A Matter of Oaths (35 page)

Doggedly, he ran through every signalling system he knew,
starting with the training signals that were the first that a junior learnt,
working through the standard fives used upon the cargoships, the eights of a
surveyship, the extended tens of a patrolship. When he ran out of options, he
repeated himself, varying the patterns across the array of signal circuits in
case the connections were made differently than they were in the webs he was
used to. If nothing else, the exercise was driving the web-cramp away.

Just when he had given up hope, was repeating the sequence
out of stubbornness, not conviction, he got an answer that he could interpret. Extended
tens, but with the connections made in reverse order. He sent [Query status,]
received [Acting.] An instant later he felt the unmistakable tingle in his
input circuits that was a matrix forming. He opened to it.

It was a visual analog. It took him several seconds to build
the picture in his mind. The first try made no sense, but when he inverted it
along both axes, it was a text bank, written in almost recognizable symbols,
symbols that could be the precursors of the alphabet he knew, symbols that
could be as old as the web he was in. The web lost the fragile veneer of
familiarity that the signalling exercise had given it.

Struggling to hold the image clearly, he tried to understand
it. There were several lines of text, each with a corresponding signal glyph. The
top line might be "web." The rest… possibly "complex" and
"surface" and others he could not interpret. He sent [Query web] and
the matrix reformed.

A mixed text and diagram bank, less difficult to visualize
because the adjustments he needed to make were becoming familiar. "Power"
and a figure were easy to recognize, but harder to interpret without knowing
the scale; he assumed it referred to the web’s internal power source. "Lock"
and the symbol for "off" implied that something could be locked but
was not. The diagram could be interpreted as meaning the web was fully
functional, or it could mean something else entirely.

He sent [Magnify] with a pointer to the area of the diagram
and watched it reform on a larger scale, spanning four of his input matrices. He
thought he would go crazy, shifting them from their old relationship to the new
upside-down back-to-front world, but he got them there in the end,
concentrating so fiercely that he knew he would have a headache when he came
out of the web.

Now he was seeing a schematic of the web’s circuits, dotted
and continuous lines. Assume one set was signal, one set was control. Which was
which? Concentrations of both kinds led to a cluster of arrows pointing out of
the web. The comms circuits? Did he have control over something outside the
body of the web? Outside the casing that he knew about, he corrected himself. How
far did this web extend? And most importantly, what could he do from it?

There were control circuits terminating within the casing,
if his interpretation was correct. "Lock," he remembered from the
previous matrix. Lock the hood? It was sturdy enough to be worth locking, if he
had remembered to slide it over him. Could he manage the mixture of body and
web control that would take, if he had a good enough reason for doing it? And
would locking the hood also lock access to the circuits? Surely yes, if it was
intended as protection for the person in the web.

[Query,] he sent, wondering what further information the web
would supply about itself. One of the circuits on the schematic doubled in
intensity and a description appeared; as it did, he felt an itch in his own —
corresponding? — circuit. Gods, he thought, this was how juniors learnt their
way around a web. The teaching was done by a Webmaster, not the web itself, but
if the web was designed only to hold one person… The description was
incomprehensible. He sent [Acknowledge] and another circuit was identified for
him, also leading off the edge of the diagram.

It could take days to learn his way around by this method. How
long had he been in the web? He had lost track of elapsed time, but it must be
close to two hours. When would Julur expect him to emerge? And would he be
questioned about what he had done? If Julur learned that this web was not the
limited thing he had believed, he would not allow Rafe to use it again. Was it
worth taking the risk — if he could learn how to do it — to lock himself in and
anger Julur in return for… Gods knew what possibilities. Yes, it was, when he
already had nothing to look forward to except a short lifetime of dancing
around the Old Emperor’s moods.

