Schism: Part One of Triad (Saga of the Skolian Empire)

by Asaro, Catherine

  “Cracked the field mesh and memorized the Echo.”

  “Do you have proof?”

  “Nothing. She covered herself too damn well.”

  “Without proof, we can’t apply penalties.”

  Blackmoor frowned. “We can’t let it go.”

  “I know.” Steam curled out of Kurj’s mug and drifted over the J-Force insignia. “She’s hurting.”

  “We’re all hurting. That doesn’t excuse it.”

  “No.” Kurj set down his mug. “It doesn’t.”

  “I want her off the honor list.”

  “With what justification? Cadets aren’t the only ones bound by the honor code. If we punish someone without evidence, we’re violating it as well.”

  The commandant thumped the table. “She’s one of the best cadets we’ve ever had, but she’s never going to reach her potential if she can’t shape up.”

  Kurj could only nod, too tired to say more. He had so little left for this mess. The Kyle web drained him more each day. That voracious, ill-defined universe absorbed all he had to give and demanded more. It was too much for two people, but he and Dehya had to do it. No one else could. Now his brother—his heir—had died. He had known the risk existed, known that the same flame of battle that would forge his heirs as it had forged him could also kill them. He understood Soz’s rage. It burned within him as well, but in his case, the fury turned inward, against himself, for he was the one who had sent Althor to his death.

  He had only one heir now. And she wasn’t ready.

  The lights were low in the viewing chamber when Soz entered. A sofa and several armchairs stood around the walls, upholstered in soft cloth, subtle grays and blues. Abstract holoart swirled on the walls, soothing and calm.

  Soz did not feel calm.

  A large window took up the top half of the opposite wall—and a woman with a cap of red hair stood there, gazing into the room beyond.

  Soz stopped, startled. “Grell?”

  The other woman turned around. It was indeed Soz’s former roommate. “Heya, Soz.” Grell sounded subdued. Her face was drawn, with dark circles under her eyes.

  Soz joined her at the window. Althor lay in the hospital room beyond. He was stretched out on his back on a floater, a bed with chips worked into its air mattress, giving it an AI brain. It could react to tension in his body, ease muscle strain, dispense nanomeds, monitor his vital signs, massage his body, anything.

  None of it helped.

  The doctors were still running tests, and until Soz’s parents told them to stop, they would continue, convincing themselves beyond every infinitesimal doubt that he would never wake. During it all, they allowed very few people to visit him. Soz didn’t want to stay out here. She wanted to sit by his bedside, talk to him even if he couldn’t hear, offer comfort. But she had to wait for permission, until they exhausted every hope modern medicine could offer. It seemed so useless, all their vaunted technology. Althor lay there, his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling with each shallow breath, but he never woke.

  “He’s been like this ever since I came,” Grell said. “Every time I come.”

  “I hadn’t realized you and he were … friends.” Soz didn’t know what to say. Had he been seeing Grell? She hadn’t even known. Given their argument, she supposed he had reason to keep it to himself.

  Grell glanced at her. “Yes. We’re—friends.”

  “I didn’t realize.”

  Grell went back to watching him. “Do you know what he asked me?”

  It was easier for Soz to look at her than at her dying brother. “Well—no.”

  “If I could imagine spending my life with someone as a friend.”

  Ah, gods. He had really meant to do it, marry a woman so their father would let him come home. “What did you say?”

  “I didn’t. I never gave him an answer. But I could have said yes.” She smiled at Soz. “He’s an incredible man. Sweet.”

  Althor? Sweet? “Are we talking about the same person?”

  “Well, yes. Of course.”

  Soz squinted at her. “He wasn’t sweet to me.”

  Grell cocked an eyebrow at her. “Maybe that’s because of all the puffle-wogs you put in his clothes.”

  “I did not put puffle-wogs in his clothes,” Soz said, indignant. “It was spiney-wogs.” Twelve-year-old Althor had yelped most satisfyingly when he put on his shirt. “He put puffle-wogs in mine to get back at me.”

