“Sorry I am,” J’chabi finally began, his discomfort obvious. “Very sorry. But I must ask you to take a DNA test.”
That came as no surprise. Mine was no small assertion. Impersonating the Ruby Pharaoh carried penalties, anything from imprisonment to execution, depending on the circumstances. But what would he do with proof of my identity? My genetic records were closely guarded. If a Shay native in the hinterlands had them, then either I or Imperial Space Command had provided the records, or else he had stolen them. I doubted ISC would have released such secured information.
“How know you my DNA?” I asked.
In a careful voice, he said, “Before I answer, I must do the test.”
I rubbed my throbbing temples, pressing with my fingertips. Even aided by translation nodes, I struggled with the convoluted Shay grammar. The language had so many declensions, it took an entire mod to keep track of them.
Hajune glanced from me to J’chabi Na. “Why test?”
J’chabi didn’t answer, he simply waited.
“How far is the starport from here?” I knew I hadn’t said it right, but fatigue weighted my responses. It had been too long since I had eaten food that stayed down. The rapid change of day and night confused the diurnal clocks of my body, leaving me tired all the time.
“Say again?” J’chabi asked me.
“The starport. From here, how far is it?”
“The starport is closed.”
My disquiet grew. I glanced at Hajune and he tilted his head to the right, a Shay gesture that indicated lack of knowledge. Turning back to J’chabi, I said, “Closed why?”
“The Traders,****”
“The Traders destroyed the port?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He spoke again, but I shook my head. Then, realizing he might not recognize the gesture, I tilted my head as Hajune had done.
J’chabi Na suddenly switched into Iotic, my native language. “One of our ISC squadrons engaged a pack of Trader ships that came into this star system. The ISC squad stopped the Trader attack on Opalite, but in the battle, the Traders destroyed our starport.”
I stared at him. His fluency stunned me. Although he had a strong accent, his Iotic was otherwise perfect. Yet it took years to master, even with neural augmentation. Almost no one learned Iotic as a first language, only the Ruby Dynasty and the noble Houses. We were anachronisms in modern Skolia. People didn’t usually know my language so well unless they were scholars of the classics or expected to interact with my family. His Iotic offered another reason to believe he was my contact, but it didn’t tell me whether or not he had a connection to my difficulties. He guarded his mind well, obviously trained to build barriers against telepaths.
I spoke cautiously. “Did any of the Trader ships land?”
J’chabi shook his head, a gesture from my culture, not his. “One of their vessels crashed here, but we found no survivors.”
I spoke quietly. “Some may have survived. At least four Razers are hiding in the forest.”
He looked uncomfortable. “The ISC ships had to leave. They were needed elsewhere.”
Hajune was watching us intently. He spoke in Shay. “Talk you what language?”
“Iotic,” J’chabi said.
Hajune blinked. “I know it not.”
I answered in Shay. “It is my tongue.” I suspected Hajune had little or no formal education. Although few schools taught Iotic, it was almost impossible to study the history, cultures, or sociology of Skolia without learning about the language.
“What say you to J’chabi Na?” Hajune asked.
“I need a ship to go offworld.”
J’chabi answered. “No ships.”
I glanced at him. “Then I must send a message.”
“No communications.”
My unease deepened. “Why not?”
“Psiberspace gone.”
So my impression of a collapse had been right. Gods, it must have been an interstellar catastrophe. “How did it happen? Why?”
He tilted his head to the right. “Nothing yet do we know.”
This sounded worse and worse. With neither a port nor communications, I had no way to call in help. But I might have another option. To escape the roots Hajune had used to confine me, I had operated in Kyle space without technological support. By myself, I had too little control to contact anyone offworld, but with the support of a console I might achieve more.
“The comm equipment may still help,” I told J’chabi. “Will you take me to it?”
He responded in a guarded tone. “Test, I must.”
That blasted test again. If I wanted his help, I had to prove my claim. I didn’t like it, but he had good reason for his refusal. If I was an imposter and he took my word, he could create a lot of trouble for himself and ISC.
