The Final Key: Part Two of Triad (14 page)

Roca smiled. "I better get home fast, before Corey rides off with Denric or Shannon." Ideals of beauty among the nobility came in two varieties: the powerful dark aristocrat, like Dehya or Devon; and the slender blond youth, like her younger sons. If either Shannon or Denric ever spent time in the Imperial court on Parthonia, they would find themselves pursued and feted by noblewomen from every House.

"It is hard to believe so many of your children are adults," Dehya said.

"They certainly think they are." Roca grimaced. "There ought to be a law that prohibits unsuspecting parents from having so many teenagers at once."

Dehya's face gentled. "I've never seen you so happy as you are with them."

It was true, as much as Roca liked to grumble. "Yes, well, perhaps I should happily get home before they do something dire to the house." Her smile faded. "We still haven't figured out how Vitarex broke through the Lyshriol defenses. ISC has fortified and upgraded them until they're convinced nothing could breach them."

Dehya just looked at her. Roca needed no telepathy to know her thought; ISC had believed those defenses were impregnable before. "I'm leaving this evening," Roca added.

"Do you have any time before you go?"

"About three hours."

Dehya spoke more formally. "I would ask for your help then."

Her tone puzzled Roca. "Yes?"

"I need to work in the web. But I must leave for Parthonia."

Roca couldn't tell what she was about, and Dehya had shielded her thoughts more than usual. Curious, Roca said, "What can I do?"

"Complete some work for me." Dehya sighed and rubbed the small of her back, arching a bit as she worked the muscles. "I've been developing some new meshes. I need to link them from Kyle space into our spacetime."

Roca stared at her. "Good gods, Dehya, that's Dyad work."

"Not exacdy." She regarded Roca steadily. "It's true, you will need to operate in Kyle space at a level you haven't done before. And you must use the Dyad Chair; no other node can join structures in two universes."

"Kurj can't do it?"

"Kurj is planning a war." More quiedy she said, "Should anything happen to me, you would take my position in the Dyad. Taqui is too young."

Roca understood then. Just as Kurj had sent Soz to the battle cruiser to learn ISC, so Roca needed to learn the Dyad. It shook her. Whatever her difficulties with Dehya, Roca didn't want to acknowledge the possibility of her death. But regardless of how she felt, she had to know this work.

"Yes," Roca said. "I will help."

Kurj accompanied Eldrin to the starport and saw him off on that star yacht bound to Parthonia. Then Kurj headed back to bis office in HQ City. Halfway there, he decided to go home instead. He felt unaccountably tired. It made no sense: he had so much augmentation to his body, he could turn off portions of his systems to "rest," which recharged him enough that he required only about two hours of sleep per twenty-hour cycle. Apparendy he needed more today, though. His head felt odd. So did his stomach.
Node A,
he thought.

Attending,
his spinal node answered.
Why do I feel strange?
You have the flu.
What is the flu?

A minor illness common prior to the advent of nanomed technology.

Kurj scowled. With his exercise regime, strength, and health meds, he rarely experienced illness.
Then why do I have it?

No medical system is 100 percent perfect.
Delete it.

it is not possible to delete the flu.

How do I remove it?

Sleep. Plenty of liquids. Ibuprofen can help
.

Ibru-what?

Medicine. I can prescribe it.

I don't have time to be sick. Reprogram my meds to eliminate flu.

His node responded with its limitiess patience.
If that were possible, I would have done so. However, you can check yourself into the Pharaoh's Hospital in HQC and ask them to design new nanomeds for you.

For flaming sakes.
That would take more time than being sick.

If you allow yourself to be sick and recover, your body will create its own specialized form of nanomed to defeat this flu.

I thought you couldn't reprogram my nanomeds.

I can't. Your body, however, can make antibodies.

The whole business sorely tried Kurj's patience. However, he felt less robust every moment.
Very weH. I wiH go home, steep, and consume liquids. Let me know when I have completed enough of these actions.

