Carnelians (23 page)

“You can model the situation to some extent,” Industry said. A leanly muscled man of great energy, he oversaw industrial development. At the moment, he was reading something on his gauntlet. Looking up at them, he added, “Even the most sophisticated codes can’t precisely predict human behavior, but my analyses suggest that a failure of these talks could result in an economic crisis.”

“The talks could fail regardless of how we meet,” Dehya said. “Both Imperator Skolia and I believe they have a better chance of success if we meet in person.” She turned to the Councilor for Planetary Development, a woman with luxuriant dark hair falling over her shoulders. “Marta, what world are you on right now?”

“Parthonia,” Planetary answered. “Why do you ask?”

“When I saw you last month, at the Assembly,” Dehya said. “Your hair was short.”

If Planetary was startled by the comment, no hint of it showed in her holographic simulation. She said only, “I preferred this length today.”

Barcala Tikal spoke to Dehya. “Yes, we see your point. People can change how they look in sims. So what?” He waved his hand at Protocol. “They do it in person, too. Physical presence is no guarantee that the physicality of the people present is genuine.”

Protocol raised her eyebrows at him, their red glitter accenting her sparkling red hair. Then she went back to monitoring the holo simulations.

“Barcala, you know it’s not that simple,” Dehya said. “Look at Nature. Tell me, what is he doing with those spectacles?”

“My glasses?” Nature asked. “Your Highness, I—” When Dehya glared at him, he blinked and fell silent.

“What he’s doing,” Tikal said dryly, “is staring at you with quite understandable confusion.”

“Is he?” Dehya studied Nature, who met her gaze, looking rather self-conscious. “Does he seem innocuous because he really is? Or is he hiding some ability behind those quaint spectacles? Maybe an AI is controlling his image to give him whatever appearance either he or the AI believes will make him most effective at this meeting.”

“Uh, actually, this is what I look like,” Nature said.

Industry scowled at him. “So why wear those antediluvian contraptions on your eyes?”

“He just likes the way they look,” Life said. “That’s not the point. It’s easy to trick people when you can use your virtual reality arsenal to enhance, augment, misrepresent, and otherwise alter the effectiveness and veracity of what you project to others.”

Kelric had no doubt that Nature wore glasses because he liked them. He knew because he had broken an unwritten law of telepaths and probed Nature’s mind beyond what he could catch on the surface. Although Nature hadn’t known, the probe had left the councilor with a headache. Kelric hadn’t liked what he had done; his emotions had overrun his judgment. But those glasses struck him deeply. Decades ago, the Traders had captured and tortured Kelric’s father, leaving him blind and unable to walk. After his rescue, the doctors had done their best to repair his injuries. When he could see again, albeit blurrily, he opted for glasses rather than having further operations. Even before his time as a Trader prisoner, he had distrusted the technology of his wife’s civilization; afterward, he felt even more vulnerable. Wearing glasses was his way of fighting back. He had eventually died from the injuries that weakened his body, and when Kelric had seen Nature with his spectacles, he’d had the irrational fear that the Assembly councilor would die, too. So he had looked into his mind.

Kelric glanced at his mother. Roca was staring at the table, her face composed but her posture unnaturally still.

Are you all right?
he asked her.

She glanced at him.
I’m all right. It’s just hard sometimes, when I remember what happened to your father.

Yes. Nature reminds me of him, too.

“I don’t have to wear them,” Nature was saying. “My system here can adjust the focus for this room. I’m just used to having them on. I forget about them.”

“I know,” Dehya said. “They’re fine, Jason.” That she used his personal name was a sign that she didn’t distrust his motives.

“You’re all avoiding her point,” Life told them. “People can set VR systems to project whatever they want.” He shrugged. “Sure, none of us suspects Nature. He’s a harmless preoccupied professor. That’s a lot different than what we’ll encounter with the Traders.”

Nature scowled at him. “Gosh, thank you for the compliment.”

“The flip side of that is also important,” Domestic Affairs said. “Pharaoh Dyhianna’s attitude is mild compared to the suspicion we’ll encounter with the Hightons.”

