She cursed her lack of a weapon, and she cursed her incompetent guards, who still had not reached her. But Israi loved a chase, and she had no intentions of letting the creature get away.
When he was halfway down the gully, he paused atop a jutting finger of rock, gathering himself to jump. That’s when Israi butted him from behind with her skimmer, knocking him off. He went sprawling in a tangle of thin arms and legs, his voice shrill with fright. It echoed along the forested slopes, carried away by the wind, and the creature himself rolled and tumbled down onto the rocks below, where he lay motionless.
Israi lowered the skimmer and hovered it as close to him as she could get without scraping her craft on the steep sides of the gully. He wasn’t moving. A smear of blood stained the stone beneath his misshapen head.
Israi smiled to herself and reached automatically for the clip that should have held her weapon.
Empty.
She’d forgotten.
Furious, she hovered a few minutes longer, then lost patience. He looked dead. Perhaps this time he was.
Opening a tiny, streamlined bin, she withdrew a beacon. The device was slender and cylindrical. When she pressed a button on its side, both ends snapped open and barbed points locked into place. The directional signal it would broadcast could be located by the stupidest slave in the huntmaster’s kennel. Israi hurled the beacon at her fallen quarry. It thunked into the ground next to his leg, its barbed end sinking deep, and quivered a moment. Then a green light began flashing steadily on its side.
Israi smiled to herself. She would return as soon as she collected the huntmaster. She would personally watch while they cut off this creature’s vile head. It would be mounted and put in the trophy room. She, Israi Kaa, had slain a monster with no weapon. Even her illustrious father had not performed such a feat.
By the time she’d flown back to the waterfall, her wandering guards were approaching. A second skimmer followed with additional guards. Israi squinted past them to see if the huntmaster was coming, but she did not see him.
Her frustration flared immediately. “What were our orders?” she said as the skimmers pulled alongside her craft. “Did we not request the huntmaster’s presence? Where is the weapon we asked for?”
“Is the Imperial Mother well?”
“Of course we are well, no thanks to you,” she said. “We have killed it, or at least injured it. The beacon is flashing back that way.” She pointed. “We want it brought in and beheaded for a trophy.”
Lieutenant Moht blinked at her with his rill both red and extended. “What is it, majesty?”
“A monster, deformed and—and horrible.” She turned her skimmer around, ready to lead them to it, but Lieutenant Moht positioned his skimmer quickly in front of hers.
“Forgive me,” he said with a respectful bow, “but the Imperial Mother’s presence is requested immediately back at the lodge.”
“By whom?” she demanded in affront. “Who dares to interrupt us? Who dares to summon us?”
“A message on the uplink has come in from Lord Temondahl—”
“Oh, him.” She flicked out her tongue indifferently. “You may return to the lodge, Moht, and relay our compliments to the chancellor. Tell him we are busy and cannot be disturbed.”
Moht’s rill turned even redder. “Forgive me if I seem to disobey the Imperial Mother. My orders are to escort your majesty back at once.”
Israi flicked out her tongue, so angry she wanted to hurl something at the officer. Would they never leave her in peace? Everything was always urgent, always in need of being addressed immediately. Her chancellors and ministers plagued her constantly. How dare Temondahl think he could summon her to the communications chamber like some flunky.
“Your orders are from the chancellor?” she asked with false sweetness.
Moht’s tongue flickered out from his mouth nervously. “Yes, majesty.”
“And do the chancellor’s orders supersede the Imperial Mother’s?”
“Never, majesty.”
Israi lifted her head high with satisfaction. “Then Lord Temondahl can wait. We have a trophy to collect.”
“But, majesty,” Moht said in desperation. “It has to do with the war.”
That got her attention as nothing else had. The war. Of course. She had forgotten it in the excitement of the chase. The war was far away, an abstraction. Here and now was a monster who had somehow broken the security field that should have been protecting her property. What was wrong with the security markers? The problem had to be dealt with immediately, or they might find more of the creatures wandering about as they pleased.
