by Julie Ishaya
His only escape was to withdraw into himself, leaving behind the last sense of his body which the balm had not already claimed. Within the micro dimension of his mind, he found the cliff's edge where the void still existed, untouched by the inhibitor. The white light beckoned him, but he skirted its edges, his virtual being shaking its head in worry and fear. He sat on the crystalline edge of the cliff, cold, alone, and drew his knees up to his chest. Looking down, he realized that even in his own dreamscape he was still naked and vulnerable.
22
The Shiv kai sat on his throne breathing in the heat of the fusion well and contemplating what he would do if the experiments should fail. Slit the Nexian's throat? Crucify him for proving useless to the cause? Although he'd shared these notions of malcontent with Rai Jinn, he left his daughter ignorant, having monitored everything Siri heard and understood for over two years. He'd shared only the knowledge of the transcendant with her since the last mistake he made which almost cost him half of his people.
Eyes closed, within he still saw their bodies strewn in the streets of the village, blood trickling from their noses. The protein strain, which saved the neural core from total breakdown, demanded a sacrifice: men, women, and children of all ages.
But because of that mistake, he came to know of Kieriell Shyr'ahm. It had sparked the Nexian emperor's paranoia without which that certain consulate meeting just over two years ago would never have been called. It was fate, the kai had decided, working in his favor.
Through his link with the neural core, his mind's eye saw his prize in the laboratory three levels down. He saw the Nexian's arms, legs, and torso, all bound in the bio-tech tendrils that moved at his will. He touched the face, pinkish in hue and healthy if glossed with sweat. He felt how the vines held the head erect, saw up close how the eyes were closed, hiding any consciousness behind them.
In the event of success, he planned to have a statue erected of Kieriell Shyr'ahm. Made of milky, polished marble, it would display the transcendant as he looked entangled in the neural flesh, in that moment when Kieriell Shyr'ahm, however unwilling, surrendered his dignity to give the Shiv their freedom. But the statue's eyes would be open. The form should have more strength and grace. The head would be held up, looking out upon the new world which the Shiv would discover once they had the power to break free of this dying little rock.
The kai's consciousness turned away from the laboratory and looked into the past, out from the palace antechamber.
Once the view through the double doors looked across hills and valleys and witnessed a scape of star rises and a blue sky. Crisp air and creatures that chirped and sang from a melange of plant life. That was how it used to be, but the current kai was born too late to know it with his eyes. He only knew it from reading the palace's memory cells, and sometimes he wondered if it wasn't all a lie.
Often he went to the antechamber to look out at the enclosed lower colony and imagine the past. How he hated his ancestors for taking it all away from him. What did the color red look like under daystar light? How did streams of water flow by themselves without the aid of ducts and pump systems?
These questions and millions more ate at him, drove him insane. But now, he reminded himself, he had the transcendant, a perfect jewel sprung from a race of ordinary stones.
Once more he reassured himself that everything would go as planned.
Adam stared numbly into Kieriell's empty chamber, still just as its occupant had left it with a litter of books on the floor and couch of the lounge chamber—always there because Kieriell never cleaned his study area—to the window screens that looked out on space, especially the central one which was Kieriell's favorite.
Kieriell's wall of stars.
Rubbing at his tired eyes, sniffling away the congestion of sleeplessness, Adam sat on the end of the bed, stared at the floor and propped forward, elbows on knees. How many arguments and reconciliations had he gone through with his son in this room? he wondered. That he might never see Kieriell again scoured him and brought forth a solitary question.
"What will I tell Jenny?" he whispered to the air.
He would not tell her in a missive. That would be cowardly and too painful for her. Too painful for him if he couldn't hold her in the flesh. For now he could postpone the necessary act; he could wait just a little longer in hopes of hearing news of his son's condition and whereabouts.
He must be afraid, he thought. Kieriell might be twenty and a young man by Valtaerian standards, but to a Nexian or a Shiv he was still a child.
A noise in the outer chamber drew up his gaze from the floor and he looked out into the lounge. He stood when Asmodéus' silhouette filled the passage.
Adam started to cross the floor when he saw that his father held something. He recognized the shape of the box as like the one in his own wardrobe.
(I had this made for Kieriell recently,) the emperor sent softly. (But I really didn't want to see him ever wear it.)
He bowed his head slightly, a twisting pain reaching up from his heart into his throat. "May I?" he asked hoarsely.
Asmodéus nodded.
Clearing the remaining distance, Adam reached up and ran a hand over the handsome deep-red stain of the container then lifted the hinged lid. He stared at the silver likeness of Kieriell's face, the hollow eyes reminding him all the more of his son's absence. The mask lay on black velvet bedding.
Adam looked away while he lowered the lid. He tried not to ask if Kieriell would ever have the chance to wear the mask as an official of the court.
(We are together in this trial,) Asmodéus said. (It's something far greater than adversarial challenge, and the structure of Nex is on the verge of change. If we get Kieriell back—)
"If," Adam uttered.
(When he returns to us, we will begin laying grounds for a new system. Sometimes tradition only gets in the way of progress. We will eliminate tradition.)
