Spherical Harmonic

by Catherine Asaro

  Ragnar shrugged. “They must know by now he fostered Jaibriol the Third.”

  Seth, what are you hiding? At least now we had a valid reason to ask about the children; of course we would want to make sure no other Aristo time bombs were walking around on Earth. Our inquiries gave no one reason to suspect the children might be the Rhon offspring—perhaps even legitimate heirs—of Soz and Jaibriol II.

  “We need to act,” I said. “The longer we wait, the more strained this becomes.”

  Jinn leaned forward. “We can send a drop team into the Allied United Centre in Sweden.”

  “What are the chances of success?”

  She stacked her holosheets together. “Earth can probably shoot down any craft we send in. Their defenses are too strong. We can’t evade them.”

  “Can’t we hide the racer?” I asked. “If we can sneak an entire fleet into this star system, we should be able to get one racer down to the planet.”

  Chad answered. “Traveling through interstellar space with ships in fuel bottles is one thing. Space may not be a true vacuum, but it’s close enough. I wouldn’t want to try it on a planet. The ship could twist out of the bottle right into a tree or mountain.”

  “So bring it out above ground,” Ragnar said.

  “We don’t know how the atmosphere will affect it,” Jinn said. Dryly she added, “And Earth has more junk in orbit than ten colonies combined.”

  “Which is the greater danger?” I asked. “Hiding the ship in a bottle or the Allieds shooting it down if we don’t?”

  Jinn lifted another of her holosheets, its surface catching prismatic glints of light. “We estimate the risks are about the same.”

  “Even if they could fire on the racer,” I mused, “I wonder if they would.” I could imagine the questions the Allied military was asking itself now. “They don’t know if or how we would retaliate. With the size of our fleet, we could do a lot of damage to Earth before they stopped us.”

  Chad gave me an incredulous look, clearly aghast at the idea of firing on humanity’s home world. Ragnar’s approval of the idea leaked from his mind. Jinn immediately began considering how to solve the tactical problems in such an engagement.

  I regarded them with exasperation. “I’m not suggesting we attack Earth. Just that the Allieds must fear we might.”

  “We could bluff,” Jinn suggested. “Tell them that if they don’t return the Ruby Dynasty we’ll have to take action.”

  Chad shook his head. “The moment we threaten them, we lose. Any response they make then becomes self-defense. It will also weaken what Prince Havyrl is doing on Lyshriol. His attempts to force out Earth’s occupying forces depend entirely on censure of the Allieds by the rest of humanity. Right now, the Allied Worlds of Earth are the villains. If we threaten to attack Earth, we lose the high ground Prince Havyrl and his people have fought so hard to gain.”

  I smiled slightly. “I wonder how the Allieds feel, cast in the role of Nefarious Evil. Quite a change, eh?”

  Ragnar waved his hand as if to dismiss Earth, the home of his own grandfather. “They’re just like anyone else. They want power and wealth. They could pretend to the high ground when they were the weaker power because they had no other options. Now that we and the Traders are weakened, what do the Allieds do? Grab for power, using your family.”

  I knew most Skolians shared his view. Our propaganda wizards were working overtime to portray the Allieds in the worst possible light. But I couldn’t deny the other side, not when our success depended on how well we judged the situation. I spoke quietly. “Our animosity with the Traders and their progenitors has followed us through six millennia. The wars that brought down the Ruby Empire almost destroyed humanity. More than politics drives the Allieds; they genuinely fear that if they let my family free, we will destroy civilization again, on a much bigger scale, including Earth this time.”

  They stared at me. The last person they expected to express that argument was the Ruby Pharaoh.

  I splayed my hands on the table as if to support myself. “We need to acknowledge their fear. If their only interest is power, they will respond differently than if they genuinely believe they’re the only bulwark against humanity’s destruction.”

  “If you follow that to its logical conclusion,” Chad said, “then either way, they lose. If they keep the Ruby Dynasty, we may turn on them and bring about what they fear anyway.”

