“The Imperial Mother must lie here now and rest,” one of the physicians said to her.
“No,” Israi said, trying to rise. “We must know. We must have answers now!”
He pushed her down, his hand gloved, a protective suit making him an alien, shadowy figure. “There can be no answers until the tests are run, majesty. Be assured it won’t take much longer.”
She saw the others walking ponderously toward the door, bulky and awkward in protective suits. “Do not leave us!” she cried in fear.
“We must, majesty. The tests require our interpretation.”
Breathing hard, her rill rigid beneath her head, Israi lay there and clutched the sides of her couch with both hands. She had the feeling of falling, and she wanted to wail. But her throat was already raw from screaming. She did not want to die here, alone and abandoned by her own court. They were afraid of her. Even her guards were afraid of her. Only Temondahl, the chancellor she had distrusted, had been brave enough to touch her.
Where was he now? In quarantine, having his blood drawn? Or in the throne room, plotting with Oviel to seize her empire?
Israi tossed her head from side to side. When would she know? When would she have answers?
It seemed forever before the physicians returned. They no longer wore the protective suits. Israi sat up, staring at them, seeing their smiles, and she felt her fear fall away.
“No infection?” she asked, not allowing herself to breathe.
“None, majesty. We will keep the Imperial Mother under observation for a while longer, but—”
“Then Ehssk was right,” she said, letting her mind fill with relief. “It cannot cross species.”
“That is correct, majesty. The symptoms were almost identical to the plague, but it is not the Dancing Death. And your majesty is not infected.”
Rage came clawing up inside Israi. She struggled off her couch, staggered, and barely kept her balance. She’d been trapped in here for hours, suffering unbearable worry and torment, cowering for her life—and all because of Ampris and her trickery.
“She is to be brought before us at once!” Israi raged, kicking at the cushions that had fallen to the floor. “If the guards have killed her, then we want to see her corpse. Now!”
“Who, majesty?” the chief physician asked timidly.
“Ampris, you fool! Who else?”
He stared at her without comprehension.
Pushing away from him, Israi clapped her hands together. “Send our servants to us. Send our attendants and our ladies in waiting. Send us Lord Nalsk.”
“The Imperial Mother is overwrought and must rest,” the physician said. “I can supply your majesty with a sedative if necessary.”
Her rill was throbbing. She felt dizzy and unwell, and fresh fear gripped her. “Are you certain we are well?”
“Your majesty is ill, but your majesty does not have the plague. Rest and—”
“We do not want rest!” she shouted. “We want the head of Ampris!”
Suddenly she was breathless, as though caught in a vise. She stiffened, gasping for air, and the physicians surrounded her immediately. One of them snapped a bitter-smelling capsule under her nostrils, making her sneeze, and the seizure was over as quickly as it had come.
She collapsed, and they laid her on the couch again. A medication patch was placed over her heart, another on her throat. She felt the sedatives taking effect and tried to fight them. She couldn’t lie here, doing nothing. Ampris had to be dealt with.
“Your majesty must rest,” the chief physician said firmly. “Or we will not be held responsible for the consequences.”
Through a haze, Ampris was dimly conscious of flying a long time in the stolen skimmer. She had a memory of Elrabin giving her water, which made her sick. She remembered the strong smell of fuel exhaust and a thunderous sound as though shuttles were taking off.
She remembered being jostled roughly from place to place. She remembered pain and cold and heat. She remembered Nashmarl’s scent, suddenly with her as though he was close by.
Then there was nothing at all for a long time.
She awakened in a small, white place. At first she thought her vision was still clouded, but as things came into focus she realized she was lying in a narrow bunk beneath a white blanket. The walls and ceiling were white, curling closely around her as though she was lying inside a cylinder. A mask had been fitted over her nose and mouth, and a tube was feeding her oxygen. She could hear the rasp of the pump and over her head, out of her line of vision, a monitor beeped steadily.
Infirmary, she thought.
But it was very small. She eyed the curved ceiling right above her face and realized she could not sit up even if she wanted.
Not understanding anything, she tugged off the mask and tried to call for help.
Her voice did not seem to be working, but the monitor blared an alarm.
Minutes later, she heard a sound from behind her head, as though something had been unsealed, and a different kind of light spilled inside her cylinder. Her bunk was rolled out backward, and she found herself in a larger place with Jobul the medic bending over her.
The Myal smiled, and Ampris said, “I know you.”
Her voice was so faint she could barely hear herself.
“Yes, of course you do,” Jobul said cheerfully. He fitted the mask back over her nose and mouth. “It looks like you’re feeling much better, but you must keep this on. It will help your lungs heal.”
She backed her ears, trying to remember. Everything was so hazy in her mind. Thinking seemed too great an effort. “Was there a fire?” she asked.
“No. You’ve been ill with abiru-fever. You gave yourself too much,” he said. “I distinctly remember telling you not to take more than half of what I gave you. It was best to mix all of it so that the ratios would be right, but you weren’t to take it all, Ampris. That was very reckless of you.”
Ampris’s mind supplied her with a sudden memory of Israi’s face, frozen with horror. She smiled. “It worked. Needed to be in advanced stages.”
