The Kinship of Stars

by Julie Ishaya

  "So," he began wryly, still touching at the sweat on his forehead, "what's our little friend up to?"

  Fahl'gir only gestured down toward the screen. "See for yourself."

  Adam propped one arm against the console, finding it harder to stand. He focused on the smaller screen and the black field of space. The green ellipse representing the loan Shiv vessel blinked on in one area, then it was lost for a moment before it blinked again, betrayed by its brief drop out of parsec-displacement. Noting the straight route it had assumed, heading in the direction of Nex, though its coordinates placed it light years below the asteroid field, he touched a finger to the screen and traced a theoretic path ahead of the dot. Provided it didn't change course, it would soon reach the far side of Nex and the meeting point of the titans T-III and T-VI. The nexus extended great distances in both directions, leaving plenty of space for the Shiv vessel to slip through.

  At that moment, the point on the screen went completely dark. The Shiv kai knew that the path toward the nexus was clear. By the time the craft could be detected again, it would be too late. If, Adam reminded himself, the craft had the rift-tech needed and a full energy store. But why were they making such an effort to reach Valtaer? he wondered. Was it really worth losing most of their fleet—and population—to make it to the nexus?

  Then he remembered something. His frame straightened as he stared off into nothing, recalling that one conversation with his father. Something about the gridcode.

  About Jenesaazi.

  Adam swayed, dizzy with dread, his mind already taxed enough. "Captain," he said hoarsely, and Fahl'gir glanced up at him. Her lips thinned with deliberation on his pallor. "Drop us down after that craft," he ordered her.

  "My lord, we are late. It will have already passed beneath Nex. The emperor will dispatch fighters to rendezvous with it when it comes out of displacement before the nexus."

  "Now," he said impatiently, moving upon her. Hair had loosened from the braid and now whispered around his face or plastered to the sweat on his temples and brow. "The emperor granted that we follow. As soon as the way is clear, launch full displacement. We'll rendezvous with the fighters at the nexus."

  Fahl'gir nodded, and in moments the galleon began to gain speed as it finished its drop out of the melee, now cleared of all fighter activity. The way was clear. The galleon angled its stern toward the lower reaches of space, in the negative coordinate range. The sensors verified a clear path, then the tachyon boosters launched. Blue light consumed the underbelly and bow, the force tearing a hole in space. To those ships left behind, Imperial Command appeared to disintegrate in a burst of clean white light.

  Adam moved up on the bridge and sank into the chair. "Jenny," he said under his breath, absently raking the hair back from his face. "Not Jenny."

  Never before had displacement seemed such a long process.

  Asmodéus dispatched six raptors to guard the nexus, but he watched grimly on the screen as they arrived and waited only to discover that the renegade craft cleverly came out of displacement at coordinates further down the titans' crossroads than its previously detected route had indicated. The fighters simulated the coordinates and dove through space along side the drop of the line.

  The emperor's eyes were wide with anticipation. A rivulet of sweat emerged from his hairline and went slinking down his temple guided by the shallow trench between rising scale formations of pearl-white. Voices in the tabernacle flooded each other as reports were relayed on the remaining skirmish. General Kallian had moved to another screen to maintain contact with the Hellan command ship Mirrius.

  Alone before the primary screen, his attention often drifting back to the map table in the center room, Asmodéus felt the weight of Kallian's earlier words come back to him.

  . . . you are still a man. . .

  In no other situation could he have felt this more. Though his mind urged the raptors on, they were too late.

  The Shiv craft initiated its rift-tech. Plasmic energy spewed from a canon rig in its under belly. The swelling light of the rift it created threw out an arc of destructive energy that reached out through space like a solar flare. One raptor was lost in the path of the arc. The pilot could have seen nothing but white light as he was consumed along with his fighter. No pain, no remains.

  Only older, low-grade rift-tech produced such feedback. Asmodéus considered this. If the Shiv craft broke through to Valtaer and then attempted to return, the rift it would create on the other side could bring immense destruction to the sea and land. The city of Nall and its coastal neighbors could be threatened.

