Fierin sighed. “I see. You are blaming yourself for imagined shortcomings?”
The pod stopped, but neither of them moved.
“They are real,” Osri said with low-voiced conviction. “I have fumbled through half my life with a narrow view of the universe, throwing away anything that didn’t fit it. I spent all those weeks on the Telvarna being trained by a first-rate Golgol chef, and all I did was complain—bitterly—about how lowering it was to my prestige. If Brandon had been put in the galley, he would have taken up the lessons with enthusiasm. And he’d be somewhere, right now, preparing a rare meal to impress the hell out of someone.”
“Stop it,” Fierin said, raising both hands and stretching them toward Osri’s face, though she did not touch him.. “Stop. Why do this? You’re not him. So what? He’s not you.”
“Telos be praised.”
“Osri,” Fierin exclaimed, now thoroughly exasperated. “His Majesty is a fine person, and I’m glad he’s who he is, but you know, I don’t find him all that interesting, except in a kind of remote way. He’s so like Vannis, and Srivashti—the good side of Srivashti—and all the rest of them. I have loved this last few days more than any time in my life since my parents died—even before—because for the first time in my life I knew I could believe what I heard. You are honest. You say what you mean. And . . .”
She hesitated. After several years of thoughtless sex and physical trespass being the norm, she had been sequestered with someone who had taken great care not to touch her. Not just avoidance, but once when she had touched Osri, he had recoiled.
Sensitive to the chemistry of attraction, she had known at first that he rejected her kind, if not her personally. Later, she sensed his ambivalence.
Among the Douloi the game of seduction was conducted by degree, each party stepping forward and back, like a dance, with nothing direct ever said and no promises given. Nothing that could create bad memories—or political entanglements. Except that we are human beings, and the entanglements happen anyway, she thought. Just as I permitted Srivashti to make my life a nightmare because I thought he’d keep me safe.
Though Srivashti had put a formidable wall between her and the rest of the world, she had never truly been safe with him, and gradually she had come to believe that safety, like truth and integrity, were mere myth.
Until she met Osri vlith-Omilov, in whom she rediscovered all three.
She admired him, trusted him, and gradually had come to find his person as irresistible as his mind. What he thought showed in his face; he wore no scents but his own clean masculine smell. All his awkwardness and fumbling was inexpressibly endearing.
He hadn’t moved yet—they still sat in the little pod, and she could hear his breathing, Like hers, fast and compressed. She reached out again, and this time gently cupped her hands around his face.
He did not recoil, or move away. His body tensed, but then he brought his own hands up and touched her fingers.
“I’m glad you don’t want to get up early,” she said. And half-smothered a laugh when his face flushed crimson to the roots of his hair.
He peered into her face, and in spite of the fast breathing, and the flush of honest desire, his eyes expressed his doubt. “Are you sure it’s me you want? I mean, you owe me nothing. You are free to come and go. I would never . . .”
She pulled him toward her and whispered into his ear, “But I would.” And delicately bit his ear.
He shot upright, then stared at her startled, and to her delight, very much aroused.
She laughed, and said tremulously, “This is the first time I’ve ever had a choice. A real one, I mean. And out of anybody I know, anyone I could have, I choose you.”
The first kiss was clumsy, desperate. The second, bliss.
o0o
Despite having been assured of a seat in the Kamera, Vannis arrived early the next day. As was customary in all Panarchic courts of justice, there was only one public entrance, admitting Polloi and Douloi alike. Douloi seating had been decided by preference and deference in deft maneuvers consuming many days of distraction welcomed by powerful people with nothing better to do. Polloi seating was handled by lottery.
Skillfully using precedence to cut through the already formidable crowd, Vannis selected a seat at a modest remove, from which she could watch everyone. The raucous shouts of the crowd waiting outside as each lottery number was announced reached well inside the central chamber.
The audience on the Douloi side comprised a higher rank than fashion would have decreed: normally few Douloi attended any trial concerning a rank below theirs. But among the Tetrad Centrum Douloi, Vannis did not see any Vakianos connections, which was doubtless perceived as a bad sign for the Kendrians. Of course Torigan’s clients and connections were out in force, and the Archon himself sat right in front, knees wide, fists planted on them in self-assured challenge. He plainly expected to triumph.
Those Polloi fortunate in the lottery filed in one at a time, some clutching handvids with which they had been watching the novosti coverage of the trial while waiting.
No Douloi would commit such a solecism, although more than one boswell had been surreptitiously tuned to the audio feeds. But none of those devices could access the DataNet from within the chamber during a capital trial; by long tradition, messages in and out would be carried only by messengers. Only the judges could access the DataNet while the trial was in progress. Boswelled privacies would still be possible, but only within the chamber.
At the defense table, Tovr Ixvan spoke quietly to Kendrian, whose ritual black and white harlequin tunic hung loosely on him. Vannis noted with interest that they sat on the Polloi side of the courtroom, in symbolic repudiation of Kendrian’s Douloi origins. The entire crew of the Telvarna sat near the defense, except for the Eya’a. The Kelly trinity Dartinus-Portos-Atos was also there. Vannis spotted two other Kelly trinities positioned in the chamber. She hadn’t noticed them at first—which indicated how little relative importance they held in the social hierarchy on Ares.
Vannis’s gaze arrowed to Vi’ya’s tall, straight-backed figure in the midst of her crew. Her profile was severe, the ubiquitous tail of shiny black hair lying like midnight against the space-dark clothing. Vannis thought of their brief conversation the night before.
“We will leave directly after the trial,” Vi’ya had said, while Brandon was busy talking to Artorus Vahn and Jaim.