I will do so.

Kurj had his flyer take him to the Ruby Palace, where he could be sick in peace.

Eldrin threw up in the medical bay of the yacht. Then he fell back on his side, on the bed, exhausted, and lay still while

medbots cleaned him up. The ship's dark-haired doctor hovered over him. He didn't recognize the name on her white jumpsuit and he doubted he could pronounce it. He felt too sick to ask.

After the bots had scrubbed him clean, Eldrin rolled onto his back. The pastel holoart on the Luminex walls was supposed to soothe him, but it only made his nausea worse. He was dimly aware of his bodyguards hulking around the bay, and of the doctor with the unpronounceable name working nearby. He just stared at the ceiling. When he had gathered enough strength, he rolled his head toward the doctor. She was studying one of the monitors by his bed.

"Do you know what's wrong with me?" Eldrin asked.

She rubbed her chin. "Initially it looked like the flu, of all things. Then it got worse." She indicated holos rotating above one screen with views of various chemicals. "A foreign med species in your body made you sick. You have defense nanomeds that are disposing of the invader. It's odd."

"Odd how?" He hadn't been aware of any anomalies.

"I've never seen anything like the defense meds. But they're documented in your files." She glanced at him with a puzzled look. "Why ever would you carry meds to remove blue food coloring?"

"Oh, those." Eldrin smiled wanly. "It's for an impurity in the water and air on the world where I grew up."

"Well, you're lucky for that."

He appreciated her manner; she neither condescended to him nor had the ingratiating manner some people assumed because of his titles. She treated him like any other patient

"Are the blue-dye meds causing my illness?" he asked.

"Not at all." She indicated the holo of a complicated chemical structure turning above her console. "An unidentified species caused your illness. The dye species neutralized it" She studied glyphs scrolling across the screen below the holo. "Fortunately you took in few enough of the invader meds that your dye meds could destroy them all."

"How did I get the invader species?" His dizziness surged and receded like a wave rippling through the Dalvador Plains.

"I'm not sure. I'll need a list of everything you ate and drank in the past few days."

"All right." What Eldrin really wanted to do was sleep.

"Huh." She was scrutinizing a new display of molecules with atoms highlighted in different colors. "That's strange, too. This compound doesn't match anything in your records."

Eldrin's nausea had returned. "What is it?"

"Some sort of neurotransmitter..." She rubbed her chin. "You've a chemical in your brain I don't recognize. It's forming complexes with your neurons."

He didn't like the sound of that. "Is it dangerous?"

"I don't know. I've never treated a Rhon psion before." She turned to him. "According to your records, you're undergoing treatment to control seizures."

Eldrin tensed. How could she know that he had convulsions when he didn't take the phorine? He had told no one. He tried to sound natural. "What seizures?"

She indicated another display of hologlyphs. "Those."

Eldrin could read two-dimensional text, but three dimensions was too much, especially now. "What does it say?"

"That you requested this treatment when you were sixteen."

"Oh." She meant his battle-rages. "Those attacks only happened a few times."

She studied the molecules rotating over another screen. "Probably these anomalous neurotransmitters relate to that treatment. I'll send an inquiry with the report on your illness."

Eldrin wondered if the transmitters came from the phorine. He knew he should tell her about it, but he feared she would confiscate the syringe. Someone would figure it out, though, if she sent a report. The Epsilon files on his home nodes could keep his personal EI in check, but he doubted they could block her medical system. "You don't need to put that in my file," he said. "My doctors already know."

"I have to put in everything." She frowned at him. "Including one other thing."

"What?"

"You drink too much."

How could they tell so much? He had no privacy. "I quit"

She indicated her holos. "These say otherwise." 'It's only been a day."

She seemed uncertain whether or not to believe him. "I can give you something to cut down the craving."