  Grell laughed, soft and strained. “He loved you. Even if the two of you didn’t always know how to express it.”

  “Loves,” Soz said. “Not loved.”

  “Soz—I’m so sorry.”

  Soz shook her head. She couldn’t go where Grell had already arrived. Until Althor actually stopped breathing, Soz refused to believe he wouldn’t wake up.

  Grell spoke awkwardly. “I’m not sure why he was seeing me. But I wanted you to know …” Her voice trailed off.

  “Know what?” Soz asked.

  “It didn’t matter to me.”

  “It?”

  “His, uh, preferences.”

  “Oh.” Soz flushed.

  “I liked him the way he was.”

  “Is.” Is.

  “Yes. Is.” If Grell had any thoughts about contradicting her, she kept them to herself.

  “Could you have been happy in a relationship like that?”

  “I think so.” Grell smiled crookedly. “Hey, he’s an Imperial Heir.” Soz scowled. “Not a good answer.” If someone sought her out because of her title, she would flip him over her shoulder and whack him down on the ground. She sometimes suspected that the men feared she would do that to them regardless. It could explain her lack of dates.

  Grell smiled. “You should see the look on your face.”

  “You haven’t seen the half of it, if you go after my brother for his title.”

  “You know me better than that.”

  Soz exhaled. “Yes. I do.” Grell had been trying to make a joke, with about as much success as Soz’s jokes. Neither of them would ever win awards for their wit, she supposed.

  They stood side by side for a while longer, watching Althor breathe. Finally Grell said, “I’ve a test tomorrow. I guess I should try to study.” She squeezed Soz’s shoulder. “See you.”

  “Right. See you.” Soz squeezed her hand back.

  After Grell left, Soz continued to watch Althor. Wake up, she willed. Please. Wake up.

  After a while she sat on the couch and sprawled out, slouched against its back, her legs stretched out on the table in front of it, what Earth types called a “coffee” table, though Soz could never imagine having a cup of the strange stuff anywhere, on a table or otherwise.

  She dozed for a while, exhausted from running all day and slamming through the Echo. As fatigue leached her anger, remorse set in. Jazar was right. The person she had cheated today was herself. Even if the brass here never proved what she had done, she would know.

  The door across the room whispered open. Soz considered waking up all the way to see who had arrived, but it seemed too difficult. She slitted her eyes open to peer at the door.

  Shannon walked into the room.

  What the hell? How did he get here? Her thoughts tumbled in a rush as she jumped up. “Shani! When did you—”

  He turned—and the words died in her throat. How mortifying. She had just called a perfect stranger by her kid brother’s nickname.

  “Excuse me?” the man asked.

  Soz’s face heated with her blush. Gods. He was about Althor’s age, early twenties. Straight blond hair brushed his shoulders in a style similar to the way Shannon wore his. He had blue eyes, though, and his face had a chiseled look, too unbearably handsome to be real. No one should be that gorgeous. It had to violate some conservation law of the cosmos.

  “Uh—sorry.” Soz cleared her throat. “I thought you were someone else.”

  “Are you Soz?”

  “Yes.” She blinked. “How did you know?”


  “You fit Althor’s description.” He motioned toward her head. “Not many people have hair like that.”

  “Oh.” Apparently this was another of Althor’s “friends.” It was bad enough he had paramours coming out of the woodwork when she couldn’t even get a date, but really, the universe had no justice when her brother had so much better luck with good-looking men than she did.

  “Well,” Soz said. “So you know me but I don’t know you. Who are you?” Then she inwardly winced. Social niceties had never been one of her strong points.

  “I’m Chad.” He nodded, the formal greeting of a commoner to nobility. Either he didn’t know people were supposed to bow to royalty or else he didn’t realize Althor’s full identity.

  “My greetings, Chad,” Soz said.

  “Althor never mentioned me?”

  “Not by name.” She had a pretty good idea who he was, though, given Althor’s comments about his “former” friend. “You’re the one who dumped him, right?”

