by Alix Nichols
Vetil and the superintendent trusted Dann, even though he was an ERIGAT staffer and reported to the horrid Cemaluria Clonk. Etana had met her once. That encounter convinced her that Zoly was right to suspect that Colonel Yaggar was wary of her because of her mother.
In the afternoons, Etana would go back to the admin sector, lock herself up in the little office she’d been given and exercise. Vetil had given her three thick volumes on mediation and mindfulness. She practiced her breathing according to an ancient Ra method and to an ancient human method. She learned to empty her mind and reach deep into its recesses looking for things she didn’t know she knew. High-level concentration was another goal she strove to reach through a series of big and small exercises.
When her mind ached from all the strain, she’d go to the gym area and practice Rateh with a samurai. Zoly would usually show up at the gym around the same time, but her level of skill was immeasurably higher than Etana’s, so the samurai never paired the two of them. In fact, he had a separate program for Zoly, who, to Etana’s unpracticed eye, was every bit as good at Rateh as their teacher.
After the Rateh practice, she’d go back to the admin wing and talk with one of Vetil’s rich-bloods, trying to understand how they controlled and channeled their gifts.
The problem was they all did it in a different way, each using their own technique or a combination of techniques. Some didn’t control their gift at all. The power came to them at random times and with varying frequency. Etana prayed she wasn’t one of those rich-bloods.
By the time she’d call it a day, she’d be dead on her feet. But that was fine. She had told the superintendent she was prepared to die trying to control her power. She’d meant it.
The other reason she was fine with that rhythm was that it helped her cope with waiting on Areg. He’d left Hente two weeks ago, and they’d talked daily, but Etana hadn’t seen him yet. Areg was still at an undisclosed facility where Timm had taken him after they left Hente. Colonel Yaggar said it was safer that way. Too many people at LORSS had seen Areg before. They could recognize him.
At the facility Areg was fitted with prosthetic legs, a pair of sturdy wings and a bunch of other implants, which turned him into a late-life cyborg. He was given a new identity. And, like Etana, he underwent several facial surgeries, altering his features in small but significant enough ways to render him unrecognizable.
Once the surgeries were done and he learned to walk naturally, he would join the Enforcer Corps and receive intensive training.
And Etana would be allowed to see him.
“What would you like to do tonight?” Zoly asked.
“No idea. You choose.”
“Ear-blast and darts?”
Etana smiled. Going to the dingiest bar at LORSS where you could listen to raucous music called “ear-blast,” drink root ale, and compete in throwing darts was Zoly’s idea of fun. That it was also the way her revered enforcers liked to unwind at the end of their long days had nothing to do with anything.
Obviously.
Fifteen minutes later, the two of them were entering the ear-blast bar in the yellow zone of the rest and recreation sector. A wild blend of perfumes mixed with the smells of grilled snacks and sweat greeted Etana. The air in the room seethed. What a contrast to the breezy freshness everywhere else at LORSS!
Like the previous two times Zoly had brought her here, Etana was tempted to press her palms to her ears and block the noise. But she fought that impulse. Soon enough, she began to distinguish the singer’s voice, the drum beat and the not-so-unpleasant sounds of instruments that didn’t exist on Hente. All of that poured into the bar from textured bulges in the ceiling and walls.
Etana made a mental note to ask Zoly how this system worked. Poor Zoly had to be fed up with Etana’s endless questions about the tech she’d never seen before. But she answered them to the best of her knowledge.
They waved and shouted their drink orders to the waiter. When the ales arrived, Etana took a few swigs, and Zoly drained her glass. Then they joined a group throwing darts with Zoly aiming for the central dot and Etana trying to hit the dartboard inside the biggest circle.
Talking was useless with the loud music blaring overhead.
In the middle of the group’s cheering as Zoly’s dart pierced the iris of the smallest circle, something made Etana turn around. A tall, brawny man with a neat beard and a buzz cut was shouldering his way through the bar area. He scanned the crowd. When their eyes met, Etana’s heart launched into a series of somersaults.
