The Moon's Shadow (2 page)

A
portico with a high arch formed the entrance of the Eubian Embassy. As Jai entered the building, a muscle in his cheek twitched. The four guards loomed around him, bulky and silent, arms swinging precisely at their sides, their faces hard. He found it difficult to absorb the enormity of it, that he walked with Lord Corbal Xir, one of the most feared men in settled space. When the great doors of the embassy thundered shut behind them, Jai felt as if he were trapped in a mausoleum. Jai Rockworth had died; from this day on he was Jaibriol III.

He protected his mind, strenghtening his mental shields until no trace of his telepathic ability could leak to the Traders with him. No, the
Eubians.
He had to remember; Eubians never referred to themselves as Traders. That name came from the people of the Skolian Imperialate, who abhorred the Eubians for basing their economy on a slave trade. For the rest of his life, Jai would have to maintain his defenses; he could never weaken, neither in his behavior nor his mental protections, lest it reveal that he who dared claim the Carnelian Throne was a slave. A provider.

Nausea surged in Jai and he nearly lost his composure. More than any other reason, Aristos were hated because they used providers to transcend. Providers were empaths and telepaths; Aristos were anti-empaths. An Aristo could pick up the physical or emotional anguish of a psion, but instead of registering it as pain, the Aristo felt pleasure. The stronger a psion, the more transcendence he or she “provided” the Aristo. Craving the experience with a need that verged on obsession, Aristos made psions into the slaves they called “providers.” Their pitiless culture allowed no exceptions; all empaths and telepaths were providers.

Jai knew he would have to protect his mind every day for the rest of his life. The immensity of it was more than he could absorb. If he slipped even once, revealing he was a psion, his life would become hell.

And yet—his claim to the throne was genuine.

To gain his title he had sent Corbal Xir a lock of his hair. Its DNA would show him as the true son of Jaibriol II, the previous emperor of Eube, who had died less than two months ago. The Eubians would undoubtedly check and double-check his DNA, but Jai knew they would find the proof they needed. His great-great-grandfather, Eube Qox, had founded the Eubian Concord and been its first emperor. Eube had been an Aristo of course, a Highton in fact, part of the highest Aristo caste. Only a Highton could be emperor. Jai’s great-grandfather, Jaibriol I, had also been a Highton Aristo, as had been Jai’s grandfather, Ur Qox.

Or so everyone believed.

Only Jai knew the truth: his great-grandfather had bred psi traits into the imperial line. A powerful enough psion could use ancient technology that survived from the long-dead Ruby Empire, technology the modern age couldn’t reproduce—or defend against. But no Aristo could be a psion; the traits, considered a debilitating weakness, weren’t part of the Aristo gene pool. The genes that created a psion were recessive, which meant
both
parents had to contribute them to their child for the abilities to manifest.

Jaibriol I had sired a son with one of his providers and forced his empress to acknowledge the child as her own, making the boy heir to the throne. It was an unspeakable abomination by Highton standards, but the emperor had been fanatically hungry for the power of the ancient Ruby machines.

The boy, Ur Qox, had been Jai’s grandfather. Ur had the psi genes only from his mother, so he wasn’t a psion. But he too fathered a child on one of his providers—and that son, Jaibriol II, had been a Ruby telepath, the most powerful of all psions. He possessed the mental power to use the ancient machines, which would have made it possible for him to conquer human-settled space. Through him, the Aristos could have subjugated all humanity.

Jaibriol II had other ideas. He had fled his heritage, appalled by its brutality, and secretly married another Ruby psion, a warrior queen of the Skolian Imperialate, Eube’s greatest enemy. Her name had been Soz Valdoria.

Jai’s mother.

So Jai had been born a Ruby telepath, the first child of Jaibriol II and Soz Valdoria. No one knew his mother and father had hidden in exile for fifteen years. But ESComm, the Eubian military, had finally found Jai’s father and torn him away from his idyllic life, never realizing he had a family. In secret, Jai’s mother had left her children on Earth, to protect them. Then she had launched the Radiance War—a shattering conflict that brought two star-spanning empires to their knees—all to rescue her husband from his own people.

Jai’s parents had died in that war.

