The Final Key: Part Two of Triad (Saga of the Skolian Empire)

by Catherine Asaro

His imposing size and metallic coloring caught the eye, but the reason he riveted every gaze was because his people had feared he would die. Kurj Skolia, Imperator of the Skolian Imperialate, sat in a high-backed Academy chair and looked out over the cadets. In the harsh sunlight, his gold inner eyelids glinted like shields over his eyes.

  The Ruby Pharaoh was sitting next to him. The edges of her body rippled, the only clue she was attending as a holo, a creation of light sent through the webs. The Assembly and ISC concurred: the Imperator and Pharaoh should never be together in one place, even on a world as prodigiously well defended as Diesha. Kurj was on Diesha, so Dehya stayed on the Orbiter. She wore her hair swept into an elegant roll, and her dark jumpsuit had no adornment save the Imperialate insignia on her shoulder.

  A new insignia.

  In the past, the Imperialate symbol had shown a sun exploding out of a circle. Now the sun burst out of a triangle inscribed within the circle.

  Triangle.

  Triad.

  ISC allowed only three other members of the Ruby Dynasty to attend: Eldrinson, Roca, and Denric. They sat under the colonnade, separated from the rest of the audience. Abaj Jagernauts surrounded them. Althor was in the hospital and ISC had forbidden the rest of the family to travel, but they would watch through the web. They could have appeared as simulacrums, but Soz didn’t ask. To see them as only light, untouchable, made their absence harder. It was enough to know they watched.

  Secondary Foxer gave a speech, followed by Tapperhaven. By the time Commandant Blackmoor launched into his address, Soz was sleepy. The oration wound on and on until her head nodded forward. When her chin hit her chest, she jerked upright, embarrassed. It would hardly be fitting to snore on the august occasion of their graduation.

  Mercifully, Blackmoor finished his words of wisdom quickly and introduced Kurj. Soz’s attention picked up; this would be the first time her brother had spoken in public since the assassination attempt. He went to the podium, his tread measured. She thought he was moving slower than normal, but she doubted anyone noticed except their mother. To most, Kurj surely appeared as huge and imposing as ever. His presence would inspire the millions watching via the web. Although DMA ran every graduation live, most years hardly anyone linked in except families and friends of the graduates. Today was different; after the invasion and the attacks on the Ruby Dynasty, people wanted to see the Imperator, to assure themselves he lived and commanded as always.

  Kurj’s deep voice rolled through the air. “In a few moments, you will each become a Jagernaut. One of an elite, or so you’ve been told. I could promise you a career of glory and honor.” He paused, his eyes hidden behind their molten gold shields. Then he said, “I won’t.”

  He looked out over the assembled cadets. “We task you with a duty. Protect our people. Our future. When glory turns into nightmare and honor stretches thin, remember this: without you and those who fight with you, our freedom will die.” His voice rumbled. “You have chosen an unforgiving path, one that will take your mind, your spirit, even your soul into battle. And there will be battles. When the day comes that you question your sanity for this life you have chosen, remember your sacrifices are the reason our people endure against such formidable odds.”

  Soz stared at him. Not only was this the longest speech she had ever heard him make, it was also the darkest. She had expected uplifting words, proclamations for their future, the sort of things Foxer, Tapperhaven, and Blackmoor had said. On this day, when they celebrated their journey from cadet to Quaternary, none wanted to hear the truth. But Soz knew another truth; when she flew in a squadron, it was Kurj’s words she would remember. He had given them a reality to hang onto when the glossy veneer of being a Jag pilot wore thin.

  Kurj began the roll of graduates. One at a time, the seniors went to the stage to receive their diploma and the armbands that signified their rank. Soz settled in to wait; regardless of whether he called her Valdoria or Skolia, she would be toward the end. The roll wound on, until the fellow next to her stood and went up. There were only seventeen of them, but it took a while for each one.

  Then Kurj said, “Sauscony Lahaylia Valdoria Skolia.”