I spoke stiffly. “Very well. Do the test.”
He bowed from the waist, another behavior never seen among the Shay, but familiar in the Imperial court and Assembly. Then he strode to a staircase that spiraled around the living area. When he reached the balcony above us, he walked halfway around it and went through a rounded doorway.
Hajune turned to me. “Why does he speak your language?”
“I’m not sure.” I rubbed my hands on my arms, my palms sliding over the leathery jacket. I felt at risk here, open to attack.
J’chabi soon came back down. He held a black box about two hand-spans long. It stirred my memories: the medics who monitored my health had those boxes. I took good care of myself, but they were always checking me anyway. At the slightest hint of a problem, they became agitated and put me on a strict regimen until whatever had perturbed them came back into balance. It irked me no end. But if I sent them away, ISC Security sent them back. Security reacted the same when I tried to send away my human bodyguards. I had mechanical guards too, but it was easier to deal with their constant presence. They had no emotions.
I sat again on the mossy ridge. Hajune stood guard while J’chabi set down his box. The silence in the trunk house settled over us. Everything seemed muted.
From his box, J’chabi removed a spatula the size of his index finger. Knowing what he wanted, I opened my mouth. He scraped the inside my cheek. A person’s cells all had the same DNA, but modern disguise artists found it easier to mask the DNA of exterior skin and hair cells than those inside of the mouth.
He slid the spatula into a slot in the box and watched data flow across its screens. Holos of a woman’s body formed above the box. My body.
The test took only a few moments. When it finished, J’chabi continued to stare at the screens, his face strained, his gaze averted. I feared something had gone wrong. Then I realized he was struggling to control himself. His mental turmoil broke past his barriers and saturated the room. Shock. Disbelief.
Hope.
J’chabi shifted position, bending on one knee in front of me. He rested his elbow across his other knee and bowed his head. Then he spoke in Iotic, with a reverence that bordered on awe. “It is my honor to serve you, esteemed Pharaoh Dyhianna.”
I touched his shoulder. “Do not kneel, Jaichabi Na.”
He raised his head, then stood. His voice shook. “Rumor claims you died.”
I smiled. “Rumor is wrong, I think.”
As his wariness eased, his mental defenses lowered. His mind revealed nothing about him having a a link to my difficulties here. Nor did he hide his joy that I lived. Although the Shay spoke little, they seemed to show their emotions easily, without guile or hidden agendas. It was like fresh, cool air gusting through the room.
“How can I help?”J’chabi asked.
I gave him a rueful look. “I could use some clothes. Also food and water. Hajune tried to give me some, but it made me sick.” I didn’t reveal what else Hajune had done. It would lead to his arrest, possibly his execution, if ISC came for me. That “if” carried a lot of weight, with the port destroyed, the web dead, and who knew what else.
“It is my
honor. I have kept the recovery chamber readied in the hope that—” J’chabi’s voice caught. “But I never believed my hope would be answered.”
I rose to my feet. “I thank you for your support, honored Jaichabi Na.”
He bowed and withdrew then, going up the spiral stairs. Watching him spurred my memories. He belonged to an elite group of watchers I had set up on outposts, in case my family ever needed an escape route. Taquinil and I should have coalesced here, under J’chabi’s care, in a chamber designed to facilitate our transition from Kyle space to here.
Hajune spoke. “Your words with J’chabi Na, I understand them not.” Disquiet flooded his mind. He knew his earlier actions could have far-reaching consequences. Remorse had prompted him to offer his services as a bodyguard, but now he feared for his life.
I thought of his wife. “What happened before, with you and me—it is of no consequence.” Grim memories flooded my mind, and I lost my grip on the grammar. “The Manq have decimated my family, through death, capture, and torture. Had I found one of them in this forest, I too would have wished them dead.”
“Who is your family?”
I didn’t lie to him. “Skolia. I am the eldest.”