  Bitterness scraped my thoughts. My family had never asked for this power. But the rest of humanity could never leave us alone, not as long as whoever controlled us controlled interstellar civilization. Nor could we refuse the responsibility, not when it could mean the difference between a universe subject to the Traders and one where humans lived free. Somehow, some way, we had to find accommodation with those who wished to control us.

  I glanced at Jinn. “Do you have the latest news holo about Lyshriol?”

  “We picked a new one up from a ship coming into the solar system about ten hours ago.” She spoke in a louder voice. “Tactics Room, attend. Engage Lyshriol A-nine-gee.”

  “Working,” the Tactics Room said.

  The chamber faded to darkness. Then the light came up again—and we were standing in a hip-high field of slender tubes, silvery and green, swaying in a breeze. Little bubbles tipped many of the tubes. I touched one and it floated into the air. Then it burst, spraying me with glitter. The simulation was so well done, I felt the powder on my wrists, below the sleeves of my jumpsuit. Had I not known the Tactics Room was sending wireless signals to a node in my body, I might have believed I actually stood on the Dalvador Plains of Lyshriol.

  Bracing air filled my lungs, crisp and pure. I gazed around, thrilled by the energy of the place. Beyond our small patch of tubes, an ocean of people spread out in all directions: Lyshrioli men in blue, purple, or gray trousers, laced shirts with belled sleeves, and soft knee-boots; Lyshrioli women in bright dresses with slits in the swirling skirts and laces everywhere. Children ran all over, laughing, enjoying themselves. Tents covered the trampled plain, with irrigation canals running between them. Smoke rose from campares as cooks prepared meals in big metal pots. In a nearby camp, people were digging furrows and planting seeds; in another they were building a pen for horned animals with shaggy blue coats.

  Ragnar, Chad, and Jinn were standing with me on the plain. Chad beamed. “Amazing, isn’t it?”

  “Indeed.” I inhaled deeply, with satisfaction. “Can you link to the Tactics on Havyrl’s Valor! I’d like to bring Eldrin into the simulation.”

  Ragnar bestowed me with one of his dark looks. “We still don’t know what the Traders did to him. Revealing our tactics discussions to him could be dangerous.”

  “His nightmare had nothing to do with the Traders.” I wasn’t actually certain about that, but Ragnar’s response annoyed me.

  It was Jinn who answered. “Are you sure we should chance it, ma’am? He still has the restraints.”

  I understood her implication. Although the neurologists had made great strides in mapping the web created in Eldrin’s body by the biothreads from his cuffs and collar, and in stopping the growth of new threads, the process wasn’t complete enough yet to risk removing the restraints. But it was almost done, and no one had found any indication the Traders had tried to make Eldrin a weapon. Such an act of human sabotage would have taken a great deal of planning and technical work, and I doubted they had had time after Jaibriol HI contacted them to arrange the trade.

  I regarded Jinn steadily. “Yes, I’m sure.”

  She activated her comm and arranged for the link. I felt all their doubts, but they also knew the advantage of calling in Eldrin. He had grown up here.

  After several minutes, the air flickered. Eldrin’s body formed in front of Ragnar, the ranking ISC officer, and took on solidity. Eldrin stood for a moment, reorienting to his surroundings. He greeted Ragnar stiffly, but loosened up with the others. Then he turned that grin of his on me, the one that blazed with unstated mischief. G
ods, I missed him.

  “This is a gorgeous simulation,” he said, wistful. “I feel like I’m really home.”

  A cluster of women was strolling toward us. I blinked as they walked through me, like vivid, chattering ghosts. When Eldrin laughed, I said, “They look like they’re having a good time.”

  He bowed as if to acknowledge a compliment. “We’ve raised the process of having a festival to an art.”

  Chad chuckled and Ragnar watched Eldrin with his brooding gaze. Jinn spoke to the air. “Run news sim.”

  We suddenly became wind blowing over the plain, racing across the tent nation toward a cluster of buildings. At first I thought it was a village of whitewashed, circular houses. They had bright, turreted roofs in purple and blue, like upside-down blossoms, an incongruous image for this world that had no flowers unless you counted the bubbles.

