The Moon's Shadow (22 page)

There was that, unfortunately. The people of Eube practically worshipped their emperor. Even most Aristos maintained a certain awe, though that was more because the Qox Dynasty had extended its political and economic hooks into the affairs of every Aristo Line, manipulating fates and finances. And the populace favored Jaibriol III, the handsome, charismatic youth who had appeared at Eube’s greatest hour of need. It would be virtually impossible to garner support in ESComm for an overthrow of the Qox Dynasty.

“You are right, of course,” Kaliga said. “We are fortunate to have a superior government.” He gave Taratus a thoughtful look. “The only way I can imagine such an upheaval would be in the unlikely event that our emperor turned out to be a fake. We are lucky such could never happen.”

Taratus looked as if he had eaten a sour fruit. “I am so pleased we all accepted his imperial DNA.”

Indeed. They had all seen the proof of Jaibriol III’s claim to the throne. His genetics had been verified and reverified. They had little hope of convincing anyone the emperor was a fraud. Jaibriol II had sired Jaibriol III, just as Jaibriol III would probably soon produce his own heir.

Kaliga’s mouth quirked upward. “Maybe the imperial hormones will do the trick. Distract him from his job.”

Taratus smirked. “Of course we all wish the emperor well in his marriage.”

“A truly matchless pairing.” Kaliga couldn’t believe Jaibriol had the effrontery to marry one of his ministers. The job of an empress was to look aesthetic, not hold the most influential financial position in the empire. Hell, Jaibriol would do better with the aesthetic duties than his hard-edged wife. Kaliga didn’t know which gave him worse heartburn, the idea of Corbal Xir as the power behind the Carnelian Throne or Tarquine Iquar practically in the throne.

Maybe Jaibriol could be discredited. His reign so far had been anything but glorious. With all his mistakes and bizarre decisions, he confused people as much as he annoyed them. Isolating him from Corbal had been a stroke of genius; without the Xir Lord’s advice, Jaibriol had alienated an impressive number of people. In fact, it wasn’t the emperor they had to discredit; given the chance, he would do it himself. Corbal and Tarquine were the ones to focus on. Without them, Jaibriol would be easy prey.

“Silence and platinum,” Kaliga mused. “It appears our empress has experienced a shortage of neither.”

Taratus’s posture indicated interest. “Not that the Line of Qox would use its power to destabilize the economy by allowing the empress to corner the market on platinum.”

“Of course not,” Kaliga said. “Any rumors to the contrary must be false.” He rested his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand. “So, too, must be rumors suggesting Corbal Xir has violated both imperial law and Highton decency by training his provider to protect her mind.”

Taratus grinned. “Terrible, isn’t it, the way rumors start?”

“Terrible indeed.”

“It is fortunate for us that Raziquon has no platinum mines.”

Kaliga blinked. How had Raziquon come into this? Not knowing what Taratus was about, he gave a generic reply. “Many possibilities exist.”

“Consider a scenario, purely hypothetical of course.”

“Of course.”

Taratus leaned forward. “Suppose a Highton with no link to ESComm has reason to interrogate the provider of another powerful Highton. Trained as a spy, she ‘listens’ to his mind even as he questions her. Suspecting as much, he puts false information in his thoughts.”

That intrigued Kaliga. It would be like Raziquon to let Sunrise “overhear” a false story. He would have had to take care, though, lest she also pick up his intent to lie. It would be a difficult undertaking, but Raziquon could probably pull it off. It was why Kaliga paid him so well; irritating though he was, he was also thorough.

“He could plant disinformation in the camp of his adversary,” Kaliga said.

Taratus laughed. “He might even make her think he owns illegal platinum mines.”

Kaliga frowned. “So what?”

Taratus could have taken offense at the blunt question, but he chose to overlook it. “False accusations, Admiral. Such as shame for the accuser. If he’s caught.”

Kaliga mulled it over. False accusations were the blight of an Aristo. They could be valuable currency, but if the accusers were caught, they suffered severe repercussions: shunning, civil suits, even criminal charges. If Corbal accused Raziquon of owning illegal mines and was proved wrong, it would weaken his standing among Hightons and could cause him legal problems. For one thing, Raziquon could sue him for defamation of character. In a culture where appearance and reputation were everything, no Aristo would tolerate such an offense. Of course Corbal wouldn’t risk an open statement—unless he had reason to believe it posed him no risk.