  The murmurs throughout the plaza went silent. Soz stood, aware of everyone staring. Kurj’s use of her dynastic name meant everyone knew a Ruby Dynasty heir graduated today. She made her way down the row of seated graduates until she reached the aisle that ran down the center of the seats. Gusts of wind tried to tug her curls out of their queue, but today she had taken control of them. She walked past graduates on the right and left, and she felt their gazes. Gods only knew what they thought, if she met their expectations for an Imperial heir or fell short. She was only one of two heirs now, and she wouldn’t have had it any other way.

  When Soz reached the stage, she walked to the podium where Blackmoor waited. Kurj stood with him, his face unreadable, the shields of his eyes lowered. Soz wondered if he had questioned whether or not this day would come. She certainly had.

  Soz stopped before Kurj and looked up at him.

  He spoke quietly. “Congratulations, Quaternary Valdoria.”

  Breezes blew across Soz’s face. “Thank you, sir.”

  Blackmoor handed her a scroll. It felt good and solid, an anachronism from an age when diplomas were written documents instead of entries in a mesh, a parchment done in glimmering ink by an artist, with seals of DMA, the J-Forces, and the Skolian Imperialate.

  The Commandant took a box from under the podium. He opened the lid to reveal eight gold armbands. Soz’s breath caught. This was it. Most Jagemauts wore uniforms with cloth bands as part of the sleeves, but the true mark of their rank were these gold rings, four thin ones on each upper arm for a Quaternary, three wider for Tertiary, two for Secondary, and one large band for Primary.

  Soz stood motionless while he slid the bands onto her left arm. She wanted to twist the scroll, but she controlled the impulse, merely passing it to her left hand so he could slide the bands up her right arm. When he had put on all eight, he nodded to her. It was done. She had become a Jagernaut.

  Instead of indicating she could leave, though, Kurj continued to watch her. They stood that way, facing each other. Then his inner lids rolled up to show the gold pupils and black irises of his eyes. He laid a hand on her shoulder, a gesture technically against regulations, though no one was going to say that to the Imperator.

  He spoke in a low voice. “Good work.”

  She wondered if he would ever know how much it meant to hear his approval, and to know he was willing to give it like this, for all to see.

  “I won’t disappoint you,” she said.

  “I never doubted it.”

  He lowered his arm and nodded, giving her leave to go. As she continued across the stage, she caught sight of her family up in the tiers. Soz grinned and lifted her diploma over her head, despite the strictures of DMA protocol, which required new Quaternaries to behave with decorum. She didn’t feel decorous. She wanted to hoot in triumph.

  As she descended the stage, Kurj called the next cadet. Soz strode back to her chair, past the marshals at each row, all of them honors cadets spiffy in their dress uniforms. She looked around for friends, but she didn’t know many seniors. So she scanned the risers. There, at the top row—yes, that was Grell and Jazar. She waved, then dropped her arm when a marshal scowled. Soz went to her seat and sat with the other new Jagernauts. She winked at the fellow who had gone just before her, and he laughed silently, then discreetly saluted her with his diploma.

  As the ceremony finished, the new Jagernauts rose in unison and saluted the Imperator, every one extending their arms straight out with fists clenched and wrists crossed. It was all very impressive, but what Soz really wanted to do was throw her diploma in the air and shout. She restrained herself; one could only push protocol so far.

  Finally the graduation was done. As the Quaternaries mingled with the audience, Soz went looking for her family. They were standing with their Abaj Jagernauts under the colo
nnade, separated from everyone. Her father’s spectacles glinted and her mother looked so thin. Denric was with them, his blond curls tousled. Soz met with them beyond the swirling crowd. Abaj surrounded them, deadly weapons themselves. They were a bulwark that separated her family from everyone else. Soz threw her arms around her father and mother, and then Denric, too, in keeping with her resolution to be nice to her brothers. Half the fun of having so many brothers was tormenting them, but she would be good for as long as she could manage.

  “Well,” her father said. He sounded pleased and bewildered.

  “I’m glad you could come,” Soz said. That was an understatement on the order of I’m glad the Trader invasion failed. She slanted a look at Denric. “You, too.”

  Her brother laughed. “I don’t know if I can deal with this new you, Soz. You have to glower at me every now and then.”

  She gave him a wicked grin. “Don’t worry.”

  Roca spoke in a quiet voice. “You’ve done well.”

  “I spent most of the time cleaning mechbots.” Soz said.

  Denric smirked. “Why am I not surprised?”

