A Prison Unsought

by Sherwood Smith

  Vannis’ heart thumped her ribs, then raced. This is it.

  The Archonei pursed her lips and rattled the iced liquid in her glass. “He talks of the Panarch and the rescue.”

  “His heart is there, with his father.” That whisper came from Hesthar al’Gessinav, the thin, elegant, elderly woman who was praecentor of the Alannat Anachronics Hub at the heart of the Rouge Nord octant. “But one does not govern trillions of people with one’s heart.”

  “Guidance.” Srivashti’s hands opened. “Can we agree?”

  “I’d like to help.” Fierin’s beautiful face lifted, her expression winsome. “I’ll make friends with him, or try, if he’ll have me.”

  Srivashti touched her hand, almost a pat, as the others exchanged murmurs of assent. It served as a kind of signal; they rose and moved to the outer room, where Felton patiently awaited the signal to serve the meal.

  Srivashti’s gaze reached Vannis over the heads of the others. He paused, his question unspoken. The rest followed Fierin into the dining room, leaving Vannis alone with Srivashti.

  She had accustomed herself to life with a forceful man who could, and did, make life painful for any who crossed his will, even at a distance. She schooled herself into her old manner of neutral repose, for eagerness, or anger, or any emotion would be used against her. The seeds of a new government were to be sown this night, then. And she was to be a part of it, something Semion never would have permitted.

  She smiled back, stepped down off the little bridge, and laid her fingers on his arm. “Tell me how I am to help you?”

  o0o

  Ivard and Gray ran the last few yards and jumped into the transtube as the last warning light blinked. The door hissed shut a centimeter behind Gray’s tail.

  Trev was off somewhere. Just as well. Trev seemed to have fun once Ivard got them going in free-fall, but that dog never got excited the way Gray was now, trotting with an occasional hopping bound, tongue lolling in a doggy grin.

  Ivard waited impatiently, and when the doors opened again, he was first out, Gray trotting at his heels. He loped along the rock-lined pathway, past trumpet-flower shrubs in every shade. Ordinarily he liked sorting the subtle variations in their scents, but he did not want to be late for his meeting with Ami. But when he arrived, he discovered she wasn’t there yet.

  Gray looked up at him expectantly. Ivard smiled into that masked face, then said, “Geh!”

  Gray launched, front paws stretched out like he was diving, tail straight, and then ducked his muzzle and paddled his forefeet as he spun in a roll before landing on a far platform. Then Gray launched again and Ivard watched, wondering if Gray got his passion for free-fall games when he and Ivard had been healing together on board the Telvarna. Ivard had turned off the gees in their cabin in sickbay because his wounds hurt less. Later he’d done it because it was fun to play around. Gray had liked bouncing gently from wall to floor to ceiling.

  A voice reached him, familiar, purple-clotty with brag. “. . . and so my dad said it’s absolutely secret—I shouldn’t have heard him, but you know that waterfall dividing off the alcove from the salon—anyway it’s very secret, but I know I can trust you, but anyway Dad has been chosen, out of everybody here, for the regency council—”

  It was that Dandenus blit.

  Ivard was about to launch away when Ami answered. “More government talk,” she said in a disappointed tone. Then her voice changed to blue: “Dandenus, knowing that blunge can get you killed. Everyone is whispering about that laergist. Tell me interesting secrets! About people! I promise I won’t tell, but it’s so much fun to see them, and know, and they don’t know you know—oh, there’s Ivard’s dog! Where’s Ivard? We’re supposed to meet.”

  “That Rifter trash?” Dandenus’s voice shot into yellow, acid with jealousy and anxiety.

  Ami laughed. “I like him! And nobody’s ever had a Rifter . . .”

  She sounded bright and sweet and charming, but Ivard squirmed, feeling like a thing to be had, and not a person to be known. Maybe they all felt like that and he was the only one who didn’t?

  The blue fire sparked inside him. They all have their uncertainties.

  Yes. He could hear Dandenus’s, and it was clear that the nick wasn’t going to go away. Ivard wasn’t in the mood for argument and jealousy—including his own, because he could hear how much Ami liked being in the center. She wasn’t going to send Dandenus away.

