He actually cracked a smile. "You must speak to the people."
"Yes. Of course." The thought unsettled me. I hadn't spoken in public for decades. The Assembly encouraged my solitude. It made me easier to guard. But I had to find words of hope for my people. We could never give in to the Traders. How we would stand against them, I had no idea yet, but we would find a solution.
Somehow.
* * *
We stopped at the wide door to the operations bay. Jon Casestar wore his dress uniform, with medals agleam on his chest in red, gold, purple, and white, all bright against the dark blue of his well-pressed tunic. His dark trousers had a holographic stripe of electric blue down the outer seam of each leg. Eight Jagernauts in black dress leathers surrounded us. Vazar stood at my side, a Jagernaut Primary, her rank equivalent to admiral, indicated by the narrow gold holo-stripe on each leg of her black trousers and around each of her biceps. Her black knee-boots reflected light in their polished surfaces.
When Jon raised his hand, sensors in the door responded and it rolled upward like a great, corrugated scroll made from metal. The entrance was three times my height and wide enough for six people to walk through abreast. My stomach felt as if the proverbial shimmerflies were fluttering there.
Four Jagernauts went in first. Then Jon and Vazar entered. I heard no sound from the bay except the muted, ever-present hum of the ship. Nothing else gave any clue that a major control center lay beyond that entrance. EI brains could run most of this cruiser, but it still needed a human crew. For all that the presence of other minds pressed on mine, I heard no voices. It was as if whoever waited beyond held their breath.
The silence unsettled me. I pulled at the sleeves of my jumpsuit, straightening nonexistent wrinkles. It was made from emerald-green cloth, with a high neck and long sleeves. The belted suit had no other ornamentation except the Imperialate insignia on my right shoulder, a gold sun exploding past a black triangle, all set within a red circle.
Vazar and Jon stopped at the edge of the observation platform, which was bordered by a waist-high rail. The bay below could hold hundreds of people, but from here I could see no one. Jon spoke to the assembled crew, his voice assured. I couldn't discern the words. Then he turned and beckoned me.
My mouth felt dry. I walked forward, aware of the Jagernauts coming with me. As I approached the edge of the platform, Jon and Vazar moved apart, taking positions to either side. I restrained the urge to wipe my sweating palms on my jumpsuit and instead set my hands on the rail. I could see the bay below now. People stood everywhere: by consoles, in aisles on the Luminex floor, even in the circular cars at the ends of giant robot arms that could move anywhere within the bay but right now hung suspended in the air. A swell of emotions washed over me, muted by the natural mental barriers people raised regardless of whether or not they were psions. Uncertain, afraid to hope, unable to recognize me— they didn't know what to think.
Jon said, simply, "The Ruby Pharaoh."
Opalescent globes rotating in the air above us picked up his words and sent them to other globes spinning above the bay. Their colors swirled as they transmitted his voice. No one moved. No one spoke. No one even coughed or cleared their throat. They simply watched me. Their moods blended into a haze; I couldn't discern individual responses. All I knew was that this didn't feel right.
I ran my hand along the rail until I found its latch and clicked it open. As the rail retracted to the side, white steps formed in front of me, leading from the platform down into the bay.
Jon glanced at me, alarm sparking in his thoughts.
Let me do this,
I thought, even knowing he couldn't pick it up. Although he wasn't a psion, he had good intuition about people.
After a pause, he gave a slight nod. Then he motioned the Jagernauts forward. Four of them descended the steps, walking with a steady tread. I followed, taking the stairs slow so I could look out at the crew that served this great city in space. Light filled the bay from the Luminex walls. Accents of color showed everywhere, the holos of people put up to remind them of the worlds they called home, green forests and russet plains, seas wild and frothy, splashes of red blossoms or bright purple birds.
They all watched me descend. At the bottom, I started to walk forward. I passed a woman on the right— and she moved with fluid grace, going down on one knee. She bent her head and rested her arm across her thigh.
Caught off guard, I stopped. But the crew didn't. Like a wave swelling through the bay, they knelt, one after another, their heads bent, their gazes averted. Their emotions surged, easier to read now. Hope. I gave them hope.
It humbled me.
"Stand, my people." My voice had the throaty quality it took on when I felt self-conscious. The spinning globes sent my words through the bay and the crew rose to their feet, still watching, waiting for me to continue.
"I am glad to see you all," I said. It was hardly the most dramatic opening, but I had never liked pomp. Besides, it was true. "It gratifies me to see you stand tall. We of Skolia have thrived for six thousand years. We will continue for many more millennia. But today we begin a new era. Let us enter it with new energy, determination, and hope." My lips quirked up. "We're a tenacious bunch, we Skolians. We come from almost every background you can imagine, but we have one thing in common. We never give up. We've triumphed over time, space— and Traders. And we will again."
Their mood was lightening, giving way to cautious optimism, at least for now. Apparently Jon was right; this was what they needed to hear, reassurance from a pharaoh who lived when all had thought she died. So I continued to talk. If it would help morale, I would do my best to provide inspiration.
I just wished I felt it myself.
* * *
Alone, in the dim light of my suite, I reran the news holo. Again. I sat slouched in a softseat that molded to my every move, trying to relieve my rigid posture. It did no good. I played that holo again and again, and as I watched it, I died inside.
The broadcast showed Corbal Xir, an Aristo with great power. His mother had been a sister of the first emperor. At 132, Xir was the oldest Trader. His hair had turned white. He wasn't the oldest living human; that honor went to my ex-husband, Seth Rockworth, who had reached 176. At 158, I was the eldest Skolian. But Xir had stopped seeming young to me long ago. He knew firsthand the never-ending strain of this conflict that wore us down decade after decade. He was also the Aristo closest to the Carnelian Throne. Since Jabriol II had left no heir, Corbal Xir was next in line to become emperor.
