Axer's careful expression didn't fool Kelric. His guards shielded their minds and didn't talk much, but he knew them well. Axer was worried.
"What do you have on them so far?" Kelric asked.
"They feared what would happen if Councilor Roca lost the vote." He glanced at Kelric's mother. "I'm sorry, ma'am."
"Why would they fear the vote?" she asked. "Their seats aren't hereditary."
"They thought it would give Imperator Skolia too much power and you too little."
Kelric stared at him. "They would assassinate me to support my mother?"
Roca's voice hardened. "They deserved to die."
Don't, Kelric thought to her.
No one tries to murder my child and gets away with it.
Kelric recognized the fire in her eyes. Normally she was a peaceful woman, but threats to her family brought out a ferocity that startled even him. He thought of his years of anguish on Coba. Had she known, she would have retaliated. And if today's assassination had succeeded? Roca was next in line to become Imperator. It was among the more bizarre ramifications of their extended life spans, that a parent could be her child's heir.
Had he died, the Closure document would have released itself to the authorities as soon the news became public. ISC would have gone to find Ixpar and his children. He had always known that could happen, but when he had written the document, he had seen no other choice.
Kelric? Roca's forehead furrowed. You think I will retaliate against the families of the assassins?
He strengthened his shields. At least his defenses had been strong enough that she misread his thoughts. Let the courts deal with it.
She regarded him implacably.
I mean it, Mother. Let Legal handle this. He was aware of his guards watching. They probably knew he and Roca were conversing. As Jagernauts, they were psions, but if Roca even picked up so little through his shields, his guards wouldn't get anything. They had nowhere near her mental strength. Kelric had become a master at hiding from his family, but he was so very tired of cutting himself off from everyone.
Security suspected something was up, Roca thought. But they never expected this.
So you really were trying to start a rumor yesterday.
Yes. To trace its source.
Apparently its source found us first, he thought dourly.
Roca exhaled. It seems so.
Kelric glanced at Major Qahot, who was standing with his hand cupped to his ear, tapping into some data stream. "Major, do we have leads on who the assassins were working with?" Kelric asked.
"It looks like only those three were involved," Qahot said. "Records of their correspondence indicate they've grown disaffected over the years." Then he added, "Yesterday, one of them told another delegate you should be 'voted out' of your seat permanently."
Kelric knew the Imperator wasn't well-liked, but he hadn't thought other delegates wanted him dead. Had he lost sight of his humanity in the performance of his duties?
Axer was watching Kelric's face. "Sir," he said quietly. "They were fanatics. No matter what you did, they would have objected to the principle of an Imperator."
As much as Kelric knew Axer was trying to help, his doubts remained. Maybe Denric was right. But he had to do his job, even if people hated him for it. He spoke tiredly. "Do checks on all the Assembly delegates and their aides. If anyone else was involved, we need to find out."
"We'll take care of it," Qahot said.
A door opened across the room to admit a Jagernaut in black leathers. Vazar. She strode to Kelric's console. "Primary Majda reporting, sir."
Kelric stood up. "Are my Joint Commanders safe?"
"Yes, sir." Her posture was ramrod straight. "General Majda and Primary Tapperhaven have left Parthonia. Admiral Barzun is on the Orbiter. General Stone is on Diesha. All are under increased protection."
"Good," he said. Her tension snapped against his barriers. Yesterday she had voted against the Ruby Dynasty; today she was tasked with protecting their interests. Neither of them missed the irony. He went around the console. In a low voice only she could hear, he added, "You're on duty here until I get back. Don't disappoint me."
"I won't."
He felt her mood: regardless of her vote, she would protect his family with her life. He had to respect the integrity that spurred her to vote as she believed right even when she knew it would alienate him and imperil her own Assembly seat.
Kelric beckoned to Roca, and she joined him as he headed out of the center. He felt her anger at Vazar. But she said nothing. She rarely spoke aloud to him when he was dealing with ISC. He had realized she didn't want to interfere with his authority. He doubted she would, but he appreciated the consideration.
