The Kinship of Stars

by Julie Ishaya

  "Admiral." Asmodéus looked into the eye-slits of the officer's mask, the silver surface of which described an elder Nexian face, though accents of scales had been detailed around the eyes and along the brow line. The silver-gray eyes themselves, shadowed within the mask, were spoked with red, the pupils fine lines. The Admiral's white hair draped over the squared shoulders of his crisp black uniform layered with a tabard and thick belt that marked his station.

  "My lord," Hak'iim stated, bowing his head, "our sensors detect Shiv movement toward the frontier. They dropped out of displacement less than a quarter-hour ago. It's an attack force, my lord, composed of an estimated three-hundred ships."

  Asmodéus drifted closer to the screen. "Of course. The kai wants the satisfaction of the first strike."

  "So they're coming to us," Kallian remarked dryly. He stepped up beside the emperor to hear the rest of the report.

  "The Torban fleet can hold off the majority of them," the Admiral continued, "but many could slip past us into outer Nex."

  "I'll see to the position of the other fleets," Asmodéus said, his mind reeling over the changing circumstances. He contemplated a support plan.

  Kallian kept his hands clasped behind him while he waited, watching the emperor's profile. "Keep them busy, Admiral," he said. "Tactical drones will be dispatched to back you up." Still looking at the emperor, he asked, "What about prisoners, my lord?"

  The question awakened Asmodéus from his pondering. "Yes," he said to Hak'iim, "take prisoners if possible. Try to immobilize any of the bulk ships likely to have an officer on board for interrogation."

  "Yes, my lord, I will do everything necessary." Hak'iim bowed, and the screen went blank momentarily before it recalled the view of the frontier.

  Asmodéus turned to Kallian and lowered his head, eyes down cast because he couldn't deny the instability of his core-being. (Is it irrational, General, that I should seek vengeance?) He had never, in the centuries that he had known Kallian, asked such a question of the officer. There was no one else present to ask; Adam had taken his feelings and forced them down somewhere inside, and the chamberlain was gone.

  At first there was no response to the closed sending, and he looked back up with a frown that he had just exposed one of his deeper weaknesses.

  Kallian said, his eyes level with the emperor's, (My lord, you've lost something very special, and beneath your mantle, you are still a man.) The last came out evenly, as if delivering a schematic report. Then Kallian's eyes softened and he bowed respectfully. (I would have vengeance had Kieriell Shyr'ahm been of my brood.)

  The emperor said nothing more. He felt the shift's power over reason. Felt it when his vision briefly went dim and his eyes felt numb, affected by the pigment change from blue to full red. The crown mane and all that it represented were like a dead weight pulling his head down to the floor.

  He glanced around the tabernacle at the console lights and the membrane wall where Adam had been standing when the feeling scoured them both. The others present had claimed they mildly felt it, but what it had done to the crown prince left no question. Adam, still so young, struggled the most with the shift and reason.

  Shaking his head, Asmodéus traced the surface of the map with his fingertips. With a quiet swallow and a boost of will, he composed himself. (I have to find Adam,) he sent to Kallian as he started for the lift doors then paused, arching one brow as a new thought occurred to him. (For now, General, contact the Mastemas and relay my most severe order that Lord Nehmon is not to move from his current position.)

  Kallian nodded, an approving spark in his eyes.

  Then Asmodéus turned on his heel and reached the lift in several long, hurrying strides. In the silent compartment, he made the descent to seek out the crown prince.

  "Then I just let myself fall into the fusion well and somehow managed to teleport out," Kieriell finished his compressed version of the story, looking back and forth between Jarren and the maven. "Vertically," he added. "I teleported vertically." He had to pause to digest that a little more. Finally he finished, "I don't know how it was that I came here instead of Nex. I suppose my instincts were taking me as far away from the Shiv as possible."

  Jarren, sitting at the foot of the bed and deeply absorbed in his friend's ordeals, leaned closer.

