Carnelians

by Catherine Asaro

  Quis holos appeared and evolved as if players were moving the pieces. Kelric was so intent on the game, he seemed in a trance. But then he said, “You’re right. She’s here. She’s mourning.”

  “Mourning?” Dehya hadn’t caught that. “Who?”

  Kelric spoke quietly. “The death of their son.”

  Good gods. Had Jaibriol finally sired the Highton Heir? “We’ve nothing on the birth of an heir to the Carnelian Throne. Given the pressure they’re under to produce one, you’d think they would announce it to the universe.”

  “It’s all so vague.” Kelric continued to study the game. “I doubt they meant to put any of it into the session.”

  As Dehya watched the moves evolve, a picture formed in her mind, enhanced by Kelric’s insights. “The child wasn’t born yet. It died very recently. That’s why it affected their dice.”

  “Good gods.” Kelric looked up at her. “Are you getting a date for the child’s death?”

  A chill went up Dehya’s back. “The same time you and I were nearly assassinated.”

  “That’s one hell of a coincidence.”

  “Or not.”

  “Even if Jaibriol had died, it shouldn’t have affected us so dramatically,” Kelric said. “We probably would have sensed his passing. But it wouldn’t have almost killed us.”

  Dehya nodded. “It seems more likely someone tried to kill us all at the same time.”

  “Why time the attempts to coincide? It just looks suspicious.”

  “Maybe it wasn’t the same person. One assassin might have used the work of another.”

  “Whoever attacked us knew a great deal about ISC security,” Kelric said. “Whoever attacked Jaibriol’s child had to know similar about ESComm. If they are working together to kill both us and Jaibriol Qox, then we’re all in a hell of a lot of trouble.”

  She regarded him bleakly. “Or it could be a double-agent. But who would want both the Highton and Ruby Heirs dead?”

  Someone who knows Jaibriol is a member of the Triad, Kelric thought.

  Could you tell, when you linked with him on Earth, if anyone else knew?

  No one. I think Tarquine realizes he’s a Ruby. Probably Corbal Xir also knows that much.

  Maybe one of them tried to kill him.

  Not Tarquine, I don’t think, Kelric thought. Maybe Xir. If Jaibriol dies without an heir, Corbal becomes emperor.

  He wouldn’t have to kill the child, just reveal that Jaibriol isn’t a full Highton. The Aristos would never let his child rule, then.

  Before I lived among the Traders, I’d have agreed. Now I’m not sure. To them, bloodline is everything. Kelric touched a ruby sphere in their Quis structures. They wouldn’t let a Ruby psion rule, it’s true. But a child who legitimately descends from Eube Qox and is more than half Highton, so he’s not a psion? Gods only know. Tarquine would certainly never consent to her child losing the throne. With a grimace, he added, One thing is for certain: it would be one unholy mess.

  So killing the child might be the simpler solution.

  Possibly.

  Wryly she said, Or we could be completely wrong.

  True.

  This much is clear from the dice, Dehya thought. The loss of their son affected them deeply.

  Family is important to Jaibriol. It’s crushing him. Kelric let her see his memory of Jaibriol, the love the emperor had felt for his family and his loneliness at losing them.

  No wonder he’s mourning, she thought. It must be killing him, being part of the Triad, surrounded by Aristos, with no respite.

  Ai, Kelric murmured. It’s why I gave him Quis.

  An idea was forming in her mind. How did Soz meet Jaibriol’s father?

  I’m not sure. On the planet Delos, I think.

  Kelric, listen. Everything in his Quis suggests that if we can find a way to let him save face with the Aristos, he’ll agree to our proposal for the summit. He’s given us everything we need to find an answer we can live with, too. She waved her hand over the dice. It’s all here, who he needs to convince among his key people and what objections they will have.

  It’s an act of trust that he is telling us so much about his key advisors. He paused. Are you thinking we should suggest meeting on Delos instead of Earth?

  He should be the one to suggest it. His advisors will never agree if they think it’s our idea. And we need to give him ways to counter their arguments. Make them think they’re putting one over on us by agreeing to this.

