The Empire of the Zon

by R. M. Burgess

  “Drop sky anchors,” she called out. The ship lurched to a stop.

  Her face now showed her relief, and the tension drained out of her. As a skilled professional, she took pleasure in a difficult job well done. Hebe could see that the airboat landing area just by the Keep in Upper Town had been prepared and kept clear of the steady snowfall. A ground crew was standing by. She opened a comm channel to the commandant of the citadel, Praefecta Laksa Vertina.

  “Praefecta Laksa, my orders are to reinforce you with two centuries. I have the units and gear ready on my hangar deck. I’d like clearance to begin debarkation.”

  Praefecta Laksa’s weathered and lined face broke into a smile. It had been almost ten years since she had retired as commander of the Pentheselia Legion. She was almost a hundred and forty, but she was still erect and looked tough and resilient. When she spoke, she sounded very relieved.

  “Captain Hebe, I cannot tell you how happy I am to welcome you to Ostracis. I hope you will come ashore and take some katsch with me.”

  “I plan to land with the first airboat, Praefecta,” said Hebe formally. “It will be an honor to wait on you.”

  She gave over command of the bridge to her executive officer and proceeded immediately to the hangar deck, where several airboats were loaded and ready to launch. The copilot’s seat in the lead airboat had been left open for her. She clambered aboard and had begun strapping herself in when the pilot touched her on the shoulder. She looked up and gave a cry of delight. The pilot was Brendel Nevisina, sporting shiny new wings on the breast of her uniform. Leaving her straps undone, she leaned over and hugged her daughter tightly, saying, “When did you get your pilot’s qualification? You didn’t even tell me you were aboard!”

  “I qualified just before we sailed, Captain,” said Brendel, smiling. “I was immediately reassigned to the Thetis from my old position in the Weather and Signals Unit. I didn’t tell you I was here because I didn’t want you to do anything special for me and compromise your command. My name has been on the pilots’ manifest.”

  Conscious of the squad of huntresses seated in the bay behind them, Hebe refrained from any further display of affection. However, she could not stop grinning as she completed clicking her five-point harness into place. Brendel fired up the engines and, getting clearance from the launch deck seignora, taxied onto the hangar deck elevator. Minutes later, they were on the launch deck, and she rapidly went through the short takeoff protocol with Hebe. Then they were airborne, and Brendel flew the airboat smoothly and competently through the falling snow. Under the gaze of her proud mother, she hovered and then gently touched down precisely where indicated by the ground crew.

  When the rear exit hatch hissed down, Hebe was given precedence in debarking. Centuria Ling Mae Yintina, the almond-eyed senior officer of the two debarked centuries, followed her down the ramp. The elderly ground crew seignora approached them and saluted, hand on heart. As they returned her salute, she said, “Ladies, Praefecta Laksa awaits you in the Small Reception Hall. One of my officiae will lead you there.”

  They thanked her and followed the officia, who led them on a short walk through the streets of Upper Town to the Keep. They passed through crowds of Ostracis residents on the way, old and withered or young Excellence board failures. Many were dressed in patched, faded, and weathered clothing. Both Hebe and Ling Mae squirmed inwardly—they had been brought up from infancy to worship beauty in physique and appearance.

  The pavements were cracked, and many street light panels were broken. There was graffiti disfiguring several of the walls they passed, much of it attacking the administration in Atlantic City. Ostracis offered a drastic contrast to the wealth and plenty of the Zon capital. Neither Hebe nor Ling Mae relished coming ashore. The thought of actually serving here filled Ling Mae with trepidation.

  They were relieved to be ushered into the Keep and into the presence of Praefecta Laksa. The Small Reception Hall was on the top level of the Keep and overlooked all of Ostracis. It was small only because the Keep also contained a Great Reception Hall. It was large enough to comfortably accommodate a reception for fifty. There was a roaring fire in the grate, though everyone’s temperature shields meant that it was mainly for show. The disparity between the luxury of the Keep and the relative poverty of the town was stark. And both Hebe and Ling Mae knew that Lower Town was even poorer.

