“I will certainly have someone look into that, Ambassador.” She bowed her neck, making certain to go deeper than either the ambassador or his servant had gone for her. “I am certain that Administrator Virri would not want you to be discomfited in any way during your time with us.”
Taurani’s answering grimace was clearly intended to mimic a smile, and revealed the pale expanse of brush that passed for his teeth to full effect. “And when might we expect our esteemed administrator to return, now that you have mentioned him?”
The prints on the walls were awash in jagged blacks and reds, the soft pastels all but erased by her fear and angst. She hated the way this creature made her feel.
“As I have told you, Ambassador, Administrator Virri is away. When he returns—”
“Where is he, you fragile little doll?” The ridges of grey flesh around his glittering eyes tightened in annoyance. “The Council will not be put off forever.” The image lowered its head, the eyes narrowing even more as he stared at her through the viewing field. Time ground to a halt. “You do not know.” Again, the pseudo-smile. “Poor Iphini Bha. Always the last to know.” The image grew larger as the Ambassador leaned into his own console. “The tides of change are rising, Bha. The time will come, and soon, when you may need to decide who you are loyal to: that boneless animal, or yourself.”
The Ambassador’s head tilted to the side and the image cut off abruptly.
Iphini stared at the air above the administrator’s desk for several heartbeats before she allowed herself the luxury of a sigh. She disciplined her breathing, resting the backs of her long, delicate hands on her knees, allowed her eyelids to slide closed, and forced her mind to let go of the anxiety that speaking to Taurani always caused.
All of her feelings for Virri were shaded with a vague resentment, of course. How could they not be, when his long, unexplained absence caused her so much grief? Her loyalty to her employer, and even to Penumbra itself, was not so great as to demand blind obedience and devotion. She knew her quiet temperament inclined many to take her for granted. She had accepted it as the price of being true to herself. But sometimes, in these darker moments, it was truly difficult to remember why she remained in the city at all.
When she opened her eyes the softer images on the walls had returned. Only hints and ghosts of the jagged emotions that had recently ravaged her peace of mind remained, floating in the background. Generally, Iwa’Bantu did not enjoy psycho-reactive art. Their emotions were too readily accessible by the technology. Unless constant vigilance was maintained, the prints were often far too revelatory for public consumption. She often fantasized about a day when the office could be hers. The first thing she would do would be to send those prints to the recycling center.
Rising gracefully from the stool, Iphini moved to the door. The armored outer door was retracted, leaving only the fragile privacy screen in place. The wave of a hand opened it. Out in the main work area, reports were being received, reaction teams dispatched, and complaints heard, recorded, and filed. Thankfully, it had been relatively peaceful since Virri disappeared this time. She shuddered to think what it would have been like if one of the rare inter-faction conflicts had arisen without a proper administrator present.
She waved a large figure over to her and into a corner. The Leemuk navigated it’s obese, pale green bulk through the tight confines of its coworkers with surprising ease. With its tiny, widely set purple eyes and the vast expanse of exposed, glistening teeth, many beings found Leemuks off-putting. Most that Iphini knew, however, were careful, attentive workers and staunchly loyal supporters of Penumbra, which made them a perfect fit for security duties. Their reputation as rather indiscriminate eaters did not hurt, of course. Agha-pa had been the head of security in Penumbra for longer than Iphini had lived in the city. He was not the most proactive leader their small security detail could ask for, but he meant well.
“Have there been any reports concerning trouble in the Concourse with a Thien’ha mystic?” It was not as odd as it sounded, she knew. The Thien’ha were capable of all sorts of strangeness.
The Leemuk cocked its head. Without a visible neck, this was more akin to tilting the amorphous bulk housing its tiny eyes and enormous, toothy maw precariously to one side, then back again. The gaping, lipless hole undulated with disturbing, muscular motions, and her implants translated the sounds into intelligible speech.
“Nothing that I am aware of, mistress.” They were also unfailingly polite to their superiors; something that Iphini, in particular, appreciated. “Shall I conduct a more comprehensive scan of the reports?”
She thought about it for a moment. Taurani’s discomfiture, if it was even genuine, was really not a top priority for her. She shook her head and gestured for the creature to return to its duty station. “Just flag anything that comes up from now on and let me know, please.”
“Yes, mistress.”
Agha-pa turned to slouch back to his station, waving her toward the throne at the center of the room. Iphini moved to the raised dais at the rear of the command center, toward the administrator’s chair. Once it had been the captain’s seat, when this had been the battle bridge of a Variyar warship. She stood behind the heavy piece of furniture, one hand draped across its back, and looked out over the quiet, humming bustle. The efficiency all around owed a great deal to her own efforts. She took pride in that work, as she would take pride in a poem she had written, or a particularly tricky sequence of musical notes she had strung together.
But none of it would mean anything without Virri, and that rankled. Without the Skorahn, the Rayabell would be nothing, and yet, without him, she would be even less. It was the central dissatisfaction of her life, and as she got older, it seemed heavier and heavier.
And yet, despite all that, she was desperate for him to return.