  Asmodéus bowed his head, thinking of his son's wife, Jenesaazi Mahlharium. He inadvertently took a step closer to the screen when the sensors registered the arrival of Imperial Command. The galleon's pull out of displacement met the closing flash of the rift as the Shiv craft completely disappeared through. Moments later only the tranquil blue of the nexus remained, and five raptors lingered in confusion, their pilots wondering what had happened to their fellow fighter.

  "Central Command, do you read?" Adam's voice issued from one of the com-links. The primary screen rippled before his face manifested in a field of static. The close proximity to the titan caused tremendous interference.

  "Adam, listen," Asmodéus began, "we have monitored that Shiv craft's rift-tech, and it's terribly unstable. You must ensure that it doesn't try to re-enter Nex from Valtaer."

  Adam didn't seem to hear. ". . . after Jenesaazi," his voice filtered through the static. The screen flickered, and a haze of crackling white and blue filled in the darker spaces around the vague features of his face, filled most of the background leaving only outlines of figures operating at the galleon's helm stations. "I know. . . kai wants," Adam's broken report continued.

  Asmodéus understood enough of what his son was saying. "Adam, do what you must, but see that the kai does not try to bring that ship back through." He put emphasis on every word. He wished he could reach up and simply wipe away the interference with his hand, but as the haze consumed the rest of the screen, he was forced to allow the link to drop, and the screen returned to the distant view of the nexus.

  Asmodéus issued one last order that the fighters follow the galleon through. Raptors could not open rifts, but they were equipped to withstand rifting and atmospheric entry. Three fighters out of the titan's interference range acknowledged the message and reported that they would signal for their fellows to follow suit. Moments later, Imperial Command was in line with the nexus, and a shaft of blue light burst from the canon in the stern. The rift opened neatly, a long slit of perfectly harnessed energy, though tendrils of plasmic residue formed and branched out along the remaining nexus line and the sides of the titan walls. Two raptors shot through first, then the galleon followed at a slower drift with the remaining fighters flanking the port, starboard, and bow. As the rear of the vessel was consumed with light, and finally the last fighter, the rift slammed shut, sending out blue ripples of wave patterns.

  Asmodéus felt he could do nothing more than return his attention to the melee on the frontier, but he found the fighters regrouping into their squadrons. Monitored link voices, including that of Lord Astar'Æth, exchanged possible ways to drive back the Shiv command craft. The final agreement amounted to little more than tactical bombardment with particle beams. The frontier then raced with light, the monitored flashes filling the tabernacle, mesmerizing officers and emperor alike.

  Emotionally exhausted, Asmodéus shrugged off his cloak and draped it over one arm. A series of gasps went up around the room, and he grumbled. Something was distracting the officers. He started to turn upon them, to order them back to their posts, when he felt something stir in the air. Psionic recognition radiated from the neural core, and the light from the screen brightened.

  No, not light from the screen, Asmodéus thought. He was staring at the screen, yet the intensity of light had come from somewhere else in the room. He looked up at his own shadow magnified against the wall an
d across the screen, and then the light died as quickly as it had flared up. He stiffened, prepared to turn around, while he still heard the awed whispers of the others.

  (Hello, Grandsire.)

  The familiar voice in his mind stirred up a dizziness of denial. Slowly he turned to see for himself that Kieriell Shyr'ahm stood just behind him.

  34

  Kieriell had first manifested in his chambers on Dyss. The cool, slick-black floor came rushing up to meet him as he toppled forward onto his knees and caught himself on his hands, his eyes stung shut. He felt that he still wore his clothes, that vertically teleporting did not rob him of these necessities as he had suspected it would from his first experience.

  Slowly he raised his head and took in the surroundings, so familiar to him that the dizziness was forgotten. New strength coursed him and pushed him upright on his knees. One more burst of energy got him to his feet, and he steadied himself, looked around the chambers.