In the holo, Xir stood in the Hall of Circles, the audience hall in the emperor's palace. The circular chamber had survived the Radiance Fleet invasion, but a great crack ran from floor to ceiling in its snow-marble walls. Xir towered on the center dais next to the Carnelian Throne, a chair made from snow marble, inset with glittering blood-red gems. Rows of diamond benches ringed the dais with rubies on their high backs. Aristos sat on those benches, rank upon rank of icy human perfection. They looked unreal, every one with glistening black hair, ruby-red eyes, and snow-marble skin. Watching them made my skin crawl. They sat in silent triumph while Xir spoke.
I didn't listen to his grandiose propaganda. I barely looked at him. I saw only one person— the man who stood next to Xir. At six-foot-one, he was half a head shorter than the Aristo lord. Wine-red hair was tousled around his handsome, haggard face, and dark circles showed under his eyes. The ripped sleeve of his white shirt revealed bruised skin. His arms were bound behind his back and a diamond slave collar glittered around his neck.
I knew that shirt. He had been wearing it the last time I saw him.
I knew that man.
It was Eldrin.
My husband.
12
Orbitals
Sleep evaded me like a skulking thief. Every time I dozed, my fears for Eldrin haunted my dreams. I thrashed around until the covers tangled my legs together. The air-bed adjusted to my every move, trying to soothe, but I still felt as if I were sleeping on rocks. Even the satiny sheets offered no comfort.
Finally I flopped onto my back and lay with my arm across my forehead, staring at the ceiling. The only light in the room came from holo panels on the walls. I had set them to show starscapes of nebulas that graced interstellar space like crowns studded with jeweled stars. But tonight those spectacular views only seemed cold.
After a while, I got up and wandered into the living room. I felt the suite's EI turn up the heat, probably to account for my wearing only a sleep shirt. The flimsy material drifted around my body, shifting in the cool air. Dim light from the bedroom filtered through the archway, turning everything a ghostly blue. No sound stirred the night except the distant hum of the ship that always lingered at the edges of my mind.
The pseudogravity from the ship's rotation pulled at me. My weight felt like my thoughts: too heavy. I needed to act, to help Eldrin, to descend on the Traders with guns blazing and bombs exploding. Except Soz had already done that. And died.
Damn it all. Soz should have
waited.
I could have found a solution. Before all this happened, I had been trying to predict the outcome of the war. I had modeled possible scenarios, estimated their chance of occurring, and then used the results to fine-tune the models, hoping to converge on a probable scenario. The more data I had, the better my predictions. I was always adding information, everything from big events to tiny details. You never knew when seemingly unconnected facts or contemplations would cause unexpected correlations.
Ideally, the models would converge on one scenario. But they never did. The best I could do was estimate a range of vague futures. The further ahead in time I took a model, the more it blurred. Most gave nonsensical results. A few patterns had emerged over time, but Soz's death hadn't been one of them. Some models predicted Eldrinson and Roca would become captives— but not of the Traders.
In others Taquinil died. I hated those models.
Taquinil. Standing in the middle of the room, I closed my eyes and put my face in my hands. If only I could find a prediction that would give me hope.
Try.
I focused my mind and updated my models of Taquinil with everything that had happened since I last saw him. Within moments, I had a new prediction: Taquinil simultaneously existed and didn't exist.
Well, great. That helped. Disheartened, I opened my eyes and lowered my arms. I probably hadn't recovered all the data in my neural nodes yet. The prediction might be nonsense. But I couldn't be
sure.
That was the hardest part, never knowing for certain.
Taquinil?
I thought.
Can you reach me?
An odd sensation came to me, as if a hand brushed my mind. Had the wall across the room rippled? I rubbed my eyes and discovered I was smearing tears across my face. All the equations in the universe couldn't take away the pain of all these losses.
Longing for hope, I started the models evolving again. But every time I tried to see Taquinil's future, other impressions interfered. A vague sense of my ex-husband, Seth Rockworth, kept coming up. I failed to see why, after my decades of contentment with Eldrin, I would predict a Rockworth in our future. Seth and I had never been compatible. Yet these models kept coming back to him.
I let out a long, slow breath. I didn't have enough data to make any definitive predictions. I needed information.
I went to the console by the wall. Its chair molded to my body, pushing my back into good posture, straight instead of slouching. Then I went to work. After so long, it felt odd to look up Seth on the webs. I couldn't help but be curious; I hadn't heard news of him for years. It no longer hurt to think about him; time had eroded the sharp edges of those memories, shading them in softer colors.
The ship's public databases had almost nothing on Seth. So I hacked the secured accounts in the ISC intelligence network on-board. They had a whole dossier on him. ISC used spy programs to monitor the interstellar webs, keeping track of anyone they thought might be of interest, which certainly included William Seth Rockworth III, Allied admiral and former Ruby consort.
Seth still lived in the Appalachian Mountains. He had retired after a long career in the navy and now spent his days reading and gardening. His second wife had passed away fifteen years ago. He had six children, many grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and more, a huge extended family. He also worked with refugees, finding homes for children orphaned in the war. He had taken four into his home and given them his last name: Jay, Lisa, Peter, and Kelly Rockworth.
His refugee work didn't surprise me. Beneath his brash exterior, he had always had a tender heart. His foster children had a Skolian mother and Trader father, both lost in the war. If they went to their Trader relatives, they would become slaves. The Skolians didn't want them. Apparently an Allied relief agency had sent them to Earth.
It took awhile, but I finally located a holo of Seth standing with the children. His appearance startled me. Gray streaked his black hair, lines showed around his eyes and mouth, and he had gained weight. Even so, he still looked like the dashing naval captain I had fallen for all those decades ago.
