Requiem For A Ruler Of Worlds

by Brian Daley

  "I have to start doing more reading. I really do."

  At that moment a sound drew their gaze to the head of the valley. Two lean, heavily armed air cutters were bearing down on them while a third flew high cover. The fangster snarled defiance at them, then slid away into the brush.

  "How do we know they're real?" Floyt remembered that Inst probably had confederates somewhere out in the Epiphanian wilds.

  "Doesn't matter who they are," Alacrity chattered. "They've got us. I'm not so sure who I'd prefer anyway."

  Floyt stopped shivering for a moment. "What do you mean?"

  "We killed Inst, remember? Or at least got him killed."

  Floyt went back to shivering.

  The Invincible rescue team that piled out of the cutters turned out to be the authentic item, though. Paramedics treated them while guards established a perimeter and the major in charge of the detail questioned them. His expression became increasingly grim as he listened. He dispatched one of the grounded cutters to search for Inst's remains. As soon as the two survivors had been seen to, they were hustled aboard the remaining cutter under close guard.

  On the way back to Frostpile, one of the paramedics asked Floyt if he'd mind answering a few questions about Earth. She was doing research in her spare time, hoping to draw up a family tree.

  Chapter 16

  Relative Values

  "Death," Redlock ruled less than an hour later in Dame Tiajo's chambers. Several of the surveillance drones that were floating near the ceiling dipped closer, prepared to carry out his will on the spot.

  Thistle's wreckage and the remains of Inst and his harness—what little there was—had been found and brought along as evidence. Mercifully, none of it had been trotted out. The only other significant delay had been for a brusque cleanup, not for the sake of the two survivors but to avoid offending Epiphany's nobles. After a rather cursory bioscan, the medics had decided that the companions didn't require immediate attention. Surrounded by Celestials and Invincibles, they'd found themselves before an impromptu board of inquiry. It was an hour to noon.

  "Death for both of them," Redlock reiterated. Ignoring the obedient drones, he held out his hand to one of the Invincible officers. The man looked questioningly at Tiajo, hand on his sidearm.

  "For defending ourselves?" Floyt asked quietly, his voice sounding strange to him, coming as it did through his swollen face and broken nose. Both his eyes were blackening.

  "For murder!" Redlock shot a quick look at his wife. Dorraine was still off to one side, not weeping but eyes downcast, as if no one else were there. Near her, at the vast viewpane that showed much of Frostpile, Maska stood, a calming presence even though he said nothing but only watched, sad-eyed.

  The Severeemish were there, almost at attention. If they were inclined to gloat, Floyt noted, they didn't dare show it.

  "That's for you to decide, isn't it?" Alacrity asked the grandam. Tiajo, seated, was plainly trying to collect her thoughts and composure. It was clear that, while she seldom crossed wills with Redlock and held a great deal of affection for him, she had her reservations on this subject.

  "Defended yourselves? Against Inst?" Redlock's scarred cheek tugged with amusement. "A lie, right on the face of it. Why would he threaten two lowlies like you?"

  Alacrity was caught up in the same question; he hadn't figured it out himself. But Hobart Floyt replied evenly, "Governor Redlock, you'll have to ask your wife that question." The breakabout's mouth fell open.

  Redlock's face went bloodless; he made to take the Invincible's gun, permission or no. But a sound escaped the queen of Agora, of resignation and despair, but not a sob—Floyt couldn't picture her ever crying.

  "If you don't speak up, Highness," the Terran went on, "you'll forfeit my life and Alacrity's too." Dangers and fear and hardship had put an unswerving candor into him. Alacrity could see his companion tremble, but his voice didn't.

  Redlock was listening again; Floyt's accusation had hit some target.

  "Did … did my father really try to kill you?" she asked at last. The stately carriage was now slumped, the superlative features infinitely sad. Redlock stood rooted and mute.

  "I don't believe so. He could've done that easily," Floyt said into the silence. "But he meant to keep us from getting back to Frostpile. It would have been enough to force us down where subordinates were waiting, wouldn't it? Until the Willreading and the Thorn Cup were over?" He didn't sound accusatory; he was gentle, consoling. "No, I don't believe he would have killed us under any circumstances."