  Chad flushed. Then he glanced toward the window. “How is he?” “Just about dead,” Soz said. “That what it takes to make you come around?”

  He paled, his face strained. Then he went to the window and looked into the room beyond.

  Soz joined him. “How come you never visited him at DMA?”

  “He told me to stay away.”

  “Why?” she demanded.

  Chad slanted a look at her. “Are you his protection squad?”

  Soz crossed her arms. “I know when he’s been hurt.”

  “This is between Althor and me.”

  “Well, I guess it’s stalled then.” Maybe she wasn’t being fair to him, but it grated that he would come only when Althor lay in a coma.

  Chad started to speak. Then he shook his head. They stood, neither looking at each other, both watching the hospital room.

  “Ah, hell,” Soz said. “I’m not handling this very well.”

  Chad leaned his forehead against the window. “Nor I.” In a low voice, he added, “I never did.”

  “Let’s try again.” She forced some cheer into her voice. “I’m pleased to meet you, Chad.”

  He straightened up and faced her. “And I you.”

  Then he smiled.

  Whoa. A smile that dazzling should have been rated as a lethal weapon. It would drop people in their tracks. What a lovely way to go, though.

  Soz cleared her throat. “So.” She ran out of words. Even at the best of times, she wasn’t great with small talk. When faced with her brother’s devastatingly handsome former friend, she had no clue what to say.

  Chad’s face gentled. “You’re exactly like he described.”

  Soz grimaced. “I couldn’t be that bad.”

  He laughed, his voice full and resonant, like an orator or a singer. “He never said you were.”

  “Did you, uh, know him long?”

  His smile faded. “Several years.”

  “Why did you wait until now to come back?”

  His voice cooled. “What makes you think it was my choice?”

  That surprised her. Althor had given her the impression Chad left him. “I had the sense Althor missed you.”

  “That may be.” Bitterness edged his voice. “But it changes nothing.”

  Soz could tell there was a lot more here. “You guys had a fight?” Then she winced. That was clumsy. But how was she supposed to say it?

  “Of sorts.”

  “What sorts?”

  He looked exasperated. “Are you always this blunt?”

  Soz reddened. “Well—yes. Afraid so.”

  He smiled slightly, but it rapidly faded. “I was doing something he disagreed with. He gave me an ultimatum. Stop or he would leave.” He exhaled. “I didn’t stop. So he left.”

  Suddenly, with clarity, Soz knew. “It was you. The phorine. You were the one he was protecting.”

  “He told you?”

  “You chose drugs over my brother?” Soz wanted to hit him. “Gods, you’re stupid.”

  His voice hardened. “You’ve obviously never taken phorine.”

  She crossed her arms. “He should have goddamned turned you in.” Chad spoke tightly. “He did.”

  She saw it in his face then. The betrayal. The shock. The withdrawal. No wonder he hadn’t come to see Althor again. She lowered her arms and spoke more quietly. “Did it work?”

  “It was a nightmare.”

  “I’m sorry.” She meant it.

  It was a moment before he answered. “Yes, it worked. I’m grateful to be free of it. But that doesn’t excuse what he did.”

  “Chad, if you had died or had your life destroyed because he had done nothing, would that have been all right?”

  “It was my life to destroy.”

  “You don’t know my brother very well, if you believe he could have walked away from someone he loved and lived with himself.”

  Chad pushed his hand through his hair, tousling it around his collar. “It didn’t seem that way then.”

  “He told the brass at DMA he didn’t know any cadets who used phorine.”

  “He didn’t. I was never at DMA. I’m a civilian.” He turned back to the window and pressed his palms against the glass, looking into the room. “He paid for me to stay at the most expensive private clinic on Diesha. Then he turned me in to the civilian authorities. My sentence was either the clinic or prison.” He shrugged, trying to look as if he didn’t care. “I took the clinic.”

  “You must be a psion, if phorine affected you.”

  “Yes. Both empath and telepath.”

  No wonder Althor liked him. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out.”

  “Your family would never have accepted us anyway.”

