In the Hall of the Martian King

by John Barnes

  “Oh, and Clarbo is Patridiot to the bone, too, so the people he listens to most pride themselves on being as dumb as their genes will let them and as ignorant as possible.

  “Something else you should know about—I mentioned that the Hive is four months from opposition with Mars. That means Earth is two, and since the Aerie is two months ahead of Earth in orbit, they’re nearly at opposition.”

  At the unexpected mention of the Aerie, where Green-world was (and therefore where Princess Shyf was) Jak was distracted by the surge in his heart and the cold rolling over of his intestines. He told his purse “back her message up to where she mentions the Aerie, then continue.”

  After half a second of silence and a white screen, Myxenna resumed. “—the Aerie is two months ahead of Earth in orbit, they’re nearly at opposition. Ten hours ago Hive Intelligence agents reported that Princess Shyf of Greenworld, her security chief—that’s Kawib Presgano, poor devil, I’m sure you remember him—and fifteen other people from Greenworld’s defense and national security establishments had cleared their calendars for the next month. Eight hours ago—there were leave cancellations all through Greenworld’s Spatial. And less than two hours ago, Green-world’s only battlesphere, the Rufus Karrinynya, departed from the Aerie, destination unspecified. It’s a superannuated Hive battlesphere, it was originally the Bowie, and it’s about four hundred years old, but if they’re willing to take the accelerations and the rough ride, at opposition like they are now, they can make it to Mars in just a couple of days.

  “Our guess is that because you’re our heet on the spot, Shyf sees a chance to try to get Paj Nakasen’s lifelog for Greenworld. All right, that’s all for now. Good luck, keep Waynong on a short string, watch out for the bitch, get that thing if you can.”

  The screen went blank. Jak leaned back and let a map of the situation form in his head.

  Imagine the planets as runners on a circular track, with the slower runners in the outer lanes. One group of three runners trots along in the third lane in a perpetual pursuit: the Aerie, an immense space station with more than four hundred nations and two billion people, is the lead runner. One-sixth the length of the track behind the Aerie is the Earth; one-sixth farther behind the Earth is the Hive. (The distances are set by orbital mechanics; Earth and solar gravity stabilize a station in those positions, so that it need expend little or no energy to stay in place.) On the next track outward, Mars trots along slowly. On nearly every lap, the slower Mars runner is passed by first the Aerie, then the Earth, then the Hive, over and over forever. (The moment when they pass closest to each other is called opposition, because, from the standpoint of ancient Earth-based astronomy, it’s the moment when the sun and the planet are 180 degrees apart in the sky.)

  At the moment the Aerie was just passing Mars; the distance between them was at its minimum and a fast ship, accelerating most of the way, could make the trip in mere days, like a baton passed between two runners. The Hive was 120 degrees back around the bend, and von Luckner would have to travel like a ball passed across the track, swinging in very close to the sun, well within Mercury’s orbit. So even though von Luckner was much faster than Rufus Karrinynya, it would be getting here much later.

  Jak had barely drawn a breath and started to consider what he might want to do next when his purse said, “A message from Princess Shyf.”

  “Stay in eyes-only protocol and screen it.” Jak gulped icewater from the glass beside him and considered pouring it onto his crotch.

  “Jak, you really are advancing in the world.” Shyf was seated in a chair, wearing very brief and tight gozzies and several layers of slashed-and-pulled-through tops. As always her hair and makeup were perfect. “Greenworld Intelligence has learned exactly what you’re going down to Mars for, and all I can say is that the job couldn’t be in better hands. I’m so proud of you.” She tossed her head and her red hair slithered over her shoulders.

  “Now, I wouldn’t dream of asking you to violate the security of your own nation; that would be wrong, and besides Hive Intel would be very apt to put you through a thorough permanent deconditioning and cut off all our contact, and you know how much I would miss you then, my darling.” She pouted; Jak felt his heart form a warm puddle in his chest. “But I would appreciate it if you could keep me posted, perhaps, now and then. And you might receive, at a later date, a contact from Kawib Presgano—oh, you probably don’t know. Kawib is all over that nasty depression he was dealing with for so long, and I’ve promoted him. He heads my personal security nowadays.”