[Query web,] he sent, for a repeat of the previous bank. When
he had it, he sent [Magnify] with a pointer to the "lock" section. He
was rewarded with another circuit diagram, simpler, with labels already
attached. "Hood," "web," and "room": three
circuits, all controlling a different level of locking. "Hood" and
"web" were definitely what he wanted. "Room"? The room that
the web was in? The room that Braniya and Julur were also in? That was
distinctly tempting.

He sent [Query] and the circuits identified themselves in
turn. He checked several times, to be sure he had memorized them; Julur was
unlikely to be forgiving of any mistake he made. Then he carefully lightened
his web control, mixing it with body control until he could hear the noises in
the room around him, the rustle of armour-cloth, two people breathing and with
nothing to say to each other. He dared not open his eyes, but the hood slid
over from right to left; if he raised his right arm he would touch it. From
then it would take a second to close the hood, a fraction of a second to
operate all three locks. Then — he hoped — he would be safe from Julur and
Braniya and they would be trapped until he decided to free them. Unless there
was an override that could be operated from outside the web…

Hell, Julur could do nothing worse than he had already
threatened. He raised his arm, closed the hood, triggered the locks. He had
enough body control to hear Julur exclaim, Braniya run across the floor to find
out what he had done. Through the darkly transparent hood, he could see her
struggling to open it. When she dropped out of sight, he assumed she was trying
to open the circuit access she had seen him open before.

Julur was asking sharp questions; there must be a sound
pickup somewhere in the room that was relayed inside the web, Rafe decided. There
would be even more questions asked when they realized that they were locked in.
How long would it take to cut through the door, as sturdily built as the walls
in this underground warren? Several hours at least. He had wondered about the
thickness of that door when he first saw it; now he understood.

He let his body control fade. The web status bank now showed
"Lock" was on, and there was a pulsing alarm signal. To tell him that
somebody was trying to tamper with the web, he decided. Now to find out what
the other status banks would tell him.

"Complex" gave him a map. Working on the
assumption that it was a map of the deep levels, he sent [Locate] and was shown
a section of the map with one room highlighted, a figure
two
inside the room and a figure
ten
outside. Julur and Braniya and a squad of guards. [Query] gave
him another circuit diagram. He ran through the identification sequence,
finding "Lighting," "Temperature" and — most interesting —
"Atmosphere." The presence or absence of atmosphere, he concluded,
remembering the vacuum seal.

So. He had Julur locked in a room from which he could
withdraw the air. Incidentally killing himself, since there was no independent
air supply to the web, but it should be possible to convince Julur that he
would commit suicide rather than remain a prisoner; the Emperor had been
concerned enough that he would deliberately damage himself in the web. None of
it would help him if he could not find a way off the planet.

"Surface" gave him a picture, several pictures
that he could flick between. Most of them were blank; the others might be views
of the surface of Old Imperial. The blank pictures worried him. Damaged
sensors, or damage to the web itself?

He went back to the first status bank, puzzling over the
lines he could not interpret. What he needed was a way to communicate, not only
with Julur to put his demands — when he had decided what they were — but
off-world as well. With Central. Whoever was in control — Rallya, or he did not
know the woman — must have learned by now that he had not been Carher’s
prisoner. If he told the Guild where he was, made it possible for them to get
in to collect him and out again safely…

The first line he tried gave him a diagram of his own web. Fascinated,
he spared a few seconds to study it, defeated by the text but guessing that the
highlighted section was a diagnosis of web-cramp. Or else the residual damage
from the overload. The web must be probing his nervous system without him being
aware of such an analysis. His mind balked at the level of sophistication that
needed. This web was old, but it was not antiquated.

Another choice gave him a view of the room around him, of
Braniya and Julur talking animatedly. There was extra data that might be sound,
but he had never dealt with a sound input, could not begin to understand it. He
watched them talk for a while; for once, Braniya seemed to be contradicting
Julur. Regretfully, he filed the sound input among the things he would never
have time to explore. If he needed to hear them, he could regain some body
control.