Hajune stared at me for a long moment. Then he went down on one knee and bent his head, holding his axe across his thigh. In a low voice, he said, “My honor in your presence, great Pharaoh.”
This was embarrassing. I went over and touched his shoulder. “Please don’t do that.”
He rose to his feet. “I am glad I did not kill you.”
I managed a smile. “So am I.”
“Small you are. I had thought all in the Ruby Dynasty were giants.”
“Many are. I am the smallest.”
“Small in size.” He spoke softly. “Not in self.”
A rustle made us look up. J’chabi was coming down with an armload of clothes: gray trousers, a blue shirt, a bodysuit to wear under them, and dark blue ankle boots. They looked like exactly my size and preferred style.
Another memory: I had known I might coalesce on Opalite. I had spent years designing mathematical models to predict the future. They rarely gave reliable results, though. Too many variables existed. The predictions became vague, bizarre, or nonsensical when taken more than a short time into the future. But I had worked endlessly, until a few patterns repeated. They had said I would cease to exist. Not die. Simply cease.
So I had taken steps to ensure I resumed existing. Those steps had almost failed. Even now, I wasn’t fully here. We hadn’t had time to prepare our escape; that was probably why. I had coalesced in the wrong place. But it had worked well enough. I was still alive.
For now.
6
Search Beneath a Crimson Sky
“Four Manq prowl the middle forest,” Hajune continued. He sat with J’chabi and three city officers on the ridged floor of J’chabi’s home. A reluctant Hajune had finally agreed to answer their questions.
The newcomers, two women and a man, recorded his words on holosheets. The women looked like sisters, just as the Shay men resembled brothers. They were a striking people, tall and well built, with hair the color of rich loam and skin a smooth, even brown. I wondered if the city and forest Shay realized how similar they appeared to outsiders, or if like Hajune, they all perceived great differences among themselves.
I stood by the wall, silent. They seemed to have forgotten my presence. I had become good at listening without being noticed even among my own people, who had some idea of my abilities. Here, where only Hajune and J’chabi Na knew the truth, it became that much easier to be invisible.
“We must find the Manq,” the taller woman said.
“Soon,” the new man said.
“Capture or kill?” J’chabi asked.
I remembered Eldrin. Kill, I thought.
“Capture,” the shorter woman said.
“Kill.” The submerged hatred in Hajune’s voice did nothing to lessen its impact. The other Shay shifted their weight.
“They may have important information,” the new man pointed out.
J’chabi glanced in my direction, his gaze discreet. His mood suffused my mind. He wanted the Razers to die because he feared they would hurt or capture me. Yet as much as a part of me wished to avenge Eldrin, I knew they might give us valuable information. With reluctance, I focused on J’chabi: Let them live. Intelligence. Information. Interrogation.
His forehead furrowed as if he were hearing a distant, almost inaudible conversation. Then he addressed the others. “I agree, in principle, with Hajune Tailor. We must ensure the safety of this city. But knowledge also brings safety. First we question the Manq. Then we execute.”
The taller woman spoke firmly. “Trial we must have.”
Hajune’s fist clenched around the handle of the axe on his knees. “No trial do we need. I witnessed their crimes.”
Her voice changed, offering comfort. “To the time and space of your wife’s death, Hajune Tailor, we offer grace. But we must have a trial. It would be wrong to do otherwise.”
He said nothing. It was fortunate she had a strong sense of self; otherwise his stare might have disintegrated her, it was so intense. His pain filled the room, undisguised. I wondered that the others didn’t crumble under its weight. Tears gathered in my eyes and I let them fall, in respect for his loss.
“You must not,” J’chabi told me in Shay. Again.
“I must.” I stood with him and the others in the entrance of his house.
