon, before Corbal Xir inherited the damn Carnelian throne.
Barthol knew he would never sit on the throne, and that was the greatest crime. But he could come as close as Corbal stood now. First rid the universe of Jaibriol and Tarquine. Then produce a “Highton Heir,” a baby supposedly hidden to protect him against assassination just as Jaibriol’s father had hidden Jaibriol in his youth. Then Barthol would become his regent, and, unlike Corbal Xir, he would know what to do with that shadow power.
The crashing waves jumped higher
into the air above him, flaring with phosphorescence. The pier was several stories tall, with columns supporting it like gigantic stilts, but the waves dwarfed it. Barthol loved the wildness of the night, the ferocity of this ocean, the sky strewn with jeweled moons and a wealth of stars. It spoke to a wildness within him that was never sated.
A huge wave smashed the pier and leapt even higher than the platform where Barthol stood. Its droplets glistened against the night sky. He lifted his chin, glorying in that power. To say the chaotic tide was “coming in” simplified a process as complex as his relationship with Tarquine, but the power of the ocean was surging toward a peak. Water misted across him, soaking his hair and clothes. Another wave hit the pier—
And Barthol stumbled.
It wasn’t unusual for the force of the waves to affect his balance. One reason he savored coming here was the hint of danger. But the biomech web within his body included hydraulics and joints that not only gave him enhanced speed, reflexes, and strength, they also incorporated libraries that could help him regain his balance, pick himself up, even keep him moving if he was knocked out. Armies of nanomeds patrolled his body. If he was hurt, they would heal him. He couldn’t even bruise a knee, let alone fall off a pier.
Today, his biomech faltered at a crucial moment.
Barthol fell to one knee. His body lurched to the side, knocking him to the edge of the pier. He kept toppling, unbalanced, and his skull cracked against a metal ring used to tie ropes. Pain shot through his head as the sound of breaking bone split the night. Barthol gasped, trying to regain control, but he kept rolling. Someone was shouting, his guards probably, but it was happening too fast. He rolled off the pier and plummeted through the air toward the enraged sea.
Node, respond! he thought. Initiate survival routines. Keep me alive.
He wasn’t sure when he hit the water. The waves were so tumultuous, crashing on the shore, pier, and rocks, that the interface between water and air wasn’t definite. He became wetter and wetter until he was submerged, unable to breathe.
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