Carnelians

by Catherine Asaro

  “Red!” she called. “Where are you?” In her mind, she shouted, Red! Answer, please!

  People in uniforms were climbing through the debris. Someone called out, “We’ve got at least two people alive over here.” Someone else shouted, “They’re evacuating the amphitheatre.”

  Aliana looked up and saw a ragged hole blown in the ceiling, not above her, but to her left. All the swirling dust hazed her view of the hole, but she glimpsed enough to see that the ceiling here, for the lobby, was the floor of the amphitheatre above them.

  One of the rescuers suddenly spasmed, then cried out and crumpled to the ground. Rainbow lights rippled over his body. With a start, Aliana realized that veils of light surrounded the area where the prisoner exchange had taken place, extending from the ground up through the ceiling, adding their translucent colors to the swirling dust.

  “Stay back from the lights!” someone called. “Those are cyberlock fields, set to kill.”

  Psiber what? Aliana froze, afraid to move.

  “Zina?” a voice said at her side.

  With a choked sob, she swung around. It was Red. She threw her arms around him, holding him close.

  His voice came out muffled against her hair. “Am glad to see you, too. But Zina, you crack my spine.”

  “Oh!” With a shaky laugh, she released her hold. “Sorry.”

  Aliana. The familiar voice of the Skolian man rumbled in her mind like an anchor in the midst of a storm. Are you still with us?

  Relief poured over her. I’m in the lobby. It blew up! It’s terrible. No one can get to us. A locked psiber is killing them.

  Cyberlock, the man told her. They were installed by both royal parties to protect them in the case of an attack. You’re on the inside of the field. As long as you don’t try to cross the curtains of light, you’ll be fine.

  Is Emperor Jaibriol all right? He was supposed to be a god, and gods couldn’t die, but she didn’t believe it. What she did believe was that he was different from other Hightons, truly great, and if any of them should live, it was him. Are you all right? Major Qahot and her Jagernauts are hurt. They need help.

  We’re fine up here, he said. The safety precautions worked. We’re sending people down to help your group.

  Look, Red said, pointing to the ceiling. Is him, I think.

  She peered where he indicated. A man was kneeling at the edge of the jagged hole in the ceiling. She couldn’t see him clearly, other than his huge silhouette in the harsh light from amphitheatre above and behind him.

  Is that you kneeling at the hole? she asked.

  Yes, he thought. Can you come here?

  She glanced at Red, and he nodded. Taking his hand, she thought, I think so.

  They picked their way over the shattered fountain. The buckled floor made it hard to walk, and the air smelled like graves and electrical discharges. The blast had centered where the bomblet hit the ground; what had been a row of indoor trees was now a crater with billows of dust.

  To reach the hole in the ceiling, they climbed up slanting marble columns that had been shoved away from the vertical, their surfaces cracked and jagged. At the top, they were almost close enough to touch the man. Dust grimed his hair and face.

  “Here.” He extended his large hand. “Come up, both of you. The amphitheatre is intact, and its supports were built to withstand worse than this.”

  Aliana wasn’t sure how he knew so much about the building, but it made sense that this meeting place would be well built. She wanted Red safe, so she pushed him forward. “You go.”

  Red grasped the man’s hand and the Skolian heaved upward, easily lifting as Red scrambled up next to him. While Red stepped back from the edge, the man reached for Aliana, and with his help, she climbed up. Alarms were still blaring, more distant now. People were calling somewhere, but no one seemed nearby except this man.

  Red was staring around at the amphitheatre. It was mostly open air; it didn’t have much to collapse other than the seats ringing the area. They looked all right except for a few rows that had cracked and buckled. The evacuation was almost done, with a few people still leaving. No one had come close to this place, the middle of the amphitheatre floor.

  As Aliana stepped back from the hole, the Skolian man stood up. He was huge. She had never seen someone so big.

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  “My name is Kelric.”

  His kind voice reassured her. “What are we going to do?”

  “You need to stay with me.” He motioned at a group of people across the amphitheatre, gathered near a pile of rubble that looked like a broken disk. “We don’t have much time.”