Eldrin almost said no. He could take care of himself. But that was hard to remember when he needed a drink. He was having more trouble cutting back than he expected. When he was sober, he couldn't forget what had happened to Althor. He remembered when he had been seven and Althor five, how close they had been, playing and running and laughing. Althor had looked up to him and Eldrin had sworn he would always protect his brother. Those memories were full of sunlight

Then one day he had let himself see the truth; his "little" brother had grown stronger and smarter than him. The girl Eldrin dreamed about every night had wanted Althor, who had no interest in any girl. It enraged Eldrin, and he often ended up fighting his brother. He knew his behavior bewildered Althor. Eldrin hadn't understood how Althor could be eveiything their people defined as powerful and masculine, more so than Eldrin himself, and yet not be a man according to their customs.

Eldrin had been living on the Orbiter when he heard about the Battle of Tyroll back home. Sixteen-year-old Althor had also ridden into battie with their father—except Althor had taken a laser carbine and slaughtered three hundred men in five minutes. It ended warfare on Lyshriol. How could swords and bows compete with interstellar weapons? Eldrin knew his brother had struggled with remorse, but Althor dealt with it Eldrin had refused to use offworld weapons; it had seemed morally wrong against men with only swords and bows. Althor had no qualms—and he had stopped the war. No one else would die. Which was right?

Eldrin doubted he would ever have answers. But he had gradually come to terms with the differences between Althor and himself. He would regret all his life that he had never put right the strain between them, for now he would never have the chance.

"Your Majesty?" the doctor asked.

Eldrin spoke with difficulty. "Yes. If you could-^help with the craving, I would appreciate it."

"Certainly." She clicked an air syringe out of the console and dialed in a prescription. As she injected him, she said, "For now, sleep as much as possible and drink water to flush out the detritus of the dismantied meds."

He nodded, glad to oblige, because he felt like hell.

"Jason, answer," Kurj whispered. He lay sprawled on his bed, unable to move. The whir of bots cleaning him up had stopped. Nothing remained for them to clean. He had nothing left to throw up.

"Jason." His voice rasped. "Contact the hospital."

The EI remained silent. No alarms activated.

Emergency systems networked the Ruby Palace, the best ISC could design, all with one purpose: to protect the Imperator. The moment he had collapsed on his bed, alarms should have gone off. By now, medtechs should be swarming over the palace.

Nothing happened.

Kurj managed to pull himself another few inches across the bed. If he could reach the edge ...

When he became aware again, the room had gone dark. Dimly he thought,
Node A.

Attending.

Light... where?

It is night.

He must have passed out.
When ... flu end?

I no longer believe you have the flu. Your condition is life-threatening. You must have medical help.
Hospital.

I have been trying to notify them. No palace systems will answer.

Kurj thought of dragging himself farther, but he couldn't move. He lay among the cushions he had scattered when he toppled onto the bed. The illness had hit with such speed, he hadn't had time to remove his boots, which had hit a bed post, damaging it...

His boots ...

Damage.

Fighting to stay aware, Kurj moved just enough to jam his boots against the footboard of the bed.
Extend spikes.

Extending gear designed for climbing in rough terrain will damage the footboard.

Extend ... the damn spikes.

Extended.

Kurj's grip on life dissolved and the night closed in.

8

Pico Assassins

The Dyad Chair enclosed Roca. Panels folded around her, glowing with multicolored displays. The silver exoskele-ton fit her body snugly and plugged psiphon prongs into her neck, wrists, back, and ankles. Intravenous lines fed her nutrients and water. The armrests were blocks, half a meter wide and a meter long, packed with webtech. More tech embedded the massive backrest. The chair's visor reflected the holostars that glowed in the dome above her. Their radiance edged the techs as they fastened Roca into the Chair. The visor lowered over her head, cutting out light that might distract her concentration. Her pulse sped up and she could feel blood pumping through her body. A part of her wanted to tear away the constraints of this alien throne; another part waited with anticipation. She couldn't see the robot arm as it lifted the Chair into the dome, but the growl of its engines thrummed through her.

A sentience stirred. #WHO?#