  Before Soz could make a suitable reply, something imolving Denric and spamoozala hell, her father burst out laughing. “Soshoni,” he said. “You will be a force to reckon with, eh? I am so proud of you.”

  Her eyes grew hot. “Thank you.”

  Roca glanced past her. “I think your friends are here.”

  Soz turned to see Grell and Jazar hanging back, out of the way of the seven-foot-tall Abaj. Grell had on dress-leathers, but since they were off duty, Jazar had worn civilian clothes, a sweater and slacks that accented his physique. His trousers fit his long legs snugly and reminded Soz why he had been such a distracting roommate. He wasn’t as big or as muscular as many cadets, nor did he have the flamboyance that gave Jagernauts a devilish reputation, but she liked him exactly the way he was. His chocolate-brown hair had grown out until it brushed his ears, which would have violated regulations if he had been in uniform. His face reminded her of the holovid actors who played rugged types wandering in the remote mountains of absurdly mysterious planets. Silly movies, but worth seeing for the sexy mountain men. Jazar was like that.

  “Heya, Soz,” Grell said, laughing. “You done staring at us?”

  Soz flushed and hoped no one had realized she was ogling Jazar. She went over and grabbed each of them by the arm. “Come meet my parents.”

  “Your mother already met me,” Jazar protested. Grell looked similarly alarmed.

  Soz pushed her friends forward. “Mother, Father, may I present Jazar Orand of Humberland Space Station and Grell del-Glynn from Parthonia.” To Grell and Jazar, she said, “My parents, Roca Skolia and Eldrinson Valdoria.” She hooked her thumb at Denric. “This is my brother.” Remembering her vow, she resisted the temptation to add commentary and just said, “Denric Valdoria.”

  “She’s being nice to me today,” Denric said. “I don’t know if I can handle it.” When Soz glared at him, he grinned, daring her to make a comeback. Grell tried to hide her smile by putting her hand up to scratch her chin. Jazar looked confused.

  Roca spoke with elegant courtesy. “We are pleased to meet you, Jazar and Grell.” Imperial protocol let her use their first names, but not the reverse for them, unless she gave permission.

  The Bard spoke in a baritone, with the lilt of his Lyshriol accent. “Yes, very pleased.”

  The ensuing small talk was strained and stiff, given the abject terror Soz’s family seemed to evoke in her friends. But her parents chatted with that gracious style they did so well, and soon Grell and Jazar relaxed. Soz wished she knew how her parents managed that.

  The plaza emptied out as people headed to various celebrations. Glancing beyond Soz, Grell stiffened. Jazar followed her gaze and froze as if he had turned into marble. Puzzled, Soz turned around. She saw nothing unusual, just Kurj walking toward them. Then again, that could explain terror in two second-year cadets.

  “Kurj! Good.” Roca waved, the only one of them who was perfectly relaxed in his presence.

  “My greetings, Mother.” As Kurj joined them, he spoke stiffly to Soz’s father. “Eldrinson.”

  “Kurj.” Eldrinson’s voice was flat, without its usual chime. But he met his stepson’s gaze. The Bard was a Key now, with a rank equal in the Triad to the Imperator.

  Kurj inclined his head, acknowledging his stepfather’s rank. It was painfully formal, but at least they were being civil.

  When Kurj glanced at Grell and Jazar, they started to salute. He lifted his hand. “At ease, cadets. Right now I’m just your friend’s brother.”

  They blinked at the concept of the Imperator being “just” anyone’s brother, but they did lower their arms.

  Kurj smiled at Soz, and his inner eyelids retracted. “Are you coming up to the palace later?”

  “You bet,” she told him.

  “We promised her food,” Roca said. “I can’t believe this girl eats so much.”

  “I need fuel,” Soz said. “It’s all that biomech.”

  Kurj’s smile quirked. “What, your microfusion reactor doesn’t supply enough?”

  “No taste,” Soz said.

  He actually laughed. “You better get yourself to Hazard’s, then.”

  “We’re all going.” Soz waved at Grell and Jazar, who looked dazed. It was a tradition as old as DMA that new graduates got drunk at Hazard’s after the ceremony.

  “Hazard’s?” Roca asked. “You mean the pub?”