  Praefecta Laksa was at the far corner of the room with the fire to her right and large viewports to her left. Her handmaiden, an aged crone with a slight stoop, stood behind her. Laksa came forward to receive them and, brushing aside their salutes, greeted them both as equals. Hebe managed to keep a straight face, but Ling Mae visibly cringed as she felt the robust old woman’s sagging breasts and wrinkly skin. Praefecta Laksa affected not to notice and led them to a comfortable arrangement of a sofa and armchairs, in the midst of which a steaming silver urn of katsch and several fine porcelain mugs were arranged on a low table.

  Laksa’s handmaiden poured out steaming mugs, and they were soon blowing on and sipping their drinks. It was surprisingly good katsch, almost to the standard of the best cafés in Atlantic City.

  Laksa dismissed her handmaiden, and when they were alone, she said, “As I said to you earlier, Captain Hebe, I am delighted that you are here. You may have seen the report I sent a short while back with Captain Rhea of the Hydromeda.”

  “Yes, we have heard about the unrest in Ostracis,” said Hebe, looking over Laksa’s shoulder to the Upper and Lower Towns.

  “I am afraid the situation has gotten much worse,” said Laksa. “A rabble of failed young commoners has been agitating for several years now, under the leadership of one Dushka Karandarina. She is barely thirty, a fat, despicable thing who seems to delight in her obesity. Unfortunately, as I mentioned in my last report, she has recently managed to convince some retired huntresses who were members of the citadel constabulary to join her cause. As you know, we maintain five centuries of retired huntresses here as an armed constabulary to keep order. Of course, I immediately had the offending huntresses arrested and placed in the dungeons under force restraints.”

  “You have the full confidence of the Legions, Praefecta Laksa,” said Hebe gravely. “Your dedication to duty after completing a full career of service to the Sisterhood is an example for us all.”

  “I wish I could be so confident of my abilities,” said Laksa humorlessly. “Three nights ago, just after we got the reports of the imminent glizzard, the imprisoned huntresses escaped. We are almost positive that Dushka and her confederates are behind this. Three constabulary huntresses were found dead the following morning with their throats cut. The fact they that they were killed close up and did not raise the alarm suggests they had been approached by someone they knew.”

  “Where are they now?” asked Ling Mae, leaning forward.

  “I am sorry to say that they seem to have escaped from Ostracis. We found over a dozen ’grators and about twenty laser pistols missing from the armory. There were traces of tampering at the Ravine Gate, and we suspect that they fled down the Steefen Valley toward Nordberg. I do not have the special forces or equipment to follow them. I am hopeful that with the resources of the Thetis at your command, you will be able to track them down and bring them back.”

  THE ANNUAL SHEEL Ball was in full swing. The huge ballroom of the Sheel mansion was abuzz and crowded with beautifully robed and jeweled aristocrats, electrae, and wealthy commoners. All were dressed to display gorgeous bodies, many with the latest fashions in bright body paints, as they traded gossip and looked for companionship. At one end of the ballroom, an orchestra played an intricate Hasspo ballet. At the other end, Queen Empress Hildegard sat on a slightly raised dais with her immediate court. There were a myriad of uniformed servers, pressed into service on temporary duty and all wearing the Sheel crest.

  Fine clove wine flowed, and the mood of the invitees grew more and more elated. Countess Dorothea and her younger daughter, Lady Tara, circulated among their gue
sts, welcoming and chatting. There was a collective gasp as the herald at the door called out, “Princess Deirdre d’Orr and Princess Andromache Saxe!” Deirdre had not wanted to come and give Dorothea consequence, but Andromache had come by the d’Orr palace and insisted.

  “The Sheel Ball has been going on for over a hundred and fifty years, since the days of Good Queen Sonia,” she had said. “It is an Atlantic City institution. I know Dorothea is a poor representative of her house, but many Sheel countesses have been credits to the Sisterhood. Think of her daughter, Alexandra. When she inherits the tiara, the house will have reason to be proud again.”

