The Final Key: Part Two of Triad (16 page)

"I can't join the Dyad at Safelanding," Roca said. "It has no Lock." A Dyad Chair allowed her to use the Kyle meshes at a high level, but she needed a Lock to become a member of the Dyad.

"None of the three Locks are currently secure," Jazida said. "I intend to keep you safe."

"You have no authority over me."

The general regarded her with the iron gaze she had inherited from the ancient line of Majda warriors who had served the Ruby Dynasty for five thousand years. "With Imperator Skolia incapacitated, I am in command of ISC."

"I'm a civilian," Roca said. "Not military. As a member of the royal family, I outrank you. And you answer to First Councilor Meson." The First Councilor was the head of the government, elected by the Assembly, whose representatives were elected by the citizens of Skolia. Meson had authority over even the Imperator.

"In peacetime, yes." Majda waited a beat. "That condition may no longer apply."

"You've declared war?" Roca asked, incredulous. Even the Imperator couldn't do it without the First Councilor's assent.

"I am in contact with First Councilor Meson," Majda said.

"She concurs with my decision. We are taking you to Sare-landing."

Roca wanted to rage against the decision. Her dying sons were on Diesha and many of her children were alone on Lyshriol, the oldest barely into their twenties, her youngest, Kelric, not even ten yet. She had to go to them.

She also knew, however, that if she was assassinated, it would endanger her family far more than her absence. She could do nothing for Kurj or Althor, nor could she protect her children on Lyshriol better than the military. She would help them best by cooperating with ISC. But her logic and her parental instincts warred, and she barely managed to bite back her protests.

Roca spoke tightly. "Very well."

"We will take care of them." Majda's voice quieted. "Councilor, you visited Imperator Skolia at the palace not long ago. Have you suffered any ill effects?"

"Nothing." Roca leaned forward, and the monitors around her beeped in protest. "My husband came with me, and our son Eldrin was there when we arrived."

"Your consort shows no problems. Your son was ill, but he's fine now."

"Eldrin was sick?"

"He ingested a number of the assassin meds, but far less than Imperator Skolia. Also, a med species that neutralizes blue-dye impurities in his body counteracted the attacking species." Majda glanced to the side at something on her desk Roca couldn't see, possibly a display. "The dye meds rely on an ancient design we no longer use but that the Trader scientists took with them when they separated from our ancestors."

"You think the Traders are using a pattern we haven't seen for centuries?" Roca asked.

Majda nodded. "More than centuries. The dye meds descend from colonists who settied Lyshriol five thousand years ago. The Trader meds could derive from a similar stock."

Roca had never thought she would be so grateful about a treatment for food coloring. "Can the blue-dye meds help Kurj?"

"Perhaps if we had caught the damage earlier. But it has gone too far." Her gaze never wavered. 'The Traders will pay for these crimes against the Ruby Dynasty, Your Highness."

"Yes," Roca said grimly. "They will."

She didn't add what they both knew: that if Kurj died, it would be a blow that ISC and the Imperialate might not recover from in time to survive a war.

The blare of a level-two alarm yanked Soz out of a nightmare about Vitarex Raziquon and her mother. Even as she scrambled out of her bunk, remnants of the dream nagged her mind. It was too vivid, what she called a bonecrusher, a nightmare that came with inescapable intensity and told her something she didn't want to know. Bonecrushers made her feel deadened, futile, because they often turned out to be premonitions. She couldn't pretend such an intense dream meant nothing, but she was certain the Traders didn't have her mother. And Vitarex was dead. It had to be wrong.

Soz pulled on her blue jumpsuit, groggy but moving fast. "What's the emergency?"

"I don't know," Sigma answered. "You're to report to General Majda on the bridge."

"Got it." Soz strode out of her quarters, her steps long and high in the low gravity. She ran to the nearest mag station and caught a car. Four Fleet officers were onboard, men and women who looked like they had been pulled out of sleep, too. No one knew what had happened. They soon disembarked, but she stayed on, riding to the end of the ship.

When Soz entered the bridge, it was in full view-mode, the holoscreens activated to show space. Soz had become so accustomed to the microgravity, she needed little help as she launched herself forward. At Devon's command chair, Soz grabbed a cable and braked to a stop.

