The Moon's Shadow (Saga of the Skolian Empire)

by Asaro, Catherine

  “Have they found any trace of him yet?” Jai asked.

  “None.” The EI’s blunt response was a welcome change. Jai wondered if other Hightons programmed their computers to speak plainly.

  “Show me the volume of space where Minister Iquar’s habitat was when her provider escaped,” Jai said.

  “Done.”

  A holomap appeared, rotating to display different views of space. According to the glyphs scrolling below the image, a few Eubian settlements were within range of Kelric’s ship, but none he could safely approach. Removing slave restraints wasn’t easy, given how they linked to the nervous system. Anyone Kelric contacted would recognize him as a provider and take him into custody. He might find an empty asteroid or rogue world, but his food and air wouldn’t last long.

  Jai studied the maps. Kelric could also reach several military bases, including the one where ESComm was keeping the stolen Lock. That would do him no good, either, though. As a Jagernaut, he might possibly escape from such a base, but entering one would be crazy, especially the one with the Lock, given how ESComm could use his mind if they caught him.

  Jai pushed his hand through his hair. He wished he knew if the fugitive really was Kelric. Would he act as ESComm expected? They didn’t know Kelric was a Ruby Key. In that, Jai had an advantage, being a Key himself. He tried to imagine how he would act if he were a prisoner of ESComm. Thoughts of Corbal came to mind; if his cousin suspected Jai was a Key, his willingness to trade Eldrin made a lot of sense. But if he believed Jai would use the Lock to conquer Skolia and enslave his own family, the Ruby Dynasty, Corbal was out of his allegedly esteemed mind. Jai would do anything to avoid such a fate, even take his own life.

  And Kelric?

  Suddenly Jai knew what his uncle had done.

  Some called Admiral Xirad Kaliga a shadow. His black uniform had no ornamentation, medals, sash, or piping, nothing except the red braid on his cuffs that denoted his rank. Gaunt of feature and narrow in the face, he appeared—at first glance—ordinary. But that fooled no one who knew him. Few could match his razor-sharp intellect; none could claim his combination of exalted bloodlines, family influence, education, and cold-blooded military brilliance.

  Kaliga spoke little and listened well. He had infinite patience for his own intrigues and none for those of people he considered fools. As one of the two Joint Commanders of ESComm, he had earned the gratitude of the Aristos, who wished to conquer human-settled space, and the dread of the Skolians, who sought to staunch the near-fatal wound his armies had dealt their civilization.

  Kaliga considered himself an efficient man, punctual, and generous, too, perhaps to a fault. On his home world, he donated to local schools. He brought his spoiled young bride gifts when appropriate and resisted the impulse to gag her when she prattled. He prided himself on his dedication to his job and his integrity in performing it to the best of his ability, indeed, to the best of anyone’s ability. That his job had, over the decades, involved ordering the deaths of billions of people didn’t factor into his assessment of his character.

  Kaliga walked through the gardens in the space station where he lived. The habitat was one within a collection of mutually orbiting stations that made up the Sphinx Sector Rim Base. Bodyguards accompanied him, forming a bulwark; any taskmakers who saw them quickly withdrew.

  Today, Kaliga had company: Lord Jaibriol Raziquon, a lanky man with a sardonic lift to his mouth. His gray trousers and silver-blue shirt were impeccably cut. Like many Highton men, he had been named for a Qox emperor, either Jaibriol I or Jaibriol II, Kaliga didn’t know which. Now that a Jaibriol III had turned up, Eube would probably be inundated with Jaibriols. Xirad Kaliga had never cared for the name. He preferred sharp words that hit with a solid sound. Like Xirad.

  Raziquon had no formal position in either the military or civilian command on the station. He was simply a private citizen. It made his intelligence work for Kaliga all the more useful, because he operated outside established hierarchies. However, it also made him harder to control. No chain of command checked Raziquon; he did as he pleased. Although Kaliga found him useful, he didn’t trust him.

  They strolled down a path between two manicured lawns. This residential area was in the wheel of the station; in the distance, a spoke rose like a huge pillar from the ground to the “sky” far overhead.