Areg.
He wasn’t due at LORSS for another week, she told herself. His face was different, even the shape and color of his eyes were different. But the soul shining through them was Areg’s. Etana knew it in her bones. In her loins.
He grinned and shouted something over the loud music. She couldn’t make out the words. He shouted again and began to push through the crowd toward her.
Etana’s knees wobbled. A floaty sensation washed over her and the room spun even though she’d barely touched her ale. She grabbed the edge of the table for support.
And then he was in front of her, pulling her into his arms and pressing his mouth to hers.
Ah, the familiar feel of his lips!
A little dry, springy, warm. The heat in his hands, his arms, and his body enveloped her, melting her muscles and bones to liquid fire.
He murmured something against her mouth in between hot kisses. She wasn’t sure what he was saying. It didn’t matter. Areg was here with her.
The ear-blast music ceased, replaced by a much quieter song.
“Sweet pea, I missed you so much!” Areg drew away a little and surveyed her. “I love you so much.”
“Even like this, looking like someone else?”
He shrugged, his expression earnest. “You look like you to me.”
The funny thing was Etana knew exactly what he meant.
“You look like you to me, too,” she said.
Zoly cleared her throat behind them.
Etana spun around inside Areg’s embrace and grinned at Zoly. Kissing the top of her head, he clasped his hands under her breasts, his forearms brushing them underneath—a secret preview of the things he wanted to do as soon as they were alone.
“This is Dommir,” Etana said before glancing up at him. “And this is Zoly, my new friend.”
Zoly and Areg greeted each other warmly.
“So, this is the boyfriend you longed to see again, huh,” Zoly said to Etana, shaking her head. “An enforcer cyborg. And you didn’t think that detail was worth mentioning, did you?”
“Boyfriend?” Areg quirked an eyebrow at Etana, his eyes bright with mirth. “I see. Is it because I was too busy to get us new wrist-cords that you’ve downgraded your husband to a boyfriend?”
Etana blinked once, twice.
Zoly looked from her to Areg. “You guys are married?”
Areg nodded. “I even happen to have a copy of our marriage certificate in my wallet.”
“You’re full of surprises, Tay.” Zoly shook her head before shrugging good-naturedly. “I guess we all have our secrets.”
Much later when Etana and Areg lay in her bed, spent and happy, she told him she’d need to practice calling him husband.
“It shouldn’t be too hard,” he said, his voice sleepy. “You managed to do that when we were married on Hente.”
“True.” She kissed his chest. “What a shame that wedding was annulled! I love that we have a valid marriage certificate, but I would’ve loved it even more if our marriage before Aheya was valid as well.”
He gave her a sly smile. “Ready for the last surprise of the day?”
She squinted at him.
“That marriage is valid, Tay,” he said, calling her by her new name as they’d agreed. “The ceremony was performed by qualified vestals, and it was done by the book.”
“But it was canceled before we consummated—”
“I have it on both Reverend Goyyem’s and P
rioress Eckme’s authority. It’s the annulment that’s invalid.”
“How so?”
Areg ran his hand across his regulation haircut. “There’s no deadline to consummate the marriage—just the required period of abstention on the first day.”
“And if the couple abstains a little longer than that?”
“Believe it or not, but it’s a good thing, recommended in some canonic text on married life.”
She squinted at him.
“The couple does need to consummate the union within a reasonable timespan,” Areg said. “And we did that in the cave.”
Etana’s face expanded into a huge grin. “So, our marriage is valid before Aheya?”
“Yes, it is, sweet pea. Absolutely and irrevocably.”
22
Lord Boggond crossed his spacious dining room, his heels clicking against the white stone.
One of Eia’s governors long before him had had enough white stone imported all the way from the Homeland Arm to cover every room in the Governor’s Palace except for the rooftop terrace, which boasted the most expensive wood in the galaxy. The man clearly appreciated elegance and beauty, just like Lord Boggond did.