  Ivard launched off the platform in a direction that kept him out of their line of sight, and kept them out of his.

  Gray’s ears turned, and the dog caught up with him as he reached the exit. What’s a regency council? He asked the blue fire. Not that he really cared, but he hated to be ignorant, and the nicks obviously knew what it was.

  In the human realm it is a governing body advising a ruler during his or her minority.

  Ivard shrugged. “That sounds boring,” he said aloud as he got on the first tube that came along. Gray gave him one of those alert looks and then ran off, probably to find Trev, so Ivard boarded alone.

  He brooded about what he’d heard. Why should a boring thing be secret? He asked the blue fire.

  Brandon Arkad has not asked for a regency council.

  “Brandon?” he exclaimed, then clipped his mouth shut when a bunch of Navy blits looked sharply at him from the seats across the way.

  Mentally he said to the blue fire, He isn’t a minor! He’s older than I am, and on Natsu, at least, I’m not a minor anymore!

  The tube stopped, and Ivard glanced at the window. This was Navy territory. He was going to look away again, when he caught sight of two small white figures with huge indigo faceted eyes. They stood on the platform as people streamed around them in a wide circle.

  Both sophonts raised their hands, twiggy fingers moving in semaphore: We seek.

  He’d lived aboard the same ship as the Eeya’a for some time, but until Manderian gave them the hand signs to communicate with, they’d always been utterly opaque to him. What could they want?

  He had to find out. And once again, he shot through the doors a moment before they started to close, grinning as he cleared them by a hair’s breadth. It was a little game he played with himself: he lost points if he triggered the door sensors, freezing them.

  The Eeya’a made one of their unsettlingly quick turns and began walking. He followed, kind of enjoying how everybody gave them nervous glances and moved hastily away.

  Ivard glanced around in surprise, recognizing in the bland walls partially obscured by decorative willows one of the adits leading to the Cap, and the military part of Ares.

  They all stopped, and the Eya’a’s eyes lifted upward toward the Cap. Then both sets of indigo eyes turned to Ivard, and two sets of twiggy fingers semaphored, We will not go near.

  “Then why are we here?” he muttered.

  Sometimes he could hear their thoughts, but mostly that was when he was with the Kelly. A flicker of memory made him squirm: the blood-smeared cabin walls and two long bodies gripped in a struggle that crashed between death and passion. He was getting better at shoving memories down below the surface, even if they would pop up again. Like this one. Go away.

  The Eya’a keened on a high note, and he guessed what they wanted: to gain proximity to the hyperwave, but the mind-blurs kept them at a distance. If Ivard concentrated, he could even sense them himself, a faint subliminal whine that scratched at his brain like a torn fingernail. He wondered what it was like for the Eya’a. He frowned, concentrating.

  Weird energies scraped along Ivard’s bones. He knew what they wanted, for him to somehow clear the way. Like the Navy would ever let him past the first checkpoint! He raised his hands: We go.

  And the Eya’a mirrored his movement: We go.

  Were they disappointed? Impatience surged in him. He liked the semaphores. Just as he liked that nonsense-language that the he could use with the dogs, even though they really responded to his gestures when they could see him, but it was all so limit
ed!

  Humans, dogs, Kelly, Eya’a . . . As they walked along the concourse, he glanced at the needle-like ends of their twisty long fingers. Five fingers. They had five fingers, just like humans. He contemplated that in wonder. Were they somehow connected with humans, then? Might they be evidence that the first wave of humans through the Vortex were sent way further back in time than anyone had guessed?

  Now he wanted to get at the computer and look at a history chip about humans leaving Lost Earth, and how the Vortex had acted to spread them out across time as well as space. He’d talked to Manderian about that, and the old Dol’jharian had said that his people were almost certainly from that first wave, somehow propelled back through time as they hurtled the distance toward the heavy, terrible planet they eventually settled on.

  Whispering interrupted his thoughts, and as the Eeya’a swiveled to stare, Ivard did, too. He saw a crowd of people moving hastily back. He caught the scents of fear, distrust.

  Brain-burners. Rifters.

  He reached D-5. The door guards stiffened when they saw the Eeya’a. The woman tracked him, keeping her atmosphere neutral, but the man fingered his jac.