  “My Line honors the new emperor,” Raziquon said. “We esteem his honored presence.”

  Kaliga almost snorted. Raziquon esteemed no one but himself. “The Line of Raziquon has always been loyal to the Qox Dynasty.”

  Raziquon inclined his head. “We value our ties with the imperial house.”

  “As do we all.” Right now Kaliga valued Raziquon’s ties more than his own. Kaliga interacted with the imperial court as a military officer, but Raziquon moved in those circles socially. He was well placed to gather intelligence on this new boy-emperor.

  Kaliga wanted to know what Corbal was plotting. The Xir lord could have kept both Eldrin and the throne for himself. Not that Kaliga believed Corbal would let Jaibriol rule; the cagey lord would control the emperor from the shadows, much as Kaliga cloaked his influence by appearing nondescript.

  Kaliga spoke dryly. “I imagine the Line of Xir also values its ties to the imperial Line.”

  Amusement glinted in Raziquon’s eyes. “One would think dear Corbal had a penchant for politics.” He laughed. “And for providers, eh? Pretty girls with yellow hair and big blue eyes.”

  That caught Kaliga’s attention. “Penchants have uses.”

  “Let’s just say, he might do anything to protect the dawn.” Raziquon flicked his hand to indicate his last word referred to his previous sentence.

  So. Corbal had a weakness, a provider named for the dawn. Although Kaliga had never seen Corbal show one mote of sentimentality, he had heard rumors of doting behavior. Could the powerhouse of the Xir bloodline be losing his edge? Kaliga doubted it. Corbal was as sharp as a man in the vigor of youth. But if he cared for this provider, it offered possibilities; a Highton who let improper affection enter into his life became vulnerable.

  “It would be interesting,” Kaliga remarked, “to see how Lord Xir would react if the sun ceased to rise.”

  Cruelty edged Raziquon’s smile. “She might rise for another, eh? Sweet tears.”

  Kaliga thought of his own providers. Through them, he attained heights of transcendence that lesser beings could never know. Providers, despite their beauty, or perhaps because of it, were at the bottom of the human hierarchy. He had heard it argued that they didn’t even deserve the notice of Aristos. Kaliga honored his with attention, letting them earn elevation by providing for him.

  Raziquon’s implication troubled him. It was true that if Raziquon stole the girl, she could make a useful lever against Corbal. But such a theft was a tricky proposition. Providers were costly. Stealing one was serious business, both because of the wealth involved and because of the insult it did to another Aristo.

  Taskmakers cost nothing, of course; everyone who lived on the worlds an Aristo owned belonged to that Aristo. Yet even with taskmakers, the fines were steep for tampering with their populations. It had to be that way; the economy would falter if trade protocols broke down. Providers could cost millions. If Raziquon took this girl and was caught, Kaliga’s association with him could prove damaging.

  “Tears may be sweet when they come from a provider,” Kaliga said. “But they are less so from a convicted thief.”

  Darkness lurked behind Raziquon’s mocking gaze. “That assumes the thief is caught.”

  “Such a bandit must be circumspect.”

  “Of course.”

  Kaliga nodded, understanding Raziquon’s unspoken assurances. He would use the necessary caution.

  They continued their walk, discussing other matters, avoiding any more mention of the dawn. Eventually they parted and Kaliga continued on with his bodyguards. Gardens bloomed on either side of the path, part of a park that extended the width
of the wheel rim, several hundred meters. After that, the land sloped into terraced hills, where droop-willows shaded houses that resembled small pagodas but were far stronger than their delicate appearance suggested.

  Although he could have ridden a magrail home, he walked for the exercise. He was at his prime, only seventy, and he intended to stay healthy for a long time. He had two goals in life: to make ESComm invincible and to conquer the Skolian Imperialate. He gave his loyalty to the Qox Dynasty, but that assumed the emperor acted in the best interest of the empire. Or perhaps he should say the Xir Dynasty; Corbal would soon have the young emperor so distracted with providers, drugs, and debauchery, the boy wouldn’t notice he wasn’t running anything.