  He found them almost completely as he had left them before his abduction. Books and file sheets on the floor around the lounge couch, an empty chalice turned over on its side. He wandered through the bed chamber to the toilet division and on the edge of the tub found an older half-dissected sending amplifier which he had been toying with for the urge to know how it worked. He nudged a fragment of the crystal with the toe of his boot and then looked up toward the open screen window that faced the view of Daeanon. There was a lot of craft activity going on out there. Far below the asteroidal body, he could see a large portion of the Ionan fleet suspended in one place. The command ship Mastemas, like a mother insect over her hatchlings, remained still, while some of the fighters, mere specks from this distance, practiced their maneuvers beneath the sweeping wing design of the galleon. It wasn't uncommon to see a fleet, accompanied by its command ship, practicing maneuvers, but at a time like this, maneuvers did not seem as likely. Hurrying back into the bedchamber, he realized that the palace system had yet to acknowledge his presence. Then he took a better look at the larger screen on the wall where the bed stood.

  "What the—" He took three steps forward and studied the movement on the horizon of stars. A full array of consulate command ships covered positions around Nex while overlooking squadrons of fighters: raptors, raiks, tactical drones, and a few others that were small in number and designed to protect the inner boundaries of Nex. All of this movement against his favored view of the stars struck at every nerve.

  After concentrating deeply on the system, he managed to get the neural core's attention. The system's brain was stressed with activity patterns, pulling in transmissions, converting them for reading, and then sending more out. He tried to be gentle when he sent out a request for his father's whereabouts, or his grandsire's. The reply came that Adam wasn't present on Dyss, and the system fell short of offering an explanation. The emperor was in the tabernacle.

  Kieriell sighed and considered that everyone on Nex knew what he was now—the kai had seen to that—so there was no point in worrying over discretion. He reached out his consciousness into the familiar place of the tabernacle. His mind sent one final preparation to the neural core, telling it what he was doing, and then the light of his own will consumed him.

  When the light began to fade, whispering back from his vision like fog until the view was clear and the sensation of his body returned, he found himself facing his grandsire's back. The emperor had discarded his cloak and it draped over one arm.

  A dozen officers gasped at the brilliant entrance, and Kieriell glanced about. He noted General Kallian's surprised but harsh face, saw how the eyes narrowed suspiciously at him. He waited briefly as the emperor began to turn toward him, almost in slow motion, and he could sense the denial.

  (Hello, Grandsire,) he sent. He almost cringed under the disbelieving weight of the emperor's stare.

  Asmodéus didn't answer at first. He blinked, his head turning slightly as though to shake away an hallucination. His arm dropped to his side, and the cloak fell to the floor with a hush. (You can't be real,) he replied. It was more of a private thought than a sending.

  Kieriell gestured at the gaping officers. (They see me.) He took a step forward and held out his hands as if to sign that he was no apparition and he meant no harm to the emperor's sanity. "I did it, Lord Grandsire," he said so that everyone could hear him, could know about his accomplishment. "I escaped from the Shiv."

  Asmodéus' body made an involuntary lurch forward, a shuddering motion visible through his shoulders. The tightened muscles in his neck rippled as he swallowed hard. "But," he whispered, "how? How did you escape?"

  "It's a little complicated," Kieriell replied, his voice rising with enthusiasm. "I vertically teleported. The kai had a psionic inhibitor on me, and, well. . . I overcame it." He purposely left out his experience with the fusion well. "I will tell you more later," he hurried on. "Where is my father?"

  Asmodéus closed the distance, still perplexed as he reached out and caught Kieriell's shoulders, ensuring himself that the prince was tangible. "Adam and I. . ." he whispered, his voice cracking. He swallowed and started again. "We felt you die, boy." The tender amazement lingered in his glassy eyes.

  "I. . . did," Kieriell whispered. "You could say that I did, and when I vertically teleported from the Shiv world, it was rebirth." The vague recollection of passing through the grid to enter Valtaer came to him. The withdrawal of the light, his body suddenly whole and striking the ground with the force of a large rock. He had felt as weak as a newborn, and when he later recovered in Jarren's room, there was the revelation that he had truly found his freedom.