One consolation remained to Jai, the knowledge that his mother and father had been reunited in an escape shuttle before a missile exploded it. They had died together. He struggled against the hotness in his eyes. The grief was too great; he had never been able to weep for their loss. He feared if he started, he would never stop.

His parents had dreamed of a time when Eube and Skolia would know peace. Somehow, some way, he would turn that dream into reality. He would find a way to ensure that the two people who had gifted him with their unconditional love hadn’t died in vain.

Drizzle misted over Eldrin, dampening his clothes and hair. His body ached from his last “chat” with his interrogators. He stared dully after the Traders as they walked toward their embassy, two Highton Aristos surrounded by four guards. He wondered what game of cruelty they were playing with him this time.

The unfamiliar youth who had stayed here in the plaza spoke to Eldrin in stilted Highton, his accent almost too thick to understand. “Cold you are? We go back.”

Eldrin narrowed his gaze. The youth looked about eighteen, average in height, a bit shorter than Eldrin, with brown hair and eyes, and a friendly face. If Eldrin hadn’t known better, he would have mistaken his new tormentor for a schoolboy from Earth.

The youth glanced at Eldrin’s bound arms, then raised his gaze quickly, as if he didn’t want to look. “Like you to make your arms free?” he asked.

Eldrin stepped back, his head jerking. What new tricks had they devised? His jaw clenched so hard, he felt tendons stand out in his neck.

“Okay, we don’t have to do that,” the boy said in English, more to himself than Eldrin. In his terrible Highton, he added, “Go we to Allied Embassy.” He indicated a building. “Embassy. Allied Worlds. Earth. You come with me, yes?”

They picked a good actor.
Eldrin readied himself to fight or run. Realistically, he knew he would lose either way; he could do little with his hands locked behind his back. But he had to try. He couldn’t let them break him.

“Come, yes?” the boy repeated. “We remove restraints.”

Eldrin had intended to stay silent, but he couldn’t keep his hatred inside. “Go rot in a Tazorli whorehouse.” He spoke in Skolian Flag, a language of his own people. He would never willingly use Highton, not if they tortured him for a hundred years.

The youth’s eyes widened. He switched into Flag. “I’m not a Eubian, I swear it.” He spoke the Skolian much better than Highton. “You are free now, in the territory of the Allied Worlds of Earth. We offer you protection.”

Eldrin said nothing.

The boy tried again. “My name is Mik Fresnel. I’m a volunteer with the Dawn Corps. We’re a group from Earth helping with rescue and relocation operations now that the war is over.”

“Mik” looked so earnest, he could have fueled a spaceship on his sincerity. Eldrin saw their game now: convince him that he was free, that the fighting had ended, let him taste it, believe it, revel in it—and then send him back to interrogation.

After another silence, Mik said, “It’s warmer in the embassy.” His lopsided smile would have been charming had it been genuine. “The dining room has some pretty good soup.”

Eldrin tried not to imagine the soup. Cold was seeping into his body, weakening the emotional numbness he held around himself like a shield. His arms and wrists throbbed. He had been shackled during the trip he and Corbal had taken through space, or wherever, to reach this place. At least Corbal hadn’t ordered any other restraints beyond what basic security required. Strange that only Eldrin’s interrogators inflicted pain, never Corbal.

Eldrin struggled to suppress his memories of what he had endured from the intelligence officers in ESComm, Eubian Space Command. He hoped the bastards rotted in hell. They could have questioned him without savagery. Humane methods existed, but they had chosen otherwise.

He had expected even worse from Corbal Xir, a Highton lord high in the Aristo caste system. Corbal could have done whatever he wanted to Eldrin, yet he had held back. Had Eldrin been more gullible, he might have believed Corbal was showing compassion. But it was impossible.

Rain continued to soak his clothes. His feet had become so cold he could barely feel his toes. Muscle tremors shook his body.

“Please,” Mik coaxed. “We can help you.” For some reason he looked upset. “Let us help.”

“Liar.” Eldrin’s voice rasped. So cold. He was so cold.

“No one will touch you without your consent.” Mik stepped away, toward the purported Allied Embassy. “You have my word.”

Eldrin didn’t want to go with him. He had to resist. But he couldn’t keep the image of steaming soup out of his mind. Almost against his will, he moved toward the embassy.

