by Jo Zebedee
She pulled her psyche from him and he fell forward, his pleasure fading. He opened his mouth to ask forgiveness for his disloyal thoughts. She shook her head and he felt her understanding that it was fear which had driven him. That, like anyone else, in her presence he could be weak. He bowed his head. She must know he was bound to her, so tightly he could never betray her. The very thought made him nauseous.
“Work with Phelps on this. Ensure you know how the team works. Learn my son’s pattern. Bring him to me.”
“Yes, Empress,” said Allen.
“My Empress,” agreed Phelps. She met his eyes, smiled, and he knew what she promised. His hardness came back, growing so that it was painful, straining against his uniform trousers, and still she smiled, knowing.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Sonly put down her data pad and glanced at the time, a flutter of nerves building. She took a deep breath to compose herself; Lichio had been teasing her about Kare since they’d met and, whilst she’d laughed it off, it wasn’t funny. Michael wouldn’t let her work with Kare if he had any concerns. There was a rap at the door, light and quick, and her stomach jumped.
“Come in!” she said, hooking a strand of hair behind one ear as the door opened. Kare mirrored her, running a hand through his hair. It was good to see he had let it grow a bit– it suited him better than the military crop… stop it! She smiled her best professional smile and nodded at the seat opposite. “You got away, then. Sit down.”
He did, and she noticed he had something in his hand, but it was too small to tell what it was. There was an uncomfortable silence. She lifted her data pad.
“I pulled together some information about the great families, the empire, some of its income,” she said. “I thought we’d start there.”
He cleared his throat. “I don’t think that sort of thing is going to help me much– I probably already know it.”
The arrogant sod. She flushed. “We’ll see. I might be able to add something to your extensive knowledge.”
“I didn’t mean it that way,” he said. He looked embarrassed and she calmed down a little as he went on, “Sorry. I wondered, though, if we could talk about an idea I had, when you’re finished?”
She bristled again. He wasn’t doing her a favour by being here– he’d been ordered to it by his commanding officer. She took a breath and remembered she was supposed to be winning him over. “Fine.” She smiled.
She brought up the first screen: a list of the families and their associated spheres of influence. She zoomed in on the star system of Ceaton-1. “The most populous system, and the most politically powerful,” she said. She tapped Belaudii. “Planet of the Pettinas. You and your mother.”
“Not me.” He sounded faintly horrified. “I will never take her name. She is the Pettina family. I am a Varnon.”
She didn’t argue. One day, it would be brought up more formally, no doubt. For now, it wasn’t a fight worth having.
She pointed around the rest of the system. “The other two most powerful families are in the nearest planets. Clorinda and the Peirets. Both govern a lot of planets in the middle zone, both have a big family and substantial wealth. But they don’t pull together, and your mother takes advantage of that.”
“Well that, and the mind manipulation,” he said, and pointed to his forehead. “She’ll have them both under her dominance. She’ll know to keep them close.”
“Quite.” Suddenly, she was uncomfortable. The mind manipulation he might have inherited– no one knew the full extent of his powers, and so far he hadn’t seen fit to share them. Hurriedly, feeling exposed, she turned back to the safety of politics and pointed to the last of the four planets, far out from the star, half iced over. “And Taurine–”
“Home to the Al-halads.” He ticked off one finger. “Specialists in terraforming since their own planet had to be carved out of an icefield.”
So he did have some knowledge. She brought up the Ceaton-II system, but he ticked off another finger. “Balandt, bankers.” Another tick. “Hiactol, military specialists.” And another. “Tortdeniel, the humanitarian face of the families. As much as any of them are.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, but I understand how things are set up now. What I need to find out is how to change it.”
She resisted the urge to groan. Rjala had warned her this would be raised– and Lichio’s reports had told her, too. “You can’t change it– you don’t have the influence.”
He leaned forward, drawing her eyes to his. How on earth did they get so green? They weren’t flecked, or hazel, just the purest green she could imagine, their darker rim only emphasising their depth. She pulled her gaze away– she wasn’t interested in the colour of his eyes….
Actually, she was, but only because they proved who he was.
“Let me lay out my cards.” He paused, and seemed less sure of himself. “My card: apparently I only have one. I will not be Emperor. Not for you, not for anyone. I know most people think they want it: the palace, the money, the power. Not me.”
She took her time to choose her words. “It’s going to be difficult for us, then. If you support the Banned– if you want our objectives to succeed– that’s what you need to consider.”
“I think you’re wrong.”
“Why am I wrong? Enlighten me.”
He stood and started to pace. “Look, you think the empire is the only model that can exist, therefore you have to go for it.”
Of course it wasn’t the only model. Did he think she hadn’t studied politics to get where she was? That she had no understanding?
“We get more support if we go for it.” She said it slowly; if he wanted to treat her like an idiot, she could repay the favour. “The great families don’t want change, and they are the ones we need to convince. They own the armies– their planets supply the troops, their funds pay the wages. We can’t hold the empire with an army the size of the Banned’s– the Empress’ is ten times our size– we need the families. Which means we need to put forward a model they’ll support, one that safeguards their economies, ensuring whatever change happens is relatively peaceful.”
