Hell's Gate m-1

by David Weber

  "That remains to be seen. Sharona's own past includes societies that were guilty of rabid xenophobia, which led them to commit what we would consider atrocities by today's standards. I regret to say that some of the worst examples of that xenophobia occurred long after the emergence of the Talents, too.

  "We won't know what we're dealing with out there until we learn more. I've always tried to keep an open mind, but I have to admit things look pretty damning at the moment. Whether they remain so is a question only time and additional contact with them can answer."

  His face tightened for just an instant with what she knew was an echo of the Glimpses of war and slaughter both of them had Seen. Then he inhaled deeply, harshly.

  "My personal gut reaction is to wade into them, guns blazing in retribution." His voice was iron, yet he shook his head at the same time. "But that's precisely why I distrust that reaction. A ruler responsible for hundreds of millions of lives who indulges a personal desire for revenge is a disaster. That sort of response is a surefire recipe for killing a lot of our own people, and squandering the lives of courageous men?and women?selfishly, often for no good or justifiable reason, makes you a mass murderer."

  Someone down the table hissed through his teeth.

  "If, on the other hand, I believed, really believed, Andrin, and had the hard evidence to prove to my total satisfaction that the only way to ensure the survival of Ternathia?or Sharona?was to wage genocide, I would do exactly that. It would rip my soul to shreds, but I would, by all the gods, do it. Just as I would fight to the death to stop others from committing genocide, if I believed them to be wrong morally and politically. That is what it means to rule. Don't ever forget it, Andrin."

  His gaze was so intense she felt as if she were on fire. She met it through sheer willpower, scared to the bottoms of her stockings. Scared of the man inside her father's clothes?a man she'd never met before. A man capable of ordering the deaths of millions … and implacable enough to stand up to anything and anyone under the gods' heavens who opposed any decision he made.

  I can't fill those shoes! her mind gibbered in terror. I don't even understand the man wearing them!

  Then the blazing intensity in his eyes gentled, and he gave her a sad smile.

  "I hate frightening you, 'Drin. But it's better for you to know the truth, however brutal, now, not months or years down the road, when a misstep on your part could bring catastrophe to the Empire. Janaki has already faced the weight of the crown I wear?that one of you will wear in the future. Would to all the gods that I could have let you remain a child just a little longer."

  The terror in her breast turned into an ache that made breathing impossible and clogged her throat. The tears she couldn't hold back broke free, filling her with shame for letting them show, for her lack of control … for making her father's pain even worse. She wanted to say "I'm sorry," but her throat was too tight, too raw. So she only nodded, hoping he would understand, or at least stop looking at her through eyes filled with remorse she couldn't bear. It cut like a blade, that remorse, yet it came without a hint of apology for the necessity of what he'd said. He couldn't have not said it and continued to be worthy of his crown. She understood that, too … and couldn't find the words to tell him that, either.

  She had never felt like such a wretched failure in her entire life.

  Without a word, he pulled a handkerchief from a coat pocket and passed it down the table. She clutched the square of white linen as though it were a lifeline, drying her eyes and ordering the faucet behind them to stop leaking. Fighting her whole body, which ached with the need to put her head down and bawl like a lost child. Instead, she stiffened her spine, gulped several times, and got herself under control. She very carefully did not look at the distress and sympathy in the faces of the Privy Councilors, for her emotions were too precarious to risk seeing it. Instead, she met her father's gaze head-on once more, and as she did, she felt a new and special kinship with him.

  He had experienced exactly this same moment, she realized suddenly, seeing the Emperor inside the father … and the boy who had become the man so long ago. He knew exactly what he was doing to her, what she was enduring?must endure?because his father had done the same thing to him, and that understanding made it infinitely worse for the father who loved her. And as she looked into his eyes, saw that memory and that pain merged in their depths, she loved him more deeply than she ever had before.

  "I'm sorry for disrupting the Conclave yet again, Father," she managed to croak. "It won't happen again."