Kaliga weighed the possibilities. Minister Iquar
did
have questionable investments in platinum. With her marriage, she and Corbal became kin. If Corbal falsely accused Raziquon, and then his own kin were proven guilty of the same misdeeds, it would stain the Qox name as well as the Line of Xir.

Another idea came to Kaliga, a way to deal with the emperor’s disgraceful pardon of Jafe Maccar, the captain of the Skolian merchant vessel. ESComm couldn’t openly censure the pardon; the emperor could retaliate by revealing how Taratus’s fool brother had ignored the Halstaad Code of War and auctioned Kelric Valdoria, the weapons officer on that vessel. Nor did they want to draw attention to the fact that Valdoria—now the Imperator—had walked off right under their noses.

But suppose the emperor’s kin committed an even worse violation of the Code than that perpetrated by Azar Taratus? It would give ESComm ammunition against the palace.

Kaliga rubbed his chin. “I am gratified to know that no ships owned by our illustrious emperor prey on Skolian vessels.” In truth, he had no doubt the Line of Qox owned numerous pirate ships that raided the Skolians, though the emperor was probably too naive to realize it.

Taratus waved away the comment. “You’ll never trace any pirates to the emperor. His predecessors were too careful.”

Kaliga stiffened at the direct response. “Your depth of perception astounds me.”

Taratus guffawed. “No, it doesn’t.”

“Rumors, General. Rumors.”

“Rumors are often misleading.”

“A shame they can’t be prevented.”

Taratus laughed and slapped the table. “A shame indeed.”

Kaliga smiled. If properly played, rumors might topple a dynasty.

K
elric walked through the stone mansion. It had been built high up on the slope of the valley where his family lived on the space habitat known as the Orbiter. Almost two decades had passed since he had seen this secluded valley, even longer since he had entered this house.

He came alone, seeking solitude. This was the home of the Imperator. His half-brother Kurjhad lived here for decades. When his sister Soz had become Imperator, she had chosen another home. Kelric thought he knew why; it would have been like living with Kurj’s ghost. It wrenched him to come here after having been gone so long and changed so much.

The main entrance to the house was big enough for three men to walk through abreast. It needed no door; in a space habitat, they could have perfect weather every day, if they chose. So Kurj had left the house open to the air. Airy and spacious, the building was all stone. Its dimensions were huge, as if designed for a giant.

Kelric walked down the steps into the sunken living room. When he entered, the dormant walls showed just the barest line of gold at waist-level. As his presence awoke the mansion, the line of gold brightened into the silhouette of a desert, sand below the horizon, amber sky above.

The room had scant furniture. Its large size and simplicity appealed to Kelric. Like Kurj, he was taller and more heavily muscled than a normal man. On a world with standard gravity, humans wouldn’t evolve such a heavy build. His ancestors had altered themselves, their size adapted to a lower gravity world where it was an advantage rather than a liability. Kelric had never lived in a place with such gravity; for his entire life, he had needed to adapt to the how other humans lived. But the pseudo-gravity in this region of the rotating Orbiter was only 70 percent human standard, and his brother Kurjhad tailored this mansion for his unusual size.

Kelric made his decision.

He went to a console by one wall. When he touched the comm panel, his aide answered. “Lieutenant Qahot here.”

“Lieutenant, this is Imperator Skolia.”

“Sir! Yes, sir.” She almost stuttered.

“Have the Imperator’s house prepared for me to move in.”

“Yes, sir. Right away. Can we do anything else?”

“I’m going to the War Room.” Kelric had doubts about how well he would understand its operation. He hadn’t seen an ISC command center for decades. “Have its ranking officer meet me there in an hour.”

“I’ll notify her immediately.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” He paused. “Also—please send my wife down here.”

“Right away, sir.”

After signing off with the lieutenant, Kelric walked through more of the spare rooms in his stone house, with desert silhouettes bordering the square doorways and windows. At his age, near sixty now, he moved more slowly. The nanomeds that delayed his aging hadn’t operated well for two decades; although he had the physique of a young man, his age showed in the lines around his eyes, the gray in his hair, and the severity of his limp. His quest to join the Triad and deactivate the Lock had nearly destroyed him; by the time he had reached Earth, he had been blind, deaf, and almost dead.

The doctors in Sweden had rebuilt him. Parts of his skeleton and internal organs were synthetic now. He had state-of-the-art nanomeds, those molecule-size laboratories that monitored health and repaired cell damage. Synthetic optics allowed him to see, and implants in his ears let him hear. He would never have the strapping health he had enjoyed in his youth, but he was as healed as modern medicine could make him.

