Ruler of Naught (48 page)

Lokri shrugged. “As long as the take is good, I don’t care
where it comes from.”

Brandon’s next question, still uttered in that soft,
indifferent voice, took Lokri by surprise. “You were at the other base when
Markham was murdered?”

How did he know that?
“I was.”

The musicians on the stage below had been replaced by masked
players who mimed a highly stylistic play. Old anger awakened, Lokri waited for
Brandon to contemplate these events outside his control.
Your Panarchy is
dead, Aerenarch. As dead as Markham and his ideals. Do you see it yet?

When Brandon finally spoke, it was again a sidestep. “So is
this a wake, or a performance?”

Lokri glanced at the stage and then at the Arkad, whose
mouth twisted with irony. “Meaning?”

Brandon finished off the Negus and set the cup in the exact
center of the table. “Meaning what else do you do for fun?”

Lokri drank the last of his own Negus, his mind running the
more rapidly in spite of, or because of, the dream images lapping at the edge
of his awareness. Too late he understood that the Negus had been a mistake.
the dreams were not deadening the old memories, but reawakening them.

His expectations changed from moment to moment, but his
intention remained: he wanted to see the Arkad’s mask shatter, just as his
Panarchist world had shattered. Nick morality and mercy were gone, ripped apart
by weakness, greed, lust, and revenge. Markham was gone—and everything he’d
believed in.

I want a fleet to take to Gehenna to rescue my father...

Hatred twisted Lokri, for a system that didn’t work, and for
this handsome scion of wealth and power who persisted in believing the
illusion.

Lokri would demonstrate to him his powerlessness. And then...
And then...

Memory-desire merged unsettlingly with the immediate. His
thoughts, driven by the Negus, spiraled.

He was sure of only one thing: he’d made a tactical error.

His mistake had been in choosing the finest places, the ones
that compared with nick establishments. To the Arkad this was just home.

It was time for something different.

He smiled. “There’s a lot more to see.”

Brandon said, “Lead on.”

Lokri threw a stack of AU into the hopper, which closed up
and disappeared. “Put that mask back on. If Vi’ya does catch up with us,
that’ll keep me alive. Maybe.” He laughed.

No one hindered them when they walked out.

o0o

“Look here,” Nistan said.

Lyska-si abandoned her own work and glanced at his terminal.

“I’ve broken some of it out. The sender code for Snurkel’s
message is almost the same as these other messages. And some of the other
Syndics are getting messages from the same source.”

Lyska-si whistled. “Has to be Arthelion.”

“Weird thing is, the only ones getting these new messages
are seconds.”

Lyska-si got that zing of memory. “Is Nuub one of them?”

“Yeah. And Zafid Rouf—”

“Water,” Lyska-si whispered.

“And Gurpahee—”

“Weird! The Kug hate the Rouf. I thought.”

“And Tir down in Hydroponics.” Nistan looked thoughtful.
“Who else on Arthelion is working for Eusabian?”

Lyska-si shook her head. “Far as I know, Barrodagh is the
only one speaks for him.” They looked at each other.

“Then there’s someone there working against him,” Nistan
said.

“And they might be allied with old Giffus and those other
seconds,” Lyska-si said. “Maybe a cross-Syndicate coup by those impatient to
succeed their firsts. That’s it. Trouble or no, I’ve got to tell my mother.”
She tapped the copy code on her boz’l and loaded Snurkel’s and the other
messages in. “I won’t tell your part,” she said. Then she signaled her mother,
but got no answer.

Nistan’s grin was twisted. “Trouble on Rifthaven,” he predicted.

o0o

The Eya’a paused, and Vi’ya cast a swift look around,
struggling with her emotions. She was getting too angry, though she did her
best to damp it. The Eya’a were close enough to protective action already.
Furious as she was with Lokri, she did not want them to fry his brain as soon
as they located him.

She started walking again, the Eya’a shuffling behind in
their shrouds. They continued to scan and sort the myriad mental energies
surrounding them, their nearly incomprehensible emotions a strange hybrid of
joy and terror that seared Vi’ya’s nerves.

We hear the one-who-gives-fire-stone,
the Eya’a said
again.