A small laugh of disbelief rattled Adam. "We already tried that, and your authority is not that strong. What makes you think the other lords will go along with it?"
(That's not easy.) He handed the box out to Adam, who took it without thinking. (I plan to begin the opening proposals with the other lords within three cycles. Nex will begin a unification with itself, a complete remodeling of the old ways.)
"And Kieriell?" Adam asked anxiously.
(Perhaps we will get the Shiv's attention. I cannot just change our codes to suit our favor. They have Kieriell legally, but perhaps we can propose that the negotiations go on in another form. Our previous route faltered, and now Kieriell will be our catalyst to move on. You must find your way to work with me on this, Adam.)
Saying nothing, Adam looked down at the box in his hands. As if he could see through the lid, he envisioned the silver face within, unlined with age, eternally young and revealing no emotion. Was all of this inevitable? he wondered. Could some kind of good come from Kieriell's abduction? The only way to know was to continue moving ahead, to remove the stale trappings of the system and install a new order. Perhaps underneath it all, the Shiv would take notice, and then Nex might gain new, more productive grounds for dealing with them, ancient enemies though they had been.
And perhaps, he also thought, Kieriell would never have to wear this damned thing.
Slowly, Adam nodded.
How long he stared beyond the edges of his mind, he didn't know. Time lost its purpose here, on the edge of the cliff that looked into everything and nothing. He felt like a child who couldn't swim and forever looked out to sea, wondering what would happen if he took one step toward the surf. Would it engulf him in a tidal wave? Or would it swirl around his ankles, soothing against his pulse?
When Kieriell found the will to move away from the edge of the void, he allowed the limbs of his virtual body to gradually branch back into their corresponding places on the physical plane. First came the tingling down through his arms into his fingers, then his legs into his toes. Then finally, his torso and heartbeat. He j
olted into full awakening surprised to find himself lying on his back, one arm limp over the side of the bunk in his cell.
The laboratory, the technicians, the consuming fleshy bonds, and most of all the kai, all came back to him like a dream almost forgotten before it managed to grab on and jump to the front of his mind.
He stared up at the ridged ceiling, brown and patched with mildew. His skin was sore all over. He could tell that he had bruises on his neck, inner arms, and around his ankles. The technicians had pierced these places to draw their samples and left sore spots. When he laid a hand across his belly, his fingers brushed over several cloth patches. He leaned up just enough to examine these. Pulling one patch up slightly, he saw that a thin layer of skin had been shaved away, but the tiny wound had scabbed over.
He was dressed again, in the leggings, tunic, and boots, and amazingly his amulet had survived the ordeal although the cord was still a little sticky from the balm.
A miserable groan escaped him. Pride hurt, but he had to admit that he had pressed his chances with the Shiv kai. He had not had the slightest idea of the worst that could be done to him—short of the kai having him executed. Death, he felt, would be better than going back to the slab.
With another groan, he curled up into a sitting position. A sour smell arose with the movement, and he wrinkled his nose as he sniffed the air to determine where the reek came from. "It's me," he deduced, collapsing back on the bunk with a bitter laugh. He needed another bath.
He laid a crooked arm across his eyes. For a long time he listened to the buzz of the field. He allowed his mind to blur, filling with white noise, while he searched for inner answers to his dilemma. He knew that the kai would be asking him questions again, and he admitted that he must answer to some degree.
He dropped his arm away from his eyes and rolled over on the bunk. Only then did he catch the figure out of the corner of his eye, standing beyond the field watching him. He raised up as far as his body would tolerate, and stared back irritably at the Shiv kai's daughter, Siri.
Her eyes seemed too large for her face, blinking so innocently that he could not stand it. She now wore a long surcoat of soft white, belted at the waist with a slender, jeweled chain. The open sides of the garment revealed her narrow hips, her thin arms, and the small outer curves of her breasts.
If only she didn't look so damned vulnerable—as vulnerable as Kieriell felt. He sat up wearily and recalled all of his bitterness toward her father, which he now aimed at her. "What do you want, Shiv?" he snarled.
A dimple of a frown sank in on her forehead, and she stepped back a pace.
He casually straightened and stretched his arms, working out the kinks. His spine popped three good times, then he settled back into a slouch.
Abruptly she asked, "Why are you so angry?" There was that thick, unpracticed Nexian.
"And why shouldn't I be?" Playing the ass to point out the obvious probably wouldn't get him anywhere, but it certainly made him feel a little better. He gestured around him. "How am I to be happy in this cell? Why does your father keep me here?"
"Security," she replied. "He says that you are endangered."
"So tell me, Siri, in what way am I endangered?"
She didn't answer him.
He bent his legs out from the bunk just to make sure they were still working, then he dared to stand and approach the field. Staring through the red energy, he examined the horizontal ellipses of her pupils, a trait he found bizarre on the other members of her race whom he had encountered, but not so on her. The last time he had seen her was right before he went in to see the kai at repast. "Why are you here?" he asked softly.
She stayed quiet for a long time, and he followed her gaze as it traveled over his face, paused at his throat where the amulet hung, then moved down his body and up again. If he thought of her as just another member of the race and didn't equate her with her father, he found he did not hate her.