“Yes, and you nearly killed yourself. Elrabin barely got the antidote administered in time.” Jobul fussed around her, taking her pulse and changing her medication patches, then smoothed her blanket. “Time for you to sleep some more.”
“No,” she said restlessly under the mask. “What has been happening? The ships—”
“You’re on one,” he said, and his voice held joy, and hope, and excitement. His eyes were shining. “We left Viisymel, Ampris. Your plan worked. We went in exodus to Station Four, with everyone milling around in confusion. The dockworkers suddenly took charge, sorting us into groups and getting us loaded into shuttles. Amazing. I think they astonished themselves at what they could do.”
“I knew they could do it,” Ampris said proudly.
“You’ve always had a bigger dose of faith than the rest of us.” He cocked his head to one side. “The Rejects didn’t come, so we had plenty of room.”
She backed her ears. “Didn’t come! Why not?”
“They backed out at the last minute. I think they were afraid we’d make slaves of them when we got to Ruu-one-one-three. Elrabin tried to talk sense into them, but they wouldn’t listen. They said they’d just take over Viisymel instead.”
She sighed. “Maybe they will. Perhaps it’s best for them, Jobul.”
“Perhaps it is.” He chuckled. “The Viis were so frightened that all they did was riot and fight each other, trying to flee the city or killing each other out of what they thought was mercy. They didn’t have time to worry about us.”
She stared up at him, smiling at his words, yet her eyes suddenly filled with tears. It had taken so long. It had been so hard. She couldn’t believe her dream had finally come true.
“Lots of ships, Ampris,” he said, smiling into the distance. “Plenty of ships, just like you said. Empty and waiting for us. We’re on board with barely anything except what’s on our backs. I don’t know how we�
��ll colonize this planet without tools or supplies or whatever it takes to settle a new world—but we’re out here in space, going just the same.”
She couldn’t speak now. Tears spilled from the corner of her eyes. It must be true, she thought; he sounded so happy and excited that it must be true.
His gaze dropped to meet hers, and his expression changed immediately. “Time to rest. You’ve gotten too excited, and now you must sleep.”
She wanted to thank him for the news, but her eyes were closing. She felt herself being slid back into the cylinder, and then she knew nothing.
Released at last from three days of enforced rest, Israi met with her council. Some members were missing, but Lord Nalsk was present, and so was Lord Temondahl. Oviel, once again, stood in the back corner of the room. If he had attempted a coup during her recovery, she had not been informed of it.
“I wish to be named to the council,” he said before the meeting could start. “I am part of the imperial family. I have remained here while weaker individuals fled, deserting their duty. I deserve a reward for my loyalty.”
Temondahl rose to his feet. “Lord Oviel makes a good point,” he said wearily. He looked very old. Like many of the others, his coat was wrinkled and in need of cleaning. Israi had never seen her council look so ill-groomed. “Loyalty is of high value these days.”
Israi glared at Temondahl, but she got the point. “Lord Nalsk?”
The chief of the Bureau of Security looked immaculate as always. Israi felt certain he had not dismissed his abiru servants during the panic.
Giving her a bow, he said, “It seems a reasonable request. However, there are other matters of more pressing urgency that perhaps require the Imperial Mother’s attention first.”
Israi drew in a breath. She was being advised to be cautious and not let Oviel rush her into a bad decision.
She flicked out her tongue and took her gaze from Oviel. “Yes. Let us table our egg-brother’s request for the moment. Reports, please.”
Temondahl puffed out his air sacs, but Nalsk spoke first: “Autopsies have been performed on the dead Rejects. Whatever killed them was not the Dancing Death. No Viis have died from it. There is no evidence of the plague at all. It was a complete hoax, from start to finish, despite the theft of the plague virus.”
Israi nodded. “Where are the abiru now?”
Nalsk met her gaze. “Gone. They have commandeered the supply ships in orbit and are heading into space.”
Hissing with anger, she slapped the arms of her throne and stood up. “No!”
“I’m afraid it is true, majesty.”
“And who let this happen?” she demanded. “Who stood by while they disobeyed us and fled?”
“The entire city has been rioting, majesty,” Nalsk replied while the others made themselves small and silent in their chairs. “My patrollers have had their hands full trying to restore order. Numerous traffic collisions, fights, looting, and mass suicides have caused great difficulties.”
Israi began to pace. She was uninterested in such details, or excuses. “And the fleeing slaves?” she said. “What has been done to stop them?”
“Nothing, majesty,” Temondahl said softly. “It was deemed best to wait until the Imperial Mother could make those decisions.”
“Yes,” she said curtly, curling her tongue inside her mouth. “They think they will head out to one of the colony worlds. They think they will be welcomed there and allowed to settle peacefully. Send word to all colony governors at once. No planet is to allow them to make orbit, on pain of reprisal. We will not allow this rebellion to spread across the empire.”
“The flotilla is approaching our system,” Temondahl said. “They could fire long-range weaponry—”
“—and run the risk of destroying Shrazhak Ohr or damaging Viisymel,” Salteid, the new lord commander, said curtly. “There will be no warship firing heavy weapons in this system. Let the slaves pass outside the system, and we’ll make short work of them.”