"Cadet Valdoria, reporting for duty," she said, saluting Devon with one arm hooked around the cable.

Devon nodded. "At ease."

Soz lowered her arms, bursting with curiosity. She

couldn't see why Devon would call a cadet to the bridge during an emergency. They needed seasoned officers up here.

Devon spoke in a low voice. "It's your brother."

Soz froze. Her mother had sworn they wouldn't take Althor off life support. "What happened, ma'am?"

The general's eyes seemed darker than usual. "Someone sent assassins against him."

"Althor?" Why assassinate a man who was already dead?

"No. Imperator Skolia."

Soz felt as if her stomach dropped. She couldn't have heard right. Kurj was a constant they all depended on, the rock, the strength, the fist of ISC. He couldn't have died. Soz would know. She would know.

Then she remembered her dream. Bonecrushers were rarely exact. Had it been about Kurfl

"Did he survive?" Soz asked.

"Yes." Devon hesitated only one moment, but that pause revealed a world of information, none of it good. "His bio-mech web went into failure. Many of his organs stopped. The doctors started regeneration as soon as they found him, but great damage had been done. They had to replace his bio-mech and some of his organs." Her voice quieted. "They don't know if he will live."

Soz's mind whirled. First her father. Then Althor. Then Kurj. Her dismay shifted into hatred. No wonder the decades had hardened Kurj. "The Traders think they can kill us off." She clenched the cable hard. "They're wrong."

"Yes, they are." Fatigue showed in Devon's gaze. "If I were a Traditionalist instead of a Royalist, this is the time I would bemoan the practice of sending men into battle. But that is nonsense and it changes nothing."

Soz felt a strange disorientation, hearing the roles reversed after living in a culture where only men fought. This much she knew: if ISC proved the assassination attempt originated with ESComm, they would wage war now. This ship would go into battle.

With her on it.

The Bard couldn't remember enjoying technology so much. In years past, the games his children played had intrigued him, their tech-mech puzzles, the glittering robots Keltic adored, the holo armies Soz had created. They also perplexed him. He was never sure how they worked. He had tried to hide his confusion; it would be too embarrassing to tell his children he couldn't understand their games. He suspected they knew anyway, but they never said anything.

Perhaps age had mellowed him, or maybe almost losing his life had made his pride matter less. Sitting here with his grandson on the floor of the pharaoh's living room with sunlight slanting across them, he felt content.

"See this one, Grandfather." Taquinil unrolled an iridescent film on the carpet. "You'll like it." He touched a corner of the film and a menu of litde holos formed, all plants and animals. The boy flicked his finger through one that resembled a stalk of grain. The menu vanished and a rippling field of holo-plants appeared, golden and top heavy.

"You can go first," Taquinil offered.

Bemused, Eldrinson peered at the field. Although pleasant to see, it didn't seem to have a purpose. "What do I do?"

"You have to figure that out." In a more confidential tone, Taquinil added, "Usually you find treasures and defeat monsters."

"Ah." For want of any other idea, Eldrinson waved his finger through the nearest stalk of grain. A small animal with blue fur and floppy ears poked its head out of the field. With a squeak, it ran off into the swaying grain.

Eldrinson laughed. "What does that mean?"

"I'll bet we're supposed to follow him." Taquinil waved his hand through the place where the animal had disappeared. It poked its head up and ran off again. 'The little figures mostiy match terms in a series. If you figure out the next term, it reveals a code that tells you what it will do. This first level is easy, just linear or geometric progressions. The hole it hopped out of is a term in the Fibonacci series."

"Oh," Eldrinson said. Taquinil didn't sound like any seven-year-old he had ever known, but the boy seemed happy. "Fibonacci tells you something?"

"Sure." Taquinil beamed at him. "You can figure things out

about the field. Like how many tricks a grain plant can do. My favorites are hidden doorways." He indicated a waving stalk. "See this one? You use calculus to integrate its shape in three dimensions. It gives you an exact number. Four. That's how many doorways it hides. Then you figure out how to open the doors."

Eldrinson had no clue what his grandson had said. No matter. He loved how the boy's mood sparkled.