Sighing, she reached down and pulled the hand-link out from where she’d thrown it, “If this message is indeed urgent, then we shall connect with—”
“No, majesty,” Moht said.
Israi’s rill flared out to its fullest extension and turned indigo blue. “No!” she screamed. “How many times will you deny us, lieutenant? Do you wish your neck broken for impertinence?”
Moht flicked his tongue in and out rapidly. His rill now drooped over its engraved brass collar and had lost all color. “I beg the pardon of the Imperial Mother, but the message was coded red. It cannot be sent over an unsecured channel like your hand-link.”
She felt cold then, her anger fading from her heart. “A code red message. Why did you not tell us this immediately?”
His gaze shifted uneasily to the other guards, and Israi gestured impatiently to stop him from answering. She knew the code red designation on an incoming message was supposed to be kept as secret as possible, for security purposes as well as to avert general panic. She had only her own impatience to blame for having forced him to reveal the situation’s utter urgency.
“What has happened?” she asked in a quieter voice.
Moht looked at her, unable to answer, even if he knew. “Come, majesty,” the officer said. “Please come.”
“Yes, at once.” But she took the time to point at the other guards. “You and you, go now to the beacon. Find the creature which we have hunted and make certain it is dead. We want its head brought to us as confirmation. If it has crawled away from where we took it down, then track it. Capture it. See that you kill it. Also, send a message to the huntmaster, and tell him that if he does not wish to lose his honorable position, he will make sure no other creatures such as this are wandering on imperial lands. Go!”
The guards bowed, but while they were assuring her they would obey, she wheeled her skimmer around and flew off in the direction of the lodge. Moht flew close behind her in grim silence.
Israi fumed to herself the whole distance. Temondahl had no need to invoke code red status for his communications. Just because she had ignored his last two calls did not mean she wouldn’t eventually talk to him. But, no, he could not be satisfied unless he ruined her entire vacation. No matter what difficulty had arisen in the battle, she knew she could rely on Lord Belz to solve it. She had no finer commander than him. Temondahl worried too much.
She took no pleasure now in flying at dangerous speeds. She flew swiftly, but not at maximum. The lodge would not see the Imperial Mother blasting home in a panic.
When she landed in the courtyard, more guards hastened out from the lodge to escort her inside. Gathering up the broad sweep of her skirts, she entered, with the guards falling in smartly behind her. Two of them walked ahead, and Moht followed close at Israi’s heels as protocol dictated when she was under official military escort.
Israi did not like the air of tension running through the guards. Moht looked very stern, and the others were stiff-rilled. They must know something, Israi decided. The palace guards had their own system of communications that kept them well-informed.
Perhaps this was truly important. Perhaps they had lost a warship in the battle. Israi quickened her pace slightly, but she refused to surrender her imperial dignity. Holding her head high, she moved regally up the sweeping staircase and along the corridor. Her courtiers were knotted a
nxiously outside the door of the communications chamber. They parted hastily for her and her escort, allowing her to walk inside without pausing. The guards peeled off smartly to her right and left and stood at attention on either side of the doorway. Lieutenant Moht closed the door behind her, leaving her alone inside the communications chamber.
A low hum sounded as the security fields were activated in the walls, ceiling, and floor, making the chamber impenetrable to any scanning devices.
Israi coiled her tongue in her mouth, beginning to feel seriously worried, and looked at Chancellor Temondahl’s likeness frozen on the large link screen.
“Activate,” she said.
The screen faded, then came back to life. Combing filters and security measures fuzzed the image, but at last Temondahl’s face was in clear focus once more. He was seated at his desk, writing something. But immediately he glanced up at her and rose to his feet to make a deep bow.
When he straightened, his rill was extended fully behind his head. His eyes looked very grave.
“Majesty,” he said without preamble, “I regret to bring you bad news.”