  Ivard wondered why Vi’ya didn’t like talking to Manderian. Oh, of course. She didn’t want him hearing her secret escape plan.

  Ivard liked Manderian, and he enjoyed talking to Tate Kaga. The old nuller had shown him things that echoed the Mystery that had found Ivard on Desrien. And even more he loved the Kelly. They told him things that others did not know, could not smell or hear or see. Including thoughts, which they somehow heard from the Eya’a.

  Thoughts not spoken in his presence. Like Vi’ya’s escape plan.

  His very first memory of her was this tall, dark-haired figure standing silently with light-haired Markham. When she first came to them she was a lot like now, but that had changed for a time. She had loved wearing colors—ruby red, emerald green, the blue of deep sapphire—and she had learned to laugh. No sound, just the brilliant smile, the dark-fringed eyes catching light from somewhere.

  Now she was like those first awful days, when Ivard was small. She never laughed anymore.

  Worse than that was this escape plan that she was keeping secret. That made him feel sick, as if someone had kicked him in the guts from the inside. Don’t they trust me?

  He could imagine Lokri’s sarcastic laughter. He’d overheard Greywing and Lokri arguing about trust once. Lokri had scorned her for using such a word. She’d never brought it up in Lokri’s presence again, but she certainly had with Ivard.

  You find a captain you can trust, and you act trustworthy, and you’ll live longer, she’d told Ivard. Let Lokri laugh. He’ll never pilot his own ship even if he stays with the Dis gang his whole life. You watch.

  Ivard’s dream had always been to pilot his own ship—and Vi’ya had seemed to be preparing him for just that.

  Not now, though. She doesn’t want any of us anymore, ever since the Arkad came. Why?

  They reached their suite. The Eya’a went straight to Vi’ya’s room, and there she was, at the console like always.

  She looked up, surprised to see the Eeya’a with Ivard, whose troubled expression caused her to tap the passcode to initiate the privacy firewall she’d built around their suite after Marim got her gateway into the system.

  The Eya’a stood near her knees. She bowed her head, supporting it with her fingers, and Ivard watched, wondering if she had a headache. She did that frequently now, though he didn’t remember seeing her do it in the old days.

  Abruptly the Eya’a went into their own room. Ivard heard the hum of refrigeration as the door opened and closed.

  Vi’ya’s eyes were marked with tiredness. A narrowing of her eyelids, a sense of wary question made him stumble into speech. “Jaim says that the whole crew—except Lokri—is going to the Arkad’s concert. You gotta come.”

  That look eased a bit as Vi’ya said, “Montrose was just here. Rather than hear the arguments again, I will go with you.”

  “Why don’t you want to?” Ivard asked. “You always liked music when we played it, when Markham was captain.”

  “Possibly this nick music will not be as good as ours was.”

  Caught by surprise, Ivard laughed. She hasn’t made jokes since the old days, either.

  She touched the console. Behind Ivard the door closed. “You must remember,” she said, “that when you walk with the Eya’a, they hear all your thoughts. Even the ones you thought were private.”

  Ivard’s skin flushed, but he knew how to make that go away. So he took the time to restore his capillaries to normalcy, then said, “Yes, and that goes both ways. Like, I know you and Marim are working out some kind of escape plan. Why won’t you take me?”

  “Do you really wish to go?” she countered.

  He opened his mouth to say “of course” but then he considered leaving the Kelly, Tate Kaga, and his new friends—which caused the Archon’s genome to fill his mind with vivid imagery. He was learning to cope with those interruptions. With an effort he found his way back to the present moment. “I guess I’d like to have the choice.”

  “Fair enough.” She brought her chin down. “But it would be best not to mention knowledge of these things to Marim until the time comes.”

  Here came the impulse to flush again. He’d figured out that Marim’d only taken him as a lover in order to get her fingers on his part of the Arthelion loot. He’d been severely tempted to say something about that, like to the woman Marim was seeing now. But he hadn’t: Greywing had told him over and over, long before he had any interest in sex, that lust had no permanence, and certainly no loyalty, and nobody, ever, thanked you for interfering in their affairs. You were far more likely to get a jac bolt for your pains.