He switched to Iotic. “We cannot risk you coming with us to hunt the Manq. It is an incredible fortune you have survived. Your life is our most precious resource. We must protect it”
He sounded like ISC Security. I loathed being treated like priceless china. It had been this way since my birth. I looked vulnerable to people. Young. My aging had been delayed by genetics, good health, and the cell repairs performed by nanomeds in my body. Faint lines showed around my eyes and traces of gray in my hair, but my face looked waif-like, “pretty” Eldrin used to say. And compared to the Shay, I was small.
I crossed my arms. “I’m going with you.” Whether I stayed here or went into the forest, the level of protection I had was about the same, minimal compared to what ISC maintained over me. In the greater scheme of existence, it mattered little whether Hajune and I stayed or went—but to us it made a big difference.
Hajune spoke to me in Shay. “Why fight you with J’chabi Na?”
“I want for you and I to go with the searchers,” I said.
“Yes.” Hajune raised his hand, indicating agreement. “Guard you, I shall.”
J’chabi put his hands on his hips. “Guard her here. Come not.”
“Stay not,” Hajune told him. “With Manq, we have business.”
“Here stay,” J’chabi said. “We must protect Lady Dehya.”
The city security team was listening with avid curiosity. The taller woman spoke. “J’chabi Na, why say you ‘Lady Dehya’?”
Good question. I had asked him to say Dehya, but he seemed unable to drop my title completely. Until I knew more about the situation I faced, I preferred to keep my identity concealed.
“It means a female relative,” I said.
“Why want you to come with us?” she asked.
My fist clenched at my side. “Manq take my husband. Son. Niece. Nephews. Kill my family. Make our lives hell. I want to see them caught.”
The male city officer asked, “Know you how to shoot a gun?”
“Yes.” I knew in theory, anyway.
“Come then, Lady,” the tall woman said.
“Dehya,” I said.
“Eh?”
“Dehya. It is my name.”
“I am Natil.” She introduced the shorter woman as Komoj and the man as Xink’ok, with a glottal stop that made me want to say “zinc oxide” in Earth English. All the languages we spoke now had their roots in ancient cultures on Earth, primarily from North Africa, the Near East, and Mesoamerica, but the glottal st
ops had fallen out of use in most modern tongues.
J’chabi looked ready to explode. “I protest.”
“Why?” Natil asked.
“We must not endanger the lady.”
“She is an adult,” Zinc said. “She makes her own decisions.”
Good answer. If I escaped this place, I might hire Shay for bodyguards. Then again, after ISC finished training them, they would probably be just as fanatically protective as all my other bodyguards.
J’chabi spoke to me in Iotic. “Please, Pharaoh Dyhianna. Do not endanger yourself this way.”
“I’m not helpless. And the risk is small.”
“Any risk is unacceptable. The Razers might recognize you.”
“How?” I was probably the least imaged potentate in human history. I had eradicated every picture of myself on the webs, and I had access to parts of the networks most people didn’t even know existed. The Assembly had made it a crime to take holos of me. They even thought that law was their idea.
“I don’t know,” J’chabi said. “But the possibility exists.”
I knew if I gave him a direct order to stop his protests, he would do so. But was it worth making the person entrusted with my life feel he had failed his duty? More mattered here than my need for vengeance. A leader didn’t just give orders, she chose the path that offered the most benefit to her people.
“Very well.” I forced out the words. “Hajune and I will wait here.”
J’chabi’s shoulders relaxed. Then, forgetting he was supposed to treat me like a relative rather than a Pharaoh, he bowed.
The others were watching us intently. Their moods suggested they didn’t understand Iotic. They made no attempt to hide their interest, obviously having guessed I was more than an “aunt.”
I spoke in Shay to Natil, the taller woman. “Hajune Tailor and I will stay here.”
Hajune’s protest burst into his mind. But he remained silent, standing like a wall at my side.
“You are sure?” Natil asked.
“Yes.” I wanted to strangle the Manq. Slowly. No, it wasn’t noble. It wasn’t high-minded. But gods, I wanted it. Lacking that opportunity, I would settle for staying alive so I could regain power and gather our ISC forces against the Traders.
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