“And you don’t think people will be dishonest in person?” Finance demanded. He lifted his cybernetic arm. “We’re all walking mesh nodes. It’s in our hair, skin, clothes, bodies. Nature could incorporate all sorts of sly technologies into his glasses: specialized filters, sensors, high-powered lenses, mesh nodes with AI analysis code, you name it, not to mention they also hide facial expressions. Hell, he could put biomech in his own eyes to achieve a lot of that.”

“For flaming sake,” Nature said. “I’m not achieving anything but seeing all your faces more clearly. Assuming I’d want to.”

“With Hightons,” Planetary Affairs said, “we also have more to worry about than what people do for themselves, to themselves, or with themselves in virtual reality.”

Domestic Affairs chuckled. “That sounds like it ought to be censored if you go any further.”

Planetary frowned at her. “What I’m saying is that anyone can bring an arsenal of hidden tech to the table. Suppose Nature used that great intellect of his to alter the simulation we send to the Traders of our virtual conference room, giving us an advantage? People react to their surroundings. The Hightons could similarly alter what they send us. We would undoubtedly fool with it, altering it for our gain, and they would alter it again to compensate for whatever they thought we might have done. Carry that to its convoluted extreme and you get one holy mess.”

“Amazing I’m so talented at subterfuge,” Nature said. “All with my glasses, no less.”

“You have the knowledge,” General Stone said. “Also access to the necessary experts and systems. You consult with ISC all the time. If we wanted to do what Planetary describes, you would be one of the first people we contacted.”

“And we’ve barely touched on what we can do with virtual sims,” Dehya said. “It’s possible to do some of this in person, yes, but we have significantly more control in face-to-face meetings.”

“Fine.” Brant Tapperhaven’s deep voice broke into the debate. “A face-to-face summit can solve problems. So far I’ve heard no hint of how we would convince the Hightons to agree.”

A startled silence fell, people startled as much from hearing the taciturn Jagernaut speak as from the impossibility of what he suggested. Kelric knew Jaibriol Qox would be more sympathetic to the idea than the others believed, except Dehya, but he couldn’t say that, not here and not to the Traders.

“You have a suggestion?” Kelric asked Brant.

“Nothing that wouldn’t sound crazy,” Brant said.

“The entire proposal is crazy,” Tikal said. “As First Councilor, I protest the whole idea.”

That provoked another silence. Barcala and Dehya shared the rule of the Imperialate, Barcala as the elected First Councilor and Dehya as the hereditary Ruby Pharaoh. The uneasy mix of democracy and imperial governance had been Dehya’s idea, after she overthrew the Assembly and resumed her throne. Kelric even agreed with her that the blended government would probably be more stable for a modern interstellar civilization. Unfortunately, it also led to situations like this, where the two leaders were opposed. Dehya had ceded only forty-nine percent of her rule to Barcala, which meant she could force her wishes, but doing so could also destabilize their government.

Kelric spoke to Tikal. “You’re giving up before we’ve tried to find solutions.”

An image jumped into Tikal’s mind, his view of Kelric, an impression so vivid that Kelric picked it up without even trying. To Barcala, he looked like a vital, indomitable warlord from a barbaric time, his face impassive, his muscled arms crossed, his huge biceps bulging. It was a startling contrast to how Kelric saw himself, as a weathered and aging man. He hadn’t even realized he had crossed his arms. That highlighted another reason he wanted to meet the Aristos face-to-face. He, Dehya, Roca, Naaj Majda, and Brant Tapperhaven all had an advantage their Highton counterparts lacked: they were psions. As difficult as it was to lower their barriers with Aristos, it was worth the discomfort. But they had to be within a few meters of the Traders for it to work.

Tikal spoke curtly. “If we waste our energies on this, it affects our preparations for the summit. We need to use our time wisely, not chase the mist.”

“And if I told you I knew how you just saw me?” Kelric asked. “As a conquering warlord from a bygone era? I mean really, Barcala. Not even on my best days, I’m afraid.”

Tikal scowled at him. “Keep out of my brain.”

Kelric uncrossed his arms. “I wasn’t spying. Your image was so vivid, it came into my mind. Think on this; you’ve worked with psions for decades and you know better than most how to barrier your mind, yet I caught that image without even trying. The Hightons have none of your experience. They won’t even openly admit that psions have any capacity for sophisticated thought, let alone that we can spy on their minds. They don’t know how to block us.”