  Jak felt ill. Kawib was a decent enough young man who had wanted nothing more than an ordinary military career or a quiet bureaucratic sinecure somewhere. But his ancestry made him a potential rallying point for the overthrow of the monarchy. Shyf had arranged to have his fiancée, Seubla, murdered, though she and Seubla had been toves of a sort; she had sent half a dozen good men to their deaths for trivial reasons, to Jak’s certain knowledge, including Kawib’s most trusted tove Xabo about a year ago; and Kawib had been conditioned far more thoroughly than Jak, and with no countervailing deconditioning.

  The Karrinynya Dynasty, which ruled Greenworld, had a tradition of placing their rivals into important positions, where they could be watched closely, sent into danger, forced to betray everyone close to them, and, if they resisted, executed for treason. After ruining his life many times over, Shyf had made Kawib her security chief to ensure that what remained of it would be short and unhappy, with as little compunction as a python swallowing a still-struggling rat.

  Yet Jak’s heart leapt up at her slightest smile. Yet he flew into ecstacy from her mildest compliment. Yet he could barely perceive her as dangerous.

  Cold reason clamped down on his surging feelings. Perhaps Sib and Hel Faczel and the others were right, and maybe it might not be best for Hive Intel to have control of humanity’s religious and philosophic development forever. It could be that enabling a young ninny of good family to rise to high office was not good for the Hive. Nonetheless, Jak was not humanity, and he cared very little for religion or philosophy, and he was not the Hive. His own freedom and happiness were at stake. As he thought of what Shyf had already done to him, and had done to Kawib and many others, he resolved to take the deal Caccitepe offered, and take it with all his heart. If Hive Intel would fully decondition him, Jak would happily hand over Nakasen’s lifelog.

  Hell, he’d have killed Nakasen himself, personally and bare-handed, to get deconditioned.

  With a little more iron in his spine, Jak resumed watching the Princess’s message.

  Shyf said, “Anyway, I wanted to tell you how proud I was of you, and how happy I am that you’re getting on in the world … to tell you I might have a nice surprise for you in a few days … and to remind you who you love …” She raised her hair in her hands and let it fall back onto her shoulders in a soft cascade; to Jak it felt as if she were fellating his heart. “And I wanted to remind you who loves you.”

  The screen clicked off, and Jak said to his purse, “Trace and save. Send Hive Intel a copy.” His own voice sounded excruciatingly tight to him, a squeak far back in a long cave.

  “Done,” the purse said. “Details?”

  “Yes please.”

  “Source: virtual, via fully secured polychannel, not traceable. Copy to Hive Intel. The message attempted to self-destruct but I got there first.”

  “You’re a great purse.” Jak touched the reward spot.

  “Do you need help from Doctor Mejitarian?” the purse asked. “Your vital signs are varying rapidly, and you often do need his help after a message from Princess Shyf. Shall I put in a call to him?”

  “I don’t think there will be time before—”

  A faint chime. His purse said, “Pikia is at the door.”

  “Let her in.”

  She came in with a light step, but one glance at Jak sank her into deep concern. “Are you all right?”

  “No, but I will be in a few minutes,” Jak said. “Were y
ou briefed about my, um, conditioned problem?”

  “Yes, but Great-great-grandpa Reeb said you don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Normally he’s right, but you’re my assistant and you had better know how these things work. I had a message from Princess Shyf a few minutes ago and I’m upset, is all. I’ll be more or less normal in time for the meeting. If you don’t mind, talk to me while I wash my face, masen?”

  “Sure.”