  As they headed across the amphitheatre, Aliana asked, “Is this place going to collapse?” Parts of the building were crumbling, causing minor showers of broken composite.

  “Not the walls.” Kelric motioned upward, where large robot arms were docked at balconies. “But the blast may have damaged some of those.”

  They soon reached the group—and Aliana gave a choked cry. She didn’t see everyone, only the man and woman with glittering black hair. She dropped to her knees, hit with a relief so intense, it hurt. Red knelt beside her, his head bowed.

  The emperor spoke, his voice still resonant, but also ragged. “Both of you, rise.”

  As she stood up, she became aware of the other people. It was two groups, each facing the other. On one side, she saw the emperor, the empress, General Iquar, Lord Corbal Xir, and the four Razers—including Tide! On her side, she saw Kelric, four Jagernauts,—

  And a woman with gold hair, gold eyes, and gold skin. Metallic gold.

  The world seemed to stop for Aliana. Only the two of them were there, her and this golden being in some reality where no explosions could interfere. The woman stared at Aliana, her eyes filling with moisture. A voice came clearly in Aliana’s mind, like the rising of a sun, full of warmth and the grief of loved ones lost.

  You look so much like him, the woman thought. So much like Althor.

  Who . . . who are you? Tears welled in Aliana’s eyes. You look like me.

  “We have to leave,” a harsh voice said in Highton. “This amphitheatre isn’t safe.”

  Aliana’s thoughts jerked unceremoniously back to reality. She knew that ugly voice. She hated it. That was General Iquar speaking to the emperor.

  “You did this,” she said to the general, her voice low and furious. “You tried to blow me up!”

  General Iquar gave her a bored look. “Is this child insane or just a fool?”

  “I’m not crazy.” Aliana looked around at the rest of them. “He did it.”

  Before anyone could respond, a rumbling started above them. With a start, she looked up. A gigantic bronzed arm with a fisted hand was vibrating at its dock against one wall.

  “We should move,” Kelric said.

  As they retreated across the floor, which was covered with dust and grit, Corbal Xir said, “We can’t go far. The cyberlock fields tuned to Emperor Jaibriol and Pharaoh Dyhianna are both set on fatal, and we’re inside of them.”

  Kelric glanced at one of the Jagernauts. “Turn off the lock.”

  The Jagernaut worked at his gauntlet, making lights flash and noises beep. After a moment, he said, “We can’t, sir. It’s not working.”

  Major Qahot? Kelric’s thoughts hummed past Aliana’s mind. Can you read me?

  A man answered, sounding very young. Commander Skolia, this is Lieutenant Kelpner. The rest of the team is injured.

  Then you’re in charge, Kelpner. Get these damn cyberlocks off.

  We’re working on it, sir. Their mesh-systems are jammed. It’s a side effect from the clumsy tampering with Comtrace. It won’t process their release codes.

  One of the Razers was reading a screen on his gauntlet comm as he spoke to Barthol Iquar. “General, the cyberlock frequencies are jammed, some sort of mesh interference.”

  A Jagernaut said, “Imperator Skolia, you, the Pharaoh, and Councilor Roca can go through the S
kolian field. But if you cross the Emperor Jaibriol’s field, it will kill you.”

  Tide spoke in his deep voice. “The same is true for Emperor Jaibriol and Empress Tarquine. They can pass through their field, but not yours.”

  Kelric scowled at Barthol. “Damn it, Iquar, your clumsy Kyle meddling could get all of us killed.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” the general said coldly.

  Above them, the growl of engines was growing louder as the bronzed robot arm with the fisted hand swung slowly above the amphitheatre. Ahead of them, the cyberlock field rippled in a curtain of rainbows. Two Razers and two Jagernauts reached the field at the same time. They turned around, looking upward, and everyone halted to follow their gaze. Above them, the fisted hand also stopped and hung suspended, high in the air.

  “Our motion seems to draw it,” Empress Tarquine said. “When we stop, it does, too.”

  Lieutenant Kelpner, check with my brother Del about the Comtrace forgery, Kelric thought. He may know how it’s interfering with the cyberlocks.