They veered. She ran ahead, guiding them toward a lift. They
shuffled on, paying no attention to humans. A huge spacer, obviously expecting
everyone to give way before him, stepped directly in their path. Before Vi’ya
could act, the Eya’a walked directly into the man, who shoved impatiently at
the nearest of the pair.

The Eya’a’s face mask shifted, and the other promptly lifted
her mask.

After a shocked look at the faceted eyes and blue mouths, the
spacer turned the color of dog vomit. “Are those what I think they are?”

“Brainburners,” someone else said, jamming at the lift door
control.

Vi’ya, desperate to keep the Eya’a from being associated
with the
Telvarna
, said, “Haven’t you heard? A ship full of them docked
here two watches ago.”

The entire assortment of hard-faced spacers stampeded
hastily out.

o0o

“There’s something going on,” Lyska-si said. “I know it. The
way Snurkel was gloating at the caucus today, and now these messages. And some
of the others were rasty, too. Chatz! It could be starting now. Why won’t Lyska
answer?” She tapped her boz’l again, but her mother did not respond.

“Do a locate?” Nistan kept his attention on his console.

“She always has that disabled, even for me,” Lyska-si answered.
“Ever since that bomb plot against old Willem—”

“Here, look at this,” Nistan said. “I knew Korbis was the
one to ask. So happens he’s on the Defense desk right now, so he can do stuff
for us.”

Lyska-si moved to his console and leaned next to him. Her
mind was distracted between the console and Nistan. Eyes the color of Yolen
nightbirds, those straight shoulders, and he smelled good.

But he was a Y’Mered, and anyway, there was biznai at hand.

What she saw made her forget everything else. “Korbis wired
the shop!”

Nistan grinned up at her. “Snurkel took over an old Sybarad
luxury yacht. Had it welded right onto Falkowitz Street. Korbis built a model
back in our pack days, and he knows ‘em down to the bolts. He’s gonna activate
us a spy-eye, right in Snurkel’s back room, and pipe it over to us. We’ll owe
him big, since Snurkel’s next security sweep’ll catch it and blow Korbis’ setup
on Falkowitz for good, but for now we can watch Snurkel right here for the rest
of this shift.”

Lyska-si grinned. “Then move over.”

He shifted slightly, but not too far away.

o0o

“This is Marim’s favorite place,” Lokri said. “Or one of
them.”

He blinked, trying to clear his eyes of the halos around
every light. He was very drunk. The screams of an excited crowd smote their ears
when they entered the stands high above a bright-lit platform. On it two
Tikeris androids—man-sized creatures dressed in swirling, brightly decorated
robes—postured with eerie grace, their stylized movements belying the keen
edges of the long, curved swords they wielded in each hand.

On each side of the platform stood their Barcan handlers,
swathed in shanta-silk, wearing red-tinged glasses even in this dim light,
their absurdly large codpieces waggling as they stumped about excitedly, waving
their arms and wailing hoarsely. Two players labored at consoles, modifying the
emotions and response patterns of the Tikeris in an attempt to overcome their
opponent’s android. The air was heavy with a mixture of sweat, drug haze, and
an unfamiliar spicy scent.

A flurry of movement caused a shriek of mixed delight and
frustration from the crowd; the swords flashed and one of the figures spun
away, blue fluid splattering from a deep slice across its chest. Its expression
did not change, but a piping howl of agony keened from its lips as it returned
to the attack.

Faces reflected the mixed guilt and pleasure that was part
of the attraction of the Tikeris and their obscene near-trespass on the Ban.

Brandon grunted, his upper lip crimping in disgust. At last
the mask was broken, and Lokri dissolved in laughter.

Brandon whipped around, his pupils so tiny they were nearly
swallowed by the sapphire blue that reflected every light in the place.
Is
that a
lambent
gaze?
Lokri thought. He could not stop laughing.

“So you’ve recognized a campaign at last.”

“I thought the tour was to be instructive.” Brandon’s light
voice was almost drowned by the howls of the crowd. “But you haven’t finished
telling me: who set Markham up?”

He thinks I did it.
Pain shot through Lokri’s head. Memory
almost overwhelmed the present. He struggled to speak, giving up when a shadow
appeared at his side.

“This fool wanted Markham to himself, not dead,” said Vi’ya.

Lokri blinked upward, but Vi’ya ignored him, black gaze
meeting blue.