  And to be fair, Marim tried to tell me, too, in her own way. Vi’ya was waiting. It was possible she was hearing some of his thoughts, through the Eya’a, which was kind of sickening. Except she had never once used anyone’s thoughts against them.

  “I’ll be mum,” he said.

  “Very well.” Her expression eased a fraction more.

  Now the earlier problem resurfaced, and he said, “Is a regency council bad?”

  Vi’ya was very still, her eyes narrowed to slits. “What?”

  “The Kelly said it’s ‘a governing body advising a ruler during his or her minority,’ which sounds like nothing, but Ami said it’s dangerous.”

  “Ami?”

  “Dandenus was bragging to her about how his dad is going to be on one. The Kelly say it’s for Brandon, who isn’t even a minor.”

  Vi’ya cut in, her voice sharp. “Say nothing to no one.”

  Ivard stared. “Then it is bad. But why? And shouldn’t we tell the Arkad, if it’s Panarchy business?”

  “Then let the Kelly talk.” Her smile was wintry.

  “They won’t. Said they will not meddle in human affairs.”

  “They are wise,” she returned. “The Arkad can take care of himself. Or his many guardians can do it for him. But you have no guardians, and Ami is right. To these nicks politics is not a game, it’s a death hunt. Promise me you will say nothing to the Arkad.”

  “Can I tell Jaim?”

  “No.” She hesitated, then said: “It would place him in danger.”

  “Blunge.” Ivard sighed. Maybe Vi’ya could hear his thoughts, but she did care what happened to him—or she wouldn’t have warned him about the nick thing. “I promise,” he said.

  She gestured, and he stepped closer to her console. “Here is the beginning of my plan,” she said.

  o0o

  The occasion was a celebration, but in spite of the pretty music offered by the musicians hidden behind the folding screen, and everyone dressed in the light colors of festival, few at the Name Day gathering felt much joy.

  Tension—anger—boredom—expectation—jealousy seethed below the surface. Misery, too, as fifteen-year-old Geoff Masaud stumbled over the carefully written speech of congratulation that he had bee
n coached to speak.

  Geoff hated everyone there, especially his aunt, for making him speak those words exactly, without telling him why. Of course it was some political thing. He’d been hearing that word, politics, since he could speak. He hated it, how they would tell him something was important, but never why. And so? Though he’d been smooth before arrival, now his stutter was worse than ever.

  Anton Faseult watched his flushed cheeks and bobbing Adam’s apple. A spurt of pity for the Masaud pup’s obvious discomfort banished his impatience.

  Finally Geoff finished and walked stiffly away, his furious mother at his heels; Faseult saw her jaw muscles work as she subvocalized a tirade at her son.

  Relief was evident in the faces of Besthan nyr-Haesterfeldt and her spouse, the Aegios Colm Oskandir, standing at either side of their new baby.

  Faseult uttered his own congratulations according to the Name Day ritual practiced in Charvann’s capital, and watched the relief alter to proud smiles as the old couple glanced down at the small scrap of humanity lying on its velvet bedding, utterly insensible to its surroundings.

  He bowed; they bowed; he moved on, to join his escort. (She nearly lost that baby,) Cathri Y’Mandev sent in a privacy. (Started the birth process while in transit, which is why her recovery was prolonged.)

  Faseult hid a wince. The mysteries of family propagation were beyond him; he’d always been glad that Tanri held the heirship.

  Tanri. Grief squeezed his heart. The Aerenarch himself had traveled light-years to hand off Tanri’s ring, and Faseult had seen corroboration in Sebastian Omilov’s pained expression when they’d met at a party: Tanri was dead, surely Bikara as well, and their dying could not have been easy. I hope at least they were together.

  Faseult glanced at Cathri, hoping they could make a graceful exit, but Besthan was talking to her. He sipped a drink he didn’t want and studied the little family, two older people who had wanted an heir to holdings that might no longer exist.

  He shifted his gaze away to Cathri, who’d been happily mated with a colleague for decades. She loved socializing as much as Enre Y’Mandev despised it, so she often served as escort to various members of Nyberg’s staff when an escort was needed.