Her bodyguards were outside, three instead of the usual two. They fell into formation with Najo, Strava, and Axer, and all of them walked down the glossy corridor, the guards ahead or behind Kelric and Roca.
"With supporters like those assassins," Roca said, "I don't need enemies."
"It's not your fault," he said.
"You're a damn fine commander, Kelric. Don't let what happened today make you think otherwise."
He rubbed his neck, working at stiffness even his nanomeds couldn't seem to ease. "Doubt is good for the soul."
Her normally dulcet voice turned icy. "Everyone involved will pay."
She reminded him of the wild cats that prowled the Teotec Mountains on Coba. "Let the courts deal with it."
"Of course."
He frowned at her. She never gave in that easily. He knew she wouldn't rest until she was convinced they had punished everyone connected with the attempt on his life.
The assassins had forced him to face certain facts. If he died, Roca would become Imperator. She didn't want the title; she was trained to succeed Dehya as Assembly Key. But no one was better prepared for it, certainly none of his siblings. At the same time she was taking command, the Closure document would come to light, with all that meant. And he would no longer be alive to watch over Coba.
****
Most people left the city through Selei Interstellar Starport. Kelric went to the Admiral Starport, a facility used by military and government officials, and boarded an ISC racer with his guards. They left Parthonia just after night's mid-hour, flying swift and silent.
IX
King's Spectrum
Hot wind tugged Kelric's leather jacket and his pullover underneath. Gusts pulled at the Talha scarf hanging around his neck. Woven from coarse white and black yarn, it resembled a muffler, with tassels along its edges.
Carrying his duffle, he walked down the sand-scoured street of a base isolated in the desert. Najo, Axer, and Strava stalked at his side, sleek and lethal, each with the bulk of a Jumbler on the hip. They scanned the area continually and monitored it with their gauntlets. They weren't happy about this trip, even less so because he had told them almost nothing of his intentions.
They encountered no one. The place consisted of a few wide streets bordered by unused buildings. Robots kept the tiny port in shape, but travelers rarely visited. Nothing more than a low wall surrounded the base; beyond it, desert stretched in every direction, sand dunes mottled with spiky green plants, and bluffs streaked with red and yellow layers of rock.
They soon reached a wide gap in the wall. That was it. No gate. Nothing. On this side, he was a Skolian: on the other, his citizenship ceased to matter.
Accompanied by his guards, Kelric walked out into the Coban desert. Restricted territory. A pitted windrider stood about fifty meters away, partially buried in drifts of sand.
Kelric spoke into his gauntlet. "Bolt, connect me to the port EI." He could have thought the command to his node, but he wanted his guards to witness what he had to say.
Bolt's voice came out of the mesh. "Connecting."
A deeper voice spoke, that of the EI that ran the port. "ISC-Coba attending."
"ISC-Coba," Kelric said, "I'm sending you some codes. Use them to access the Kyle web and contact
the Orbiter space station, in particular the EI called 'Dirac.'"
"Understood," ISC-Coba said.
Najo watched him with that uncanny ability of his to seem utterly still. Strava rested her hand on her Jumbler while she scanned the desert. Axer monitored the area with his gauntlet.
"Contact made," ISC-Coba said.
Dirac's rich baritone rumbled. "My greetings."
Kelric looked north to mountains that reared against the pale sky. "Dirac, how long until my Closure becomes permanent?"
"Ninety-seven days," Dirac said.
Najo stiffened, his eyes widening. Axer raised his head, and Strava snapped her attention back to Kelric. Learning he would be legally dead in ninety-seven days had to be unnerving for the people tasked with ensuring he stayed alive.
Kelric turned to the nearby windrider. It was painted like a giant althawk, with red wings and a rusted head that had once gleamed. The landing gear resembled black talons, or it would if he could have seen it under the sand dunes that had drifted around the aircraft.
"Dirac," he said. "Cancel the Closure."