“And you?” said the Arkad.

Vi’ya’s teeth showed in a not-quite smile. “I had him to myself.”

Brandon was not smiling. Time seemed suspended as they stood
on either side of Lokri, neither moving. Lokri understood that he had lost the duel,
that he’d never had a chance. Brandon had played him instead, in order force a
duel with Vi’ya on neutral territory.

Lokri looked from one to the other, feeling as if he’d been
cast into the midst of a river and there was nothing to hold onto, a sensation
augmented by the Negus and alcohol haze. “
She
didn’t set him up,” he
croaked, his voice coming from somewhere outside his head. “It wasn’t that at
all—”

Vi’ya glanced at him once. “Two crew members sold us out.
Both are dead. Lokri’s only mistake was to try to supplant me with Markham.”

“So you weren’t just Markham’s lieutenant,” Brandon said.
“You were—”

“Mates,” Vi’ya stated.

Brandon didn’t move or speak, but it became possible to
look elsewhere; Lokri felt it as a physical release, and so must have Vi’ya,
for she gripped his shoulder. “Both of you. Back to
Telvarna
. Now. The
Eya’a will take you there.”

She walked out.

One of the Eya’a brushed a twiggy finger over Lokri’s arm.
He got up fast, lurching outside.

When he reached the causeway he paused, and was thoroughly
and unequivocally sick.

Vi’ya breathed deeply in an effort to dispel her fury.

What was it Markham said about Lokri? “A smile here, a
word dropped there, then he stands back and watches the firefight. A deadly
hobby. He reminds me of the Masaud family, who are known for such high-stakes
games in Court circles.”
He’d taken her hands and said,
“Shall we try to
win him over? That kind, if they ever do give their loyalty, it’s forever.”

You won his loyalty, Markham, but to your person, not to
your crew. And when you died, he could not forgive you for dying.
She
fought the killer rage instinct; it was Markham who had taught her that there
were other choices besides violence for solving conflicts.

She walked faster, as if to leave the memories behind.
Now
Dis is gone, the
Sunflame
with it, and I am losing the rest of my crew.
All because of Markham’s Arkad—who thought I had betrayed Markham.

She balled her fist and struck it against a lumensquiggle, feeling
a zing of satisfaction as it cracked, sending sparks shooting off.

Violence. It is the way of the ghosts and demons,
she
had said to Markham soon after they met. He had laughed and retorted,
You
are neither a ghost nor a demon.

Rationality and wit. Markham had taught her to value these
things, so she forced herself to respond rationally, to review the scene in the
Barcan Tikeris Dome. Lokri and the Arkad reeking with Negus fumes. Lokri’s
witless gloating at the effect the Tikeris made—and how the Arkad shifted from
passive to attack so fast Lokri had been caught with his shields down.
And
then I broke my own pattern and spoke the unspoken.

What was done was done.

Now to address the matter of the Heart and then get on with
her plans.

A lift brought her before the row of discreet shops
controlled by the Karroo Syndicate. Here few troublemakers dared to come. Armed
guards in fantastic uniforms from ancient times stood before each door. The
costumes did little to hinder these men and women from doing their duty
promptly when necessary.

The last shop was the smallest, and it contained the most
fabulous wares of the row. This was the showcase of the Syndicate’s prime
broker, Giffus Snurkel. The
Telvarna
had done good business with him in
the past. his specialty was ancient art objects. Markham had had a good eye,
and Snurkel had been deeply appreciative—which meant he paid well.

He was also an unctuous, sniveling liar with the persistence
of a ship-bred cockroach. The one time Vi’ya had met him away from his shop,
the contradictions between what he said and the driving emotions had nearly
driven her mad. It was almost a relief to have those emotions damped by the
mindblur device he regularly used in his shop.

She paused, eyeing that door. When she’d first set out to do
this errand, her plan was to bring the Eya’a as backup. But on the search for
Lokri and the Arkad they’d come within meters of Snurkel’s shop, and the sophonts
had reacted with such distress Vi’ya was afraid they’d use their deadly fi on
the entire row of merchants. She could not understand the flow of imagery they
sent, but she figured the mindblur was exponentially worse for them: they
sensed it clear outside the shop, while standing on the concourse.