  Soz didn’t know what to say. He was right. Nor was it only her family. The Assembly no doubt had an arranged match in mind for Althor, just as they did for the rest of her siblings. Maybe Grell.

  For a while they stood together watching Althor. Eventually Chad had to leave. Then Soz was alone with her memories and a life that no longer made sense. In her childhood, she had seen the world in bright, clear colors. Now everything had changed. She could no longer fall back on unconditional ideas of right and wrong. Every time she thought she knew what path to take, she ran into moral, ethical, and emotional roadblocks. Which way? Always the choices came with a price. DMA. Vibarr. Shannon and Vitarex. The Echo. Althor’s silence on Chad. Right and wrong made no sense anymore. It had all turned gray.

  She laid her palm on the window, wishing she could apologize to Althor for all those spiney-wogs. “Come back,” she whispered.

  No one answered.

  A single light burned in the outer office, gilding the antique moldings on the door frame and the polished wooden desk. Soz paused, uncertain. For some reason, she hadn’t expected this place to be empty. It made sense, of course; it was well into evening. The executive officer who usually sat here had surely gone home.

  Soz steeled herself and walked to a large door behind the desk. Paneled in gold wood, with brass fittings, the door arched with an elegant severity. Antique severity; it had no pager or access panel she could see. Nothing to do but knock. Taking a breath, she rapped on the wooden portal. Then she waited.

  “Come,” a deep voice called.

  She had gone too far now to turn back. She turned the ornate brass knob and opened the door.

  The large office beyond matched the door, traditional and imposing. It wasn’t the first time she had been here, but it was the most intimidating. Commandant Grant Blackmoor sat behind his desk across the huge office, his arms folded on its surface, a slew of holosheets in front of him. He looked tired, worn-out, ready to finish his day. From the pile of work, Soz suspected that regardless of whether or not he was ready to go home, he would be here for many more hours. The prospect of full-scale war was keeping more than a few people awake at night. Like about two trillion.

  He set his light-stylus on the table. “Good evening, Cadet Valdoria.” He indicated a chair
by his desk. “Come in.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Soz made the long trek across his office. Her palms were wet with perspiration, but she restrained the urge to wipe them on her jumpsuit. She sat in the chair, on its edge.

  Blackmoor watched her with a cool, measured gaze. “What can I do for you this evening?”

  Soz knew she had to push ahead with this now or she would lose her nerve. “Sir—I don’t know if you heard. Earlier today I broke the record for running the Echo.”

  His gaze seemed to shutter. “Quite an accomplishment.”

  “I’m afraid it isn’t.” She bit her lip, then realized what she was doing and stopped. “Sir.” She forced out words that wanted to stick in her throat. “I cheated.”

  “You cheated.” Blackmoor didn’t make it a question.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “How?”

  “I hacked the field training mesh.”

  “In other words, you violated the honor code.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  His expression hardened. “Tell me why I shouldn’t have you expelled immediately.”

  What if they threw her out? Just because they hadn’t done it to other students for similar infractions didn’t mean they wouldn’t with her. She wanted to say, You didn’t expel Vibarr for harassing me. You didn’t even expel a damned phorine seller. But those cadets had “left” anyway.

  None of that mattered, though. Soz had realized it as she watched her brother’s living death. She had to live with herself. The fact that others may not have received as harsh a punishment made no difference. She had to learn to deal with the gray or she would lose her way forever.

  She said only, “You have the right.”

  “So I do.” He sat considering her. “Valdoria, you aren’t the first student to crack the field mesh. And we already had good reason to believe you had done so.”

  She had no excuses, so she said nothing.

  Blackmoor leaned back in his seat, his elbow on its upholstered arm. “What do you think I should do with you?”

  Soz met his gaze, knowing her face was red. “Some sort of disciplinary action.”

  “I’m glad we’re in agreement.” He rubbed the back of his neck and turned his head from side to side. “I’m taking you off the honor list. You will have a new set of demerits, starting this evening. Your altered status and assignments will be posted on the mesh tonight. Also, you will be on probation for the rest of this year.”