Carnelians

by Catherine Asaro

  Barcala Tikal scowled at Naaj. “General Iquar is in a coma. Not dead.”

  Naaj waved her hand in dismissal. “Regardless of which ESComm commanders come to the summit, they will still deceive, plot against, and betray everyone and her sister’s uncle’s brother.”

  Kelric stood listening. Hearing his advisors argue told him a great deal more than they realized. Although they never forgot his presence, they spoke to one another more freely than to him. Naaj, however, was always guarded. Since his decision to execute the commandos who had attacked the Trader merchants, as soon as he discovered their identities, she had barely been civil. She treated him with the respect due one’s commanding officer, but that was it. He wanted to believe ESComm had masterminded the attack in an effort to stall the peace process, but he couldn’t be sure. He hated suspecting Naaj, because if she had any role in it she had committed treason. But he couldn’t deny the possibility.

  General Dayamar Stone stood across the table. As Commandant of the Advance Services Corps, the scouts for planetary expeditions, he served as another of Kelric’s Joint Commanders. His dark red uniform and knee boots accented his thin frame, but his greying hair was full and unusually thick for a man nearly a century old. Neither her nor Naaj were actually in the room; both were projecting as holos, Dayamar from HQ City on the planet Diesha, and Naaj from the world Raylicon, home to the Majda dynasty.

  The only commander who hadn’t weighed in on Kelric’s suggestion was Brant Tapperhaven, head of the Jagernaut Forces. He was here in person, lounging against a wall across the room like a shadow in the radiant chamber. With his black leather jacket, black knee boots and black pullover, he looked more like a thug than a Joint Commander. He listened intently, his dark eyes traveling from person to person, his telepath’s mind shielded. Kelric understood Brant; they had a lot in common, both of them Jagernauts, both taciturn, both empaths who had endured the crucible of warfare and the toll it exacted on soldiers who could feel the deaths of their foes in their own minds.

  Today Kelric had to speak, however. “Conducting the treaty negotiations in the usual manner won’t work. It leaves too many possibilities for dishonesty. For treachery.” He didn’t look at Naaj, but if that last word applied to her, she would take his meaning.

  General Stone spoke in his gravelly voice. “Putting so many valuable leaders in one place is too dangerous.” He motioned around the room, his gesture including everyone. “As you well know.”

  Kelric took his point; one reason so many of his advisors were here as holos was because Kelric wouldn’t risk putting all of his top people together in one room.

  “Any more assassination attempts,” Chad Barzun said, “and the treaty is dead. Our success in keeping the attempts against you and Pharaoh Dyhianna out of the news is the only reason this treaty has any support.”

  “What are you talking about?” Tikal demanded. “It has immense support. No one wants more war.”

  “And no one believes the Traders want peace,” Naaj said. “This treaty is a trick. We still don’t know how they managed the attack on either Pharaoh Dyhianna or Imperator Skolia, but they almost succeeded. We cannot risk putting our leaders and theirs in the same place.”

  “We don’t know that the attack came from the Traders,” Dehya said.

  “Of course it was the Traders,” Naaj said.

  “Where the blazes else would it come from?” asked Finance, the councilor who monitored the economic health of the empire. He was all sharp angles, from his gaunt frame to his intellect to his mechanical left arm, which was packed with implants.

  Tikal considered Dehya. “It’s a good question.”

  Dehya met his gaze. “It would have to be someone with a high enough authorization to access our most protected mesh nodes.”

  Silence settled as everyone absorbed her implication. Kelric didn’t need to absorb squat. He already knew. The assassin could be one of their own. But who?

  He would never forget that flash of hatred from Admiral Ragnar Bloodmark when the Assembly ratified the treaty. Kelric had given them the only justification they would accept to clear him of treason for meeting in secret with the Trader emperor. Peace. Because of the treaty, he had gone free rather than face execution. In that instant, Ragnar’s mask of neutrality had slipped and the admiral’s fury had blazed. Why? Ragnar held the second highest position in the Fleet, after Chad Barzun; he might be able to compromise security at a high enough level to reach Kelric and Dehya.