He leaned over the back of his chair. “You could devolve the empire, put someone– not necessarily me; in fact, preferably not– in as president. Keep the overall structure, the links between the planets in a confederacy, but remove her empire. It could be done.”
She paused, wanting to tell him no, it was impossible. His eyes met hers and she didn’t think he was trying to be stubborn. If pushed, she’d say he was more scared than anything.
“Can I ask why you won’t consider the other?” she said, but she kept her voice soft, non-confrontational. “It would let me bring in the smaller families. Individually they can’t challenge the Peirets and Clorindas, but collectively they’d make an impact.”
“Sure.” He moved his seat back and dropped into it. “She killed my dad and sister. That’s one reason. She’s chased me since the day I was born. That’s another. She wiped out the entire planet of Corun just to capture me– ”
“Those are the reasons you don’t like her, not why you won’t consider putting yourself forward.”
“I’m getting to it. The ones I’ve listed are the reasons why I will not carry her name. She created me to be her legacy. She left my father so badly damaged he went crazy.” He paused. “She engineered me to have powers no one fully understands. She didn’t care it might destroy me, or Karia, provided we were able to do what she required. For all those reasons, I won’t be what she wants, which means I can’t be Emperor.”
He waited while she took in his words, but still looked at her with a quiet intensity. His dad had that same intensity, she remembered, a way of radiating confidence. Maybe it was to do with being a psycher. But Ealyn had only ever had the faint touch of nervousness, the desperation to be listened to, at the end.
“It must be hard,” she said. What must he have heard, on the ship with his father? What did
he know that was driving him to clash with everyone? “Having people tell you what you should do.”
“I’m coping.” He glanced down, and she realised none of it– the smugness, the arrogance– was anything other than a way of keeping himself safe. He leaned forward to her and set a memory filche on the desk.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“I’m prepared to deal,” he said. “I know I’m no use to the Banned– in fact, I’m a drain on the group– if I don’t reach an agreement with you. This is an outline for a project I’d like to manage. It will create close to real-time comms throughout the group, reducing the current space-delay– you’ll thank me for it, one day.”
Real-time comms in a space army. It was the nirvana they’d been seeking for years, what technical director after technical director had tried for. Her father had thrown resources at it, sure it was the one thing that could give the Banned an edge. Their fleet was small enough, in comparison the Empress’, to utilise it.
“How?” she asked, careful not to show the interest he’d sparked. But if it was true, he was right– she’d bargain for it. If it was true.
“An interface. It’ll link via the fleet and use their boosters to carry the signal. Provided we get the configurations right– the ships’ capacity and alignment– it will speed up comms. Not to real time but much, much quicker than now. Certainly enough that the Banned could command remote battles from the base, pull the campaigns onto one strategic platform.”
Not to real-time, then. Her shoulders dropped in disappointment. “It’s been tried.”
He smiled, a slow smile that made her stomach turn over. “Not by me. I’ve looked at your systems and I can get it closer than anyone else.”
The arrogance was back. She found her fist clenching. His eyes looked down at it and she unclenched it.
“Why are you annoyed?” he asked. “You’ve tried to use me since the minute I arrived here– you’ve probably sold me to half the outer rim, already.” She dropped her head so he couldn’t see her redden. Not just the outer zone, but the Ferrans, and the families. “There’s no point being coy– I can feel how true it is. You did it even though no one asked me.”
She raised her head. “I did it because I had to.”
“It’s not your name,” he said, his voice soft, perhaps a little hurt. “But I’m not surprised– everyone else wants a part of me, why wouldn’t you?”
She shifted, uncomfortable. If she had the choice again– today– would she do what she had and promise him to the families? She wasn’t sure, not anymore. She lifted the filche, changing the subject. “You said you’d deal.”
“I’ll let you use my name as a possible president and sell me to the outer rim, to any families you can…. I’ll turn up when you need me to, and look as shockingly like my father as I suspect you’d like me to.” He touched his hair. “I’m growing this back– he always wore his a little longer than me.” He paused. “I want my own project group– my chance to prove I’m not just here for my name, that I have other things to offer. But I’ll warn you– the colonel has already turned me down for getting ideas above my station.”
“You’ll meet anyone we need you to?” she asked. “And you’ll back the Banned in public?” It would be the least that Michael would seek.
He leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs out. “Yes. I’m no orator, though.”
“We can address that. You’ll allow us to use your name?”
“Yes, provided you do not sell me as a future Emperor.”
He reached forward and put his hand over hers. A warmth spread through her, the same warmth as in the corridor earlier. She didn’t know what lay behind it, whether it was that she liked him, or the opportunity he offered, and she hated herself for not knowing, for being as much a politician as friend.
“I mean it, Sonly. I have to know I can trust you on this.”
She met his eyes, and swallowed. Michael had told her to bring him into the group and force his commitment, no matter how she did it. But he wanted commitment to the empire, not a presidency. Still, a presidency was a start; they could work on the rest once he’d come to accept that. She wriggled her hand free and closed the other around the filche. Rjala would hate her for this. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thank you.”