One of Agha-pa’s workers sat up with a grunt, looking at the throne for his superior. Finding Iphini standing there, he ponderously turned his head over to where the security chief slumped, by the far wall.
“Sir, there’s a disturbance in the eastern wing, near the Ring Wall.” The Ring Wall was the inner terminus of the Concourse, where it ended and the vast bronze plain at the center of the city began. “Looks like a couple of Nan’Se La from the docks are shaking down a Goagoi Kuak.”
Iphini closed her eyes and shook her head. There were not many of the big four-armed Nan’Se La in Penumbra, and most of those worked as manual laborers in the docking bays. They were not known for their intelligence, and often tried to prey on weaker members of the community when given the opportunity.
“Do we have anyone nearby?” Iphini asked. These violent episodes were not common, since the populace generally policed itself, but there were a few roaming patrols, mostly Leemuks, for when things went badly.
“Not near the Ring Wall, Deputy, no.” Agha-pa might be lazy, but he knew where his people were at all times. “We can have them there soon, but if the Nan’Se La mean business, it will be too late.”
Iphini nodded. They were not common, but if they were not stopped quickly, they were often fatal.
The Leemuk that had addressed her leaned back down to look into the viewing field at his station and then stood back up. “Never mind. The situation has been taken care of.”
That was a relief, anyway. “Was it one of ours, or vigilantes?”
The big Leemuk shifted his shoulders back and forth for what passed as a head shake for the big, necklace creatures. “The Goagoi Kuak brought them both down with what looked like a nano-staff, mistress.”
That was intriguing. The shape-shifting weapons were ideal for use in Penumbra, where the city’s autonomous systems could suppress energy weapons with little warning. They were able to change their shape at the whim of their wielder, making them extremely difficult to use, but absolutely devastating in the hands of a master.
That brought her up short. “What was the Goagoi wearing?”
The Leemuk reared back in confusion. “Mistr
ess?” Then, tilting his head to one side, he leaned back down to look into the field once more. “White robes, mistress. A—” He stood up quickly. “A Thien’ha master?”
She closed her eyes and nodded. That’s what she was afraid of. The Thien’ha were not aggressive by nature, but they were utterly without mercy in defense. They had to be, given how they were often received.
It looked like Taurani’s fears might not be entirely a fabrication after all. Perhaps if she—
One of the general communications officers jerked upright at her station. A delicate, pale-skinned Humanoid that had a bit of a reputation with the males, she was one of the more emotionally demonstrative inhabitants of the control center. But when she stood up, the frantic pivoting of her head sending her silver hair flying, Iphini could not help the tightening of skin up her spine.
Before she could work herself into a paralytic frenzy of worry, the woman’s eyes locked on hers, and the communications officer approached her with a look of undisguised confusion on her pretty face.
“Mistress Bha, communication for you.” Her normally-pleasant voice was rough. “It’s Ksaka.”
Iphini was gripping the back of the command throne with both hands. Ksaka; Virri’s personal security officer, bodyguard, and overseer. She had departed in search of the administrator as soon as it had been discovered that he had escaped again. But why was she messaging? Each time in the past, when she had brought Virri back, there had been no direct communication; she had simply dragged the limp sack of depression and incompetence back into the control center, dumped him in his office, and taken the rest of the day off.
The tension in her spine intensified.
“I will accept the message in the administrator’s office.” She hoped the words sounded as assured as she had tried to make them. The last thing she needed was for the fragile peace of the control center to be shattered by her nervous reaction to the call.
Back in the office, closing both the privacy doors and the armored shutter, Iphini looked in annoyance at the prints, all of them once again showing flashes of violence emerging from the peaceful swirls of color and light. Someday, if the universe was kind, she decided she would not send them to recycling, she would burn them herself.
At the desk, the glowing sphere of light had reappeared as soon as the communications officer routed the message request from the center system to the administrator’s private lines. Her anxiety over the viewer when Taurani was on the other end seemed trivial compared to the turbulent fears clawing at her now.
She waved her hand through the sphere and the torso of Angara Ksaka solidified out of the churning mist. Her regal face was stony, her white hair nearly iridescent in the image. But her violet eyes shifted from side to side in a way that Iphini found terribly disturbing, given the bodyguard’s usually steady demeanor.
“Iphini, I am on my way back. We will be landing soon.” At first, relief washed through the deputy’s body. The tension and the fear would be over. The tedium and thanklessness of normal life rose like an idyll in her mind.
She relaxed against the desk, a smile blossoming across her face as the prints all around her blossomed into brighter, richer color. “Where was he?”
Again, the shifting eyes. Some of Iphini’s confidence ebbed. “He was on Earth, of course.” The image of Angara swallowed, and the deputy’s happiness dimmed again. “Iphini, something happened; something very bad.”
The tension had returned, this time accompanied by a rush of cold as if someone had opened a door into deepest space. The stylus began to spin. She did not want to ask, but the word emerged anyway. “What?”
“Virri’s not with me, Iphini.” The shifting eyes steadied, focusing on her. “He’s dead.”
The room spun. The stylus fell still. The temperature dropped further. She pulled at the collar of her tunic as if she could not breathe. She reached out for the desk to steady herself, in very real danger of falling to the floor.