  And Naaj. Her attention appeared to be on Tikal right now, but she was present only as a simulation. In reality, she was undoubtedly watching them all. She could project whatever she wanted, even have her systems analyze their behavior and respond to her benefit. Kelric couldn’t probe her mind when she was on another planet. Even if she had been here, she knew how to guard against telepaths. To break her mental shields, he would have to attack her with the full force of his mind, which would be tantamount to shooting a gun at his Joint Commander.

  Kelric broke the uncomfortable silence. “Having us meet face-to-face has its dangers, I agree. We’ll have to work a lot harder on security. I’m willing to accept that challenge.”

  “As am I,” Dehya said.

  “Yes, well, you may both be willing,” Tikal said. “But the rest of us aren’t, not for you two. If either of you dies, it cripples the Imperialate.”

  “I could die on a routine space flight,” Kelric said.

  “Which brings up another problem,” Stars said in her melodious voice. A slender woman with silver hair and luminous eyes, she was the councilor concerned with transportation throughout the Imperialate. “Everyone must travel to wherever we put this summit. Space flight is yet another danger. If we instead meet by holographic simulation, we diminish those risks.”

  “We can’t hide in a cocoon,” Dehya said.

  Judiciary considered them. She was tall woman with greying hair swept back from her high forehead, the senior member of the Inner Assembly. “I don’t believe Imperial law allows the only surviving members of the Triad to be in the same physical space as the Qox Dynasty.”

  Kelric regarded her with exasperation. “What, we have a law that says, ‘opposing royals may not occupy the same physical space’?”

  “It’s a matter of interpretation,” Judiciary told him.

  “We also must consider the economic effect,” Finance said in his sharp, quick voice. “As much as we may resist admitting it, our economic health is intricately tied up with the economies of Eube and the Allied Worlds of Earth. You can’t untangle them.”

  Life crossed his brawny arms and glared at Finance. “I fail to see how an in-person summit could risk the economies of three empires.”

  Finance arched an eyebrow. “Then yes, young man, you do fail.”

  “As hard as you may all find it to believe,” Life said, “human leaders have met in person for ninety-nine point nine nine percent of human history. And somehow their economies survived.”

  “Life has a point,” Nature said, adjusting his spectacles. Formerly a physics professor at Parthonia University, he now served as the Councilor of science and technology.

  Finance scowled at him. “And economics is your expertise?”

  “It isn’t mine, either,” Domestic Affairs said, her rich voice a soothing contrast to the others, a trait that served her well as the councilor who oversaw relations among the peoples of the Imperialate. “But I agree with you. This is an emotional issue, and ultimately it is people and their emotions that determine what happens in the interstellar markets. If the summit turns into a disaster, it could spiral into economic crisis.”

  “You can model the situation to some extent,” Industry said. A leanly muscled man of great energy, he oversaw industrial development. At the moment, he was reading something on his gauntlet. Looking up at them, he added, “Even the most sophisticated codes can’t precisely predict human behavior, but my analyses suggest that a failure of these talks could result in an economic cris
is.”

  “The talks could fail regardless of how we meet,” Dehya said. “Both Imperator Skolia and I believe they have a better chance of success if we meet in person.” She turned to the Councilor for Planetary Development, a woman with luxuriant dark hair falling over her shoulders. “Marta, what world are you on right now?”

  “Parthonia,” Planetary answered. “Why do you ask?”

  “When I saw you last month, at the Assembly,” Dehya said. “Your hair was short.”

  If Planetary was startled by the comment, no hint of it showed in her holographic simulation. She said only, “I preferred this length today.”

  Barcala Tikal spoke to Dehya. “Yes, we see your point. People can change how they look in sims. So what?” He waved his hand at Protocol. “They do it in person, too. Physical presence is no guarantee that the physicality of the people present is genuine.”

  Protocol raised her eyebrows at him, their red glitter accenting her sparkling red hair. Then she went back to monitoring the holo simulations.

  “Barcala, you know it’s not that simple,” Dehya said. “Look at Nature. Tell me, what is he doing with those spectacles?”

  “My glasses?” Nature asked. “Your Highness, I—” When Dehya glared at him, he blinked and fell silent.

  “What he’s doing,” Tikal said dryly, “is staring at you with quite understandable confusion.”