  Kaliga walked through the droop-willows that sheltered his house. On the station, no one worried about weather; it was always perfect. With neither rain nor wind to bother it, the house had many open doorways and windows, even walls that slid aside. The parchment-wood used to construct the house had cost ESComm a great deal; tree growth was controlled on the habitat to avoid draining resources.

  After leaving a package for his wife in the living room, Kaliga paced down the central hallway, lost in thought. He disliked the way Raziquon’s mind worked. Although stealing Corbal Xir’s favored provider had appeal, it was a subversive proposition. It would have been more palatable if Raziquon had a job or family he valued, something Kaliga could use to control him. But the man lived off his wealth and did nothing useful. In that sense, he was like Corbal. At least Xir presided over the shipping empire he had built, some of it legal, but most of it based on the spoils of his pirate fleets, which of course he claimed didn’t exist.

  A shrill voice intruded on his thoughts. “Hightons always buy their spouses slaves. Why should he be different? It isn’t like you’re a person or anything. If he ever caught me with another Aristo, well, that would be different. He would have me executed.”

  Kaliga winced. Arranged marriages had their drawbacks. If his alliance with his wife’s family hadn’t been so useful, he would have sent her back to them. He stopped at a doorway on the hall. Inside, across the room, his wife was kneeling in a clutter of pillows. Her filmy robe revealed tantalizing glimpses of her curvaceous body, and rubies studded the hair piled on her head, reminding him why he enjoyed seeing her when she kept her mouth shut. But today her lovely face was set in a pout and she was facing a stranger, a gold-skinned man sitting on the floor in front of her.

  Kaliga frowned. “Xirene, what are you talking about?”

  His wife scrambled to her feet. She ran to him and threw her hand over her heart. “Why, Xiri? Why? Do I make you so unhappy?”

  Kaliga wearily rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “What is it now, Xirene?”

  “I won’t go away. You can’t do this to me.”

  Skolia be damned. “Do what?”

  She waved at the gold man. “Isn’t that why you bought me this provider? So I wouldn’t complain as much when you sent me away?”

  “I’m not sending you anywhere.” He took her hands, pointedly ignoring the stranger. “Why would I do such a thing?” Why indeed. The prospect had appeal. Whenever he looked at her body and face, though, he tended to forget that he wanted to send her away.

  Xirene pouted. “You’re always upset with me, love.”

  “I’m not upset with you.”

  “You ignore me.” With a flourish, she whipped her hands out of his.

  I don’t have time for this. “Xirene, I don’t even remember ordering this provider. I will check with my steward tomorrow. But I’ve no intention of sending you anywhere.”

  Her smile transformed her face from petulant to radiant. “I’m so glad to hear that. I don’t want to go away. I really do like you, you know.”

  Kaliga sighed. Almost against his will, he drew her into his arms and tilted her face to his. Ignoring the overmuscled provider, he kissed his wife. She needed no steroid-packed provider. He might have less bulk and greater age than the young bucks she could have married, had she been given a choice, but he was her husband. Someone had sent the provider as an insult, implying Kaliga couldn’t keep his young wife satisfied. When he found out who had done it, his retaliation would be swift and subtle.

  Kaliga sent his wife off to the living room, where he had left her a gift. Mollified, she gave him a bright smile and swept out of the room.

  Kaliga turned to the provider. “Get up.”

  As the man stood, Kaliga’s anger hardened. The slave towered over him. He wore gold trousers and shirt, nothing blatant, but fitted to showcase his magnificent physique. Even more galling, age lines showed around his eyes and gray streaked his hair. He obviously hadn’t been sculpted; he came by his looks naturally, an appearance Kaliga could never match even with modification.

  Strangely enough, the provider had been subjected to some cheap genetic tattoo that was either wearing off or had been reversed. His brown hair was turning a metallic gold, and his eyes and skin had a gold shimmer. It didn’t surprise Kaliga; many providers resembled precious metals or gems. But the shoddy tattoo job was another insult. He would find out who had done this, and when he did, they would pay.