  Kieriell relaxed back against the wall under the banner, holding a cup of water in his hands. He sipped steadily from it, feeling his strength returning flow by flow. "You just happened to be in the right place when I breached the grid," he went on explaining, looking at Jarren. "It's all kind of hazy now, but I seem to remember making a snap decision between breaking through at my home, or coming here. I guess I didn't really want to shock my mother."

  "So you vouched for shocking the shit out of me instead," Jarren remarked with a smirk. "Good going, friend." He shook a finger at Kieriell. "It's a good thing you told me that you could be a transcendant, otherwise I wouldn't have known what was going on."

  "And thank the multiverse that he is a transcendant." Ahrden retrieved a pitcher of water from the side table and offered to refill Kieriell's cup. "You must have faced your greatest fears in the Shiv hive," he said gently.

  Sipping at the water, Kieriell reflected. The memories washed through him, and his vision blurred for a moment. "I discovered fears that I would have never thought existed," he whispered, then his gaze darted back up and he blinked it all away. "I thought I could play games with the Shiv kai, keep him infuriated and off balance. If I was really so valuable to them, then I didn't figure they would actually hurt me." A sour taste coated his mouth, and the water didn't wash it away. He pushed the cup back at Jarren. "I was wrong."

  The numb cling of silence wavered about them all, and Kieriell sighed, his lungs still aching somewhat. He guessed that he was suffering some sort of phantom reaction to the heat of the fusion well. His body had come so close that he had felt pain just before he dissolved into light. The air had seared his nostrils and burned inside his chest as though he had breathed in acid that ate through his lung tissue. His skin tightened and blistered to the point where it could have split apart, exposing the outer layers of muscle before the final incineration. Transcending had apparently repaired these damages as well as ridded him of the inhibitor, but the remnants of shock lingered.

  "You've lost weight," Jarren observed. "But otherwise you don't look too shabby."

  "You need more rest," Ahrden added. He reached across the length of the bed and lifted Kieriell's chin.

  Kieriell looked up into the elder's watery eyes and returned a glimmer of gratitude. "I'll be all right," he assured, removing the maven's hand gently and trying to sit forward. He let thoughts of the Shiv temporarily disperse into the shadows of his mind. "The question is, what do I do now?" He sat forward, propping on his knees and scratching under his jaw line. "I need to get back to Nex, but. . ." At the moment, the idea of vertically teleporting again had the same appeal as diving into the fusion well. He still felt so weak, and he also felt the need to see his mother, if just for a little while. As for getting in touch with his father, he decided not to send a missive. Better to appear in the flesh, to show that he had strength, that he had overcome the trial of all trials. Whatever he did now, he must move quickly.

  "Take a moment," Ahrden said, "think on it." He stood and made for the passage, pausing in the opening to look back. "Jarren, help our guest find some clothes."

  "Yes, Sir."

  "We don't want to draw attention to Kieriell's presence. I still have to convince the others that that disturbance came from the wall." Then the old man quickened his pace, more so than Kieriell would have guessed him able, and disappeared down the hallway.

  Kieriell settled back on the bed and propped on one elbow. The light overhead had moved away from the skylight. He gazed up at blue sky and leafy tree branches while his mind chattered to itself on the possibilities of vertical teleportation. He tried to recall more than just the sensation of the void. His instincts had led hi
m into it without his consciousness coming apart completely. Maybe, he teased himself, if he jumped off a turret his instincts would save him again and this time he would find Nex.

  Jarren shuffled out of the room and returned moments later with a stack of clothes. "Here are some trousers and a shirt. I'll lend you a pair of boots, too." He left the clothes on the edge of the bed.

  "Thanks, Jare." Kieriell found Jarren's city-link com unit and soon, communication established, he settled before the little screen to admire the surprised face of his mother.

  Jenesaazi Mahlharium's eyes widened, liquid amber sparked with light from the tall windows of the manse sunroom. "Kieriell?" she whispered.

  "Hello, Mother," he said tenderly.