So Kelric limped through his home. Eventually he found a long gallery. Breezes gusted through its many windows and ruffled his hair. Outside, a green hill rolled to the bottom of the valley.

A voice came from far down the gallery. “My greetings.”

Kelric turned. Jeejon, his wife, was standing in the entrance. It seemed only days had passed since he had met her, but it had been much longer. He marked his recent life in the events that had so dramatically shaped it: his escape from Tarquine three months ago; his infiltration of the Lock a few days later; his escape from the Lock; his arrival four days after at the asteroid where Jeejon had lived; their desperate flight to Earth; and his recovery these past months.

Jeejon’s presence warmed him. Logically, he knew that the compatibility he felt with her, what seemed like “warmth,” came about because the fields produced by her brain cells had an unusually good resonance with his. He didn’t care about the science. He just liked being with her.

She had strong features, with a softening around the edges. Although she had kept herself in excellent shape, as required of a taskmaker, she had never had aging treatments. Her white hair curled around her lined cheeks. Years ago she had suffered a broken nose, and the Aristo that had owned her then had never bothered to have it fixed.

Kelric found her beautiful.

He grinned. “Greetings.”

Jeejon smiled, coming toward him, and they met in the center of the gallery. Taking her into his arms, he laid his cheek on her head. “Your hair smells good.”

Her answer sounded like, “Hmmph.”

Kelric laughed. “What, I can’t compliment my wife?”

Lifting her head, she frowned, though its effect was diluted by the mischief in her gaze. “What am I supposed to think, when you go and turn into king of the universe?”

“I just command the military. I’m not king of anything.”

“Pah. I was already intimidated enough when I thought you were just a provider.”

He smiled. “You call this being intimidated?”

“Hmmph.” She put her arms around his waist and let him pull her close. With her head against his chest, she spoke in a quieter voice. “Do you think the Hightons will deal with you as Imperator?”

“They have no choice.” It would be gratifying to see them forced to treat him as an equal. He had only one hesitation: Tarquine Iquar. His responses to her had always been conflicted.

He doubted he would ever truly know whether he craved or hated her.

Tarquine stood before a door tiled in gold and black mosaics. Obsidian columns flanked the entrance, rising to a height of three meters. At their top, an arch curved out in a graceful onion shape filled with stained glass. When she touched a gold tile, the door swung inward, revealing an octagonal room with black walls. Gold mosaics bordered the ceiling and framed the arched windows. Within the gold floor, points of lights glowed in star patterns. A glossy holoscreen covered the desk, and a VR system stood to one side. All in all, an impressive room.

With a satisfied nod, Tarquine entered her new office.

As she settled behind the desk, her Razers took up posts around the walls. She wasn’t used to them yet. Although in the past she had traveled with guards from her security force, she hadn’t felt the need for them in her own home. Now four went everywhere with her. It had to be a boring occupation; they spent hours just standing around. They apparently had extensive computer augmentation to their bodies, and at times she thought they were running calculations. The captain of this foursome had cybernetic arms that glittered with lights.

Tarquine went to work.

During first hour, just after dawn, she organized the transfer of files from her ministry office to the palace. She had spent the last few months preparing, so the transfer didn’t take long. Shifting her actual duties would require more time. No precedent existed for an emperor marrying one of his ministers, so she had to start from scratch in deciding how to blend her dual offices.

To say the other ministries weren’t happy with her new status was an imperial understatement. Intelligence and Trade had been the most powerful ministries, followed by Finance, Science and Technology, Foreign Affairs, Domestic Affairs, and Protocol. That had changed now. She smiled. Finance had leapt over the others.

It would be a rough ride as the other ministers adjusted to—and schemed against—the new order. She had no doubt about her ability to thrive in such an environment, but her husband was another story. He was too damned innocent. Given the chance, his enemies would pulverize him. Except now, they had to go through her. Smart boy, to make her empress. He had given her the best possible reason to see that he thrived—her own vested interest.

During second and third hour, Tarquine interviewed her new staff. The late empress, Viquara Iquar, had put together a reasonably good team, but they seemed more competent at throwing parties than doing useful work. Viquara always had liked the social aspects of her position. Tarquine had little interest in gaudy celebrations of Aristo extravagance, aside from their value as a place for making political connections. Truth be told, she had been relieved to have her wedding in an underground bunker. Whoever had tried to assassinate them had done her and Jaibriol an unintentional favor, rescuing them from the pageantry.