  As we touched down near the buildings, I realized it wasn’t a village, but a starport designed to blend with the pastoral countryside. Beyond it, a small tarmac stretched out. An empty tarmac; no spacecraft waited there. The entire port looked deserted. It didn’t surprise me. I would have evacuated, too, if two hundred thousand people had come to call.

  The sky suddenly roared. I glanced up with a start, to see a silver flier arrow above us, the Allied insignia in blue on its hull. Many fliers were criss-crossing above the plain—

  Good gods. They were bombing the tent nation. The good-natured, wholesome Lyshrioli were no longer having a festival. They staggered through the fumes, gasping, falling down, lying still. I would have thought they were dying, except I recognized the gas; it only put you to sleep.

  The theatrical voice of a reporter overlaid the simulation. “The assault of Earth’s forces on the helpless natives continues on this, the forty-fourth day of the protest. Not a single native has made a hostile move against the occupying forces, yet the Allieds continue with their merciless attack.”

  “My, my,” I murmured. The Allieds must hate these melodramatic broadcasts. They had to be desperate, if they were willing to go this far.

  Eldrin swore. “This is an outrage.”

  “It certainly looks that way.” Ragnar sounded positively gleeful.

  The scene shifted; now we were watching Earth soldiers in gas masks carry sleeping Lyshrioli natives to a flier. Other Lyshrioli clambered over the flier, yelled, jumped in front of the soldiers, and otherwise made a nuisance of themselves. They held wet cloths over their faces, and a few had makeshift gas masks. Several young fellows glanced at us, which meant they were looking at the Jagernauts making this recording. One scrambled on top the flier, posturing for the cameras, and yelled zestfully at the Allieds.

  The soldiers continued their work, carefully avoiding the rambunctious Lyshrioli as they loaded the unconscious ones onto their aircraft. One youth holding a cloth over his mouth stumbled into the flier. He stepped away, then sat heavily in the trampled grass. With a sigh, he lay down and closed his eyes, succumbing to the gas.

  “And so the Allieds continue to transgress against the innocent people of Skyfall,” the narrator said dramatically.

  “I really wish they would stop that,” Eldrin muttered. “The name of the planet is Lyshriol. Not Skyfall.”

  Chad glanced at him. “I thought Lyshriol meant Skyfall in your language.”

  “It does. But we call it Lyshriol. Do you translate your name into whatever language you happen to be speaking?”

  “Well, no.” Chad diplomatically left it at that, without mentioning that the general public loved the name Skyfall, which everyone seemed to remember better than Lyshriol.

  The narrator continued. “For days the Allied forces have been drugging people, hauling them off without their consent, and leaving them senseless in distant villages, with only the old and infirm to care for them.” The image shifted to a crying child desperately gripping the hand of a sleeping woman. “How much longer will this go on?” the narrator cried.

  The scene shifted again. Now we were at the edges of the tent nation. In the distance, Lyshrioli natives were riding across the plains toward us on graceful silver and blue animals with crystalline horns that splintered the sunlight like prisms. The narrator’s voice surged with enthusiasm. “Despite the outrages perpetrated against them by the occupying force, the people of Skyfall refused to be cowed! As fast as Earth’s soldiers can ferry them out, they are returning, bringing fresh supplies for their beleaguered brethren.”

  “This is incredible,” Eldrin said. “I don’t think anything like this has ever happened before in the history of my people.”

  “It certainly makes a theatrical broadcast,” Chad said.

  We were moving slowly now, while soft music played as background for the melodious greetings called out among the Lyshrioli. A distant man and a woman were standing together, surrounded by people. As we drew nearer, the broadcast focused on the man, heartily extolling his bravery and heroism. He was healthy and well-built, with long legs and a mane of red-gold curls. Metallic gold lashes framed his large violet eyes. Very hologenic. He resembled Eldrin, but was taller. I had always thought Eldrin the handsomer man, but I supposed I was biased. Most people considered Havyrl Valdoria among the best-looking of the Valdoria sons.

  I didn’t recognize the woman with Vyrl. She had great hair, curly black tresses that tumbled to her waist. Her face was exotic, with a heart shape and dusky skin. Her large eyes had vertical rather than circular pupils.