  Jak felt slightly strange removing his tunic in front of Pikia—the Hive is the most modest place in the solar system, and wasps are embarrassed by things the rest of humanity barely even perceive—but she looked politely away, and the water, first warm then cold, felt good on his face. He set the dial on the towel for slow absorption and enjoyed scouring his face while leaving it slightly damp. “So this evening we get our act together for the meetings tomorrow, at the royal palace in Magnificiti. Officially I’m in charge and you help me. Unofficially, we both sit back, nod sagely, and take credit, while Dujuv and Teacher Copermisr bargain for the lifelog. I will sit, be polite, and not fall asleep. You will help me do that.”

  “Five minutes till the others get here. Are you going to be all right for this meeting in five minutes? You still look pretty tired and pale, chief.”

  “By this point it looks worse than it is.”

  “Can I ask something that might be really personal and rude?”

  Jak considered that on his first missions—when he had been a bit older than Pikia was now—no one had told him anything. He decided that was not an essential part of the experience. “Ask.”

  “What does the conditioning feel like?”

  “Like being really intensely in love,” Jak said. “Not like love for your parents or like a long-term couple feel for each other. Like the crazy can’t-think-of-anything-else feelings some people get in late puberty, but more intense. Some shrinks say it’s like the emotional lives of some badly abused people, the ones they call ‘natural slaves.’ Right after I get a message from her, the only thing that matters in the universe is Shyf and what she wants, even while I know that she’s pulling my strings as if I were a puppet. So it’s … hmm. Degrading. Dirty. Is that what you wanted to know?”

  “Yes, thanks.” Her voice was soft; she seemed ashamed.

  “All right, now, we want Dujuv and Teacher Copermisr to talk about what we can do to help them—”

  “Jak, I didn’t ask because I’m some kind of voyeur or something.”

  “I never thought that was why. I thought you’d tell me sooner or later.”

  “Well, sooner. Jak, I want to really be your assistant on this, so that my help really helps, and I do things you toktru need. I know that’s stupid. I’m sure Great-great-grandpa Reeb told you to keep me out of trouble and make sure I was photographed next to anything important, but I want to really be some use. So I need to know what’s wrong, and how you have to deal with your, um, problem, so I can help or at least keep things from coming at you until you can cope. Masen?”

  “Toktru.” It felt right to say “All right, then, I’ll rely on you.”

  “ ’Kay.”

  “Now, if I seem to be really trying to shut my uncle up, jump in and help.”

  “Right, chief.”

  “And if you call me chief again, I’m going to declare a special local exception to Hive personnel rules, and spank you.”

  “Toktru—uh, what should I call you? Mister Jinnaka?”

  “Nakasen, no, I’ll feel ancient. Stick to Jak. It’s my name.”

  “Dujuv Gonzawara and Shadow on the Frost are arriving,” Jak’s purse said.

  “Well, let ’em in,” Jak said. “Got the seating chart?”

  “Got it, ch—Jak.”

  The door dilated. Duj and Shadow came in. Sib and Gweshira arrived immediately after, exactly on time. Pikia seated everyone; Jak studied his notes for the meeting, which read:

  1.START WHEN THEY’RE ALL HERE.

  2. TURN OVER TO DUJ & XC.

  3.ADJOURN.

  Xlini Copermisr came five minutes late, apologizing frantically and dropping things in a confused whirl. As soon as Pikia seated her, Jak called them to order and asked Dujuv and Teacher Copermisr to fill them all in.

  The two summarized quickly, supplementing, modifying, correcting, and finishing each other’s points: Most important event in the Harmless Zone in a very long time. Royal Family of the Splendor exceptionally proud about it. “They’re already kings and the Splendor is already a rich nation,” Dujuv summarized. “The only meaningful bribe is the bribe to pride. So we will kiss them where it’s good, and the way they like it. Then they will pat us on the head and let us have the lifelog.”

  “Witerio and Cyx are pleasant but sensitive.” Teacher Copermisr added, “Let them have the slightest suspicion that you don’t regard them as the full equals of the Hive’s prime minister or of the Duke of Iron, and it will all turn to shit in a hurry.”

  They went over court protocol until everyone could recite everything automatically. Pikia asked, quietly, “What about this Clarbo Waynong that’s coming in late? The Hive Intel agent? Can someone brief him?”