“And if they don’t leave the system?” Israi asked.
They stared at her.
“If they go to Tanvek Ohr and its jump gates? They can jump across the empire before we can catch them.”
“Ships are already under orders to deploy around the second station,” Salteid said. “They will not escape our system.”
“At least not that way,” Nalsk said softly.
“Do you think the rebels of the rim worlds are behind this—this trouble?” Temondahl asked.
Israi glanced at Nalsk, who shook his head. “No,” Israi replied. “It was Ampris’s doing, from start to finish.”
The council members muttered in protest. “Surely no simple-minded Aaroun could have thought up so devious a plot, majesty,” Temondahl said.
Israi flicked out her tongue, on the verge of assuring them that Ampris was more than capable of masterminding something this intricate. She didn’t know whether to be proud of her former pet, or furious. Either way, she would not let Ampris win this game. They were not finished yet.
Hesitating, she caught Nalsk’s gaze and beckoned him to her.
Together they stepped into a corner away from the others to confer.
“Majesty?” he asked.
“Quickly,” she said. “Revenge upon this Aaroun has become a matter of personal necessity. The Kaa is a warrior, and this warrior’s honor has been stained by a slave.”
“Understood.”
“If we go after Ampris in our own imperial warship, is our throne secure in our absence?”
Nalsk flicked out his tongue, but his gaze did not drop from hers. “Probably not, majesty.”
She turned away from him and returned to her throne. When Nalsk had taken his chair, she said, “No, Ampris was not working alone. She is cunning and resourceful, but she could not mastermind this without help. Tell us, council, who in this room would profit most from the death of the Kaa?”
They exclaimed in horror and automatic protest, but more than one gaze shot involuntarily across the room to Oviel.
He straightened his thin shoulders at once, his mouth falling open in outrage. His rill stiffened behind his head. “What accusation is this?” he demanded. “I’ve done nothing at all. I’ve played no part in this conspiracy.”
“You protest, yet we have not accused you,” Israi said silkily. “Perhaps Lord Nalsk should discuss the matter with you.”
“No!” Oviel shouted. “No!”
But Nalsk stood and gestured. At once two guards flanked Oviel and escorted him out. Nalsk followed, pausing at the door to bow to Israi.
She flicked out her tongue, well-pleased with herself for having outmaneuvered Oviel. Now he wouldn’t be able to cause her trouble while she was gone. In fact, she thought further, he could perhaps die under interrogation and no one would care. He was a perfect scapegoat.
“Lord Salteid,” she said. “Prepare our warship. We shall be going after these slaves personally. Ampris will not escape our punishment.”
Salteid saluted her and left, while Chancellor Temondahl did his best to protest. But Israi refused to consider staying in her palace while Ampris got away.
By evening, she was dressed in uniform and shuttling up to her ship. She came aboard to the sound of piping. The officers of her crew gave her a formal welcome. They had been chosen and awarded their rank according to their family lineage and distinction. She had no doubt that she would be well-served.
“Captain,” she said formally as he saluted her and then bowed very low. “Get ready for immediate departure. The slaves have a head start, but—”
“Their cargo ships are slow, majesty. They are just now reaching Shrazhak Ohr. We can overtake them easily.”
Israi flicked out her tongue and stared at the captain’s green-skinned face. He looked quite sleek, but was broader in the jowls than in the brow. Standing there looking smug and handsome in his brand-new uniform, he seemed too complacent to suit her.
“Shrazhak Ohr,” she said in astonish
ment. “Can they not navigate? We believed they were heading for Tanvek Ohr.”
“Then they are going the wrong way, majesty,” he replied. “If I may escort the Imperial Mother to the bridge. I’ll be delighted to show your majesty what I mean.”
On the way he tried to give her a tour of the ship, which had been newly fitted out from end to end upon her ascension to the throne. She had never been aboard before, but she had no interest in looking it over. She wanted only to pursue Ampris.
When she stepped onto the bridge, she saw a bewildering array of complex instrumentation banks. Shackled to a chair, a Zrhel hunched over what the captain informed her was the navigation station.
“Here are the weapons,” the captain said, leading her to another station. “And here are the scanners.”
A Viis ensign was bent over his instrumentation, focusing with total concentration.
The captain tapped him on the shoulder. The ensign glanced up, saw Israi, and jumped to his feet so hurriedly he dropped his headset.
She stared at him icily, not impressed. The captain glowered at him, and the ensign seemed to suddenly recall military etiquette, which forbade leaving a station in order to make obeisance to the Kaa. His rill turned bright red and fell limp over his collar.
“Activate the main screen,” the captain said. “Show the Imperial Mother where the cargo ships are heading.”
A blank wall section of the bridge suddenly shimmered to life. Israi saw a fascinating panorama of space, complete with stars as thick as jewel dust, streaking comets, and colored planets. She stared with awe, beginning to enjoy herself; then the view changed and suddenly she saw a grid on the screen with a cluster of crimson blips moving steadily toward another blip.
“That is Shrazhak Ohr,” the captain said, pointing. “Show Tanvek Ohr’s location to the Imperial Mother.”
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