  Dorraine squared her shoulders and turned to Floyt, clear-eyed, with the barest smile of gratitude. "Thank you."

  "But … why?" Tiajo asked. No one could remember her ever having been so subdued. She adored Dorraine almost as much as she did Redlock.

  The queen assembled her courage. Just as Floyt was about to answer for her, to spare her, she spoke. "I'm not … I wasn't his daughter. Not the daughter of his body." Her chin came up. "But the daughter of his heart. And he was the only father I ever knew. We loved each other very much."

  Redlock's hands were dangling at his sides now. He moved to his wife, and Alacrity silently let out his breath. Dorraine threw herself into Redlock's arms. "What will happen now?" she asked, looking at the envoys.

  The complex system of allegiances and fealties sworn by the Severeemish, in part through the queen of Agora, had been couched in terms of blood and lineage. Now it seemed that they were null and void.

  "We kept the secret for a very long time," Dorraine began slowly. Seven Wars and Sortie-Wolf listened, unblinking. "We kept it from … from everyone. Inst—my father, if you will indulge me—"

  "I don't care," Redlock broke in. He told the towering Severeemish, "She's my wife, queen of Agora. That's the way it'll remain."

  Peace and war hung in the balance. But unexpectedly, Theater General Sortie-Wolf inquired gently, "May we know the circumstances?"

  "He found me during the fourth year of the Turmoils, after his … after Dorraine died in a concentration camp on Rawbone. Without Dorraine, there'd be no succession. He and Dorraine hadn't been recognized by anyone for their real selves; you know that. He chose me because I looked like Dorraine. I was the right age too."

  She glanced out the viewpane at Frostpile. "I don't remember much about my own family, except that I was separated from them."

  The dark eyes flashed at Redlock again. "I'd been alone for a long time. I don't know how many camps I'd been in. I don't know why I wasn't liquidated. Inst took care of me and taught me what I had to do."

  "You were an apt pupil," Seven Wars commented.

  "And then one day the warships came." She squeezed Redlock's hand. "And we were liberated. Then you put me on the throne, my only love. Everything was chaos, back then. Inst altered records and identification data. He destroyed or altered files, family holoportraits, and all the rest. He made me Dorraine in every particular."

  "Except one," Floyt maintained. "You didn't have the allergen immunity."

  She nodded slowly. "I took treatments in secret over the years. Nothing on Agora could have betrayed me. But no one can be immunized to every allergen."

  "The Thorn Cup!" Alacrity blurted. Everyone saw it now. Mimicking flora from Severeernish worlds, it would very likely incorporate an allergen or toxin with which her immunizations couldn't cope. The woman they all still thought of as Dorraine would have run the risk of exposure if she'd agreed to accept the Cup.

  "But there was that old family stricture. The idea of using it came to my father when Director Weir took a turn for the worse. And so I could avoid the Cup after all." She sounded bewildered. "And so it still doesn't make sense. Why should he need to have you out of the way, Hobart Floyt?"

  "Your father modified the wording of the stricture," he said quietly. "If he didn't tell you that, it was probably to keep from burdening you. And you told it to your husband and Dame Tiajo in good faith. Then Inst discovered that I'd been included in the will at the last
moment."

  Alacrity thought of the conversation just before the air-bike launch; Inst had heard Dorraine misquote the stricture in Alacrity's presence, and that probably deepened the First Councillor's resolve. Of course, by then the plan to get Hobart Floyt, amateur historian and genealogist, out of the way must already have been made. With the Severeemish looking for any excuse to revoke their fealty, it had been an absolute necessity.

  It had only taken a bit of luck and a certain amount of guidance on Inst's part to bring about an opportunity to put Floyt out of the picture—Inst, who'd forestalled a duel with mention of a race; Inst, who'd spoken out so strongly for reason and prudence, making sure that Tiajo would favor him and the contestants compromise on him as race escort.

  "Your father could've killed us, easy as could be, Dorraine," Alacrity said. "But he didn't. He didn't even try."