  Adam stared out the eye of the green room. While the activity of ships below his line of vision signified life in motion, the emptiness of space beyond the fleet reflected the emptiness he felt inside. Even the stars—Kieriell's beloved stars—seemed dead. Their light only an illusion. How many thousands of them, he wondered, really were dead? A star's light lived on, piercing space infinitely long after the source had darkened and collapsed. But the only light extending from Kieriell's life had been the psionic surge that had besieged the tabernacle.

  It was as if Kieriell's core-being had passed through him, carrying memories of pain in fire, and then vanished. Such surges were not uncommon to family members when one passed on. The psionic link between them, always there no matter how far apart they were, produced a paralyzing backlash. Adam still shook from it. Still shook from the kai's words.

  His eyes had reddened not from the shift but from the agony of unshed tears while he continued to deny what he felt. The knot in his throat reduced his breath to a rasp.

  In the end, Kieriell had proven his strength after all. But did he really take his own life rather than suffer the Shiv? Adam wondered. Or did the kai just claim that assuming he would not be considered at fault?

  The waterfall in the central cavern wall helped to drown out his thoughts, but it didn't wash away the bitter dragging of his heart. The birds in the trees chirped and trilled. Branches swayed in the artificial breeze. But it all meant nothing.

  He pretended not to hear the entrance open across the cavern at the top of the natural steps. He wanted to be left alone, and he had to concentrate to keep his instincts from throwing up a psionic wall against the presence of his father entering the green room.

  (Adam.)

  He inched closer to the eye and pressed a hand to the glass. The chilled surface stuck to his skin and stung when he pulled away.

  (Adam, I know your grief, but now we have a new matter to attend to.) Asmodéus stepped down from the landing, his cloak drawing out behind him over the stones.

  Although Adam acknowledged the sending, he was reluctant to respond. After a long moment of contemplating the eye, he turned to face the black-clad figure across the cavern. The uniform stood out like a cavity amid the greenery and scattered tropical blossoms.

  (A report has just come in from Admiral Hak'iim.) Asmodéus took two more cautious steps down. (The Shiv are on the move.)

  Deeper anger throbbed in Adam's head. He came down from the small flat near the eye and began to cross the grass. (Tell me,) he sent as he stopped feet away from the emperor.

  (The bulk of their armada is arrayed for attack and headed toward Nex,) Asmodéus explained. (The Torban fleet will be engaging them at any moment.) He gestured for his son to follow and started back up the steps.

  Adam picked up his pace. (What will you have me do?) This came out a little too persistently.

  (You will take the bridge of Imperial Command and accompany the Dyssian fleet to outer Nex. If the Shiv break past the Torban ships, tactical drones will be positioned to knock out as many as possible. Admiral Hak'iim will see to the apprehension of one of the greater Shiv vessels in hopes of taking a few prisoners.)

  "What are you saying?" Adam spat, stopping in the outer corridor just as the door to the green room closed in his path. "Why would we want prisoners?"

  Asmodéus paused to sigh patiently and continued, (We might discover what actually happened to Kieriell, how he died. You will relay reports back to the tabernacle of the extensive fighting.)

  "What good will I do in that?" Adam seethed, a low growl in his voice. "Give me a raptor." He advanced a step. Let my rage fight! It was a private thought, but he knew right away that his father had heard it clearly.

  Slowly Asmodéus turned back to face his son with a look of sympathy. (You are no pilot, Adam,) he said, (but I want your eyes and ears out there monitoring for me while I attend the tabernacle. You might have to engage the neural link to run the virtual targeting system. Only you or I have the authority to engage the link aboard Imperial Command. That, at least, is as good as piloting a fighter.)

  The last statement gave Adam a little more sense of purpose. (Please, Father,) his sending voice dropped as low as his speaking tone, (go with me. We could command together.) He heard himself and realized that it was the angry, primal side speaking, the shift guiding his judgment. His heart clenched. (We could be side by side when we destroy them.) Before he continued, Asmodéus reached out, his movement so fast that Adam didn't see it coming until his shoulders were clamped in his father's hands.

  (Listen to yourself, Adam. Do you hear it happening? Put it in check.)