  “Saints above,” Eldrin said. “Who is that gorgeous creature?”

  I scowled at him. “Your brother’s wife.”

  He looked inordinately pleased. “You’re jealous.”

  “I am not.”

  Eldrin laughed. “You are. I’m flattered.”

  “Pah.”

  “She can’t be native to Lyshriol,” he said.

  Chad and the others, who had been pretending not to notice our exchange, started paying attention again. “She has to be from here,” Chad said. “No one has been able to get onto the planet.”

  Eldrin indicated his own hair. “The first colonists here fiddled with their DNA. Whatever their intent, we ended up losing the genes for black hair.”

  I remembered Eldrin’s fascination with my hair when we had first met. He and his brother had similar taste in women. Vyrl’s wife also had other traits that didn’t belong to this world. I recognized her vertical pupils; they were an adaptation designed for worlds that received low levels of visible light. That certainly didn’t apply to Lyshriol.

  I drew Eldrin away from the others. In our respective Tactics Rooms, we remained in our chairs, of course. To make our conversation private, my neural nodes sent my thoughts to Roca’s Pride, which transmitted them to Havyrl’s Valor, which then communicated with the nodes in Eldrin’s brain.

  He regarded me with a warmth he had rarely shown since his return from the Traders. Lyshriol seemed to agree with him. “What is it, Wife?”

  I pretended to glower at him. “What, I only get ‘Wife’? Not ‘gorgeous creature’?”

  Eldrin gave me his experienced-husband grin, “To me, you are utterly gorgeous.” He brushed his knuckles down my cheek. “But I know you, Dehya. You didn’t pull me over here to extract compliments.”

  “I’m wondering about the Allieds.” I indicated the fliers circling in the sky. “Why can’t they stop Vyrl from broadcasting these scenes off Lyshriol?”

  Eldrin shrugged. “We have better technology.”

  “They’re using our orbital defense system. That’s our tech.”

  “You have an idea, don’t you?”

  I spoke carefully, aware I was about to breach security. “It’s possible to access the orbital defense system from down here.” I indicated a distant blur at the foot of the mountains. “The control center is under the Stained Glass Forest.”

  He went rigid. “ISC buried a base under our home?”

  “They didn’t build the installation. It’s from the Ruby Empire, over five thousand years ago. They�
�ve only managed to restore a few functions.”

  His voice tightened. “And never told us.”

  I spoke quietly. “You didn’t have a need to know.”

  “Then how would my brother Vyrl know?”

  “I think he left Lyshriol.”

  “Vyrl?” He made an incredulous sound. “He would never leave home.”

  “For something this important, he might.” I felt almost certain. My models were converging again. “ISC got him off Lyshriol, told him what he needed to know, planned all this, and snuck him back in with Jagernauts.”

  Eldrin didn’t look convinced. “Yes, a few Jagernauts might have slipped in, if they took no substantial equipment and settled for a one-way trip. ISC knows enough about the orbital system to evade it. But even if a team made it in, they wouldn’t be able to get out again. The Allieds’ primary concern is keeping us confined to the planet. I don’t see how anyone could have left, let alone Vyrl.”

  I swallowed, hating what I had to say. “Dryni, I think he escaped in your father’s coffin. Your nightmare came from him. You had it right after Chad told us about Vyrl’s actions on Lyshriol.”

  He stared at me. “That’s an appalling suggestion.”

  “They were desperate.” I touched his arm. “If that’s true, the Traders had nothing to do with your going berserk. I can return to Havyrl’s Valor.”

  Concern shaded his face. “You can’t be sure. I still might hurt you.”

  “You won’t.”

  “That’s your emotions speaking. Not your logic.”

  “They’re both part of the same thing.”

  He took my shoulders, gazing into my face. “I would like you to come back. I have missed you. But we can’t chance it.”

  Although I wanted to insist no danger existed, I couldn’t be certain. However, I had confidence in my models, and they predicted my safety with Eldrin. “My bodyguards will be with us. Dryni, listen. You and I need to present a united front, to the Allieds and Assembly, and for all the people who have risked so much to support us.”