Ruler of Naught (47 page)

Osri sat down next to his father. “If Brandon left,” Osri
said softly, “we may very well never see him again.”

“I don’t believe it,” Omilov murmured. “I think he will return,
and I think—” He let the sentence die when Vi’ya looked up.

She went to Montrose’s console and hit some keys. Her face
did not change, but her stance altered slightly, from tense to still, and then
she hit more keys.

No one spoke. She killed the console, murmured something in
Dol’jharian, then left.

Osri leaned toward his father. “You studied Dol’jharian. What
was that?”

“So it begins,” Omilov said.

Montrose rose with an effort and crossed to the kitchen annex.
“Shall we have a second try on the coffee?” he suggested.

o0o

The Urian communicator was even weirder than Lyska-si had
expected. She walked over to the red-glowing melted-looking machine and
gingerly laid a hand on it, then snatched her hand back: it felt like flesh,
blood-warm, slightly yielding. “Ugh!”

Nistan just grinned at her as she sat down. He was her age,
and in spite of the adults in their respective Syndics being currently in the
midst of a silent struggle, Nistan’s rat-pack and Lyska-si’s were allies.

They spent the first hour or so just watching the feed. The
uncoded chatter—bragging sessions, really—between Rifter ships and the images
that came over the hyperwave were entertaining, and sometimes chilling.

Nistan grinned at her, his slanty face making him look
wicked. Weird. She didn’t like wicked, but she liked his look. “Shall we record
this slag? I want to try to pick it apart later.”

“Good,” Lyska-si said.

Several streams of coded messages came through, and then
nothing; Barrodagh, the unseen Bori slug who handed out Eusabian’s orders, was
busy this day. For fun, they tried to crack the codes, but of course they
couldn’t. Lyska-si did make a copy of the message-distribution log, which noted
which mail drops they went to. That was one of the primary reasons for the rotating
watch on the comm: to monitor this traffic. Any Syndicate that received more
than its share of coded messages from Dol’jhar, even though their content
couldn’t be known, would fall under suspicion of having cut a deal.

As time wore on, the interest wore off, and several times
Lyska-si almost suggested cutting the recording. They’d get into big trouble if
any of the chiefs came in and caught them. But then another brief code-burst
came through, and when it ended she gasped, hitting the playback. “That’s
Snurkel’s mail code.”

“Who’s the message from?” Nistan said, squinting down at the
console.

“I can’t tell. Could be from anywhere.”

“Let’s make a chip,” Nistan suggested. “I can take it to Korbis
later—he’s the best I know at codebusting. In fact,” he said, tapping at the
console jury-rigged to the Urian device, “let’s dump everything and have him
run statistics on it. Might be some interesting patterns.”

“We’ll owe you,” Lyska-si said formally. It was a risk—she
knew her mother was mad at the Y’Mereds now, and might not want to back her up.
But Lyska-si couldn’t quite make it personal, for reasons she didn’t really
understand.

Nistan flushed. “Accept,” he said. He turned back to the console
and wiped his long hair back from his face. But Lyska-si could see that he was
smiling.

o0o

We do not hear the one-who-hides or the
one-who-gives-fire-stone.

You will have to come out of the great sleep, and walk
among the single entities.

We will walk among the single entities. The world-mind
says this is instructive for Eya’a. We will locate the one-who-hides and the
one-who-gives-fire-stone.

Vi’ya opened her eyes, rubbing her hand impatiently across
her temple to banish the vertigo. She went out into her own cabin to find the
Oblate robes and face masks. If anyone could find Lokri and Brandon Arkad, it
would be the Eya’a. And then...

And then the wisest thing would be to get out of Rifthaven,
fast. Much of the repair and enhancement work could wait. that which had been
ordered was now paid for, thanks to the sale of one of one of the costly but
common artifacts Vi’ya had taken from the Arthelion palace. And the two which
were very rare were safely stored. But—

She pulled the silver ball from her pouch and hefted it in
her hand. She’d almost gotten used to its inertialessness.

Without warning the Eya’a were in her head again:
The
world-mind wishes to understand the eye-of-the-distant-sleeper. The world-mind
celebrates Vi’ya joining the sleeper to the eye-of-the-distant-sleeper.