  A new thought came into Aliana’s mind from another man, an incredible voice, so distinctive she would have recognized it anywhere. It was the Ruby prince who had sung “Carnelians Finale.”

  Panquai and I think we can untangle it here, Del said. We need to clear out the seaweed around the ruins.

  I’m not sure what you mean by seaweed or ruins, Kelric answered. But if you can help deactivate the locks, then yes, do it.

  The mental chatter was giving Aliana vertigo. They were calling Kelric “sir,” and he was giving orders, even to a prince. He was, she realized, probably captain of the pharaoh’s bodyguard. The Eubians were drawing away from the Skolians, separating themselves while their Razers worked at their gauntlets. The bronzed fist hung motionless, far above them.

  Kelpner, can’t security fix that robot arm? Kelric asked. What’s wrong with it?

  It was damaged in the explosion, Kelpner answered. It’s keyed to the emperor’s cyberlock, so that when the arm carries him through the amphitheatre, his field always surrounds it. But apparently its coding is corrupted, so it’s following everyone within the field.

  Actually, it stopped, Kelric thought.

  Eubian Security is trying to link to the nanobots in its structure so they can direct its repair remotely. Maybe it’s working.

  A low thunder rumbled below them in the lobby. Dust billowed through the hole in the amphitheatre floor.

  “We need to get out of here,” the golden Skolian woman said.

  “The supports should hold up the floor,” a melodic voice replied.

  Aliana knew that voice. With a start, she turned around. She had been so shocked by seeing the emperor and the golden woman that she hadn’t realized who else was here. The Ruby Pharaoh! Two looming Jagernauts flanked her small form.

  The pharaoh’s thought came like a phantom song on a lost sea. Aliana, welcome.

  Aliana was too mesmerized to answer. She felt motion from the pharaoh, yet the woman hadn’t moved. It was the pharaoh’s mind that was journeying, traveling unseen waters. Standing still, appearing to do nothing at all, Dyhianna Selei was working in ways no one else could, her mind untangling their brains from the cyberlocks.

  A growl came from the engines of the robot arm, and Aliana looked up. The bronzed arm was rising higher and swinging toward a docking crane at one of the balconies.

  She hoped it stayed there.

  The Hand of the God Emperor. Despite its overblown name, Jaibriol had always liked the bizarre robot arm. He watched it move away from them, returning to its hangar at the balcony. Then he glanced around, instinctively checking that Tarquine was safe. She was walking toward Barthol, who was speaking in a low voice to someone on his gauntlet comm. Uneasy, Jaibriol went over to them. Corbal stayed with the Razers, still trying to deactivate the cyberlock.

  Barthol looked up at Tarquine. “It seems the holocams recording today’s session were damaged in the explosion. They aren’t working.”

  Jaibriol didn’t particularly care. “What I find odd,” he said, “is that the locks meant to protect our lives are working too well.”

  “I doubt the Skolians find it odd,” Barthol said with a twitch of his finger than indicated disgust. “Tampering with our security seems to be one of their favorite pasttimes.”

  “The Skolians,” Tarquine murmured. “You think it’s all their fault, dear Barthol?”

  Above them, the growl of engines changed pitch. Looking up, Jaibriol saw that the bronzed arm had stopped trying to dock itself.

  “It is amazing how people show their true selves in a crisis, don’t you think?” Barthol told the empress. “Even the most outwardly accomplished Highton might revert to less exalted speech when she is, shall we say, stressed.”

  “Oh, but Barthol, you are my kin.” She activated her comm and spoke on a private channel only she and Barthol could use. “Direct speech is allowed for such.” Her voice came out of Barthol’s comm, giving an odd stereo effect, since she was standing right in front of him.

  “Something is wrong with that arm,” Jaibriol said, peering at the bronzed fist. It was poised near the high balcony.

  “Yes, I am your kin,” Barthol told Tarquine, his Highton inflections like ice. “Your heir.”

  Startled, Jaibriol turned back at them.

  “My blood.” Tarquine’s voice was too quiet. For some reason, she was talking on her comm, though Barthol was right here. “For that tie and that tie only, I give you honor this day instead of infamy.”

