Ascendant Sun

by Catherine Asaro

  It unsettled Kelric to see this bold display of the Allied logo in Skolian territory. Edgewhirl was still a Skolian world. But the prominent Allied presence made it clear the power balance had shifted. The Allied Worlds of Earth formed a civilization less powerful than those of their massive neighbors—the Traders and the Skolians. So Earth had never posed a threat to those two warring powers. The Allied Worlds were strong enough, however, that neither Skolia nor the Traders could spare the resources from their own bitter conflicts to conquer Earth or the worlds she protected. Now the Allieds seemed to be moving into the chaos left by the Radiance War, expanding their power base while their mighty neighbors floundered.

  It was eerie, too, knowing that Allied logo symbolized the world of his ancestors. They were human, after all, all of them, all the races spread across three interstellar empires.

  Six millennia ago, an unknown race had seeded the planet Raylicon with humans and then vanished, leaving only their starships behind. From those ships, the displaced humans developed star travel while Earth was still in its Stone Age. So the Ruby Empire was born. Kelric’s ancestors. They set up colonies on other worlds, including Coba. But that fragile empire soon collapsed, leaving the colonies stranded for thousands of years.

  The Raylicans regained space travel about four centuries ago and began recovering the colonies. This time they built civilizations to endure: the Skolian Imperialate and the Trader Empire. Earth finally developed star travel in her twenty-second century—and had one powerhouse of a shock when she reached the stars. Her lost children were already here, busily making empires.

  The Allied woman left Kelric at a small office, giving him another of her charming smiles. Inside, a youth of about seventeen was sitting at a clay table reading a holograph, a slate that cycled through electronic documents. Stacks of cheap plasti-sheets covered the table.

  The name on the chest of the boy’s blue uniform identified him as Jay Rockworth, a youth volunteer in the Dawn Corps. Tall and long-legged, he still showed traces of gangly adolescence, but his physique was filling out into a man’s broad-shouldered frame. His black hair and brown eyes were unremarkable for an Earth native, but something about him tugged at Kelric. Jay looked familiar. His name too. Jay Rockworth. Where had Kelric heard it before?

  Bolt, he thought, trying to access the node in his spine. Search my memories. Find any reference to “Jay Rockworth.”

  No answer came. It didn’t surprise him. When his ship crashed on Coba, it had damaged both his body and Bolt. Although the Cobans healed his physical injuries, they had long ago lost the knowledge to repair implanted biomech systems. They also hadn’t set one of his broken legs quite right, leaving him with a limp.

  Bolt couldn’t be completely dead, though. He had toggled Kelric’s enhanced reflexes in the port, to rebuff the thief.

  At Jay’s gesture of invitation, Kelric sat in a chair at the table. Jay spoke in a pleasant voice, using Skolian Flag. “What can I do for you?”

  The boy’s accent disquieted Kelric. Where did that lilt come from? Although Skolian Flag was the official language of Skolia, the empire’s many peoples spoke hundreds of languages. But Rockworth was an Allied name. British, perhaps? Kelric didn’t know. He had heard Skolian spoken with a British accent and it didn’t sound like this.

  Then it hit him. Jay’s accent was Highton. Highton, the language spoken by the uppermost caste of the Trader Aristos.

  Kelric wondered if he was losing touch, that he heard the sound of Highton sadists in the innocent voice of a high-school boy from Earth. He rubbed his eyes, aware of his exhaustion. Maybe the lack of food had weakened him more than he realized.

  “Sir?” Jay asked. “I’ll help with the forms. You can fill them out in Skolian Flag, Eubic, Spanish, English, or Chinese. If you don’t write any of those, I can translate for you.”

  Kelric tried to answer—and discovered he couldn’t talk.

  He had “spoken” to the PA and library via computer. At the tattoo parlor he had simply pointed to what he wanted in the catalogue. Jay Rockworth was the first person he had tried to talk with since his escape. In fact, Jay was the first stranger he had spoken to in almost two decades. Eighteen years of oath-bound silence on Coba had strengthened his natural reticence, leaving him almost unable to engage in casual speech.

  Jay waited. Then he glanced at the heavy guards Kelric wore around his wrists. This time he spoke in Eubic, or Eubian, the official language of the taskmaker slaves who made up over 99 percent of the Trader population. The Eubians also had many tongues, but most learned Eubic as a second language.