‘Wishes to understand.’

Vi’ya shut her eyes, almost dizzy with the impact of this
realization. She had never been able to determine whether they were in contact
with their world mind or not, as their concept of tenses was as shaky as their
grasp of gender. But the world mind could not have known about the Heart of
Kronos.

Vi’ya stared at the enigmatic artifact on her palm. It
seemed to enable the Eya’a to reach her at a distance, rather than only
face-to-face—maybe it was also helping them reach their world mind. She could
experiment with that later, but right now, she needed to find out as much about
it as known to humankind. Since Omilov was unwilling to share what he knew, she
would go elsewhere.

Decision reached, she slipped it back into her pouch. The orders
concerning the ship could be given quickly. Once the Eya’a located Lokri and
the Arkad, and the two were safely on their way back to the ship—with the Eya’a
as guards—she would make a fast visit to the one person on Rifthaven who could
possibly tell her more about the Heart of Kronos.

And then they’d leave.

She opened a com channel and asked to talk to the head tech.

o0o

Lokri led Brandon down a dim corridor.

The doors slid open and they entered a plain foyer.

“Signe’s Garden, this is called. You’ll like this place. If
we have anything to celebrate we usually come here. this is where we held
Markham’s wake.” He touched the lift console.

When the lift opened, they were met by a young woman in
discreet gray clothing. “Welcome, genz. Would you like to join the company?”

“Private,” Lokri said. “But with access to the performance.”

She bowed and led them up some shallow, curving stairs over
a spectacular garden. Breathtaking mosaics lined one wall. The other looked out
on brilliant stars—or the semblance of same. They could have been deep within
the structure of the station, but the domed wall gave the illusion of vast
space.

She stopped before a door, palmed it open, and they entered
a tiny room with low couches and a gleaming black table.

‘The furnishings are controlled here,” she said, touching a
small console on the side of the table. “You can be served by one of us, or you
can use the
monneplat
.”

She bowed and disappeared.

Brandon sat down on one of the couches, looking around in
open appreciation. Tianqi units vented air subtly scented to remind one of
verdant gardens. The lighting was indirect, the walls painted with highly
stylized figures in shades of gray, black, and bronze.

Lokri flicked one of the controls on the table and one wall
slid away silently, affording a view of a stage. Several musicians played soft
music, their costumes artfully designed to blend with the decor.

“Drink?” Lokri asked.

Brandon stripped off his mask and dropped it on the table.
“Vilarian Negus,” he said with a sudden smile.

Lokri took off his mask, fingering the gems just to keep his
hands busy. “Expensive tastes. Luckily we can afford it.”

Brandon grinned. “I’ve only heard of it. Its use is not encouraged
where I’ve been living.”

“Well, I’ve had it once. Here. Markham found the place, not
long after he took over
Telvarna
. I’d never heard of Vilaria or their
dream-dealing Negus until he and Vi’ya had it brought out: apparently they
release very little of it each year, but the owner here has a standing order.”

Lokri tapped out an order code. The cabinet below the window
to the stage slid open. on a tray sat two tall, gently steaming drinks.

“It’s better if it warms up a little,” Lokri said, taking
them out and handing one to Brandon.

Brandon took his, but made no attempt to drink. “Its dreams
are reputed to be addictive,” he said, staring down into the milky liquid.

Lokri could not quite place his tone. “It’s highly
addictive. And if you’ve had any of a long list of drugs within the last
standard day, it’ll kill you, though it is supposed to be a pleasant death.
They use it for religion on Vilaria, for ritual suicides—and for executions.”

“What shall I expect?” Brandon asked, looking up.

“The effect is supposed to be different for everyone. But
you’ll dream well,” Lokri said, “when you do go to sleep. And don’t try to put
off sleep too long—the Negus won’t be denied.”

Brandon said, “I wouldn’t have thought this kind of thing
something Vi’ya would drink.”

“She told us the Negus mutes the psi-waves here.”

“Rifthaven?”

Lokri nodded. “She hates the place.”

Brandon’s brows lifted in surprise.

Lokri grinned. Closing his eyes halfway, he said with a fair
imitation of her austere voice, “So many people crowded in so small a space,
broadcasting hatred, greed, murder, anger.”