  He didn't embarrass her further by assuring her that it was quite all right, because she knew it wasn't. She desperately wanted her mother … and knew, without hope of regaining what she had lost, but she would never again be able to hide her face in her mother's shoulder and pretend the world wasn't waiting to hurt her again. In a roomful of people, she felt more alone than she had ever felt in her life as her father nodded and asked the Privy Voice to continue transmitting Director Limana's address.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The train finally cleared the congested city of Gulf Point, situated at the base of the Finger Sea, where the Gulf of Shurkhal connected that sea with the Harkalan Ocean. Even with the Crown Prince's prized locomotive, the journey had required almost ten hours, and the Voice conclave had been over for over an hour by the time they reached the city. Halidar Kinshe felt drained and exhausted, although he'd actually said very little during the conclave itself. Wilkon had kept him and the Crown Prince fully informed, and, if he was going to be honest, Kinshe had to admit that it had gone far better than he'd feared. But the generally ugly mood of the attending heads of state had not filled him with optimism. Worse, they'd resonated with his own grinding sense of responsibility and blazing need for retribution, and his mood was heavy as they approached their destination at last.

  The Gulf's busy shipping lanes carried freighters laden with goods from around the globe, making Gulf Point one of the busiest ports in the world. It took time to thread their way through the jammed city, swinging around the southwestern-most point of land to head east toward the little town where Shaylar had gone to school. It lay only thirty miles farther down the coast, but the sun had settled well into the west as the special train pulled into the small local station at last and the prince's carriage was unloaded.

  It took a little longer to get the cavalry escort's mounts off-loaded, as well, before they could set out to be Institute, and they drew curious stares from the townfolk, who recognized the royal crest on the carriage. Kinshe could see excited conversations springing up in their wake as people speculated about this unannounced royal visit, but they rode in absolute silence as they followed the road through town and out beyond it. The Cetacean Institute was visible now, another three miles ahead.

  Kinshe hadn't visited this part of Shurkhal in years?decades, to be more exact. He'd stood on this shoreline as a very junior member of Shurkhal's Parliament, celebrating the opening of Shurkhal's own Cetacean Institute?the Kingdom's sole cetacean translation facility. Part embassy, but mostly research station, the Institute had been founded by Dr. Shalassar Kolmayr-Brintal. Although Shalassar was not a native-born daughter of Shurkhal, she had built a legacy in which the entire Kingdom could take pride.

  Thanks to her work, the dolphins had led Shurkhali divers to rich pearl beds which might have lain undiscovered for centuries, otherwise. Shurkhali pearls fetched excellent prices on the world market, famous for their size and luster, and Shurkhali explorers had laid claim to those to those same pearl beds in other universes, as well, increasing the Kingdom's prestige while providing income to establish Shurkhali colonies.

  All of Shurkhal knew who they truly had to thank for that, and Shurkhalis had long since come to recognize Shalassar Kolmayr-Brintal as one of their own, even though she had been born on one of the tiny island chains scattered across the Scurlis Ocean. The Scurlis was Sharona's largest body of water, more than nine thousand miles long, north to south, and nearly ten t
housand miles wide along the equator. Most of its islands were governed by the Lissian Republic, whose main landmass was the continent-sized island that was home to some of the strangest creatures on Sharona.

  Shalassar had grown up on one of those Lissian-governed islands. She was a tremendously Talented telepath, whose childhood friends had been dolphins and the great whales that roamed the Scurlis Ocean. She had come to Shurkhal to establish the Institute as one of a worldwide chain of embassies serving the sentient whales and dolphins.

  They were close enough now to see the large dock and the enormous area which had been roped off around it to serve as the official embassy. A large bell hung from a pole on the dock, with a stout cable that trailed into the water. That bell was a necessary signaling device. Kinshe had heard that she'd had to replace it?and the dock?occasionally when an emissary from a new pod of whales approached to ask for assistance and gave the cable too hard a tug the first try. Shalassar Kolmayr-Brintal simply took it all in stride, as she had everything else in her life.

  Until now, at least, he thought, biting his lip.

  No one was at home in the house. A note on the door said: "We're at the Embassy. Come on down, the water's fine!"