After lunch, Tarquine opened Viquara’s personal files and investigated what her niece had been up to as empress. Viquara had access to an impressive range of files relating to the work of her husband, Ur Qox, grandfather of the present emperor. After Ur’s death, when Jaibriol II had become emperor, Viquara had gained even greater access. In fact, close examination suggested Viquara had known far more about the emperor’s work than had her son, the emperor.

Tarquine smiled slightly.
Naughty niece.
Viquara had ruled Eube after the death of Ur Qox.

Actually, Viquara’s second husband, Kryx Quaelen, the previous Trade Minister, had apparently also held great power. Tarquine had never figured out why her niece married him. Although his high status befitted the widow of an emperor, he came from a questionable Line. His great-grandfather had married a Silicate Aristo rather than a woman of the Highton Aristo caste. The scandal had reverberated for decades. Although the Quaelen Line had since maintained an impeccable bloodline, many considered it tainted. Tarquine didn’t care; Quaelen had been brilliant, far more accomplished than the current Trade Minister. But she would never have married him.

As the matriarch of the Iquar Line, Tarquine had been the one who supervised the investigation into Viquara’s second marriage. She had found nothing untoward beyond the obvious offense of a Quaelen marrying an Iquar. But this new information bore a closer look.

Tarquine brought up her spy programs. She had been trying for decades to crack the emperor’s far-flung networks. His security had always been a step ahead of hers. She could see now that the palace web wizards were even craftier than she had known. They had an amazing system here. She was thoroughly impressed. Of course, she had a better one.

As empress, she finally had access to enough of the palace system to utilize the full extent of her spy systems. The palace defenses were soon falling to her EI crackers. So she took stock of her husband’s influence.

And so her astonishment grew.

Tarquine had known the emperor had great power, but gods, even she hadn’t appreciated his reach. His influence had become so vast, it could operate of its own volition regardless of who sat on the throne. It extended into every aspect of Eubian life. He had bureaus she had never even heard of, with links to every Aristo Line that existed. Even expecting to find his Line intertwined with hers, she was stunned by the depth of his infiltration into Iquar affairs.

Nor did his influence extend only to Eube; his merchant empire, anonymous investments, pirate fleets, and private contacts spread among the Skolians and Allieds. No empire in human history had ever been so vast or strong.

“Gods,” Tarquine muttered. All that glorious power concentrated in the hands of an inexperienced boy. She doubted Jaibriol even came close to comprehending what he had inherited.

No matter. She did.

Late that afternoon, Tarquine sat sprawled in her chair, her long legs stretched out. She was glaring at a holomap, which rotated serenely above her desk. According to her research, this map of the palace was missing entire rooms and corridors. She would bet anything someone had altered it to hide secret chambers and corridors.

“I’ll admit, it isn’t the most aesthetic floor plan,” a deep voice said. “But it can’t be that bad.”

Tarquine looked up. Her husband stood in the doorway, leaning his aesthetically pleasing self against one column of the horseshoe arch.

“Greetings, Husband.” It felt odd to say. She hadn’t wanted a husband. She still didn’t. Given that this one came with more power than anyone else in the history of the human race, though, she could live with it.

Besides, Jaibriol had his own charm. For all that he acted the emperor in the presence of other Hightons, his behavior was too perfect. Alone with her, he let his
newness
show. Warmth was not a word one associated with Hightons, yet he seemed to have it, even if he did pretend an arctic front in public.

Jaibriol crossed her office, dismissing her guards with an imperial wave of his hand. Tarquine almost laughed. She wondered if she was the only one who realized he was faking his mannerisms. Clearly his mother hadn’t steeped him in Highton protocol. Tarquine didn’t blame her. Protocol ranked about as high on her list of desirable activities as eating hospital food.

The last Razer closed the door behind him as he left. Smart guard. Tarquine languidly rose to her feet. She didn’t know how she appeared, but Jaibriol’s face turned that charming shade of red it often did when they were in private.

He came around her desk and, with no preamble, pulled her into his arms. “Come here.” His voice was husky.

“I’ve work to do.” Remembering herself, she added, “Your Highness.”

“Why do you keep calling me that?” He stroked her hair back from her face. “It’s too formal.”

She sighed. “You must learn your role better.”

His look of welcome vanished. “What the hell does that mean?”

So touchy. Sometimes he acted more like a provider than a Highton. Technically her job as empress consisted of catering to his whims and making him feel good. Well, helping him survive ought to make him feel better.

“If I call you Jai,” she said, “it will hurt your esteem among your staff.”