“Would you be?” For Coop’s sake, Althor didn’t want that scene repeated in earnest. Although he had hoped his father could get out here without arousing suspicion, he hadn’t expected him to use Coop.
“Would I be what?” his father asked.
“Angry if he were my lover?”
“I would like to think I would see the best in any companion you chose.” Squinting at his son, he asked, “Is he, ah—your lover?”
“He’s an artist.” In truth, Althor didn’t know yet where he stood with Coop. So all he said was, “I’m his patron.”
“Then what is this about?” Eldrinson spread his hands. “I couldn’t make sense of that convoluted message you had Basalt send me. I had to guess what you wanted. Give you an excuse to meet in private, yes? Without arousing the suspicion of all the monitors that watch us?”
“Yes.” Althor stood up and paced across the glade. “What happened that night Soz tried to recapture Jaibriol Qox?”
His father blinked. “What?”
“The night Qox escaped.” He turned to his father. “What happened?”
Eldrinson’s puzzlement intensified, shaded by old grief. “You’ve seen my statement about your sister’s death. Why dredge it up now?”
“I want to know why Soz was at the palace.”
“I was alone there. She came up as my bodyguard.”
“Why? That palace has the best security available.”
Eldrinson shrugged. “Kurj ordered it. Ask him.”
“When did Qox show up at the palace?”
“You’re more in a position to know those details than me.”
Althor kept his voice cold. “I want to hear your version.”
“Why does this sound like an interrogation?”
“Just tell me.”
Eldrinson watched him with a baffled look. “Apparently an ESComm special forces team freed Qox. But something went wrong. I don’t know how he ended up at the palace. He got to a flier on the roof. To escape the planetary cordon, he activated the ship’s stardrive. Your sister went after him and they vanished.”
“How did he penetrate palace security?”
“I don’t know.”
“Soz must have said something.” Althor tried to decipher his father’s closed expression. “Security is her expertise.”
“I really can’t say. You know how I am with computers.”
Althor understood what he meant. Eldrinson came from a world that had been isolated for millennia after the fall of the Ruby Empire. The dependence of the settlers on their ancient psiberweb proved disastrous when their technology decayed. They lost everything, even their memory of the Ruby Empire. Their focus on breeding psions went awry as the gene pool mutated and they ended up with an inability to process written language. Eldrinson was illiterate, not only with language, but with computers as well. However, psiberspace was his universe. He had no need to understand the technology. All he had to do was think. And so he did, with a facility in the web greater than anyone else alive.
“Did you work in the web the night Soz died?” Althor asked.
“No.” Eldrinson studied him. “What is it you’re after?”
“What about Soz?”
“What about her?”
“Did she perform any web operations that night?”
“Of course. I don’t know what.”
“I think you do.”
Quietly Eldrinson said, “Perhaps you better tell me what this is about.”
Althor came back and sat on the bench. “I want to know why Soz erased a data file on your Prime account that night.”
When Eldrinson’s face paled, Althor felt as if the ground dropped out from his feet. Until that moment he had, deep within himself, believed in his father’s innocence. Now he knew otherwise—and it gave him an impossible choice. He loved his father more than his life. But he had a duty to ISC and the empire that depended on its protection. Why would his father have used his Prime—his hot line to the Allied president—only hours before Soz went to her death? And why would Soz, a top-ranking ISC intelligence agent, have tried to erase all trace of that communication?
Althor suddenly remembered the epileptic seizure his father had suffered four years ago, prior to the Investment ceremony. The doctors had called it a stress response brought on by his grief over Soz’s death. But what if it came from some other source? Then the precautions they took to protect him against grief would have been more likely to fail.
As they had.
Althor realized he was clenching his fists on his knees. He exhaled, making his hands relax. “What could you have possibly had to say to the Allied president when Soz and Jaibriol Qox were both at the palace? Father, what?”
“I never spoke to President Calloway,” Eldrinson said.
“You’re lying.”
“Althor, don’t.”
“Why?” He spread his hands, no longer able to maintain his impassive façade. “Gods, give me a reason not to.”
His father said nothing. After waiting, Althor said, “The night Soz went to her death, someone used your Prime account.” He stood up. “I have to take this to Kurj.”
“Althor, no.”
“I have no choice.”
Eldrinson took a breath. “She’s still alive.”
“What?”
“Sauscony is alive.”
Althor slowly sat down again. “That’s impossible.”
“No. It isn’t.”
Althor couldn’t absorb the words. They refused to register. All he could think to say was, “You went through the funeral, the memorial services, my own Investment, thinking that Soz was alive?”
Eldrinson swallowed. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“President Calloway helped a Skolian and a Trader go into exile together.”
“What does this have to do with Soz?”
“The Trader was Jaibriol Qox.” Softly he added, “The Skolian was your sister.”
Althor froze. Breezes rustled the glade and a bird chirped in a tree. For the first time he realized how much more gray had appeared in his father’s hair these last few years.
When Althor could finally speak, he said, “No.”
Eldrinson was watching him like a man awaiting execution. “What are you going to do?”
“Father, tell me this is a joke.” Althor struggled to keep his voice even. “An elaborate game. You’re angry about Coop. It stirred up our old arguments and now you’re doing this.”