  Barthol switched off his comm. “You give me nothing.”

  “Look up, nephew,” she murmured. “See my gift.”

  Jaibriol followed her gaze. High in the amphitheatre, the bronzed fist was jerking under the force of its great weight. Its engines grated, straining to prevent it from descending.

  “What the hell?” Barthol tensed as if he intended to stride away, but he didn’t move. His comm was flashing, open to Tarquine even though he had just shut it off.

  “Oh dear, I forgot to tell you something,” Tarquine said.

  Barthol stared at her. “What the blazes are you talking about?”

  “Tarquine, move!” Jaibriol backed up, pulling her with him. The bronzed arm was so high, it was hard to tell where it would hit if it dropped. He wanted her well away from there. But as soon as they moved, the arm followed them. When Jaibriol backed up faster, the arm increased its speed, staying with him. He stopped and the arm stopped, but its engines continued to grind, as it strained to stay in place. The entire time, Barthol remained stock still, watching them.

  “Don’t worry,” Tarquine told him. “Barthol is going to be a hero.”

  “No.” Barthol sounded as if he were clenching his teeth, forcing out the word. He stared at Tarquine, his face contorted. If Jaibriol hadn’t known him so well, he would have thought Barthol was worried for her safety. But he felt the general’s mind; Barthol was trying not to run. His body strained as if he were fighting a compulsion to make him move. He suddenly broke into a sprint, running in the direction opposite of Jaibriol and Tarquine. The robot hand immediately swung toward the general, barely holding its altitude as its engines fought its erratic motions.

  Tarquine spoke into her comm on the secured channel that only her nephew could receive. “Did you know, Barthol, that the surgery to implant a node in a person’s brain is a complex and delicate process, even if that node has only one purpose, to control a person’s movements at a crucial time—like making him run when he doesn’t want to.” Softly she added, “Of course, if the patient is in a coma, that offers the surgeon plenty of time to do the work.”

  Jaibriol spoke in a low voice. “My God, Tarquine, what did you do?” It suddenly made sense, why he had picked up Barthol’s thoughts more strongly than usual. The general hadn’t implanted any neural tech in his brain, Tarquine had done it, nothing too complex, just enough for her to control his movements this one time. It was unlikely anything she
had done could be permanent or stable. It would probably soon disintegrate. But she hadn’t needed it to last for long, just until an opportunity presented itself for her to use.

  Tarquine watched her nephew, her red gaze cold. He ran as if he were deliberately drawing the broken fist away from them. Its engines ground with the shriek of breaking composites—and suddenly the arm was in free fall, dropping like a gigantic hammer straight at Barthol. As Jaibriol watched in disbelief, the general looked back at them, his face contorted in fury.

  Tarquine spoke one last time into her comm, her voice rough with a bitter anger. “When you tried to kill me, Barthol, I was pregnant. You murdered my son.”

  The fist finished its fall then, smashing into the ground with the force of its immense weight. Debris leapt into the air and the walls of the amphitheatre shook. The tiers in one section crumbled as the vibrations from the blow spread throughout the hall. The floor under the robot sagged, and cracks shot out in many directions, like lightning running through the stone.

  With it, the fist took a man who would be lauded as the hero of the Delos Summit, the general who sacrificed his life to save his emperor and empress.

  XXIX

  Triad

  Kelric felt Barthol die. It exploded in his mind, that shattering moment that ended in abrupt darkness. Kelric’s mind reeled and for an instant he could see nothing, only blackness.

  The amphitheatre reappeared and Kelric gulped in a ragged breath.

  “Gods almighty,” Roca whispered next to him.

  “Imperator Skolia, are you all right?”

  Kelric turned to see the captain of their bodyguards coming toward him. All four Jagernauts were pale. They would have also felt the general die, not with the force it would hit a Ruby psion, but still strong. If Barthol had been a psion, it would have hit them even harder, but any death was a shock, including that of an Aristo, even when it came with a release from the pressure of Barthol’s Highton mind. They had all felt it. Looking at the Jagernauts—all telepaths—Kelric knew what he had to do. He couldn’t operate with them here.