  “Are you all right?” Jay asked.

  Kelric stared at him. What the hell? Was he losing his grip on reality? The boy spoke Eubic with a Skolian accent.

  This time Kelric made himself answer. In Skolian Flag. “I’m fine.”

  Jay’s concern didn’t fade. He shifted into Skolian. “When did you eat last?”

  “I don’t remember,” Kelric admitted. When he left here, he would find someplace to dine. And rest.

  Sympathy softened Jay’s face. He reached behind a pile of plasti-sheets and took out a bag of nuts. “Would you like some?”

  The simple kindness touched Kelric. “Thank you.” His hand was too big to fit into the bag, so he slid in his fingers and worked out a few nuts. They tasted sublime. It felt odd to eat solid food.

  “We can place you in one of the camps outside the city,” Jay said. “They’ll give you regular meals. Most of the refugees will ship back offworld, as we find places for you to go and ships to take you there.” He considered Kelric. “You might be able to get a job at the port. They need laborers who can do heavy work. Since the Collapse, the more web-intensive machinery hasn’t been working well.”

  Kelric nodded. The boy was good at his job, having already deduced his visitor was without home or funds. Jay’s fluent command of Skolian Flag also impressed him.

  Knowing his questions could reveal him in ways he didn’t intend, he spoke carefully. “I’ve been cut off from my family.”

  Jay rummaged through the plasti-sheets, then handed several to Kelric. “We can do a search if you fill these out. Without the psiberweb it may take a long time; inquiries have to come and go by starship. But we’ll find them if we can.” He handed over another stack of forms. “These will get you into a refugee camp.”

  Kelric only glanced at the sheets. “What about ISC bases? Are there any in the vicinity?”

  Jay shook his head. “Not anymore. The ASC had one up north, near Bartanna Shore on the Estaria continent, but they evacuated before the Collapse.”

  Why would the Advance Services Corps leave? “Where did they go?”

  “Apparently they were part of the Radiance invasion force.”

  “Can you tell me what happened?”

  “With the base personnel?”

  “With everything. The Radiance War.”

  Jay didn’t seem surprised by his disorientation. “Where would you like me to start?”

  “What happened to the Ruby Dynasty?” Kelric asked.

  He felt the boy’s sudden tension. Nothing showed on Jay’s face, but his gaze lost its warmth. Kelric might as well have thrown a bucket of snow at him.

  “They’re gone,” Jay said.

  No, Kelric thought. “Dead?”

  “Yes.” Jay’s face was stiff. “Or imprisoned.”

  “Surely not all of them.”

  “All.” The boy sounded as if he were clenching his teeth.

  Kelric somehow managed to keep his face from betraying his shock. He sat still, afraid that if he moved, spoke, did anything, it would reveal his inner turmoil.

  He wondered, too, at the intensity of Jay’s reaction. The boy seemed almost as upset as Kelric. Maybe it was true, what the political powers of Skolia believed, that the Ruby Dynasty served as a symbol of morale for the general populace. Kelric’s family descended from the ancient dynasty that had founded the Ruby Empire. Technically they no longer
ruled, but only served as keepers of the psiberweb. However, the survival of civilization depended on the web.

  When Kelric had composed himself enough to speak again, he asked the question he dreaded. “Which members of the dynasty died?”

  Jay answered in a flat voice. “Kurj Skolia. Sauscony Valdoria. Althor Valdoria. The Ruby Pharaoh, Dyhianna Selei. Her heir, Taquinil Selei. Her consort, Eldrin Valdoria.”

  Kelric didn’t know how he kept his face calm. The shock was too great. His aunt Dehya, the Pharaoh, dead? Her son Taquinil? Gone? And gods, not Eldrin. Not his brother, Eldrin, the firstborn, oldest of the Valdoria children, with his spectacular singing voice, his affectionate smile, and his disconcerted pride as his “little” brother Kelric had grown into a giant who towered over him.

  It couldn’t be true. They couldn’t be dead. Not all of them.

  “What of the rest?” he asked. What had happened to his parents? “Eldrinson Valdoria and Roca Skolia?”