“I would never do such a thing. You know that.”
“You want me to believe my sister went into exile with Jaibriol Qox? That you committed treason at a level so profound it undermines every principle we live by?”
“It isn’t that way.”
“Then tell me what way it is.”
Eldrinson exhaled. “Qox and your sister wanted to marry.”
“You’re insane.”
“No. Quite sane.”
“Soz is incapable of loving a Highton.”
“He isn’t Highton.”
Althor felt as if he had missed a beat in the tempo of their conversation. “What?”
“He’s only one-quarter Highton,” Eldrinson said. “Jaibriol Qox is a Rhon psion. The Qox Dynasty bred itself an answer to us. But he wanted nothing to do with them. Jaibriol and Soz met someplace, I don’t know how. On Delos, I think.”
Althor wondered if he had a problem with his hearing. “Jaibriol Qox is Rhon?”
“Yes.”
“The heir to the Carnelian Throne. He is Rhon.”
“Yes.”
“The man destined to rule our enemies.”
“Yes.”
“The enemies we manage to hold off only because we are Rhon and they aren’t.”
“Yes.”
“And you freed him.”
“Yes.”
“Father, I can’t believe this.”
“I trust him.”
“Then you truly have gone mad.”
Eldrin
son spread his hands. “I made the best decision I could.”
“How did Qox really get into the palace?”
“Soz brought him. She’s the one who freed him. His escape was detected before they could get offworld, so she took him to the last place she thought ISC would look.”
It made sense, in its own horrifying way. “Surely they knew that sooner or later someone would discover them.” Althor didn’t add the obvious: and execute them.
“They knew. They thought they were going to die. I made it possible for them to live.” Eldrinson swallowed. “Will you go to Kurj with this?”
Althor knew full well what would happen if Kurj learned the truth. “He’ll throw you in prison for life. Maybe execute you. Then he’ll find Qox and Soz and execute them.”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Gods.” Althor got up and paced across the glade, back and forth. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Don’t do anything.”
He stopped. “The Highton Heir is out there making babies with my sister and you want me to do nothing?”
“Yes.”
Althor shook his head. “The data isn’t secured.”
“Sauscony erased it.”
“If you mean the session on your Prime, yes, she did. If I hadn’t known so much about it because I’m your son, even I wouldn’t have found it.” He tapped his temple. “I mean it isn’t secured here. You have information that could tear apart three empires. Unprotected information. What if someone captures you? How will you keep them from extracting what you know?”
“That’s a risk we all live with.”
Althor knew he could be court-martialed for what he was about to tell his father. “If I’m interrogated, my spinal node triggers my biomech web to release chemicals that block certain receptors in my brain. It prevents me from speaking. Other triggers can disrupt neural pathways, to erase my memories. I can’t reveal what I don’t remember.”
Eldrinson blanched. “You let ISC do that to you?”
Softly Althor said, “They did it to you too. When they implanted your cyberlock.”
His father stared at him. “That’s obscene.”
“Is it? Do you know what those triggers protect? In my case military secrets, but more than that. The Ruby Dynasty. Mother. You. All of us. If you’re captured, you can’t betray the people you love.”
Eldrinson took a moment to assimilate it. In a quieter voice, he said, “If it protects your mother and you children, I can live with it.”
Althor felt as if he were breaking. How could he betray this man who had taught him loyalty and integrity? Yet the very strengths that Eldrinson had imparted to him, through his example and guidance, now demanded he turn his father over to ISC.
Slowly Althor said, “I have, all my life, admired you.”
“I’m sorry if I’ve destroyed that.”
“You haven’t, Father.” Althor paused. “You say you made the best decision you could. I must do the same.”
Eldrinson tensed. “And?”
Althor exhaled. “We never discussed this. Jaibriol Qox and Sauscony Valdoria are dead.”
Color returned to Eldrinson’s face. “Thank you.”
Althor thought of the first time he had gone into battle. At sixteen, before he went offworld to attend military school, he rode once with his father’s army. In addition to his Lyshrioli weapons, a sword and lance, Althor had also taken a laser carbine.
And so he had ended war on Lyshriol.
One carbine destroyed the balance of power among the peoples of the entire continent. No Lyshrioli weapon could stand against it. His father had become a legend then, the man who wed a golden woman from the stars and sired giants who commanded the lightning. People came from all over to honor him.
As they had done then, so now Althor knelt to his father. He swore his loyalty and his silence, but this time in doing so he committed treason against the empire he was destined to rule.
8
In the gazebo at the top of the tall tower, an arched opening in one wall stretched from floor to ceiling. Ur Qox stood in front of the archway, gazing out at the Jaizire Mountains of Glory. His Razer bodyguards were posted around the gazebo and a quasis field shimmered in the open space before him. Outside, mist hung over the tangled hills, eerily quiet, with a hint of mystery. It was a lush scene, richly green and wild, with tendrils of luminescent fog curling in the air and around the foliage.