“What is it?” she asked impatiently. “Has the palace fallen down? Has the Cuna Da’r stopped flowing?”
Temondahl blinked at her as though thrown by her sharp-edged flippancy.
She gestured. “Are you relaying a message for us from Lord Belz? I wish to hear only about a victory.”
“Majesty—”
“Oh, get on with it. Speak!”
Temondahl bowed again. “I regret to say that Lord Belz is dead, majesty.”
She stared at him without comprehension and said nothing.
“Can your majesty hear me?” he asked. “Lord Belz is dead.”
“Dead.” she echoed stupidly. She still could not understand what he meant.
“The battle for the rim worlds is over,” he was saying while her thoughts buzzed and tumbled. “Our losses were heavy. We sustained—”
“Our lord commander is dead?” she asked, breaking in.
“Yes, majesty. His ship was blown apart near the conclusion of the battle. There were no survivors.”
Allowing her rill to drop, Israi turned away from the screen. How could this be? Crusty, gruff, battle-scarred Lord Belz was her most powerful ally. He saved her throne for her when her father died. He stood behind her when her actions to salvage the economy proved to be unpopular. He held the powerful Viis armies in her name, keeping them loyal to her, and protected her from her enemies. He’d recommended Lord Nalsk to run the Bureau of Security. No, there must be some mistake, she thought. Belz could not be dead. He was irreplaceable.
“No,” she said. “We do not believe this report.”
“Majesty, I grieve with you,” Temondahl said, “but it is true.”
“No!” she shouted. “There is a mistake. We know he has survived. His other ships will have picked up his escape pod. He will be found. You must have courage—”
“Majesty, I am sorry,” Temondahl said firmly. “There is no mistake. The remnants of our flotilla are fleeing the area now, heading back to home base. We estimate they will arrive in—”
“Fleeing?” Again she echoed him. Why was he saying such stupid words? The flotilla of the Viis Empire did not flee. “Have them stop and look for survivors.”
“There are no survivors, majesty,” Temondahl said wearily. “None.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because the rebel forces are destroying every escape pod they encounter. Because the imperial forces destroyed every pod they came across when they left the battle area. There was not time to pick up survivors, and no Viis should bear the shame of capture and imprisonment. They barely escaped with—”
“What behavior is this?” she demanded. “Are they fleeing like craven cowards? We fail to understand.”
“Majesty, we have been defeated,” he said harshly. “We lost the battle. Most of the flotilla is destroyed. Less than a third survived, and many of those ships have sustained heavy damage. They may have to be abandoned and destroyed to keep them from falling into enemy hands. Right now the rebels are not pursuing, but the rim worlds—all our mining operations—are lost.”
She felt cold and brittle. It could not be true. The empire never suffered defeat. The empire never lost worlds, not even rebellious ones. Her lord commander was not dead, his bones spinning forever in the grave of space. This must be a terrible dream, something unreal. She must awaken from it.
“Lord chancellor,” she said at last, and her voice was small and unsteady. She stopped, unable to think of anything to say.
Temondahl looked at her with a combination of sorrow and pity. “Perhaps the Imperial Mother should return at once to the palace. An official statement must be prepared for the people.”
She nodded, agreeing, grateful for something specific to do. Her hands were trembling, she realized. Her whole body was trembling. But she was Kaa, and a Kaa could not indulge in shock.
Israi lifted her head regally. “We shall return at once,” she said. “Let preparations for mourning begin. Lord Belz was an able warrior, who served us well for many years. His officers likewise shall be honored for their valor.”
Temondahl bowed. “As the Imperial Mother commands. I shall make sure all the war ministers are assembled for your majesty’s return. A new lord commander of the armies must be named quickly. The officers may rebel if they are not given a voice in the decision, but their choice could prove difficult for the council to accept.”
Israi gestured, unable to listen to such plans. The politics of the military had always bored her. Right now, it all seemed unimportant.
“Have we ever been defeated before?” she asked.