Brandon said, “If she doesn’t like those things, why is she
a Rifter?”

Lokri laughed in delight. “Just the question I asked her.”

“And she said—?”

Lokri leaned forward to tip his glass against Brandon’s. The
crystal rang, and Lokri sipped deeply of the creamy, very cold liquid. “Like
clouds... herbs and clouds.”

Brandon took a sip, his head canted. “She said that?”

“I did.” Lokri set his glass down. “She just laughed at me.
Markham answered for her. said it was the only job going for an Dol’jharian
ex-slave.”

“She was a slave?” Brandon repeated, one brow aslant as he
idly turned the signet ring on his hand.

“Her mother found out she was a tempath before the local
lord did—she would apparently have been killed out of hand, and Vi’ya was able
to disguise her talent by posing as an animal handler.”

“I’ve seen how good she is with the dogs,” murmured Brandon.

“And Lucifur. Anyway, that not only saved her life but made
her a valuable commodity. She was sold to a rock-quarry owner. Could be her
mother even bought her own freedom with Vi’ya’s price.

“She spent the rest of her childhood managing huge
rock-lifting saurians. Then she was sold to a lord on one of the Quarantined
Dol’jharian worlds, smuggled there by Rifter slavers. Markham said she wouldn’t
talk to him about that voyage at all, but anyone could tell how much she hated
slavers.”

Lokri smiled. Was he really that ignorant about Dol’jhar?
Only
an Arkad could be that insulated
, Lokri thought. “It was Markham who got it
all out of her and one night he told me. She’d never told us anything about her
background. Oh, maybe Jaim, a little. But he’s worse than she for closed
jaws.”

Lokri paused. Brandon’s expression was enigmatic as he
continued to twist the ring. Lokri caught a glimpse of the signet: not the expected
Phoenix, but an ebony-faced charioteer.

Lokri went on. “Life for any but the lords is cheap on any
Dol’jharian world. She couldn’t get into trouble—she was too valuable—but her
friends could be used against her, so she learned not to have any. When she was
in her late teens someone organized a slave revolt. She escaped along with the
others, but her talent for ‘hearing’ pursuit kept her from being caught and
tortured to death. She learned to stay alive in the city.

“Markham thinks the slave revolt was funded by the Rifter
commander who later put out a hiring call on Rifthaven. Markham joined up with
the little ship he’d recently taken from some jacker. They raided the city—”

“Rifter raid against a Dol’jharian-held planet?” Brandon
said.

“Exactly. Markham told us that he was certain the Panarchic
navy looked the other way when Rifters dared raids against Dol’jharian
holdings.”

“Ah.” Brandon smiled humorlessly, gazing downward through
his drink. “Go on.”

“Little else to tell. It was Markham’s first raid as a captain.
By the time the local lord’s forces scrambled, Markham got away with a cargo
big enough to start him on the crew you saw at Dis. Somewhere during this raid
he came across a tempath who was fast with her hands—a dead shot. If you think
a tempath ever ‘comes across’ anyone. She’s never said how she found
him
.”

Brandon sat very still during the relation, his gaze on the performers
below. “Why did Hreem want Markham’s death?”

The question was strange, especially uttered in that tone of
indifference.

“He had seven reasons, all seven having to do with us jacking
him when he carried slaves,” Lokri said. Suspecting the impact of the word
again on Brandon, he dug at the sore spot. “There’s a thriving market out-octant
where you nicks can’t, or won’t, enforce the Unalterables. One thing about slavers:
they rarely carry just one illegal cargo. Markham made plenty selling the
subsidiary cargoes.”

“What did he do with the slaves?”

“Turned them loose, usually on some out-octant world. Jakarr
and others were getting tired of the cost of his ethics, especially as the last
Hreem jack we jumped turned out to be high-end nicks. Jakarr thought the
ransoms would buy us half Rifthaven.”

“Would have bought you the attentions of a battlecruiser, more
like.”

“That’s what Markham said, shortly before he died. Vi’ya
agreed. You saw the end of that particular argument when you first arrived on
Dis.”

Brandon transferred his gaze from the stage to Lokri. “But
you approved?”