  “Is he?” Dehya studied Nature, who met her gaze, looking rather self-conscious. “Does he seem innocuous because he really is? Or is he hiding some ability behind those quaint spectacles? Maybe an AI is controlling his image to give him whatever appearance either he or the AI believes will make him most effective at this meeting.”

  “Uh, actually, this is what I look like,” Nature said.

  Industry scowled at him. “So why wear those antediluvian contraptions on your eyes?”

  “He just likes the way they look,” Life said. “That’s not the point. It’s easy to trick people when you can use your virtual reality arsenal to enhance, augment, misrepresent, and otherwise alter the effectiveness and veracity of what you project to others.”

  Kelric had no doubt that Nature wore glasses because he liked them. He knew because he had broken an unwritten law of telepaths and probed Nature’s mind beyond what he could catch on the surface. Although Nature hadn’t known, the probe had left the councilor with a headache. Kelric hadn’t liked what he had done; his emotions had overrun his judgment. But those glasses struck him deeply. Decades ago, the Traders had captured and tortured Kelric’s father, leaving him blind and unable to walk. After his rescue, the doctors had done their best to repair his injuries. When he could see again, albeit blurrily, he opted for glasses rather than having further operations. Even before his time as a Trader prisoner, he had distrusted the technology of his wife’s civilization; afterward, he felt even more vulnerable. Wearing glasses was his way of fighting back. He had eventually died from the injuries that weakened his body, and when Kelric had seen Nature with his spectacles, he’d had the irrational fear that the Assembly councilor would die, too. So he had looked into his mind.

  Kelric glanced at his mother. Roca was staring at the table, her face composed but her posture unnaturally still.

  Are you all right? he asked her.

  She glanced at him. I’m all right. It’s just hard sometimes, when I remember what happened to your father.

  Yes. Nature reminds me of him, too.

  “I don’t have to wear them,” Nature was saying. “My system here can adjust the focus for this room. I’m just used to having them on. I forget about them.”

  “I know,” Dehya said. “They’re fine, Jason.” That she used his personal name was a sign that she didn’t distrust his motives.

  “You’re all avoiding her point,” Life told them. “People can set VR systems to project whatever they want.” He shrugged. “Sure, none of us suspects Nature. He’s a harmless preoccupied professor. That’s a lot different than what we’ll encounter with the Traders.”

  Nature scowled at him. “Gosh, thank you for the compliment.”

  “The flip side of that is also important,” Domestic Affairs said. “Pharaoh Dyhianna’s attitude is mild compared to the suspicion we’ll encounter with the Hightons.”

  “And you don’t think people will be dishonest in person?” Finance demanded. He lifted his cybernetic arm. “We’re all walking mesh nodes. It’s in our hair, skin, clothes, bodies. Nature could incorporate all sorts of sly technologies into his glasses: specialized filters, sensors, high-powered lenses, mesh nodes with AI analysis code, you name it, not to mention they also hide facial expressions. Hell, he could put biomech in his own eyes to achieve a lot of that.”

  “For flaming sake,” Nature said. “I’m not achieving anything but seeing all your faces more clearly. Assuming I’d want to.”

  “With Hightons,” Planetary Affairs said, “we also have more to worry about than what people do for themselves, to themselves, or with themselves in virtual reality.”

  Domestic Affairs chuckled. “That sounds like it ought to be censored if you go any further.”

  Planetary frowned at her. “What I’m saying is that anyone can bring an arsenal of hidden tech to the table. Suppose Nature used that great intellect of his to alter the simulation we send to the Traders of our virtual conference room, giving us an advantage? People react to their surroundings. The Hightons could similarly alter what they send us. We would undoubtedly fool with it, altering it for our gain, and they would alter it again to compensate for whatever they thought we might have done. Carry that to its convoluted extreme and you get one holy mess.”

  “Amazing I’m so talented at subterfuge,” Nature said. “All with my glasses, no less.”

  “You have the knowledge,” General Stone said. “Also access to the necessary experts and systems. You consult with ISC all the time. If we wanted to do what Planetary describes, you would be one of the first people we contacted.”

  “And we’ve barely touched on what we can do with virtual sims,” Dehya said. “It’s possible to do some of this in person, yes, but we have significantly more control in face-to-face meetings.”