  Kelric picked up an opal ring and threaded it into the structure of a tower. Let’s see what we can come up with.

  So they planned their next moves in an interstellar game of Quis.

  Del lifted his head into complete blackness. Where . . . ?

  “Mac?” he mumbled. “Are you here?”

  “Yes.” His manager’s voice came from nearby in the dark. “How do you feel?”

  Del sat up, groggy and disoriented. “Like someone hit me in the head.”

  “Are you injured?”

  “I don’t think so. Where is this?”

  “I don’t know,” Mac said. “They knocked us both out. I woke up here.”

  “Who knocked us out?” Del rubbed his neck, sore from sleeping on the corrugated floor.

  “Jett Masters and her people. I don’t know who they’re working for.” A rustle came from nearby, Mac sitting up it sounded like. “Someone opened a panel a while back and left some food and water, if you’re hungry. But that’s it. No one has come in here or spoken to us.”

  “I couldn’t eat right now,” Del said. “At least it smells good.” He inhaled. “It’s strange. Like someone is baking a cake.”

  Mac grunted. “I didn’t know people still did that.”

  “It’s a big fad in Ricki’s crowd. Genuine baking, mostly because no one knows how.”

  “Ricki must be going nuts, worrying about you.”

  “I know.” Del thought of his wife, her streaming blond hair, giant blue eyes, and voluptuous body. She looked like an angel, became a seductress in his arms, and turned into a devil in the cutthroat universe of high-powered entertainment conglomerates. He could sense her even from far away, like a distant song. Which was supposed to be impossible, but he didn’t care, because it was true. “She’s upset. Mad and scared, but she won’t let anyone see how afraid she is. If I were these people who kidnapped us, I would be more afraid of her than anyone’s military.”

  Mac gave a dry laugh. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

  Del felt around in the dark. When his hand hit a wall, he scooted over and sat against it for support. After a few minutes, when his stomach settled, he said, “I don’t get it. What do they expect to accomplish by kidnapping us?”

  “To undermine your speech about ‘Carnelians Finale,’ I’d imagine,” Mac said.

  “Blasted song,” Del muttered. “I meant every word of it. Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to make that speech? But damn it, what I was singing about is never going to stop unless we quit trying to kill each other. What do these people want, more war?”

  “They don’t trust the Traders.” Mac sounded tired.

  “Neither do I. But grabbing me doesn’t do any good.” Del hated to imagine what his family was thinking now. He caused them no end of grief, even when he was doing his best to live his life in a way that would honor their principles as well as his own.

  “Jett Masters and her people are real Allied officers, not imposters,” Mac said. “I’ve seen their records. But Allied Space Command would never sanction this operation. I’d wager some other group planted Jett and the others in ASC.”

  “How extensive do you think their organization is?” Del asked. If this group that had taken them had a strong foothold among the Allieds, it didn’t bode well for Skolian relations with Earth.

  “I’ve no idea,” Mac said.

  “I wonder if they had anything to do with releasing ‘Carnelians Finale.’ ” Del still couldn’t believe he had done it. He wished he c
ould remember. Dehya believed someone had tricked him. Even that seemed impossible; he didn’t have enough knowledge about the networks to put his song out there with such wide coverage.

  “Jett Masters certainly seemed affected by your song,” Mac said.

  “See, that’s what I don’t get,” Del said. “Why would Allied military types react so much to a song about my family? They have no stake in Skolian-Trader affairs, not unless we get dragged into another war and they have to fight. You’d think they’d want peace. It keeps them alive.”

  “I guess they believe the Traders are duping your people.”

  “Maybe they aren’t from Earth.” It never ceased to amaze Del that he sang in the birthplace of the human race. For millennia, Earth had been a myth among his people. Then one day, Earth’s children had showed up, their lost siblings. And now he lived here, where the sky seemed the right shade of blue even though he had grown up on a world with a lavender sky. Everything here felt right, the air, the sunrises, the gravity—

  Gravity?

  “We’re not on Earth!” Del said. “The gravity is too light.”