His third blind choice brought him the comms circuits. Within
the room, within the palace, system space, deep space. Rapid exploration of the
deep space circuits taught him that they at least were familiar enough for him
to use untutored. First, he had to target the message on Central. He knew the
station’s location to several decimal places; every Guild-member did. He
specified it. Immediately the web questioned it, offering an alternative that
was different in the last decimal place on one axis. His mistake? No. He knew
his coordinates were right. He overrode the alteration and the web gave in.

Next, before he brought anybody else into danger, he should
be sure that he could control Julur and Braniya. He went through the sequence
that identified atmosphere control. Demonstration first, demands afterwards? He
was entitled to revenge for what Julur had done to him. This might be his only
chance. For a long moment, he wondered if there was a way to take permanent
revenge. To make Julur undergo an identity-wipe or a personality
disintegration. Except that his personality was already less than intact. And
the repercussions of any act of aggression against an Emperor were unthinkable,
unless it was never became known beyond the walls of this room. He would have
to be content with teaching Julur what it was to be terrified and to have no
means of escape.

He returned to the view of the room. Julur and Braniya were
using the intercomm, arguing alternately with each other and with the comm. Rafe
signalled for the atmosphere to be reduced. His captives were slow to notice
the effects, but it was pleasant to see Julur’s face when he finally realized
what was happening. He watched until they had both passed out and he was
beginning to feel the effects himself before he restored the air.

By the time they regained consciousness, he had withdrawn
from the web enough to hear and to talk.

“I can do that whenever I want,” he greeted Julur as the
Emperor stood up unsteadily. He was obviously audible outside the hood; Julur
jerked as if he had been struck. “I don’t have to stop before you’re dead.”

The colour fled from Julur’s face, leaving him an unpleasant
white. “You would not kill me,” he said.

“Because you’re immortal?” Rafe scoffed. “It doesn’t mean
you can’t die. It means you haven’t done it yet.”

“You would die too.”

“I have to do it sometime.” Braniya was dragging herself to
her feet. “Welcome back to the world of the living, Braniya. Temporarily, perhaps.”

“You do not have to die,” Julur said intensely.

“Given the choice between staying your prisoner and dying, I’ll
choose dying,” Rafe said cheerfully. “You’ll be pleased to know there’s a third
choice. You can allow the Guild safe conduct down here to fetch me. And out
again, of course.”

“No,” Julur objected. “You cannot…”

“Breathe vacuum.” Rafe dropped the air pressure in the room
abruptly, restored it when he had made his point. “I shall be calling a Guild
ship to fetch me. They’ll come out of jump inside your defensive sphere and
they won’t be fired on. They’ll send an armed team down here to collect me and
they won’t be stopped. They’ll leave here with me and with you as a guarantee
of safety.”

“No,” Julur insisted. “I will not leave this world.”

“You want to die instead?”

“No.” Julur’s wits seemed to have deserted him, as if he
could not cope with his loss of power. How long had it been since he had last
been helpless? And how long would it be before he recovered?

Keep him off balance, Rafe warned himself; don’t give him
time to start thinking again.

“Order it done — and I can see everything that goes on in
this palace,” he exaggerated, “or die now. That’s the choice you’ve got.”

“We could have the crew of
Havedir
come down to fetch him,” Braniya suggested calmly. Too
calmly for Rafe to trust her…

“I want somebody I know,” he insisted. “And if you’re
planning anything except obedience, don’t. Any attempt to open that door before
the Guild arrive, any attempt to get into this web, any attempt to override
what I’m doing and I’ll kill all of us. Now, do I send a message to Central, or
do I stop the air?”

Julur flinched. “Send the message,” he said hoarsely. “You’re
mad. You would kill both of us without understanding what you did.”

* * *

Attention Commander
Rallya. Urgent. Request transport for self and Emperor from Old Imperial. Advise
extreme caution. Rafe.