"I. . ." she said, lapsing back into her own language. "I have never seen anything like you before."
Most of the statement was clear to Kieriell's grasp of Shiv vocabulary. She spoke softly and with an undertone of child-like wonder. He worked the statement around in his mind, wondering if it had some other meaning to it. If he had translated it right.
"You've never seen a Nexian?" he finally asked.
"Not this close. I thought Nexians had scales and claws."
He laughed. "Well, you're not too far off the mark."
"Then it's true that Nexians are shape shifters?" Again she tried to speak his language and with adequate success.
"Shape shifter is a loose term." He grinned. "We don't actually change shape, but we can get quite scaly."
Her eyes widened at the near perversity in the statement.
"What about this?" He tapped the inhibitor gently, winced slightly when it objected with a sting to his temple. "Is it really necessary for me to wear this thing?" He thought he might throw her off with this question, but she made a quick and reasonable reply.
"That is to protect you from any psionic disruptions that might come from the neural core. A little over two years ago our technicians tested a newly developed protein strain. The result produced a psionic—"
"I know," he said tightly. Just go along with it, he thought.
Before he realized it, she had reached up with a code key and deactivated the field. It blinked out with an objecting snap!
Taken aback, he froze. She had access to his cell! How easy it would be for him to overpower her, to hold her hostage as he worked out an escape. If the inhibitor really did shield him from other psionics, then she would have no power over him. But it would be a blind escape, he rationalized. That would get him absolutely nowhere.
In five small but bold steps she came forward and stood before him. Then her motions became more fluid, her hands unclasping the chain around her waist so that the surcoat loosened.
He didn't deny that her skin looked smooth, the texture like flower petals, but as her intentions grew more blatant, he gulped down the taste of revulsion.
"The way to unification, and the survival of the Shiv," she explained softly, "is through careful extra-racial breeding."
He didn't retreat when her body invaded his space and she took his hand. She raised it and examined how large it was compared to her own. Her eyes widened briefly when she saw that his nails were indeed on the verge of becoming talons.
He watched her in fascination, noted the juxtaposition of his pale, pinkish fingers run along side her gray ones. As she turned his hand over and felt the toughened pads of his palms, he realized that he hadn't been with a woman in over five years, not since his first experience which had been a brief rite of passage. But this was no woman. Siri was little more than a girl, obviously put up to this by her father's selfish notions of experimentation. The kai wanted to see if the gridcode could be passed on through breeding like any other gene. In the event that the experiment was successful, he would also have a powerful grandchild in his line.
Without a word she brought his hand up under her tabard, turning his palm inward to cup her breast. He felt the tiny nipple harden into a fleshy bead. The pale thrum of a pulse moved beneath. His thumb absently caressed the more taut skin below her breast, and he traced the hard ridge of a rib. And another rib below that.
"You see?" she said with only a fringe of confidence. She meant for him to realize that she was anatomically compatible with him.
Slowly, so as not to offend her, he withdrew his hand, thinking not of the inviting little breast but of the prominence of her ribs. So fragile. "No," he whispered.
She lowered her eyes, shame staining her cheeks, and he found that bare touch of color alluring.
"You don't understand," he added, feeling that his action should be justified. "We cannot have a child, not for the sake of unification or otherwise."
"But a child conceived by a Nexian-Shiv union—"
"Stop," he interrupted, raising his voice just a lit
tle too much. Then he couldn't explain it at all. He shook his head. "No, Siri. I will not be used that way."
"Used?" Her brows knitted. "But my father told me that—"
"Your father has told you a lot of things." With that, he turned his back on her and strode over to the bunk to sit down. His joints still protested, but he bore it as he glanced at her one more time. Without the use of his psionics, he couldn't know empathically how much damage he had just done to her feelings, but he declared that her father was to blame. He said hollowly, "Tell your father I'm not to be bred like some pet."
She paused in her departure, struck by the statement. He glimpsed her back as she moved through the doorway, the skirt panel of the surcoat wavering behind in her path, revealing part of a firm thigh. She carried the chain belt in her hand. He didn't watch her any further, but he was sure that when she turned back to reactivate the field, she didn't look at him again either.
23
Kieriell tolerated the medical technicians who came regularly to examine his condition. Other attendants took him to be bathed, and he finally gave in and ate some of the protein muck that was the Shiv's primary food staple. As the kai had said, he could be stubborn and be force fed, or he could eat on his own. The stuff had a distinctively artificial taste to it, sweet with a bitter aftertaste, and as the gooey texture sickened him, he swallowed it down before his tongue had any further chance to observe and record.
When left alone in his cell, he paced, meditated, or tried to exercise in the space he had. But the atmosphere of the place, dull and dusty and void of windows or anything else to give him some clue as to his location in the palace, quickly drained his energy. He began to sleep a lot, and with sleep he lost all sense of time, a small comfort, but then the dreams began, and they followed him into the waking world. He would jerk and gasp as he swore, in his sleep, that he'd felt slimy vines crawling across his body and restricting him.