  “I’ll be damned,” Mac said. “You’re right! That must be why I feel queasy. I get spacesick from Coriolis forces. We’re must be on a ship that’s rotating to create a sense of gravity.”

  “Great,” Del said, scowling. “Just fantastic. We’re in space.” He climbed to his feet, leaning on the wall. “You know, this could be the bulkhead of a cargo hold.”

  “I explored while you were sleeping,” Mac said tiredly. “The walls are smooth. I couldn’t even find the seams of a doorway or the panel that delivered food.”

  It worried Del that Mac sounded so drained. Although his manager looked like a robust man in his forties, Mac was seventy and slowing down each year. “Hey, are you all right?”

  “Just my stomach,” Mac said. “I’ll be fine.”

  Del wasn’t sure he believed him. It was another mark against whoever had kidnapped them, that they had dragged Mac into this.

  Del checked the hold, but he didn’t find anything, either. It was dark, no hint of light, which was probably deliberate, to keep them off balance and confused.

  Off balance . . .

  “That’s it!” Del said.

  “Did you find something?” Mac asked.

  “I realized something about ‘Carnelians Finale.’ ” He headed toward Mac, moving his hands in front of him. “Say something, so I don’t run into you.”

  “You sound like you’re right in front of me.”

  No kidding. Del stepped to the side and walked into a slanting bulkhead, thumping his forehead. Wincing, he slid down and sat with his back against the wall. “Whoever put us in here is probably listening to everything we say.”

  “Probably,” Mac said. “Does that mean you aren’t going to tell me what you realized?”

  “Not now. But I will.” Del turned his thoughts over and around. He, Dehya, and Kelric had all been attacked. It had nearly killed them, yet hardly affected him at all. A trail in Kyle space led to him, with a “fingerprint” exactly like a neurological map of his brain, all braided into the paths for Kelric and Dehya. The record of his operations in the Kyle showed him releasing “Carnelians Finale” twice, the first time when the song initially hit the meshes and then again when Dehya and Kelric were attacked. The data about the first release hadn’t appeared separately; it was tangled up with the data for the second release. That was how the Kyle worked; subject matter rather than spacetime coordinates determined location, so even though Del had released the song twice, it showed up as one Kyle pathway because both releases involved the same process. Del didn’t like it. It seemed an independent verification should exist of the first time he had released the song.

  “Unless the first time never happened,” Del said.

  “Hmmm . . . what didn’t?” Mac sounded half-asleep.

  “I’ll tell you later.” Damn! He needed to talk to Dehya. What if the Kyle path incriminating him was fake? Normally Dehya could tell. But it was tangled up with what happened to her, and she had nearly died. Even so, his idea seemed unlikely. Only someone with a detailed neurological scan of his brain could fake his neural signature, which meant his private doctors or a top ISC officer. He couldn’t imagine them committing treason, besides which, they would never have been so clumsy about it. If not for what had happened to Dehya and Kelric, Del would have thought the evidence implicating him was an amateurish subterfuge. But to strand Dehya in Kyle space and explode Kelric’s links using his own brain required an expert with a terrifyingly sophisticated knowledge of the Kyle.

  “Grasping at straws,” Del muttered.

  Mac yawned and shifted in the dark. “Heh?”

  “It’s an ancient English idiom.” Del hesitated. “Mac—”

  “Hmmm?”

  “I don’t want to die out here for someone’s fanatical politics.”

  “I doubt they’ll kill us. It won’t get them anything.”

  “Maybe they’ve demanded a ransom.”

  “Possibly.”

  “They might turn us over to the Traders.”

  “If they like your song, I doubt they’re Traders. That song excoriates the Aristos.”

  “Yeah, but it works to their advantage to make people mad even if they hate the song.” Del snorted. “Hell, I wouldn’t have been surprised if the Traders had released it.”

  Then it hit Del. Someone else might have a scan of his brain. Lord Axil Tarex, the Aristo who had captured and tortured him—the Highton who had provoked Del to sing “Carnelians Finale”. Tarex could have taken one without Del knowing while Del had been his prisoner.

