Hidden Empire (56 page)
Over a lavish and prolonged dinner, they talked more about Theroc, the green priests and the forest culture. Smiling, Jora’h
raised a goblet filled with a honeyed green liqueur. “Though he isn’t here, I wish to toast my friend, Reynald, because he
intrigued me. Otherwise, I might never have had the remarkable opportunity of meeting you, Nira.”
She laughed politely, not knowing how else to respond.
Though Otema had not explicitly chided her about her numerous distractions, the next day Nira promised to spend at least two-thirds
of every waking period reading aloud to the treelings. The connected mind of the worldtrees drank up the Ildiran stories,
growing in knowledge.
But when she decided that she had done enough work for the day, Nira allowed herself the luxury of exploring the Prism Palace.
She learned how to recognize the ferocious-looking bodyguard kith, who would keep her away from where she wasn’t wanted. Nira
wanted to experience everything she could, but not to anger the Mage-Imperator.
As she wandered through tunnels circling the skysphere reception hall where the great leader had first received them, she
ventured into a set of crystalline passageways. The halls took her past chambers with faceted walls and jewel inlays, behind
which she could see the silhouettes of bureaucrats and document specialists at work.
She pressed her face close to a garnet-colored pane, trying to make out details, but she saw only curious shapes and diligent
workers. Some appeared to have odd body forms, different sizes and musculatures that she did not recognize from any familiar
kith. But the garnet glass blurred the sharp outlines, and she had to squint to make out any details at all.
The halls were very quiet. The Mage-Imperator had withdrawn from his audiences to spend time in his contemplation chamber;
the skysphere remained accessible to pilgrims and visitors, but without the leader present. Nira pressed her wide-eyed face
against a crimson pane, trying to see more—when suddenly she heard a footstep in the corridor.
A tall man, obviously of noble kith like Jora’h, stepped out of the murky chamber and glared at her. His features were similar
to the Prime Designate’s, and Nira recognized a family resemblance, but this man looked harder. His face was stern, his hair
shorter and spikier, as if bristling with displeasure.
“What are you doing?” he said. “Spying?”
“No, just… looking. My name is Nira. I am from Theroc.” She felt embarrassed and stupid, because with her green skin and human
features, she couldn’t possibly be anyone else. “You are a… Designate, are you not? Another son of the Mage-Imperator?”
“What were you doing there?” he said, cutting off her question. “I am the Dobro Designate. Must I report your activities to
my father?”
“I meant no harm. Prime Designate Jora’h told me I could explore wherever I wished.”
The Dobro Designate scowled at her. “So, our
Saga of Seven Suns
has grown dull and tedious for you, and you must find other ways to occupy your mind?”
“Not at all!” She felt ashamed and perplexed, not understanding what she had done wrong or why he was so upset with her. She
glanced at the thick garnet glass. “I didn’t see anything. If this is a restricted area, I will be happy to return to my own
quarters.”
“Perhaps that would be wisest,” the Dobro Designate said, his voice sharp.
“I… meant no harm,” she said again.
His eyes narrowed, and he studied her in silence, as if dissecting her. “Few people ever do.” Nira wondered what he meant
by that.
She was about to turn and flee when he startled her with a gruff question. “Is it true that you green priests are telepathic?
That you can send thoughts through the trees and exchange information and knowledge instantaneously?”
“Y-yes, we can,” she stammered. “The worldforest is vast and holds many thoughts. A green priest can touch all of them. Once
we join with the forest, once we ‘take the green,’ we have access to telink.”
“Is this skill genetically based?” the Dobro Designate asked, stepping closer to her. “How is it possible?”
“Not… exactly genetic,” Nira said. “Although some Therons are better suited to the calling than others, the desire and ability
does not necessarily breed true. The forest itself actually chooses. Many of our people know from childhood that they are
meant to link with the worldforest. We commune with the trees, and we serve them.”
The Designate continued to scrutinize her, assessing, calculating. Then he dismissed her. “That is all. You may go.”
Startled and disoriented, Nira retreated down the corridor. Unsettled by the encounter, she paused and turned to watch as
the Dobro Designate strode in the opposite direction. The dour man walked through several security gates and past bristling
guard kith until he was allowed into the private chambers of his father, the Mage-Imperator.
T
he door to the private contemplation chamber sealed behind the Dobro Designate, and the transparent magnifying walls misted
over to become milky and impenetrable. No one could see them now. No one could guess what they intended to discuss.
The Designate bowed formally before the Mage-Imperator’s curved chrysalis chair. “I have arrived with my report as you commanded,
Father.”
The corpulent leader sat up, his placid face slipping into an expression of malicious eagerness. “You have brought the most
remarkable examples of your experiments?”
“Yes, Liege,” the Dobro Designate said. He was the Mage-Imperator’s second son, after Jora’h, but he followed the leader’s
thinking more closely. “You will find them astonishing. Clearly your father’s farsighted wisdom has seized an opportunity
for the Ildiran race.”
The Mage-Imperator operated a set of controls with his stubby fingers so that the cradle platform tilted him upright. The
sides closed in, making the platform compact and streamlined; handles extruded from the sides. “I wish to see these specimens
with my own eyes.”