  “They’re on Earth,” Jay said. “In protective custody.”

  Relief flooded Kelric, followed by a drive to see them, one so strong it almost overwhelmed him. “When do they return?”

  An edge came into Jay’s voice. “Never.”

  He saw no reason for his parents to stay on Earth. “Why?”

  “To ensure the war doesn’t start again.”

  Then Kelric understood. “The Allieds won’t let them go.”

  “That’s right.”

  “What about the rest of the family?”

  Jay’s fist clenched until the holograph in his hand ripped. He didn’t even notice. “The Allied military is holding their six surviving children prisoner on the world Lyshriol. You may not be familiar with the name; it’s called Skyfall by the general public. It’s the home world for one branch of the Ruby Dynasty.”

  Kelric knew the name Lyshriol perfectly well. He had grown up there. The war had brought even more changes than he realized if Earth now had control of Lyshriol, one of Imperial Skolia’s best-guarded possessions.

  “Who is Imperator now?” Kelric asked. It amazed him how calm his voice sounded when he was breaking inside. He kept his mind barriered, in case Jay had any empathic ability.

  “There is no Imperator,” Jay said. “Sauscony Valdoria had no heirs.” In an oddly strained voice, he added, “At least none she revealed.”

  Of all the scenarios Kelric had imagined for his return, none included finding himself the sole free member of his family. Was it possible the reports were premature? “Have the deaths been verified?”

  “What, you think an avenging angel will appear to bring Skolia back its glory? You want a savior from the Ruby Dynasty? You and a trillion other people. Well, I’ll tell you. It won’t happen. No one is left.” Bitterly Jay added, “Even if this miracle appeared, you think it would help? The Skolian, Eubian, and Allied Space Commands would do everything possible, legal or otherwise, to imprison or assassinate your ‘miracle.’”

  Kelric stared at him. “Why are you so angry?”

  A flush spread on Jay’s face. It was a moment before he answered. “I lost my parents in the war.”

  Quietly Kelric said, “I’m sorry.”

  Jay shook his head. “It’s the principle, too. Everyone treats the Ruby Dynasty as if they’re great prizes to own and control. Why don’t people leave them alone?”

  His remarks surprised Kelric. Even he saw why the Allieds refused to release his family. A Ruby Triad powered the psiberweb: the Imperator, the Ruby Pharaoh, and Kelric’s father. Until Kelric was able to join the Triad, his father was the only Triad member still living. By holding Eldrinson prisoner, Earth kept him from remaking the psiberweb. By holding the rest of the family, they stopped anyone else from joining the Triad. No Triad meant no web, and without the web, Skolia wouldn’t risk another war. The instantaneous communications provided by the psiberweb had given ISC its one advantage over the Eubian Traders. It was why Imperial Space Command survived despite having fewer personnel, vessels, and equipment than Eubian Space Command. ESComm lumbered: ISC sailed.

  What surprised Kelric more, though, was that Jay voiced his criticism to a Skolian citizen. As a Dawn Corps volunteer, Jay represented Earth.

  Curious, Kelric extended a probe to Jay’s mind. Before he made any contact, though, pain sparked in his temples. So he let his concentration relax. Instead he asked, “You don’t approve of your government’s actions?”

  Jay stiffened. “Of course I do.” He indicated the forms Kelric held. “Shall we begin?”

  Kelric had no intention of filling out anything. He handed Jay the papers. “I’ll come back.”

  “Are you sure?” As Jay’s focus returned to Kelric, his tension faded, replaced by genuine concern. In a gentle voice he said, “You look like you need a place to eat and rest.”

  His solicitude touched Kelric, as had his earlier kindness. Standing up, he said, “I’m fine. But thank you.” He wasn’t fine, but he couldn’t risk revealing more about himself.

  “Come back if you need anything.” Jay rose and extended his arm, his hand held sideways. Kelric blinked at it. Just as Jay began to look self-conscious, Kelric remembered the custom. He clasped Jay’s hand and moved his arm up and down. It felt odd to touch a stranger.

  After Kelric left the Dawn Corps, he sat on a bench outside and watched people go by. Exhaustion weighed on him. Even the thought of walking a few steps was too much. He had used up his depleted physical resources and now he just wanted to sleep. But he had to make plans. He needed to contact an ISC base, one strong enough to protect a member of the Ruby Dynasty.