  “Maybe that’s it,” he said.

  “Del, what are you talking about?” Mac asked.

  “It’s nothing. I just need to rest.” He lay down and closed his eyes. What he was about to do almost certainly wouldn’t succeed, but he would try anyway, just in case.

  Del had never worked as a telop. He rarely used the Kyle web. He knew nothing about the tech. He took after his father, who had never understood the gleaming technology of his wife’s people. But like his father, Del was at home in the Kyle itself, as if he were a sea creature who knew nothing of marine science or technology yet could swim with ease.

  As Del’s thoughts drifted, he relaxed his barriers, the mental walls he created to protect his empath’s mind. He was taking a risk, leaving himself unprotected as his awareness spread into space. He couldn’t access the Kyle; he had no gateway, no tech, nothing. He was much too far away to contact Dehya by telepathy. But maybe, just maybe, he could send an impression of his ideas.

  At least he could try.

  Aliana missed Red.

  A silver flyer had brought her to the palace without him. Scared and uncertain, she had sat by its window and gazed at the mountains while the sun set in fiery red hues. As night fell, they flew above Qoxire, the capital of Eube. City of legend. It was even more splendid than the tales claimed, with its soaring crystal arches and luminous towers, spire after golden spire reaching into the sky. The city had sparkled in the night like a myth awash in magic.

  The “suite” where the palace guards left her was bigger than the entire shack where she had lived with her stepfather. It wasn’t one room, but several, all connected by arches bordered with mosaics in rose and emerald tiles. The ceilings curved in high vaults, paneled in ivory, emerald, and blue. An orb lamp hung from the highest point and dripped blue crystals that were too fine to be glass; they had to be real sapphires. Niches in the wall held urns lacquered in gold and blue with delicate birds painted on them. Gold draperies hung on some alcoves, held back by braided ropes, their tasseled ends dusted with carnelians. The gold carpet was so thick, it covered her toes and was sheer pleasure on her bare feet. Incense with a sweet, hypnotic scent burned in a gold pot, a tendril of smoke curling into the air.

  Unfortunately, she had only herself to share these miracles. The soldiers had taken Red in a different flyer. She h
adn’t seen Tide since they left Muze’s Helios. Aliana longed to know if they were all right. She didn’t know what to do, except keep up her mental defenses as Lensmark had told her to do, for herself and for Red.

  A hum came from behind Aliana. As she turned around, a wall across the room shimmered into another horseshoe arch. Two Razers stood framed the entrance, with more people behind them, their black hair glittering—

  Ah gods. Aliana dropped to her knees, her head bowed.

  Footsteps entered, soft on the carpet. A man spoke in Highton. “You may wait outside.”

  Was he talking to her? She snuck a look, lifting her gaze a bit but not her head. A man’s elegant black shoes gleamed nearby. More muffled footsteps sounded, people leaving, and the man walked out of view. The room became quiet. It wasn’t empty, though. She sensed another mind.

  The man spoke. “You may stand.”

  She started to rise, then hesitated. What if he hadn’t meant her?

  “Aliana,” he said softly. “Stop kneeling.”

  Raising her head, she him a few paces away, the only other person in the room.

  Emperor Jaibriol.

  He was even more beautiful in person than in the broadcasts. His face was a sculptor’s dream, with high cheekbones, a perfect nose, and large eyes. He was the quintessential Highton, from his black diamond hair to his alabaster skin. His black clothes were cut perfectly for his body, accenting his broad shoulders, slim waist and long legs. Carnelians glinted on the cuffs and collar of his shirt. His red eyes were more the color of rubies than carnelians, vivid and pure red. Most of all, though, he somehow looked human, not like other Hightons, who were too icy to be mortal.

  And just where had she learned the word quintessential?

  She stood up slowly. Jaibriol just waited. Probably she’d already insulted him unforgivably. The people who had brought her to Glory had barely talked to her at all, let alone offered any clues about how to behave with an emperor. For lack of a better idea, she used one of the first phrases she had ever learned in Highton. “You honor me with your presence, Your Glorious Highness.”