A rustle sounded behind him. Turning, he saw Lieutenant Varque, a member of the ESComm unit that had accompanied him to this mountain retreat. Varque wore a gray uniform with blue stripes down the trousers, crimson braid on his sleeves, and a gunmetal slave collar. He knelt on one knee, his forearm resting on his thigh, his head bowed.
“You may rise,” Qox said.
Varque stood and bowed. “My honor at your esteemed presence, Your Highness.”
“Is Senator Tarrington waiting in the guardroom?” Qox asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Very well. Bring him up.”
After Varque left, Qox turned back to watch the veils of mist.
A muffled tread of feet behind him soon interrupted the silence. After several minutes, Qox turned. Senator Jack Tarrington was waiting in the center of the gazebo, flanked by four ESComm soldiers. A tall man with gray-streaked dark hair, Tarrington was a huskier, older version of his son. He wore a dark suit, drawing no attention to himself, and he knelt to the emperor with far more grace than had his son three years ago.
Qox spoke in Highton. “You may rise.”
Tarrington stood and bowed, with the subtle flourish of his left fist placed at his waist, thumb pointing to the right to indicate optimism. Qox noted the detail. This Allied politician had taken the time to learn nuances of Eubian protocol.
“Attend me,” the emperor said.
Tarrington came over and they stood side by side, watching the mists. “I hope your accommodations are sufficient,” Qox said.
“Superb, Your Highness.” Tarrington spoke Highton with a lilting accent. “Your hospitality has no equal.”
It was the usual flattery, and expected, but still, this senator had enough savvy to learn Highton protocol, which was more than could be said for most Allied or Imperial citizens.
“What think you of the treaty negotiations so far?” Qox asked.
Only the barest stiffening in Tarrington’s posture betrayed his reaction. He was here to observe the Eubian-Allied treaty discussions being conducted in Qox’s luxurious hunting lodge. Given the inauspicious state of the stalled negotiations, it would be interesting to see how the senator responded: say too little and he offended an emperor; say too much and he compromised the negotiating position of his people; choose a poor turn of phrase and he compromised himself.
“We have optimism,” Tarrington said. “Particularly in the auspicious grace of Glory.”
Qox almost smiled. We have optimism; the traditional Aristo phrase had many meanings, depending on context. Here it was shorthand for an older and more baroque phrase: I honor your authority, esteem your name, stand in awe of your magnificence, and will say no more. What it really meant was I won’t tell you a thing, but I’ll do it in language ornate enough for an emperor. The praise of Glory, ancestral home of the Qox Dynasty, was an unnecessary but well-chosen diplomatic note.
“How is your son, Jessie?” Qox asked.
“He does well, Your Highness, thanks to your benevolence.” Genuine gratitude showed on Tarrington’s face. “He graduated from Yale this year. With honors.”
Qox nodded. The informal thanks didn’t translate well into Highton and the with honors could have been omitted; he had no interest in the little awards the Allieds bestowed on their children. But the senator otherwise spoke well, his flattery predictable but with an attention to protocol that showed his respect more eloquently than the clichéd words themselves.
According to Qox’s informants, Tarrington’s son had taken a year off from his studies and spent it
in therapy, recovering from his “trauma.” Qox had ordered the “pirates” sentenced to prison after a well publicized trial presided over by the High Judge herself, Calope Muze, one of Qox’s distant cousins. In private, Qox commuted the sentences and compensated the crew for their trouble. Having met Jessie, he understood why the frigate officers had acted as they did, even if they had tried to cover it up later. They were half Aristo. That they felt the need for a provider was a natural result of the elevated blood in their veins. And Jessie was practically shouting for Aristo attention, with the way he exuded such empathic strength.
Qox clasped his hands behind his back and looked out at the mist-shrouded hills. “I can appreciate the joy in seeing one’s son thrive.”
“Our children are our immortality,” Tarrington said.
An interesting response. Immortality. Qox would have thought it more a Eubian concept. Allieds and Skolians exhibited little urgency in keeping their bloodlines true. They tore themselves apart with their differences while Hightons grew ever stronger in their uniformity. Odd to think that the Ruby Dynasty came closest among them to attaining a true bloodline, with their desperate attempts to produce viable Rhon psions by inbreeding. But such matings only further weakened them.
Qox knew what most Hightons refused to acknowledge, that inbreeding also sapped the Hightons of their vitality. He had long suspected that his superior acuity derived from his more varied genetic makeup. An irony indeed, if what gave him the edge to conquer the Ruby Dynasty came from the same source as their treasured Rhon traits. It was fitting that they should, in that manner, participate in their own subjugation.
He considered the senator. Tarrington was a politician and politicians had agendas. However, he was proving himself reasonably adept at the intricacies of Highton interaction.
“Your son is an impressive young man,” Qox said. The boy had certainly impressed Viquara.
Tarrington inclined his head at the compliment. “Jessie admires you.”
Qox read far more than Tarrington realized he revealed with that comment. Subtexts of gesture, face, and body accompanied his words. Tarrington had recognized his son’s hopeless passion for the empress. He also saw that Jessie respected Ur Qox despite his unrequited desire for the man’s wife. That Jessie admired a man he had every reason to hate, in both personal and general terms, impressed Tarrington far more than any accolades.
The Radiant Seas Page 13