  In normal times he probably could have found passage to ISC headquarters. But in this chaos, with civilization breaking down, he was painfully vulnerable. Nor would it be easy to find officers he could trust. Many in ISC stood to benefit from the current lack of leadership. If he approached the wrong people, he could end up in more trouble than if the Allieds caught him.

  Even his claim to his title was tenuous. The Imperator had no coronation. His investment consisted of joining the Triad powerlink, which he couldn’t do until he reached one of the Lock command stations used to create the psiberweb.

  He stood up—and spots swirled in his vision. Swaying, he dropped back on the bench and sat still, waiting for the vertigo to pass and his nausea to recede. When he felt steadier, he took a deep breath and stood again.

  He needed help. Soon. He was the only member of his family free to assume the leadership his people needed.

  And he was dying.

  The line of men outside the hostel stretched along an ocher wall that bordered the sandy street. Kelric waited in line, hugging his arms around his body for warmth. This overcrowded shelter for homeless men was the only place he had found that offered meals without requiring he give ID or fill out forms.

  The hostel was on Porthaven’s west side, where the city petered out into a saffron desert. He could look down the street into the barren flatlands and see all the way to the horizon. The curving edge of the small world seemed oddly close.

  The setting sun stained the city in hues of blood and fire. Behind him, in the east, the sky had darkened to a brooding dark red, like cooling lava, almost black. Overhead, it glowered a deep crimson, and on the western horizon it flamed scarlet, as bright as fluorescent glaze.

  Only the upper arch of the sun, Whirligig, showed above the horizon. Its molten edge rimmed the world like lava ready to pour across the flatlands in rivers of bronzed radiance. Kelric knew the long sunset shouldn’t surprise him, given the planet’s fifty-nine-hour day. But the evening seemed interminable as he waited, hoping for warmth, a meal, and a place to sleep.

  His mind felt clogged. Plugged with the debris of half-formed concepts. The street blurred around him into a dark copper limbo. At his back, the wall was hard. It moved against him … or maybe he moved against it … sliding down …

  Kelric hit the ground with a jarring thud. He would have fallen on his side, his arms still wrapped
around his body, if his shoulder hadn’t hit the legs of a man ahead of him. The fellow swore and swung around, his fists clenching. When he saw Kelric, his fists uncurled and he looked around, his motions frantic for some reason.

  Kelric tried to get up. He couldn’t do it. He had used up all his reserves of energy. So he sat against the wall, shivering, wondering why no one else seemed cold. Dimly, as if from far away, he heard alarmed voices, someone calling to someone else. Urgent words. He closed his eyes, trying to shut them out. Needed sleep …

  “Sir?” The man spoke in Skolian Flag.

  Kelric opened his eyes. The man kneeling in front of him wore the beige uniform of the Imperial Relief Allocation Service, a civilian group run by the Skolian government. The IRAS patch on his shoulder identified him as a medic, and he held a glossy roll of diagnostic tape.

  “Do you mind if I examine you?” the man asked.

  “No,” Kelric said. He was past caring what anyone did.

  With a gentle touch, the medic tilted Kelric’s head to the side and unrolled the tape along his neck. He studied the holos rotating above it, which Kelric could see by slanting his gaze downward. Glyphs were probably scrolling across the tape, but he had no way to read those.

  The medic’s face paled. “I think you better come inside.”

  “All right,” Kelric said. It was, after all, why he had come here. Except he no longer had the energy to get up.

  Someone in line said, “We’ve been here longer,” and another voice said, “What the bloody hell do we have to do to get in?” Someone else said, “You have to die, jerkoid.”

  The words bounced off Kelric. Two armed IRAS officers were watching the line now. He regarded them with a sense of floating. The medic was talking again, but he could no longer process the words. He watched the man’s mouth move. A humming noise filled his ears, thrumming, buzzing, burring, until it blended with reality and took away his thoughts.

  Four orderlies appeared with an air stretcher. They lifted Kelric onto it and laid him on his back. Red sky arched above him, limitless and free. His mind wafted up into the soughing, seductive breezes. Softly, so softly floating. Finally to rest. After so long, finally to rest …