  The two princesses’ palaces were so near the Sheel mansion that they had decided to walk over. Nonetheless, they arrived with their full entourages of handmaidens, aides, and personal maidens. Both princesses looked stunning in long, diaphanous gowns and white thong slippers with high stiletto heels. It was extremely rare for Deirdre to be out of uniform and unarmed, but Andromache had insisted that this was a special evening. She had reluctantly acceded, though she complained, “I feel naked!”

  As necks craned to look at the princesses’ party at the entranceway, the orchestra stopped and moments later struck a rousing fanfare. Countess Dorothea hurried over, beckoning a server carrying a silver salver of crystal goblets filled with expensive, bubbly orange-peel liqueur from Kalas. Dorothea dropped to one knee in a rather excessive gesture of respect. As Andromache raised her to her feet, she said, “I am so honored this evening! First our noble Queen Empress has seen fit to grace our humble abode, and now both of our royal princesses, my childhood playmates, are here!”

  She attempted to touch breasts with Andromache, but she took a small step back, placed her hands on Dorothea’s face, and kissed her on both cheeks. Dorothea then turned toward Deirdre, who merely put up her index finger in stern negation, nipping off any attempts at further intimacy.

  “Princess Deirdre, I am sure I speak for all the Sisterhood when I offer you my sincere condolences for the unpardonable behavior of your daughter, Lady Caitlin,” said Dorothea in a carrying voice. “This stain on the honor of the House of d’Orr will not be soon expunged.” She put her hand on her Order of Motherhood and bowed. “It makes me realize how precious is the true service of my own dear daughter, Centuria Lady Alexandra.”

  Before Deirdre could answer, Andromache intervened.

  “I suggest you save your condolences for those in true need, Countess Dorothea,” she said coolly. “Seignora Lady Caitlin is innocent, and her record of service to the Sisterhood is without blemish till she has appeared before a formal tribunal. As far as I know, no such procedure has begun.”

  Deirdre had been caught between her own anger at Caitlin’s behavior and her fury that Dorothea, who had never done anything in her life but barely scrape through her Excellence boards, dared criticize her darling daughter in public. So she now looked over at Andromache gratefully. She inclined her head, not deigning to give Dorothea a response, and cruised into the ballroom.

  Deirdre was soon surrounded by well-wishers and political allies, Caitlin forgotten for the moment. Andromache made her way to Hildegard, who rose to greet her and took her hand.

  “Walk with me,” she said. They walked out through French windows onto the mansion’s large balcony, sipping Kalas liqueur and trailed by their handmaidens. The lights of the city twinkled below them. Deirdre soon joined them.

  She took Andromache’s arm and said, “Thank you for dealing with Dorothea. She’s irritated me ever since we were little girls together. I’m always tempted to slap her.”

  “When we were little girls together, you often did,” said Andromache, smiling. She turned to Hildegard, saying, “See, Your Majesty, it was pretty rough growing up here in Temple Heights.”

  The French windows opened again, and the sweet melodies of the orchestra drifted out to them. Vivia Pragarina approached them, followed by two of her Guild Mistresses. She was splendidly attired in a gown of the finest Kanjiam silk, so thin that even though it was made up with a dozen layers, it was still diaphanous. It was shot through with the finest filaments of gold. She wore a dull white-gold choker that gave off the glow associated with the rare mines of the Southern Marches, and from it hung a ruby the size of a pigeon’s egg. Her dark brown hair was teased and piled on top of her head in an intricate hairdo that was held in place with diamond studs arranged to mimic a tiara. I bet that hairdo cost ten gold talents, Andromache thought. She looked elegant and confident as she went to one knee in front of the queen.

  “Rise, Vivia. We are pleased to see you,” said Hildegard. “I hope you are enjoying the ball?”

  “Indeed, Your Majesty,” she said warmly. “It is such a pleasure to see you and the royal princesses on such a happy occasion.” She nodded to both Andromache and Deirdre with only the slightest of bows. Deirdre could feel her hackles rising, and her eyes flashed.

  Vivia raised her hand, indicating the Confederation Tower, which soared above them from the depths of the Lower Wards. “The Guilds have requested me to ask Your Majesty about the administration’s intentions in Utrea and Briga. We of the Trading Guilds beg you to consider that we bring forty to fifty million gold talents in profits into the Sisterhood every year—far more than our annual tribute collections. And war is not good for business.”