Temondahl puffed out his air sacs. “Not officially,” he finally said.
She felt naive and unable to cope, the way she had often felt during the first year of her reign. The people would have to be told, but she did not want the writings of history to say that the worst defeat to the Viis happened during her reign.
Her head lifted and she faced Temondahl again. “Do nothing until our return. Perhaps this does not have to be officially known either.”
“Oh, majesty, I fear it must. This is not something that can be concealed.”
“Then it is worse than you have told us.”
“I fear it is very bad indeed. By the Imperial Mother’s return, I shall have the final reports ready,” he said. “There are strategies to be developed. With this successful rebellion on the part of the rim worlds, I fear others will also attempt—”
“We will crush them!” she said in anger, clenching her fists. “We will crush them all without mercy. The Kaa acknowledges no defeat.”
“I’m afraid the Kaa must, this time,” Temondahl said.
She knew then that there was something he had not told her. She looked at his likeness on the screen and curled her tongue inside her mouth. A voice inside her head was screaming, Don’t ask, but she had to.
“What else have you not told us?”
“It can wait until the Imperial Mother’s return.”
“No,” she said coldly. “You will tell us now.”
He sighed, and his rill sank low across its collar. “We cannot salvage it. It is a declared defeat. When Lord Belz died, his subcommander, Lord Ahftelzin, surrendered to the enemy forces.”
She stared, unable to believe what he was saying. “Impossible.”
“I fear not. Lord Ahftelzin’s surrender offered our entire battle flotilla to the enemy in exchange for the lives of all survivors. Fortunately, Lord Kelhdar mutinied and rallied the other commanders around him. They fought their way free, killing the coward Ahftelzin in the process, and are returning.”
Now she was shaking with rage rather than shock. “Lord Ahftelzin was of what house?” she asked, her voice strangled.
“Third House.”
“Arrest all members—”
“Majesty, please wait,” Temondahl broke in, daring to interrup
t her. “The Bureau of Security is already investigating the matter.”
“We want this treachery punished!” she shouted. “How far does such craven cowardice reach?”
“That will be determined by the Bureau,” Temondahl said. “Please, majesty. Let us not be hasty. Return to Vir, and we will all gather to discuss the necessary strategies.”
Strategies to cope with defeat. Israi nodded, feeling ashamed and numb and outraged and horrified. No matter what Temondahl advised, there would be executions for this. But she would receive the Bureau’s report first.
Without a word of farewell, she left the screen activated and walked out of the communications chamber.
“Lieutenant Moht,” she said coldly.
He snapped to attention before her.
“Prepare the imperial shuttle for immediate return to Vir.”
“At once, majesty.” Saluting her smartly, he passed the order to another guard and stayed close by her side. She knew that while they were under code red conditions, Moht would not let her out of his sight.
Israi gestured at one of her ladies in waiting. “See that packing commences immediately. The servants will be left behind to finish the task. We shall depart as soon as our shuttle is fueled and ready.”
The lady bowed low. “Your majesty’s will is done. Will the Imperial Mother tell us what has happened?”
Israi lifted her gaze to the female’s pretty face. The news could not be concealed, Temondahl had said. Very well. Let there be no secrets.
Israi glanced around at her silent courtiers, and her eyes were as hard as the jewels adorning her collar. “It is defeat,” she said baldly. “Defeat with dishonor. We have lost the war.”
Someone gasped aloud. Before anyone could start asking more questions, Israi turned and walked away toward her apartments, leaving them staring stunned after her.
CHAPTER•ELEVEN
Ampris walked along the musty, lamplit corridors of the Imperial Archives, passing endless rows of stored data crystals, ancient scrolls sealed in their original cases, and numerous alien artifacts that had been used long ago to record information and histories. The sheer amount of knowledge contained down here never failed to amaze Ampris. If she lived another hundred years and spent every waking hour in study, she still could not hope to absorb it all.
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