Taquinil talked as they played, describing how to create holos using equations Eldrinson didn't think a child that age should know. Together, they chased all manner of odd creatures. Often when animals dropped down holes, the scene changed, rippling into an underground grotto, a mountain retreat, a dark castie. He and Taquinil defeated monsters and found baubles that earned them points. Eldrinson enjoyed the sword fights most, though whoever had designed this game knew next to nothing about true swordplay.

Eventually, he figured out patterns that helped him predict the behavior of the creatures. Taquinil saw the patterns faster and could have easily won, but he had no wish to compete. The boy wanted them to play as a team, cooperating to increase their combined score. It was odd to Eldrinson; he thought in terms of fighting and victory. But this seemed more suited to Taquinil's gentle personality. It didn't surprise him, given Taquinil's parents. For all that the boy's father, Eldrin, was a gifted swordsman, it had devastated him to go into battie. Eldrin had distinguished himself in combat and come home a hero, but it had taken a soul-parching toll on him.

When the Bard's two oldest sons had dropped the fetters of cultural expectations and truly pursued their dreams, Althor had gone to war and Eldrin had become a singer. Eldrin he understood; he was a singer, like his father. Although combat hadn't scarred the Bard as deeply as it had his son, he much preferred farming to leading an army. It was Althor who confused him. How could his towering warlord of a son not have wanted a wife? An alarming thought came to him. Would Althor have taken a husband"? No, he couldn't think about that. All he knew was that he had told Althor

not to come home, and he could never take back those words.

This past year, the Bard had rethought many assumptions he had taken for granted, including the idea that all youths should train as warriors. A military education would be a disaster for Taquinil. If the scholarly boy preferred to chase floppy-eared animals instead of staging battles, it seemed best to let him. In acknowledging that, Eldrinson faced a more difficult truth; Soz had also chosen the path best suited to her. He needed to accept that, somehow. It was too late with Althor, but he had another chance with Soz. He would endeavor this time to make a better job of matters.

Nor was it only Soz. When he returned home, he would do his best to put things right with Shannon. At least he understood his Blue Dale son better than his children who wanted to go offworld. Shannon's trances and longing for the mountains made sense to Eldrinson. It was in Eldrinson's blood, too, even if he didn't feel the pull of the Blue Dales with the same intensity.

The front door chimed, the notes trilling like the musical equivalent of a stream burbling over rocks. Eldrinson's pulse jumped; perhaps Roca had returned from Diesha. She hadn't known exactiy what the Chair wanted to tell her, but she was convinced Kurj was in trouble. For all that Eldrinson feared and resented his stepson, he hoped for Roca's sake that Kurj was all right

He stood slowly, awkward with his biomech joints. He could ask the house who had come to call, but technology stole all the surprises out of life. Some he could have done without, like Vitarex Raziquon, but the house wouldn't let anyone visit who posed a danger.

"Wait, Grandhoshpa." Taquinil scooped up Eldrinson's cane and jumped to his feet. "I'll go with you." He hooked his arm with his grandfather's and looked up at him with large gold eyes.

Eldrinson patted the boy's hand. "Thank you."

"Here." Taquinil offered him the cane. When Eldrinson took it, the boy straightened, very grown up, though he just came to Eldrinson's elbow.

They crossed to the entrance foyer. Despite his intent to surprise himself, Eldrinson hesitated. How did he know he wanted to greet whoever had come to visit?

Taquinil glanced at him, then said, "Laplace, who is outside?"

The house EI answered. "Officers from the Pharaoh's Army."

"Why have they come?" Eldrinson asked.

"I don't know," Laplace said. "Shall I inquirer'

"Yes." Eldrinson shifted his feet apart for balance. He planted his cane in front of his body and put both hands on its lyrine head, bracing himself.

"They wish to guard the two of you," Laplace said. "I must open the door. They have orders from First Councilor Meson and Jazida Majda, the General of the Pharaoh's Army."

Eldrinson would have liked to refuse, but he had been around his wife's people enough to know they would persist. He sighed. "Very well."

Part of the wall shimmered and vanished in an archway. A cluster of military types stood outside, men and women in army green or fleet blue, and two in the black leathers of Jagernauts.