A pause. "Cancelled," Dirac said.
Najo started to speak. Kelric didn't know how he looked, but whatever Najo was about to say, he changed his mind. Axer and Strava exchanged glances.
"Closing connection," Kelric told Dirac.
"Orbiter connection closed," ISC-Coba rumbled.
"ISC-Coba," Kelric said. "Verify my identity."
"You are the Imperator of the Skolian Imperialate."
Kelric stopped then, unable to take the final step. He tried to go on, but no words came.
"Do you have a command?" ISC-Coba asked.
"Yes." He took a deep breath. "Change the status of this world from Restricted to Protected."
"That requires a review by Imperial Space Command."
"I'm the Imperator. That's review enough."
Silence.
Kelric knew of no other case where ISC had altered a world's status without a review. The process could take years. However, in theory nothing prohibited him from acting unilaterally.
Suddenly ISC-Coba said, "Status changed."
Kelric exhaled. A human probably would have protested. "End communication."
"Connection closed," Bolt said.
Najo spoke. "Sir, to protect you, we need to know what's going on."
Kelric indicated the mountains. "We're going to a city up there. The air is even thinner than here, so use caution in any exertions. The food varies from irritating to toxic, at least to us, but our nanomeds can deal with it. Boiling the water helps. For a short stay, we should be all right." Eighteen years here, with his nanomeds failing, had nearly killed him. By the time he had escaped, he had been dying. Without Jeejon, he wouldn't have survived.
A pang of grief hit Kelric. He had needed this year to say good-bye to her. He remembered what she had told him just before she died: Someday you must finish that chapter of your life you left behind for me.
He looked out over the desert. Be well, love. He sent his thought into the wind, across the sands, as if it could float into the pale sky, to the stars and beyond, until it reached her spirit.
"Sir, I don't understand," Strava said. "Why are we here?"
Kelric continued to gaze at the desert. "So I can see the city. Walk down a street." He turned to them. "Buy a sausage at market."
They regarded him with bewilderment.
Finally Axer said, "What are the threats?"
"To me?" Kelric asked. The greatest threat here was him, to Coba.
"Yes, sir," Axer said.
Kelric answered wryly. "People in the city might gawk at my metallic skin. They will probably stare more at you three, with those Jumblers. Their city guards just carry stunners."
"You seem to know this place," Najo said.
More than I ever admitted, he thought, but only to himself. The sight of the land, the smell of the air, the feel of the wind: it was all achingly familiar.
"I spent eighteen years here," he said.
"Gods above," Strava said. "Sir! Is this where—"
Kelric held up his hand. "None of you can talk about this without my leave." He had known them for years and trusted them, at least as much as he trusted anyone. But he had left a trail this time, and if and when questions arose, he wanted to be the one who responded.
"We won't say anything," Najo told him. Axer and Strava nodded their agreement.
"I'm not sure what will happen at the city." Kelric rolled a tassel of his Talha between his fingers. "For personal reasons, I may find it hard to speak. You won't know the language. It has roots in common with ours, but it has evolved in isolation for thousands of years. Your nodes can analyze it and eventually provide translations, but at first it may sound like gibberish."
"What hostiles should we be aware of?" Axer asked.
Kelric would have laughed if this hadn't hurt so much. "These people are peaceful. Treat them gently."
"We need a flyer to reach the mountains," Strava said.
Kelric indicated the windrider. "I flew that here eighteen years ago. If it still works, we can take it to Karn."
"Karn?" Najo asked.
Softly Kelric said, "My home."
****
The voice on the radio sent a chill up Kelric's spine. The woman spoke in normal tones—in the Teotecan language. "Sky Racer, I've received your ID. Are you new here? I don't recognize your codes." She paused. "Or your accent."
"It's an old rider," Kelric said. "I haven't been to Karn in years."
"Welcome back." She sounded wary.