  Kinshe's heart twisted as he read the cheerful words, and he looked at his wife. She was biting her lip now, and he took her hand as they climbed back into the carriage and followed the road around to the cluster of buildings at the water's edge, half a mile from the house. Outside the carriage, the silence was glorious, broken only by the wind and the heartbeat-rushing of the sea against the shore. Inside the carriage, the silence was oppressive, as heavy as a storm brewing on the horizon, broken only by the knife-sharp rattle of horses' hooves on the graveled drive.

  "Hal," Alimar murmured, squeezing his hand. She started to say something more, then simply closed her lips and fell silent again. She'd tried to convince him on the train that this wasn't his fault. She'd tried hard … and she would still be trying when he lay on his deathbed.

  The carriage clattered to a halt in front of the Institute's main administration building. The footman scrambled to open the door, and this time the Crown Prince climbed down first and handed Alimar to the ground. Kinshe followed, and Wilkon climbed out last.

  The Institute's front door opened and Shalassar Kolmayr-Brintal herself hurried out into the sunlight, eyes wide with surprise as her glance flicked across the royal crest on the carriage door.

  "Your Highness!" she said, clearly astonished to see the Crown Prince. "And Representative Kinshe," she added, as she dropped into the deep curtsy she had learned in the years since arriving on the shores. Shaylar was very much a miniature of this woman, whose Lissian island heritage showed in her honey-toned skin and the sleek black hair falling straight as a waterfall down her back. It was tinted here and there with strands of pure silver, but those were the only signs of age Kinshe could detect. It was obvious that their arrival had taken her completely by surprise, but she was trying not to show it, and her immense natural dignity helped.

  "Forgive me for not sending word ahead to expect our visit," Danith Fyysel said gently. The final decision had been his, although Kinshe had been in total agreement. They could have asked Wilkon to alert her and her husband, but they'd chosen to remain silent rather than alarm and worry them hours in advance. Now the Crown Prince took her hand, lifting her from the deep curtsy, and made introductions.

  "You know Representative Kinshe, I know," he said. "Allow me to present his wife, Alimar Kinshe-Dulan, and Samari Wilkon, a senior Voice of the Portal Authority." He finished the formalities, then inhaled deeply. "My father asked me to accompany Representative Kinshe and Voice Wilkon today. I must ask, is your husband home, Doctor?"

  Shalassar's eyebrows rose, and she looked back and forth between Kinshe and the Crown Prince.

  "Yes, he?" she began, then broke off abruptly. She stared into Crown Prince Danith's eyes, and the color seemed to drain out of her face.

  "Something's wrong, isn't it?" she said tautly. "Something's happened."

  Danith squared his shoulders, but Halidar Kinshe took a small step forward before the Crown Prince could speak. He wished profoundly that someone else could have brought this news, but it was his job, and no one else's.

  "We've brought a message, Doctor. A very urgent and important message. We need to deliver it to both you and your husband."

  Shalassar had pressed her hands against her cheeks. The long, slender fingers were unsteady.

  "It's Shayl, isn't it? Something's happened to my little Shayl… . "

  Her lips trembled, and her huge, expressive eyes were dark with shadows. It was a mark of just how distressed she was that she'd used the pre-marriage form of her daughter's name. She stared at Kinshe for several more seconds, then turned away, started for the Institute, stopped, and turned back to them.

  "Come in, please," she said in a faint voice. "Come in out of the sun. You must be frightfully hot and thirsty from your journey. I'll have my assistant bring some cool water, some fruit … "

  Alimar bit her lip again and tightened her fingers around Kinshe's as Shalassar tried desperately to cling to the proper conventions. They followed her into the Institute's main lobby, such as it was. The administration building was mostly office space, with a small antechamber where infrequent guests could wait for the two or three minutes necessary to track down the Director.