  "All that is well and good," Defense Minister Seven Wars conceded. "But it is clear that a lie has been foisted off on the Severeemish." He was now at rigid attention, addressing the queen. "Weir had us swear fealty to the daughter of Inst, a woman of royal blood. With all deference, madam, you are not that woman."

  Floyt and Alacrity braced themselves; the room was still. In moments word could leap forth faster than light, and war would dismantle Weir's lifework.

  "Of course, she does rule Agora," Sortie-Wolf pointed out, to end the silence. He turned to Seven Wars. "Father, do you think that part of the oath might apply? A mere technicality, of course … "

  "Of course," concurred Seven Wars, fingering his chin with steel-hard nails. "And another: Inst referred to her as his daughter, not just once, but on many occasions. Not a formal adoption proceeding, perhaps, but a strong point of usage."

  There were puzzled glances and knotted brows all around the chamber. Seven Wars and Sortie-Wolf were enjoying themselves enormously.

  "Sophistry, perhaps," the son warned.

  "But the sort our lawgivers dearly love to haggle over," the father averred.

  "And just what are you both driving at?" Tiajo demanded.

  They gazed at her innocently. "Why, that there must be a reappraisal of the Severeemish oath of fealty."

  "You know that I'll never let you break away from the Domain," Redlock said.

  "Oh? And do you think you can defeat the Severeemish a second time? We are stronger now than ever."

  Redlock would've spoken to that, but Tiajo got there first. "You haven't answered my question. Why this talk of lawgivers and technicalities? And reappraisals?"

  Sortie-Wolf smiled ferociously. "The Severeemish have grown stronger since coming into your sphere. And prospered as well. Why should we wish to break away? We've fought for you, and fought well; that was our promise. But now it's time for fealty to end, to be replaced by a true alliance between free and equal participants."

  Seven Wars produced a data capsule. "Our lawgivers have devoted some thought to the issue. Recent developments"—he nodded to Dorraine—"seem to make this an appropriate time to present their exegesis."

  Just happened to have it along, hmm? Alacrity scoffed to himself.

  The minister gave the capsule to Tiajo while Floyt thought, When, in the course of Severeemish events …

  "You were waiting for something like this!" Alacrity exclaimed. These stiff-necked, legalistic, surprisingly loyal people plainly would never dream of asking that an oath be dissolved without some grounds.

  "Boy, have we been used." Floyt shook his head in disbelief.

  "Ah, not altogether," Sortie-Wolf replied. "You managed to bring a great measure of trouble upon yourselves." To Tiajo he said, "Please consider carefully what we have said. We would be steadfast and faithful friends. You know the worth of the Severeemish word."

  The old woman nodded, lips pursed in thought. "I've never had cause to doubt it." Her eyes moved to Alacrity and Floyt. "The memorial ceremony will begin in a few hours. Go and prepare, both of you. And see that you mention nothing that's happened here, or I'll show you how difficult life can be."

  "Hey, but what about—" was all Alacrity got out. By now, all Tiajo had to do was beetle her brows, and he shut up. As the two made a fast exit, Floyt noticed that Seven Wars and Sortie-Wolf were bowing low before Dorraine, rendering formal condolences for the loss of Inst. He hoped that was a good sign.

  Chapter 17

  Beyond the Dreams of Avarice

  The household physicians who treated them were the same ones who'd seen to Alacrity after the buzzball game; the doctors allowed as how they were beginning to feel right at home in the suite. As Sintilla gamely attempted to pry information out of them, Floyt reflected on what unfortunate shape he and Alacrity would have been in after only a few short days if not for the excellence of Frostpile's medical care.

  The breakabout interrupted his treatment periodically for attempts to contact Heart. The result was always the same: the communications terminal in the suite of rooms shared by the Nonpareil and her father had been set to refuse all incoming calls.

  "I'm going over there," Alacrity announced at last, struggling to rise.

  "No!" Sintilla warned.

  "Hell, no!" Floyt seconded. "Tiajo's mad enough as it is. We don't need any more trouble today, Alacrity!" The breakabout let a doctor push him back down onto his bed.

  "What is the grandam so angry about?" Sintilla pressed.