Mik gave him an encouraging smile. He continued to walk, looking back at Eldrin, his expression offering unspoken assurances. So Eldrin limped after him. A drop of rain coalesced in his eye and ran down his face. It had to be rain, not a tear. He refused to weep.

Mik led him around the side of the supposed Allied Embassy. But when they reached a recessed entrance, Eldrin froze. A soldier in fatigues guarded the door, a burly man standing ramrod straight with a laser carbine gripped in both hands.

“No.” Eldrin despised the edge of panic in his voice. He jerked back and stumbled on the slick flagstones. Unable to regain his balance, he dropped to one knee. Agony flared through his leg, and he bit the inside of his mouth to keep from groaning.

Mik was blathering, some gibberish in that damnable soothing voice of his. Eldrin bent his head and shut out the words. He willed his body to be impervious, trying to believe it would work today, unlike all the other days. Even knowing they would soon pull him to his feet and take him away, he couldn’t give in, couldn’t let them see him weaken.

After a time, his mind began to clear. Focusing outward, he saw Mik a few feet away, also kneeling, his forehead creased with concern. Behind Mik, the soldier was still by the column, but he had lowered his gun and taken a less threatening stance. He looked troubled rather than implacable.

“Are you all right?” Mik asked.

Eldrin said nothing. He rose slowly, his battered muscles protesting the effort. Mik also stood, looking solicitous. The kid could have won an acting award. If he was a kid. For all Eldrin knew, the Traders had biosculpted one of their special operations officers to pass as an Earth boy.

Mik indicated the soldier. “Lieutenant Parkins won’t hurt you. No one will.” He spoke carefully. “We understand what you are.”

“And what is that?” Eldrin could barely speak, his throat hurt so much. “Scum, according to your Aristo owners?”

“I’m not a Trader. I swear it to you. I’m an Earth citizen. You’re on Allied territory.” Awkward now, Mik added, “You’re no longer a provider.”

Eldrin sneered at him. “A provider? How could you know? I never told you.”

“Your collar.” An unstated horror lurked in Mik’s gaze. “Only a provider would have one made from diamonds.”

Eldrin would have touched the collar around his neck if his hands had been free. An Allied citizen might have guessed that he was a provider from his rich garb and restraints. More likely, “Mik” already knew. Although Eldrin couldn’t pick up anything from the youth’s thoughts, that meant nothing. Eldrin’s mind was bruised. While interrogating him, his tormentors had transcended, and the anti-empathic link they had forced on him, using his pain for their pleasure, had wounded his mind.

Yet he couldn’t quell the traitorous hope stirring within him. Watching Mik and the soldier, he limped across the flagstones. The ground felt like a furnace; the soles of his feet could no longer distinguish hot and cold.

Mik ushered him through the doorway, placing himself between Eldrin and the taciturn lieutenant, who persisted in looking worried. Inside the embassy, they followed corridors of rose-hued marble veined in gold, with ceilings that arched high above their heads. Every now and then they passed a statue in a wall niche.

When Mik stopped at a door bordered by friezes, Eldrin stayed back. He could feel his feet a little now, perhaps enough to run. But to where?

Mik held open the door. “Would you like to come in? You can rest.”

Eldrin meant to refuse; instead he found himself saying, “The soup…?” Images came to him, hot and savory.

“I’ll have someone bring dinner.” Another emotion showed now in Mik. Dismay? It made no sense to Eldrin.

Wary, full of mistrust, Eldrin entered the foyer inside. White walls surrounded him, with abstract holo-art in swirls of soft color. As he walked into a hallway beyond the foyer, his toes sunk into a bone-white carpet. Just that slight relief was too much to bear. This was an excruciatingly effective torture; even knowing what they intended, he would weep when they took this away.

The hall ended in a living room with white walls and more of the soothing holo-art. The opposite wall consisted of a floor-to-ceiling window; beyond it, outside, paths circled gardens planted with purple blossoms. In the central flowerbed, bushes sculpted like ships sailed a sea of blue-green foliage, their bases foamed with white flowers. The beauty of the scene lied, promising peace instead of misery.

A click came from the right. Eldrin spun around, tensing to defend himself. Mik was bending over a console by the wall, but when Eldrin moved, Mik glanced at him. Eldrin didn’t know how his expression appeared, but whatever it was, it caused Mik to stop what he was doing and straighten up.