Must’ve been a noble-born.
Small wonder Governor Iorasu, who hailed from a rich proficient family, didn’t care for such things. Money couldn’t buy you good taste.
Lord Boggond shuddered, remembering how in the second year of the Teteum invasion, when the army’s supply chain broke down, Governor Iorasu auctioned the antiques in this palace to pay for ammunition, dried meat and boots for soldiers.
Priceless items ended up in the hands of successful upstarts like Haddu Gokk. Some were millennia old.
Many an evening, Lord Boggond had pored over the catalog in the Governor’s library, caressing the images with his fingertips. A Middle Ra Era ouroboros. Several Late Ra Era statuettes. A dozen leather-bound books with intricate illustrations. They were written in one of the lost Terran languages and brought to Xereill with the first human infusion almost two thousand years ago.
Iorasu had no right to sell those objects!
They weren’t his to sell. Amassed by successive Eian governors, they were supposed to stay between these walls and add to the grandeur of the resident governor. In a way, Iorasu had stolen those items from him.
Lord Boggond clenched his fists as he walked through the doors held open for him by two liveried footmen. I’ll get them back, one by one.
Once endorsed, he’d have all the time in Xereill for that. After all, he wasn’t going to stay in this palace for just ten years. He was staying here for life.
Stepping out onto the sunbathed terrace, Lord Boggond headed toward Voqras, Yemella, and Ultek. All three stood from their armchairs to greet him.
He gave them a cursory nod. The lack of antiques in his palace wasn’t the only thing that kept Lord Boggond in a foul mood these days.
He took an armchair across an oversized kawa table from his aides and curled his lip. “Were you able to find out more about Sebi’s talks from the grave?”
“They are prerecorded messages,” Ultek said. “He must’ve prepared them while he was on the run.”
“How?” Lord Boggond leaned forward. “Who helped him? Who the hell is sending them out now?”
A muscle on Voqras’s always-composed face twitched. “We’re still unable to establish that, Your Grace.”
“You’re a hive cyborg. Do your tech magic.”
“Trust me, I’ve tried everything,” Voqras said. “But whoever is broadcasting the talks… they’re good. And well-equipped.”
Yemella peeled her besotted little eyes off the cyborg. “We believe they have a special mobile antenna, which they use to send their messages to the commlet relay, from where it goes to all the commlets. The only way to stop it is to destroy the relay.”
“Then do it.”
“It would make everyone’s, including Your Grace’s, commlets useless,” Yemella said.
“No way!” Ultek placed a protective hand on his pocket. “I need my commlet.” Adjusting his tone, he added, “It’s indispensable for work.”
Lord Boggond needed his commlet, too. There had to be another solution.
Ultek stroked his mustache. “We shouldn’t be too afraid of Sebi’s talks. How many could he have recorded, anyway? Four? Five? We’re two down already. When the last one arrives, the Endorsement Vote will still be over six months away. Plenty of time to repair the damage.”
Lord Boggond turned to Yemella. “What’s your take?”
“If the messages cease in a few weeks, and if I’m given the means I need for a massive propaganda campaign, you will be endorsed, Your Grace.”
“That’s too many ifs.” Lord Boggond closed his eyes and listened to the breeze sliding through the potted plants. “Way too many ifs.”
He stood up and went to the security railing. His bodyguards rushed to his side and his aides followed.
Lord Boggond gazed at the green hills of Orogate Valley. “What about Commander Heidd? Could he be involved somehow? Have you been keeping tabs on him?”
“On the surface, he’s squeaky clean,” Voqras said. “According to the tracker, he drives to the office in the morning, back home at night, and makes inspection trips at scheduled times and to scheduled locations.”
Lord Boggond turned to Ultek. “Have you tried talking to his staff?”
“My best undercover agents have, Your Grace,” Ultek said. “But Heidd’s servants are so fiercely loyal that talking to them is like reading his official biography. Useless.”