"My thanks." Talking to an Outsider was strange. His years on Coba, keeping an Oath of silence, had reinforced his taciturn nature. As Imperator, he had to overcome his reticence to speak, but being here brought it back. In all his time on Coba, he had never had a conversation like this. Piloting a rider wasn't that different from the antique aircraft he flew as a hobby, and he had overheard pilots during his trips as a Calani, so he had an idea of protocols. But this all felt surreal.
"Request permission to land," Kelric said.
"Go ahead," the woman said. "Lane Five."
Quis patterns appeared on his screen, providing directions he easily read. In the co-pilot's seat, Najo peered at the symbols, his brow furrowed. Axer and Strava had the two seats in back, and Kelric felt them concentrating on his Teotecan. He could have translated, but he wanted the privacy of his adopted language for a little while longer.
He spread the wing slats and circled the airfield, fitting into the pattern of two other riders. At most Estates, he would have been the only one; Karn, however, had the largest airport on Coba. The woman in the tower tried to draw him into conversation, but he remained noncommittal. She was more curious about a man piloting a rider than about his accent.
Kelric landed reasonably well, though the craft bounced. While his guards unstrapped from their seats, he went to the locker in the back. He hung his jacket on a seat. As he pulled off his shirt, a surge of pleasure leaked around Strava's mental shields, which she immediately clamped down. Facing away from her, Kelric smiled. Her appreciation of her shirtless commander embarrassed her far more than him.
He removed his duffle from the locker and donned the white shirt he had packed. It matched the ones he had worn here, even the embroidery on the cuffs. Next he took out his armbands. For a moment he stood, staring at the engraved circles of gold. Then he slid them on his arms. They felt strange. He almost took them off again, then decided that for this one day he would wear these signs of his former life.
He shrugged back into his jacket, in part against the chill winds of the Teotecs, but also to hide his bands and gauntlets. His dice bag hung from his belt and his Talha around his neck. Seeing the Talha, people would assume he came from Haka Estate, which was far from Karn in both distance and culture. It would, he hoped, account for his accent and bodyguards. He didn't have the dark coloring of the Hakaborn, so he obviously wasn't native to that Estate, a desert l
and of shimmering red and gold cliffs blasted by sandstorms. That could explain why he neither covered his face with the Talha nor wore a robe. In this age, only Haka men went robed. And Calani. But of course no sane person would believe a Calani was out on his own with only three guards.
Then he disembarked from the rider. He stood on the tarmac with his bodyguards, wind tugging his clothes, surrounded by spectacular scenery. To the west, the Teotec Mountains rolled out in forested slopes; to the south and east they dropped down in endless ripples of green to the horizon. The city of Karn jumbled north of the port, and the Upper Teotecs towered starkly above it. Clustered beneath those peaks, Karn basked, yellow and white in the morning sunshine from a cloud-flecked sky.
****
The lane of blue and white cobblestones was as familiar to Kelric as a picture seen a thousand times but never touched. He walked with Najo, Strava, and Axer, marveling at the city he had lived in yet never experienced. Shops crowded both sides of the street, and wooden signs hung from bars above the doors, creaking in the wind. He passed glassblowers, potters, butchers, and dice makers.
The pure mountain air, exhilarating in its clarity, stirred memories edged with beauty and pain. After Savina's death, he had ended up at Varz Estate, high in the Teotecs. The Manager had been a nightmare, abusive and cold. She respected neither his grief nor his need to see his child. His repressed fury had saturated the Quis and roused the sleeping dragon of violence the Cobans had so long submerged. It was more than a year before Ixpar brought him to Karn. In the exquisite serenity of her Calanya, he had begun to heal, but it had been too late by then. His influence had saturated the Quis for nearly eighteen years, and finally it spiked. Nothing could have stopped the war.
A pack of boys burst out of a side lane, laughing and calling to one another. They gaped at Kelric but kept going down the lane, jumping over invisible obstacles with shouts of delight.
"Happy kids," Najo commented.
Kelric couldn't answer. His memories brought such longing. He missed Coba. He had spent the worst times of his life here—and the best.
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