  However, his primary reason for returning clung to his core-being, and he still looked about. "Where is my father?" he repeated.

  Asmodéus looked up at Kallian and in silence they exchanged bleak expressions before Kallian nodded curtly and turned to recapture the attention of the other officers and put them back to their duties.

  "What is it?" Kieriell insisted.

  "We thought you were dead," Asmodéus reaffirmed. His hands gripped Kieriell's arms a little tighter then relaxed away as he gestured the youth to follow him to the dominating screen. The view of the frontier was bristling with bursts of laser fire, most of which came from Nexian craft aimed at the remnants of the Shiv fleet which looked like it had been whittled down to the bare bones; the battle had clearly been lost for them. Beyond the foray, the solitary Shiv command ship loomed. Three Nexian command craft had formed a triad within a certain distance of the Shiv massive and they had opened fire on it with ion pulses to keep it from advancing.

  "The Shiv launched an attack just hours ago," Asmodéus explained.

  Kieriell gaped as this new reality struck him. The two forces had engaged in an all out war. A war over him. All that he could muster to say was, "My father has been out there."

  "He is aboard Imperial Command," Asmodéus replied. The pinpoint lights of the stars beyond the frontier could not compete with the short-lived lights of destruction in the more immediate reaches of space. "We've lost one command ship, the Torban Shaytan. Admiral Hak'iim was in command."

  "But my father?" Kieriell said haplessly, seeing that Imperial Command was nowhere in view.

  "Half-way through the conflict, the sensors picked up another Shiv craft moving toward Nex. It veered off and completely skirted the entire battle. A transmission was intercepted between it and the command ship. It proved possible that the kai was aboard the smaller ship, and your father took Imperial Command in pursuit. The craft reached the lower nexus before we could stop it."

  Kieriell stumbled back from this, knowing what must have happened next.

  "It was mounted with an older, more unstable form of rift-tech and pierced the nexus for Valtaer," Asmodéus finished. "Adam was after the kai, but he must also ensure that the craft does not return through the rift, otherwise it could cause the destruction of southern Valtaer's shores."

  Kieriell groaned. "You say the kai is on board?"

  "Yes, and
your father is bent on killing him. Adam still thinks you're dead."

  Kieriell began to pace, considering what the kai intended by breaking through into Valtaer. The Shiv could not possibly know that he was alive. They had seen him fall into the fusion well, losing their last hope of replicating the gridcode. No, he thought then, ice flows moving down his back and up again. "The kai's trying to find my mother," he concluded. "He couldn't know that I escaped into Valtaer." He turned wide, horrified eyes toward his grandsire and shook his head. "The kai must think I'm dead too, you see." His breath quickened. "I tried to take my own life before I discovered vertical teleportation."

  "That is what the kai claimed when we contacted—"

  "The gridcode," Kieriell persisted, "couldn't be harnessed. The samples the Shiv took from me broke down. They need another specimen." He was shaking now. "The kai wants my mother."

  "Adam will stop him," Asmodéus replied.

  "Yes, but if he thinks I'm dead. . ." Kieriell took hold of his grandsire's arm. "I've got to let him know I'm alive."

  Asmodéus returned to telepathy. (You're right. Can you move vertically again, Kieriell? Can you return to Valtaer?)

  Kieriell breathed slowly, closed his eyes and glimpsed the void. (Yes,) he replied, looking up again.

  (You must find Adam quickly. I will follow aboard my shuttle.) Asmodéus looked into his grandson's eyes one more time. (You know this has to stop somehow.)

  Nodding, Kieriell looked out at the rest of the room. The officers were stealing glances at him from their consoles. He braced himself, meditated on a destination. He was uncertain if he could find the helm of Imperial Command since the craft was likely in constant motion, so he decided on some place familiar and easy. Then he straightened his shoulders and closed his eyes before all those before him witnessed the light and his power.