Barcala took a breath and slowly let it out. His mental barriers were at full strength now, with nothing leaking past, but Kelric knew he was angry. Kelric didn’t blame him; he wouldn’t like someone catching his thoughts and then revealing them, either.

After a moment, Barcala said, “I see your point.”

Roca spoke. “I agree, the proposal has merits worth considering. But we’ll never convince the Traders.”

Kelric met Dehya’s gaze. Neither of them could reveal why they believed the emperor would agree. But Jaibriol would also have to convince his advisors.

“If we think about it long enough,” Life said, “we might figure out a solution.”

Kelric nodded to him. This meeting had gone better than he expected, in that at least they agreed to think about it. But how they would convince the Hightons, he had no idea.

Aliana had never seen a med-lab before. It was so bright. The walls, ceiling, consoles, and counters were white Luminex, which glowed with a pleasant, diffuse light. An astringent smell tickled her nose, the scent of a place scrubbed clean. And the room hummed. Every now and then an indistinct voice spoke, not a person, but a machine. Lights glowed on consoles and on the equipment arrayed around the bed where she was sitting. Bed indeed. It looked more the way she imagined a starship, with panels all around and holos rotating above them. Light cables glowed along its edges. And it kept
moving.
It was subtle, but if she shifted her weight, the bed shifted with her. If her muscles stiffened, the bed moved as if it were trying to massage them, which made her tense more, which made it move more. She sincerely wished it would stop.

The Skolian doctor had red hair pulled back from her face and caught at the nape of her neck. She was slender, skinny in fact, all bony angles under her white jumpsuit. Even her name sounded bony: Doctor Skellor.

“You’ll feel nothing more than a tickle of air,” Skellor assured her as she set the muzzle of a syringe-gun against Aliana’s neck.

Aliana grimaced when the syringe hissed, not because it hurt, but because she didn’t trust whatever Skellor had just injected into her. Nanomeds? Apparently people who didn’t grow up in slums took health-meds for granted, but she had never heard of them.

“These med things,” Aliana said. “Will they stay inside me? Have baby meds and set up housekeeping?”

Skellor smiled, the lines around her eyes crinkling, which made her look kind despite her being Skolian. “If you mean are they self-replicating, the answer is no. They’ll fall apart in a few hours and your body will eliminate them.”

“You mean I’ll crap ’em out?”

The doctor gave a dry laugh. “Yes.”

Aliana supposed she could live with that. “What will they tell you?”

Skellor indicated the machines around the bed. “The meds transmit data about your health to my monitors. Anything from the condition of your liver to the psiamine in your brain.”

“Sigh-a-what?”

“Psiamine.”

Aliana squinted at her. “Never heard of it.”

“It’s a neurotransmitter.”

“Never heard of that, either.”

“It’s a chemical,” Skellor explained. “Everyone has neurotransmitters, but only psions have psiamine. It’s what allows your brain to interpret brain waves from other people.”

“Oh. Well, good.” Aliana wished she didn’t feel so stupid. They weren’t treating her as if she were slow, though. They wouldn’t tell her these things unless they believed she could understand.

Skellor peered at a holo above a flat screen near the bed. “Secondary Lensmark wants us to send a full workup of your blood into the Skolian medical system. If your father was Skolian, maybe we’ll get a hit.”

“Ah.” Aliana didn’t know what else to say. Although she still didn’t want to be Skolian, she had to admit, the people here had treated her a lot better than Harindor or her stepfather.

The door across the room irised open into a tall, thin hexagon. It relieved Aliana, because many Skolian doorways were bizarre, shaped like rectangles. Skolians used right angles everywhere. It was so strange. Alien.

Secondary Lensmark walked into the room. Aliana hadn’t seen her these past two days since Tide defected. Lensmark had been busy with whatever military people at embassies did, like “debriefing” Tide, which sounded to Aliana like Aristo-speak for interrogation. Except these people weren’t Aristos. That should mean they were slaves, but they didn’t believe that applied to them, and none of them wore either collars or wrist guards.

Doctor Skellor straightened up. “My greetings, Lyra.”

Aliana blinked. Lyra? Why wasn’t Skellor saluting and all? She peered at Skellor’s uniform. The embassy insignia glowed on her sleeve, a gold triangle inside an exploding sun, but nothing looked military. Huh. Maybe civilians didn’t have to jump and salute.