He called for attenders, and a group of small-statured helpers scurried in. They fought each other for the right to grasp
the handles on the palanquin. Levitators switched on, lifting the enormous throne from the floor. The leader stroked his serpentlike
braid and gestured forward with his chubby right hand. “Follow my son. The Dobro Designate will show the way.”
Wearing a hard smile of confidence, the Designate exited through the opposite arched doorway. He led them out of the contemplation
chamber and down sloping ramps to lower, more isolated rooms. He knew the Mage-Imperator would reward him for all the hard
and unpleasant work he’d been forced to do on dreary Dobro. The end results of these experiments would justify all of the
miserable effort.
Despite his eagerness, the Designate set a slow pace as the attenders carried the chrysalis chair, guiding it through wide
passageways, always downhill. At this depth, other Ildiran workers—mainly guards and maintenance kith—stared in awe at their
unaccustomed visitor under the harsh light; then they either bowed or rushed out of the way. The Designate paused on a hovering
lift platform, which dropped them down several levels, through the sculptured hillside and into well-lit catacombs within
the citadel. Blazers shone at every intersection.
Finally, they stopped at a private door guarded by four monstrous-looking warrior kithmen. The bodyguards stood aside, clearing
the passage so the attenders could scuttle forward, hauling the floating palanquin chair. The Mage-Imperator looked around,
his interest piqued, impatient with anything that got in his way.
They entered a gallery of glass-walled rooms. The transparent cells held strange humanoid creatures in an array of body types,
unusual mixtures of shapes, musculatures, configurations—some of them impressive, some horrifying, some pathetic.
“As you can see, Father, our breeding program has yielded a variety of results, as is to be expected. We collect data and
then try to reproduce the cross-breed kith that we consider to have desirable traits.”
The Mage-Imperator ordered the frenetic attenders to nudge his palanquin forward so that he could float in front of the glass
cells. With hard eyes, he stared at each of the mismatched creatures in turn. Some of them cowered from the immense leader,
but the Mage-Imperator saw them only as specimens, not living beings. No pity whatsoever showed on his doughy face.
Certain half-breed creatures were covered with patchy scales, others had bristly fur. Several were well-muscled, three having
grossly enhanced arms and thighs. Two of the specimens looked broken, and huddled in misery in the far corners of the transparent
cages: malformed specimens that had barely survived, genetic mixtures that were never meant to be. Every one bore some resemblance
to the baseline Ildiran kiths, but the mismatched creatures also manifested a strikingly unusual quality, something alien
that did not belong in Ildiran genes.
The Mage-Imperator backed off, his pasty face showing a mixture of disgust and optimism. He turned his intent gaze on his
second son. “I have never seen kith combinations such as these. The new bloodlines offer substantial new potential for our
purposes.”
The Dobro Designate nodded vigorously. “We keep trying to determine how strong the human bloodline needs to be. Our sample
populations are still too small, and the time … it has been less than two centuries, enough for only a handful of generations.”
“Of course, my son. When my father first gave me this secret assignment, and later when I passed it on to you at the beginning
of my rule, we all knew it would be a long-term task with vital consequences for our empire.”
The Dobro Designate remained determined. “Sometimes the third or even the fourth generation is the strongest. Our mixed-kith
swimmers and architects are the best ever produced.”
“Good.” The Mage-Imperator twitched, and his attenders dragged him back from the gallery walls into the center of the display
chamber. “Keep uppermost in your mind, however, that we must improve Ildiran
mental and communication
abilities. Now, more than ever, we must have success.”
“I am developing new avenues, Father,” the Dobro Designate said. “Though it may take several more generations, decades at
least.”
Now the Mage-Imperator looked upset. His chubby face wrinkled with a stormy expression. “We may not have that much time. Our
greatest fears have arisen. The threat has returned, and the Ildiran Empire must prepare to defend itself. We don’t want to
end like the Klikiss.”
Shocked, the Dobro Designate drew a deep breath to calm himself. “Are you certain, Father? After all the legends, so many
centuries upon centuries—”
“There is no question. I have seen the evidence for myself. The hydrogues have shown themselves again. Even my combined
thism
is not strong enough to accomplish what must be done. I had hoped that a cross-breed might enhance those characteristics.
There is no higher priority, no greater need. We must plan, and succeed, before anyone else understands the nature of the
danger.” He clenched a pudgy fist so violently that blood began to stream down his palm. “We need at least one!”
Drawing strength and resolve, the Dobro Designate pressed forward. “Then I must make a risky proposal. There is new information,
Father. Perhaps you have seen it yourself? I just met a human, one of their green priests from Theroc—a young and obviously
fertile female. Her biological connection with the worldtrees suggests some … very interesting genetic possibilities.”
The Mage-Imperator gestured for his chrysalis chair to move out into the corridor. The attenders pushed him backward.
“Yes, indeed,” he said. “I have already thought of this myself. We may have to use her, break her—and take what we need.”
T
he cohort of Ildiran warliners finally departed from the stark world of Dobro. Adar Kori’nh felt relieved to move on to the
next military assignment. He could never escape a feeling of uneasiness when visiting this grim system, although he acted
under the Mage-Imperator’s orders. What the Dobro Designate continued to do on that planet seemed dark, horrible to him. Even
humans did not deserve such treatment.