  “Fine.” Brant Tapperhaven’s deep voice broke into the debate. “A face-to-face summit can solve problems. So far I’ve heard no hint of how we would convince the Hightons to agree.”

  A startled silence fell, people startled as much from hearing the taciturn Jagernaut speak as from the impossibility of what he suggested. Kelric knew Jaibriol Qox would be more sympathetic to the idea than the others believed, except Dehya, but he couldn’t say that, not here and not to the Traders.

  “You have a suggestion?” Kelric asked Brant.

  “Nothing that wouldn’t sound crazy,” Brant said.

  “The entire proposal is crazy,” Tikal said. “As First Councilor, I protest the whole idea.”

  That provoked another silence. Barcala and Dehya shared the rule of the Imperialate, Barcala as the elected First Councilor and Dehya as the hereditary Ruby Pharaoh. The uneasy mix of democracy and imperial governance had been Dehya’s idea, after she overthrew the Assembly and resumed her throne. Kelric even agreed with her that the blended government would probably be more stable for a modern interstellar civilization. Unfortunately, it also led to situations like this, where the two leaders were opposed. Dehya had ceded only forty-nine percent of her rule to Barcala, which meant she could force her wishes, but doing so could also destabilize their government.

  Kelric spoke to Tikal. “You’re giving up before we’ve tried to find solutions.”

  An image jumped into Tikal’s mind, his view of Kelric, an impression so vivid that Kelric picked it up without even trying. To Barcala, he looked like a vital, indomitable warlord from a barbaric time, his face impassive, his muscled arms crossed, his huge biceps bulging. It was a startling contrast to how Kelric saw himself, as a weathered and aging man. He hadn’t even realized he had crossed his arms. That highlighted another r
eason he wanted to meet the Aristos face-to-face. He, Dehya, Roca, Naaj Majda, and Brant Tapperhaven all had an advantage their Highton counterparts lacked: they were psions. As difficult as it was to lower their barriers with Aristos, it was worth the discomfort. But they had to be within a few meters of the Traders for it to work.

  Tikal spoke curtly. “If we waste our energies on this, it affects our preparations for the summit. We need to use our time wisely, not chase the mist.”

  “And if I told you I knew how you just saw me?” Kelric asked. “As a conquering warlord from a bygone era? I mean really, Barcala. Not even on my best days, I’m afraid.”

  Tikal scowled at him. “Keep out of my brain.”

  Kelric uncrossed his arms. “I wasn’t spying. Your image was so vivid, it came into my mind. Think on this; you’ve worked with psions for decades and you know better than most how to barrier your mind, yet I caught that image without even trying. The Hightons have none of your experience. They won’t even openly admit that psions have any capacity for sophisticated thought, let alone that we can spy on their minds. They don’t know how to block us.”

  Barcala took a breath and slowly let it out. His mental barriers were at full strength now, with nothing leaking past, but Kelric knew he was angry. Kelric didn’t blame him; he wouldn’t like someone catching his thoughts and then revealing them, either.

  After a moment, Barcala said, “I see your point.”

  Roca spoke. “I agree, the proposal has merits worth considering. But we’ll never convince the Traders.”

  Kelric met Dehya’s gaze. Neither of them could reveal why they believed the emperor would agree. But Jaibriol would also have to convince his advisors.

  “If we think about it long enough,” Life said, “we might figure out a solution.”

  Kelric nodded to him. This meeting had gone better than he expected, in that at least they agreed to think about it. But how they would convince the Hightons, he had no idea.

  Aliana had never seen a med-lab before. It was so bright. The walls, ceiling, consoles, and counters were white Luminex, which glowed with a pleasant, diffuse light. An astringent smell tickled her nose, the scent of a place scrubbed clean. And the room hummed. Every now and then an indistinct voice spoke, not a person, but a machine. Lights glowed on consoles and on the equipment arrayed around the bed where she was sitting. Bed indeed. It looked more the way she imagined a starship, with panels all around and holos rotating above them. Light cables glowed along its edges. And it kept moving. It was subtle, but if she shifted her weight, the bed shifted with her. If her muscles stiffened, the bed moved as if it were trying to massage them, which made her tense more, which made it move more. She sincerely wished it would stop.