Lord Boggond noticed a chip in the polished wood of the railing. The housekeeper was getting sloppy. Lazy, incompetent scum, the lot of them!
He sighed. “Well, maybe Heidd is clean.”
“It’s possible.” There was a hesitation in Voqras’s voice.
Lord Boggond arched an eyebrow. “But?”
“May I speak frankly, Your Grace?”
Lord Boggond nodded.
“Based on everything I’ve learned about him, Jancel Heidd is the perfect soldier. Respectful, by the book, selfless.”
Lord Boggond shrugged. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
“He’s no coward like Judge Mahabmet.”
“Get to the point, Voqras.”
“My point is…” The cyborg hesitated again. “The hive mind tells me that a man like that—a brave and selfless man—shouldn’t be supporting you, Your Grace.”
Everyone around Lord Boggond stopped breathing.
“And yet he is,” Voqras said. “That begs the question why.”
Overcoming his initial shock at the cyborg’s blunt statement, Lord Boggond forced himself to think. It could be the soldiers. The army was Heidd’s entire life, his top priority. He’d proven it by not intervening in Sebi’s favor two months ago, unlike that stupid cow Aynu Eckme had done.
Her Royal fucking Glory. She rubbed him the wrong way, that woman, with her regal bearing and her ancient lineage, nobler than Lord Boggond’s. As noble as it got, to be exact. Not to mention her popularity across all classes. Granted, she was a devout vestal and steered clear of politics… But he’d have Ultek take care of her once he was endorsed.
Back to Heidd.
“He’s doing it for the sake of the army and the realm’s security,” Lord Boggond said.
“Hmm…” Ultek’s hand went to his mustache. “I’m not so sure. The way he snatched Nyssa Sebi from me…”
“How’s that relevant?”
“When Voqras and I went to his house to question her, I saw how he treats her.” Ultek’s mouth curved downward. “The woman is defenseless—she’s dead, for crying out loud. He could do all sorts of things to her. But he treats her like a princess.”
“And that matters because?”
“Because of her brother.” Ultek stared into Lord Boggond’s eyes. “Heidd had been secretly supporting and helping Areg Sebi all along. He must be involved in the broadcasts. He’s the enemy�
�s mole in your camp, Your Grace.”
“That stands to reason,” Voqras said.
Lord Boggond arched his eyebrow at him. Hadn’t the cyborg argued that removing Heidd and putting Ultek at the helm of the army would have catastrophic consequences? Why had he changed his tune?
“Suppose we get rid of him,” Lord Boggond said. “What happens to the army?”
Ultek pushed his chest out. “Won’t be a problem, Your Grace. I’ll control them with carrots and sticks. Works great on the police force.”
“The army is much, much bigger, Chief Ultek.” Lord Boggond sucked on his teeth. “It has fifteen thousand men. Eight regiments headed by majors who’ll hate your guts.”
“I’ll eliminate them one by one, and put my men in their place,” Ultek said.
Boggond shook his head. “Which men? What are their qualifications? You’ll weaken my army.” He turned to Voqras. “What does your hive mind have to say to this?”
“There are too many variables to calculate the probabilities,” the cyborg said evasively.
Lord Boggond narrowed his eyes at him.
What was Voqras’s game?
Ultek moved into Lord Boggond’s space, making his bodyguards step closer and put their hands on their holsters. “What’s your decision, Your Grace?”
“It may be premature to—”
“All right, here’s the deal.” Ultek’s face flamed as he cut off Lord Boggond. “I’ve been promised the job for a long time. I want it now.”
“Or else what?”
“You know what.” Ultek glared at Lord Boggond. “Your Grace.”
Oh yes, the dirt. Files of evidence of Lord Boggond’s corruption and knowledge of the assassinations. Evidence that Ultek claimed would go public at the snap of his fingers. Or in the event Lord Boggond ordered Voqras or someone else to take Ultek out.
“I’m with the police chief on this one,” the cyborg said. “This is a good time for a reshuffle at the top.”