  Wide open windows caught the sea breeze, carrying the unmistakable scent of deep ocean water into the thick-walled room. It was pleasantly cool, despite the fierce heat outside. Just offshore lay the floating dock and the bell. The colorfully painted floats holding up the rope around the dock's reserved approaches hurt his eyes as the afternoon sunlight slanted fiercely across them. They hurt his heart, as well, as he contemplated his reason for being here. It was monstrous to bring such news to this beautiful place.

  The promised assistant arrived with the refreshments while Shalassar went out to fetch her husband. She could have simply spoken to him with her mind, since both of them were strong telepaths who shared the even closer communication possible through their marriage bond, but she went to find him in person. No doubt, Kinshe thought, in hopes of regaining her shattered composure before she had to face them once again.

  He sipped water gratefully, but he couldn't even nibble at the succulent orange slices or sweet palm dates on the platter. His stomach rebelled at the mere thought of food, and Wilkon didn't touch the fruit, either. The Voice's eyes showed his own inner agitation, which was far worse even than Kinshe's. Kinshe knew what message they were here to deliver, but he was no telepath. Wilkon was, and the Farnalian had actually experienced it himself already.

  Then Shalassar returned with her husband in tow. Thaminar Kolmayr-Brintal, like most full-blooded Shurkhali, was a slender man, neither tall nor short, but lean and tough as old leather. Despite his strong telepathic Talent, he had chosen to remain on his family's land as a farmer and livestock breeder, rather than seek a position as a registered Voice. His skin was the weathered, furrowed brown of those who spent lifetimes laboring in the fierce desert sun, and he was possessed of all his people's personal dignity and presence. He greeted his Crown Prince with a deep, formal bow; then met Kinshe's gaze head-on. Muscles bunched in his jaw under his dark, close-trimmed beard.

  "Come into the office," he said, his voice rough. "We'll talk there."

  They stepped into a room which reflected its owner's life hands much as the work done here. Island artwork hung on the walls, reminders of Shalassar's girlhood home, but file cabinets took up most of the wall space, their wooden cases carefully oiled against the dry desert air. A desk in one corner looked almost like an afterthought, a concession to the need for orderly workspace to record the conversations with various cetaceans, the dissertations written by various transient students over the years, research data, published articles and books, even?and perhaps most important?treaties that governed Sharona's relationship with their sentient, aquatic neighbors.<
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  Even as that thought crossed his mind, Kinshe saw several sleek, wet hides break the surface, visible through the office window, punctuated by the hiss of cetaceans surfacing to breathe. Given their size, he surmised that a pod of dolphins had come calling, although one or two might have been larger. It was hard for him to tell.

  Then Shaylar's father closed the door, and Kinshe turned his attention to repeating the introductions. Thaminar Kolmayr-Brintal and his wife stood together, arms wrapped around one another, even their free hands gripping one another's. Two strong telepaths, fused for the moment into one terrified personality staring at him with parents' eyes.

  "What is it?" Thaminar asked, his voice even rougher than before. "What's gone so wrong that the King sends his Heir and a Royal Representative to deliver the bad news?"

  "There's been an incident?" Kinshe began, then paused, cursing his own cowardice, and amended his phrasing. "An act of war has been committed against Sharonian citizens. I'm desperately sorry to bring such news. The Portal Authority Director has asked Voice Wilkon to deliver the last message your daughter transmitted."

  Shalassar's knees buckled at the dreadful word "last." She clutched at her husband, nostrils flared, eyes clenched shut, and he eased her into a chair. He crouched beside her, wrapping his arm around her while she shuddered, and lifted angry wounded eyes to meet Kinshe's.

  "What you mean by that, Kinshe? An act of war?"

  "Exactly that, sir," Kinshe made himself reply as levelly as possible. "We don't have very many details yet, but Shaylar's team ran into an unknown human civilization?a violently hostile one, apparently. Her first message reported that one of their crew had been shot by an unknown assailant. They ran for the nearest portal. They didn't make it."

  Shalassar began to weep, her breath ragged, her wet face twisted with grief, and Kinshe steeled himself to tell them the rest.

  "Her second and final message was sent less than two hours after the first. Because of a transmission delay, it overtook the first, and both of them arrived at the Authority simultaneously this morning."