  “Who sent you?” he asked.

  The provider looked at him blankly. “Don’t know, sir. I’m sorry.” He had an unusually deep voice.

  “You’re sorry.” Kaliga would see to it that whoever had sent him was more than sorry. “Where are you from?”

  “I don’t know that either, sir.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t understand those things.”

  The man’s responses were off in some way, but Kaliga wasn’t sure how. He wondered if the fellow was faking a vacuous personality to protect himself from questions. But a provider could never have the cunning for such a deception. Far more likely, the man had been deliberately chosen for his limited intellect. Kaliga didn’t miss the implied taunt: he needs no mind to satisfy your neglected wife. He made a conscious effort not to grit his teeth. “What did they do, take your brain out?”

  “No sir. I don’t know.”

  Kaliga had no intention of letting this insult remain in his home. He snapped out an order. “You will work on the rim crew.” Then he left.

  As Kaliga walked to his office, he contacted his aide about the rim-walk crew. Like the robots that maintained the station, rim-walkers did upkeep. Robots had higher status, though, because they were more durable and less emotional.

  Then Kaliga told his intelligence people to find out who had mailed this provider to his wife. After he had the man killed, he would send the body back to the true owner, cheap tattoo job and all.

  8

  Lock’s End

  Jai told no one his plans. He summoned his aide, Robert Muzeson, before the sun rose on Glory’s sixteen-hour day. He chose Robert for two reasons: the aide had no direct relation to Corbal Xir, and his mind didn’t create any mental pressure on Jai. Robert, however, insisted on summoning Jai’s Razers. Jai balked at first, but he finally gave in, knowing that if he didn’t choose his battles wisely, he would exhaust himself fighting everything.

  So it was that two hours before the sun rose, Jai left Glory and headed to the Sphinx Sector military base where ESComm kept the Lock they had stolen from the Skolians.

  The stations of Sphinx Sector Rim Base orbited one another in complex trajectories that covered an immense region of empty space. “Empty,” of course, was relative; interstellar dust, high-energy particles, radiation, and asteroids regularly visited the neighborhood.

  The Lock orbited near the center of the SSRB. Only a select few of ESComm’s highest officers had clearance to enter the space station. Jai was irked to discover that even he had trouble securing permission on such short notice. He didn’t try threats; instead, he bestowed gifts on those who cooperated with him, everything from expensive baubles to implied promises of imperial favors.

  Jai didn’t know what to expect. He had no experience with space stat
ions. He had read about them during the journey to the SSRB, between his bouts of space sickness, so he understood that larger stations supported biospheres with plants and animals, and crews that numbered in the millions. The Lock was apparently much smaller, purely utilitarian, with no biosphere, only machinery and metal.

  Colonel Vatrix Muze, the ranking officer on the Lock, took Jai on a tour. As it turned out, Muze had kinship ties to both Jai and Robert. The colonel was the grandson of High Judge Calope Muze, who was a niece of Eube Qox, and Calope’s son had sired Robert’s mother on a provider. Jai realized even he and Robert were related, through Calope. It was no wonder Aristo introductions included a recitation of ancestors, given their labyrinthine kinship bonds.

  Jai couldn’t fathom why Hightons so adamantly believed inbreeding strengthened them. True, most of the deleterious recessives had been purged from their DNA, but that didn’t stop them from stagnating. They needed new genes, which they would never get if they insisted on marrying each other all the time. There weren’t even that many Highton bloodlines. So far he knew of only eleven: Qox, Xir, Muze, Iquar, Kaliga, Taratus, Vitrex, Raziquon, Haquail, Kayzar, and Quaelen.

  Colonel Muze escorted them through command centers which all looked the same to Jai, just chambers with dormant consoles that would sleep until a Key activated the Lock. But for all that ESComm believed the Lock slumbered, Jai felt its mind even through his barriers and the pressure of Colonel Muze’s Aristo mind.

  The Lock was alive. Its sentience tugged at him, just barely awake. It wasn’t life he understood; its intelligence felt alien.

  But it recognized its Key.