Uduta Virri was dead. The administrator, the holder of the Skorahn, was no longer among the living.
They were all doomed.
She could hear words, barely, over the roaring of her desperate breath. Were the lights dimming? She felt as if the cold of space was reaching for her; for everyone in Penumbra. The words, mumbling in the distance, were meaningless.
“Bha!” Her name, said like the sharp crack of a whip, penetrated the swirling panic. “Bha, get a hold of yourself! Virri’s dead, but I have the Skorahn.”
She had the medallion. With that, Iphini steadied herself a little. She took a deep breath. Of course. The station was not dying. The air was fine. Her own life had been thrown into turmoil with the news, but it was not in danger of ending immediately. Somehow, she found that more comforting than she felt she should.
“You have the medallion, but Uduta’s dead?” She spoke more to give herself some time, rather than any real need for clarification.
Angara nodded. “He’s dead.” Her eyes flicked to the side, as if glancing behind her. “The medallion is with me. Everything is going to be fine, I promise.”
Iphini lowered herself onto the stool. “How?”
“How what?” The question had an edge to it that she could not understand.
“How did he die?” She clarified, not wanting to anger the fierce woman any more than she already was.
Again, Angara’s eyes darted from side to side, but this time Iphini had the distinct impression it was because the woman was avoiding eye contact. “It was an accident. I will tell you all about it when we come in. We will be landing soon. I need you to clear the executive bay for the Na’uka.”
Iphini blinked. That bay was normally reserved for emergencies or high-ranking shadow diplomats attempting to conceal their comings and goings from Council agents. It was not unusual for Virri to require the bay, especially when on one of his secretive little jaunts. But then, she reminded herself with an involuntary shudder, it was not Virri on the little ship making the decisions.
And then she remembered that the executive bay was not operational, and her body grew very still.
“I am sorry, Angara, but that will not be possible. The bay is out of operation at the moment.” She closed her eyes, accessing the current records of the various ports and bays available near the Red Tower. She opened her eyes again with a wince. “The closest docking port I can offer you is the eastern wing common docking bay.”
It was a busy bay, serving the primary habitat towers all around the Red Tower. It would be the quickest journey to the center, but it would be through some of the most crowded halls. There would be no disguising the return of the administrator’s bodyguard, or her notable lack of a body to guard.
Angara’s image seemed to collapse as she put her face into her hands. Her dark skin made it hard to read her expression in the small, misting image, but there was no missing her shoulders as they slumped in defeat.
“Angara, why does it matter? What else is wrong?” The idea that even more could be wrong was enough to put her back on the floor.
Within the image, the bodyguard shook her head. “Forget it. We will be landing very soon now. Secure us a berth in the primary docking bay, and we will be with you as soon as we can.”
Something about that did not sound right, and after only a moment, Iphini’s eyes widened, then tightened in suspicion. “Angara, who’s ‘we’?”
The image jumped, and then settled down into total stillness. “When we arrive. I am going now. I have to get the Na’uka ready for our arrival.”
The image flickered and died without further word. Iphini found herself once again staring at the air above the desk. She focused on the empty space, ignoring the tub-like seat behind the desk, and the shifting prints on the walls.
Uduta Virri was dead. The Skorahn was safe. And Virri’s bodyguard was on her way, accompanied by some mysterious entity she would not identify over the standard communication network.
That was a lot to process, but it all revolved around
one reality: Virri, the being who had sat upon the powerless command throne of Penumbra, whose very heartbeat had kept every sentient in the city alive, was dead.
She settled down on the stool. She knew she should be preparing for Angara Ksaka’s arrival, but she had no idea what she could do in that regard. The last thing she wanted to do now was to face the roomful of curious faces that would greet her if she stepped beyond the confines of the small office.
She folded her hands in her lap and waited, staring at the closed, armored door.
Uduta Virri was dead. Whatever came next, it was going to be more turmoil than she felt capable of dealing with at the moment.
A single tear coursed down her pale, lined face. She was very surprised to discover that she would miss Virri, now that he was gone.
*****
Angara stared through the space that had been occupied by Bha’s image a moment before. She had been counting on the executive docking bay to get the Humans, especially the pale one, into the command center without undue attention. Now, they were going to have to parade down half the length of the Variyar warship, after landing in one of the busiest docking ports in the city.
She still could not believe she was bringing Humans to Penumbra. It was not as if she had been offered any better solutions by the uncaring universe, but still, she could not imagine what was going to happen the first time she brought one of these Humans face to face with an Aijian. And may all the powers that be see to it that no Variyar saw them in the corridors before she could get Marcus Wells and Justin Shaw to the control center.
And that thought brought her up short once again. Why was she so sure of a better reception amongst the city’s administrators and guardians? She was bringing two Humans into the central command area. Not only that, but one of the Humans actually possessed the Skorahn!
She had contemplated killing Marcus Wells and taking the medallion while he was frozen in the stasis chamber, his mind ravaged by the nanites. Something had stopped her, however. And when she had finally checked the depth of the bond the medallion had built with Marcus Wells, she had been very relieved she had not.
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