  Jak said, “He’s supposed to arrive—um—”

  “Tomorrow, right in the middle of the scheduled second meeting of the day,” Pikia said, consulting her purse.

  “Can anyone catch him and brief him?” Jak asked.

  “I can try,” Shadow said, “but I’ve met him, and whether I can brief him or not will depend on whether or not he is willing to listen, and I do not think he will be. He is rather a fool.”

  “I’ve dealt with him too,” Dujuv said. “Nothing ‘rather’ about it.”

  “Fools often get into awkward situations,” Shadow said, “which prevent them from fulfilling their duties, leaving their duties to be carried out by more capable people. It could be reasonable to hope for this.”

  Dujuv nodded vigorously: “It might be better if Shadow got into a fight with him and they both were jailed for a few days.”

  Teacher Copermisr was nodding too. “I’ve met him several times, and I’m sure that since he tends to offend nearly everyone, and Shadow is after all a Rubahy warrior and easily offended—”

  Jak did not see any way that he could get the credit for the negotiations to go to a man in jail, and anyway, ideally, that lifelog ought to be carried back to the Hive by Waynong. He tried to sound both casual and absolutely commanding. “Just meet him, tell him what’s going on, and bring him to the negotiating session, Shadow, that’s an order.”

  The Rubahy’s facial expression never changed—it couldn’t—but he sighed with his whole body. “You have a vital mission, a known bumbler is going to bumble right into it, and you are worrying about propriety. I have lived among your species for many years now, and I am still forced to say that you make no sense at all.”

  “I know,” Jak said. “And I may be wrong in this. But I want to stay by-the-book, at least officially.”

  Shadow sat back. Jak, his oath-friend and mission commander, had made a decision, so Shadow on the Frost would not question it further.

  “Well,” Jak said, “other than a problem I have ordered the most competent person here not to solve”—they all laughed, and Shadow made the sound of big slow bubbles inside a metal bucket, the Rubahy equivalent of laughter— “what else do we have to cover? Shall we adjourn?”

  There was nothing more. Xlini Copermisr, Gweshira, and Sib departed at once. Jak was trying to think of a delicate way to—

  Pikia said, “Let’s see, three old toves, one over-eager subordinate. Let me guess who ought to take a walk.”

  Jak said, “If there’s any actual business or anything—”

  “Close toktru toves who haven’t talked face-to-face in a year? You won’t talk business.” She smiled and left.

  “Jak, you have a better assistant than you deserve,” Dujuv observed.

  “I was just noticing that. So, now that we’re in a bugswept room, what do you t
wo think and how’s it all look to you?”

  Dujuv held his hand out and wobbled it from thumb to little finger, vigorously, several times. “Might go perfectly, still,” he said. “But you know, old tove, here on Mars, the Great God Murphy is still alive as a belief, and there are Murphyites everywhere, even among those who claim to follow the Wager. And there is that old proverb, ‘Murphy rules the universe and he is a malign thug.’

  “After a year here, pizo, I believe in Murphy. We have one of the most valuable objects of all time, protected by nearly senile ceremonial guards. We have a king who is a nice old gwont but also deeply in love with himself. We have the prince … this place was bugswept?”

  “Bugsweep this entire suite again, give it all you got,” Jak said to his purse.

  Another wave of crashing thunder rumbled through the room, dotted with little squeals and screams as the purse hunted for anything that might be listening. Then, speaking in Jak’s voice, the purse loudly said, “Stolen plutonium fifty tons of xleeth coming in tomorrow tunnel under the palace kidnap the prime minister’s daughter concealed Casimir bombs Rubahy mercenaries.” About ten seconds of silence followed, and the purse said, “All clear. Everything that was found is confirmed destroyed, no evidence that anything wasn’t. The trigger phrases produced no response at Red Amber Magenta Green’s central intelligence systems.”

  “Now, Dujuv, what’s your candid assessment of Prince Cyx?”

  “Well, either putty in our hands, or a thorn in our side,” Dujuv said. “Or any other cliché you like, depending on the day.”