  “Everyone will be there,” Soz said.

  Roca scowled at her. “Not you.”

  “Why not?”

  “You’re underage.”

  Ah, hell. Her mother would remember that; at eighteen, Soz had two years left before she reached legal age. It was annoying, because Lyshriol had no drinking age. The other seniors were twenty-one or twenty-two. Grell and Jazar were twenty. Although Soz doubted anyone would deny her the tradition, she wasn’t about to argue with her mother in front of her friends and Kurj. Flustered, she said, “Oh, well, I’ll have a virgin drink.”

  Grell spluttered a laugh. Jazar turned red and suddenly became interested in straightening his sleeve.

  Denric sent Soz a shielded thought. You’d certainly know about that drink.

  For flaming sakes. Soz decided her resolution to be nice to him was premature. So she had more talent at shooting Annihilators than wooing men. Who had time to think about romance? She glared. Some brothers would beat up anyone who dared besmirch their sister’s fine name.

  You would beat them up first, he thought.

  He was probably right. She supposed if she tried a gentler approach, she might have more success with men, but she doubted she could keep it up long enough to make a difference.

  Even so, he added. I would defend your fine name always. He even sounded like he meant it. He was still grinning, but she could be benign today.

  They talked a while longer, and Soz arranged to meet her parents and Denric at the Ruby Palace for dinner. Althor would join the family as well, if his doctors agreed. His recovery had progressed enough that he would soon move into the palace.

  Soz respected Grell and Jazar for their guts, because it wasn’t until after her family left, along with their Abaj escort, that a group of other cadets migrated over, including Rex Blackstone, the first-year student she had met after she ran the Echo, the one who had challenged her to command the toughest, smartest, most notorious squadron in the J-Force. Several female cadets were looking in his direction. Soz didn’t blame them. With his dark hair, chiseled features, and tall, muscled physique, the man was undeniably gorgeous.

  As they headed out to the pub, Rex fell into step with her. “Two years,” he said.

  “Two years?” she asked.

  “Never heard of anyone going through DMA that fast.”

  Soz smiled. “They wanted to get rid of me. I give them a headache.”

  His answering laugh was a throaty rumble. Gods. The man was devasta
ting. “You remember what I told you?” he asked.

  “I’m already making plans for my squadron.”

  “Good. I’m your Secondary.”

  “You’ve got to be a Quaternary and Tertiary first.”

  “No problem.”

  “What problem?” Jazar dropped back to walk with them. He wasn’t smiling.

  “Rex here is going to be the meanest Jagernaut pilot ever,” Soz said.

  Jazar gave Rex the once-over. “Lot of people say that.”

  Rex met the challenge in his stare. “You a cadet?”

  Ouch. Soz suspected Rex knew perfectly well Jazar was in the class ahead of him, regardless of Jazar’s clothes.

  “You should recognize me,” Jazar told him. “My team whipped your sorry first-year butts in the last track meet.”

  Soz held back her smile. She had never heard Jazar come on so strong.

  “We took pity on you,” Rex said.

  Soz couldn’t help but laugh. “Second-year always whips first-year. You remember, Jaz? We got our posteriors kicked last year.”

  “Posteriors?” His mouth curved upward. “You’re getting verbose in your old age.”

  “Old age, pah.”

  “That’s right.” He maneuvered closer, insinuating himself between her and Rex. “Pretty soon you’ll need medical help.”

  Soz gave him a quelling look. “Only after you.”

  He didn’t look the least bit quelled. “That’s all right, Soz. I’ll take it at your speed.” He slowed down.

  She whacked him across the shoulder. “You just wait!”

  “Ah, no.” He raised his hands. “I surrender.” His grin flashed. “Do whatever you want to me.”

  “Oh, Jaz.” They had fallen behind the others. Rex drifted away with the other cadets, taking a hint Soz hadn’t even realized she had given. Dusk was settling over the academy and only a line of red remained on the horizon. A few stars glittered in the indigo sky.

  “How does it feel to be a Jagernaut?” Jazar asked.

  “Same as before.” That wasn’t true, though. She spread her arms wide. “It feels great.” She knew ISC would face ESComm again, someday, but at least now they were better prepared. “It’s frightening and exhilarating.”