She paused: she knew so little about him, and if she was wrong to back him…. “There is one other thing I’ll want.”
He smiled. “Shoot.”
“My brother– I missed him. He’ll be on the project team.”
“Lichio?”
She nodded.
“That’s okay, he’s okay, but I have my own condition.” He paused. “No more reports on me– if you want to know something, just ask.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” she said, disappointed; she’d believed he wouldn’t read minds. She supposed this must be how he’d felt when she’d used his name.
“Of course you do– your brother’s smart, I like him a lot, and he’s reasonably competent around computers. But there is no security system I can’t bypass if I want to, and after I realised he was on Corun for me, I really wanted to.”
“You shouldn’t have looked; I’m sure they were listed as private.” She kept her voice steady, but she was pleased, nonetheless. Snooping in someone’s files wasn’t, perhaps, a particularly edifying act, but it was better than reading their mind.
He pulled a face. “I believe they might have been…. Look, if you can get the agreement for me, I’ll work with you. If you don’t, I’ll get a skinhead and deny all knowledge of my parents.”
Her mouth started to curl and she hastily hid the smile.
“And, perhaps, we could be a bit more open,” he said. “I’m not out to get the Banned, I’m here partly because I had nowhere else, and partly because I wanted to come back. All the way through my childhood, I wanted to come back….” Wanted to, but couldn’t. No wonder he didn’t trust her or the Banned. “I’m on your side– I just don’t want to be Emperor. Deal?”
She nodded. “Deal.”
He stood to go, and she had an image of him trying to deny his father– even bald it’d be impossible. She broke into a smile.
“What is it?” The confidence he’d shown was gone, replaced by something– an edge of embarrassment, a little ducking of the head.
A warmth spread through her, and she had to look away. She absolutely had to learn to control that. “You’d look ridiculous with a skinhead.”
“I know,” he said, and he smiled too. “I really do. So, please, see what you can do, save me from it. Please…” He left, closing the door behind him, and she slumped back in her seat. Lord, this was getting complicated, and she didn’t need it, not now. An hour, every day… she might have to reduce that; give him some books to read instead, or get Michael to do some of it. But first things first: she pulled her comms unit to her. “Rjala,” she said. “We need to talk…”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Silom looked across the desk at Lichio. “So, where am I being posted?”
“You’re staying with the 42nd. Planet called Merrandron, in the Calixta system, naturally habitable, not terraformed. We have a base on Nero.”
Neither name was familiar to Silom. “Nero?”
“Their satellite.”
“A naturally habitable satellite too?”
Lichio’s face twisted, as if in apology. “Sorry, no, the base is the only thing on it, and it’s got an artificial atmosphere. But the planet is better, if you get the chance to go over. A little on the cold side… take some thermals.”
Bastard. “Sir, I’d like it on record that I’ve requested a transfer to the Holbec base.”
“It’s on record.” Lichio leaned forward. “It’s not going to happen, though.”
“Why not? Because I’m space debris, first to die for the Banned?”
“No, not at all.” Lichio looked shocked, and Silom’s lip curled–
this boy had no idea that half the people who arrived at the Banned were fodder for a war that had already taken their homes and families.
“No, really,” said Lichio. “You’re a good soldier, you’ll do well. In fact, that’s why your transfer isn’t going to go ahead.” He sighed. “I think your career will be better served by being split from Kare.” Silom’s fists bunched, and Lichio put his hands up, as if in surrender. “It’s common practice to disperse those who arrive together. If it hadn’t been for the security implications, we’d have done it earlier.”
“I want to appeal against your decision.”
“Feel free.” Lichio paused. “Look, don’t take this the wrong way, but– has he got some sort of hold on you? Something you’re not telling us?”
Silom took a moment and then started to laugh. “You’re wondering has he been Influencing me? Wriggling his fingers and making me jump?”
“The thought crossed my mind.”
“No. I learned how to keep him out of my head a long time ago.”
“You seem very sure.”
“I am.”
Lichio drummed his fingers on the table. “If I’m right, you were forced to leave your home because of him. Your mother was killed because of him. Your girlfriend… ”
Silom’s coffee from earlier threatened to come up. “Do you know what happened to Liane?” He could barely get her name out, the fear was so great. He’d hardly managed to think about her since he got to the Banned, knowing what could have happened. Knowing that his last call to her father had been to a dead comms unit, and that his warning to get out might have been too late.
“No, we just know she’s not on Dignad anymore.”
Silom rubbed his hand on his chin, taking deep breaths. “The Empress?”
“Maybe. Or the local boys.”
It wouldn’t have mattered which– the same thing would have happened. It was horribly, sickeningly wrong. And his fault– he’d known about Kare when he’d met her. He should have kept his distance and never got involved with anyone. Kare had never moaned about the sacrifices he’d made, had never commented on the nights Silom had gone out with his friends, when he’d lived between four walls. Anger bubbled up, and he didn’t know who it was directed towards– Kare, for being a fucking saint and getting on with things, or himself for not being able to. Or the empire, for Liane. For the whole damn mess. He just knew he wanted to hit out, to hurt: to make things right.