  Adam stared viciously up at him, not liking the close distance at all. The mental distance was even closer, Asmodéus' mind towering over his, and he recognized the emperor's compulsion at work.

  (Don't lose yourself in the shift, Adam.)

  The last sending echoed in Adam's mind, and he envisioned himself as a youth, when he had first learned the darker, more impulsive Nexian nature. He wanted to scream and roar, to tear at the objects around him and destroy until all of his hurting drained away. But now, looking up at his father's eyes, equally as pained but calm, he knew that such actions would change nothing. Kieriell would still be lost, and Jenesaazi would have to know.

  His chest began to shake inside, tiny little shakes as though sheets of ice contoured to his inner tissues. He stilled himself before the tears unleashed, and he merely stared at his father making no sound. Inside, he embraced his father's compulsion to help him bring his own will under control, compressing down his rage and grief. To surrender thus was not a violation of the code but an acceptance of his father's authority.

  Asmodéus calmly released his son and waited, watching as the red in Adam's numb eyes paled to violet though they didn't quite turn completely blue.

  Adam staggered over the lingering exhaustion. Acceptance sank into his heart with the weight and consistency of lead.

  (Are you ready?) Asmodéus finally asked, lingering close as though to make sure his son did not totally collapse in the corridor.

  His throat too tight to speak aloud, and his mind still too clouded to send, Adam nodded.

  31

  Leaving the school had filled Kieriell with a strange sense of dread, as though he had started something and not finished it. This he put out of mind as paranoia. All was not totally right yet, not until his father and grandsire knew he was alive. Until then everything he did, every move he made, would feel incomplete.

  Now he stepped out into the manse sun room in a pair of old black cloth boots he had found in his wardrobe and a black physical training uniform he had put together during one of his visits to Valtaer in the last year. He threw the clothes he had borrowed from Jarren, which were a little small for him, over the back of a nearby chair. "Mother, would you see that these are returned to Jarren?"

  "Sure. You look ready for combat." Jenesaazi sat on the side of a large planter near the center floor. The sunroom was situated beneath the slanted plate-glass walls of a small pyramid constructed over an expansive balcony.

  Kieriell smiled wryly. "There will be combat all right," he commented, a double meaning in it. He had deduced from the moment he reached the manse that his mother knew nothing of hi
s abduction. His father had apparently not contacted her, and so he was grateful that she had not gone through the motions of worry. He momentarily left her thinking that he had vertically teleported out of Nex while in training and had only to contact Adam with a report on the experience.

  "You did it," she said with a rich smile. "I knew you could, but I never expected it to happen this soon." She gestured for him to approach, and Kieriell did so. He knelt before her, almost at eye level, all the while seeking the means to tell her everything.

  "I did it," he echoed her. "The problem is now I don't know if I'm ready to do it again." He admired her face, warm and flushed against the backdrop of the sky. Her hair was plaited along the sides and secured into one big braid that draped over a shoulder. Basking in her attentions, he almost forgot what he was about to say next. "That's why. . . uh, well, I didn't get back to Nex yet, so there's going to be combat, because I haven't let Father know that I'm all right." He grimaced at his own mumbling but kept going. "He's probably thinking I did something like materialize inside a gas giant and suffocate or implode or something. Because that's how he is, you know."

  "I see."

  He hated to lie to her, and trying to make a joke of it didn't work. He looked down, afraid that she would somehow read him if he kept looking in her eyes even if telepathy was not one of her gifts. She stroked his hair and planted a kiss on his forehead.

  "Mother," he started. Then he lost himself, shaking inside because he had not truly released his feelings over the Shiv experience even when he had told his story to Jarren and the maven. He had more to tell her. Much more.

  "What, love?" she asked, her arm coming down around his shoulders, while her chin rested on the top of his head. Her braid tickled his face.

  Any nerve he might have had shriveled away. Standing away from her, he began to pace, letting the room distract him, the tiled flooring and planters of greenery. The view faced down into the courtyard as well as out over a section of the city where the Festival Dome stood against the sky. He wandered toward a slide opening in the glass, which ventilated the place with fresh outdoor air.