  “Vivia, you were at the fighting pit with Seignora Lady Caitlin,” said Andromache carefully. “You realize the dangers we face. The huntresses and priestesses love prosperity and crave peace as much as you, but we must be careful that we do not trade away our technological advantage over the barbarians.”

  Vivia was silent for a moment.

  “My market women have heard rumors,” she said quietly. “We have heard of a rich bounty on the head of Lady Caitlin. We have heard that the news of the bounty is being spread like wildfire, first by the Red Khalif ’s men posting notices all over Briga, and then by every tinker, journeyman, and traveler.”

  Hildegard shook her head sadly. “We have heard the same, Vivia,” she said. “Princess Deirdre has heard the same information from her network of barbarian agents.”

  “My market women trade in every market town,” said Vivia softly. “Many grumble that all this military activity is scaring the barbarian traders away and that unless we hand Lady Caitlin over to the Red Khalif, we will be at war with Briga. And the bounty is large enough to be tempting.”

  “How dare you threaten us, Vivia!” exploded Deirdre. “Seignora Lady Caitlin is accused of disobeying orders and will face a civilized court martial in Atlantic City. Any attempt to avert that outcome is treason and will be dealt with as such!”

  “I am not threatening you,” said Vivia smoothly. “I am merely bringing to your notice that not all market women can resist temptation as well as I.”

  “When you deal with your market women, recall that Lady Caitlin got you out of that fighting pit alive,” said Andromache.

  Vivia merely nodded. She went to one knee before the queen, and the market women took their leave.

  Deirdre stabbed her finger in the direction of the Confederation Tower.

  “Those market women have far too much money,” she said. “They have too many freighter airboats and use too much of the Great Engine’s output. We should raise their taxes and cut back on their power supplies.”

  “Your ancestor and daughter’s namesake, Queen Caitlin the Unforgiving, tried that six hundred years ago,” Hildegard reminded her. “The market women stopped working and nearly bankrupted the Sisterhood. We need them, Deirdre…perhaps more than they need us.”

  EIGHT

  CAITLIN AND NITYA had been riding steadily northward for a week. Each day it grew a little colder, and the nights were now frosty. At first, they had camped mostly in open country, but as they began transiting out of the rich Amu-Shan basin, Caitlin had found sheltering rock outcroppings. On one particularly rainy night, she even found a fairly significantly cave in which they hunkered down, dry and warm.

&nbs
p; Caitlin was worried about giving away their position to the Sisterhood and used flash downloads to pull down updates from the comm. She heard about the coming storm and knew it would be dangerous for them to be caught outdoors when it hit. As it was, she was using her temperature shield sparingly to conserve her wrist bracer battery pack. She also felt uncomfortable using it when Nitya was clearly cold and huddled in her cloak.

  The light was failing now, and they rode in a light drizzle. The terrain was getting hillier as they entered the Northern Marches. Caitlin dared not make for the main city of Karsk, but thought that swinging further north would take them to the small trading post of Upper Thal. She glanced over at Nitya. The girl never complained and maintained a happy composure even as she was collapsing with fatigue trying to keep up with her supremely fit companion. She was clearly tired and cold now, hunched forward in her saddle, her cloak drawn tightly around her. The hills around them were honeycombed with caves and offered many opportunities for shelter. Caitlin led them toward the flank of hill that rose steeply to their right and soon found a significant fissure in the rock face. The mouth was large enough for them to ride into, but it was screened by large boulders and not obvious to the casual observer.

  “We will camp here for the night,” said Caitlin, leaning over toward Nitya and pointing to the cleft in the rock. Nitya smiled, nodded, and urged her horse in the direction Caitlin indicated. A few moments later, they were in the cave with their horses hobbled. Caitlin walked outside and cut several armfuls of scrub brush with her sword and began to carry them back into the cave. She found that Nitya followed her out and carried as much as she could, smiling whenever Caitlin looked at her, even as she stumbled with fatigue.