  "Would you two lugs have the decency to play fair? Haven't I always let you in on the dirt around here? Now, I know that you didn't finish the race, and Inst had an accident or something, but I can't get one straight answer out of anybody. How'm I supposed to make a living, fellas?"

  "Have you considered a career in commoscreen canvassing?" Alacrity inquired sweetly.

  She made an obscene gesture at him.

  "We truly aren't at liberty to tell you, Tilla," Floyt said gravely. "It wouldn't be fair to … someone who deserves better. But it will all come out soon, I expect; then we'll tell you everything we can, I promise you."

  "You better," she grumbled, rising and moving for the door. "I'm still counting on you guys to make me rich."

  Exhaustion and the effects of their medical treatment combined to make them sleep the afternoon away. As a result, they had to rush in order to make Weir's funeral on time.

  They'd put aside their own clothing for the flowing, togalike robes required by the ceremony, and soft tabi that eased their abused feet. Floyt had resumed his Inheritor's belt.

  Since they were about to penetrate one of Frostpile's inner most sanctums, they were routed to a new checkpoint and scanned with weapons detectors and telltales. As they were boarding a special corridor tram on which Endwraithe, the Spican banker, was already seated, they heard a commotion behind them.

  "Good luck, boys! I'll see you later!" Sintilla, her way blocked by an Invincible, was waving to them.

  The tram was starting to move. "We'll tell you all about it!" Alacrity called to her. Endwraithe was lost in thought. The two fell silent for the duration of the ride.

  Following a complex path, the tram gradually wound its way to the highest point in Frostpile, the top of a spire that spiraled like a unicorn's horn. They passed guards and patrols, hovering drones and surveillance pickups, and still more weapons detectors and monitoring emplacements.

  At the spire's summit was a spacious mirador, within it a formal garden. All three disembarked from the tram. An Invincible officer and his squad, in dashing, resplendent dress uniforms, scanned them yet again. They were then admitted.

  Only those who wore the Inheritor's belt and their invited companions were present, fewer than thirty in all. The many bequests and legacies going to groups and organizations would be taken care of later; the staff and household, along with certain other subordinates, would receive their recognition separately. But all those mentioned by name in the great man's last will and testament were present. It came to Floyt then what company he was keeping.

  All wore robes, and Inheritors their belts. Stare Skill was there
with Brother Grimm; Kid Risk, Sir John, and Dincrist had all come without escort, and spoke together now. Endwraithe went to join them. Alacrity restrained himself from confronting Heart's father; it could only hurt his own situation and threaten Floyt's.

  Admiral Maska was standing by himself. The stoop-shouldered Srillan twitched his long snout and made a solemn, shallow bow of greeting to the two. Tiajo, Redlock, and Dorraine were near the center of the garden, conversing quietly with the Severeemish.

  The governor saw them and walked over. "The forensic team examined the clothing Inst wore at the sportsfest. They found traces of the epoxy that was used to seal the game's computer," he confided.

  "Careless," Alacrity commented cooly. "It was probably a spur-of-the-moment thing." He hoped everybody was properly impressed by and grateful for his clement attitude.

  "We also found out that he'd procured an ampule of an Agoran virus some time back," Redlock said. "Nothing lethal, but it would've immobilized an unprotected person for quite a while."

  "That's probably what your little playmate on Earth was trying to get you to sample, Ho," Alacrity concluded.

  "I suppose if you insist on an investigation, my wife would accommodate you," Redlock informed them, jaw set.

  "No. No need for that," Floyt assured him. Alacrity withheld his own opinion. Redlock looked relieved.

  A deep tone sounded through the garden. Halidome was gone, and a gorgeous red dusk had settled.

  "If you wish to pay last respects, you've only a little time," the governor told them. He bowed, then went to rejoin his wife.

  On a crystal bier near the center of the garden reposed the body of the Defender, Director Caspahr Weir, under the blue-white aura of a preservation field. The bier rested on a piece of apparatus strange to both of them, though Alacrity saw it was some sort of projector.

  They had their first glimpse of the man whose actions had thrown them together and drawn them across the light-years. He was unremarkable, even in the uniform of a supreme commander. He wore only one decoration, a medallion with nineteen jeweled starbursts on it.