“How can you get away so easily?” Vannis had wondered if she had successfully hid her surge of relief, even pleasure. She’d tried to.
“We’re to perform an experiment for Gnostor Omilov,” was the calm reply. “There will be no problem with civilian or military authorities.”
“Does Brandon know?”
“He does not.”
“Ah. So my part is what, to deflect him if there is a need?”
“Please.”
“What am I to tell him if he discovers my complicity?”
“Whatever you will,” the Dol’jharian said with the faintest air of surprise, and Vannis, the experienced social fencer, wished she had not used the word “complicity.”
She knows, Vannis thought, watching the calm, untroubled profile in the courtroom. After all her careful preparations, her efforts to shield her true motivations, she was probably as opaque to Vi’ya as clearest crystal. No wonder people loathed tempaths.
Yet Vannis acknowledged that the woman had done absolutely nothing with her knowledge. Used to the subtle ways Douloi manipulated their connections with those of higher rank, the complete lack of a gloating tone was astonishing. Were Dol’jharians so alien to normal emotion? Or did a liaison with a ruling panarch really mean nothing to a Rifter?
Except her whole crew was not in on this plan, Vannis realized, looking along the row. There was the little blonde, her merry face wreathed in smiles as she whispered behind a small hand to Ivard and pointed at someone across the room. That was Marim, the one who talked so much to the novosti, who everyone said was a c
heat and a liar. The fact that Marim had not been present at either conference at the Enclave indicated that some things were kept secret even from Vi’ya’s own crew.
If Vi’ya did not care at all, then why did she stay the entire night at the Enclave? Because Vannis knew she had; she’d made her own plan, using the excuse of pre-trial nerves, to try to contact Brandon once everyone had left the Enclave, only to get the code that indicated he was not wearing his boswell.
Vannis had squandered most of the rest of the night finding out, through labyrinthine methods, that Vi’ya alone had not gone back to Detention Five—or to her ship, where she had been sleeping of late.
Brandon sat by himself—flanked by two guards—on a slightly raised dais directly opposite the judges’ box, the symbolic link between Douloi and Polloi. Next to him a single empty chair was the subject of whispered colloquies on both sides.
Srivashti also sat in front, midway along a glittering line of Tetrad Centrum Douloi. Vannis was watching him when Fierin entered, looking well and happy, deriving fierce pleasure from his reaction: she saw the inadvertent indrawn breath that he could not hide.
Fierin walked with head high, ignoring everyone except her brother. The noise dipped as everyone observed the two greeting each other for the first time in all those years—from her a tender smile and a press of her hand to his, from him a quick kiss to her wrist—before she stepped up on the royal dais, taking her place at Brandon’s side.
A low, fast murmur of speculation broke out, spreading through Douloi and Polloi alike.
All the Polloi had now been seated in the packed chamber. The conversations stopped as the bailiff entered and the chief sergeant-executor pulled the doors shut behind him.
“Oyez, oyez,” the bailiff intoned in the ancient formula that predated Exile. “Let all those who demand justice of the Mandala draw nigh and make their petitions.” Polloi laid aside their handvids as the suppressors cut in, denying access to the DataNet.
Vannis’s heartbeat pattered against her ribs. That was the signal for her console, back at her villa, to release the datapacket to Nik Cormoran. She hoped the timing would work; it was no use checking her boswell.
The three Justicials entered as the cry of the bailiff ceased, accompanied by a rustle of cloth and a susurrus of whispers as everyone rose, including Brandon. The judges seated themselves, and waited for silence. The prosecutor, Tovr Ixvan, and Kendrian remained standing.
Vannis studied the three jurists with interest: the novosti coverage on them had been exhaustive. The Janus, in the center and slightly elevated above his fellows, was Bleston ban-Nirtus-Vescor, his sallow-olive face and grim slash of a mouth giving fair warning of his reputation for severity and impatience with eloquence. He looked like Death in the Tale of Years.
To his right sat the Manumit, the Judge of the Unbinding, Tessere nyr-Harristom, her white hair tightly curled, her black eyes near-hidden in pouchy eyelids under heavy brows the same color as her skin. The novosti had emphasized her eidetic knowledge of Nomic Universals—it was rumored she rarely needed to refer to the powerful dataconsole each jurist commanded during a trial. To the left of the Janus sat Armano Psmyth, the Carcer, a short, red-faced man, his eyes bulging in a permanent expression of choler and disdain. The Judge of the Binding was Highdweller Polloi, from a long and impressive line; the novosti had speculated on her probable severity toward Kendrian, a Douloi.
The prosecutor Piola ban-Attibar stepped forward, a woman of middle years famous for many successful trials on the circuits in Aleph-Null Nord. No doubt mindful of Nirtus-Vescor’s reputation, she spoke briefly.
“The Mandala will show that, on the evening of Jaspar 25th, 951 Anno Arkad, in the city of Desharais on Torigan Prime, Jesimar vlith-Kendrian did willfully and with premeditation kill his mother and father and five family clients.”
She laid out the particulars of the indictment in brief, competent words, then retired with a bow to the bench.
Tovr Ixvan did not move from behind the table. “The defense reserves,” he said curtly. He bowed and seated himself as a murmur of comment broke out; Kendrian stared at him, dropped his head and sat down. No, he collapsed into his seat, as though he’d lost the last of his will to stand.
The Janus tapped the gong on his desk.
“Silence for justice,” he snapped. “Proceed,” he directed the prosecution.
Piola ban-Attimar hesitated, turning an assessing glance at Tovr Ixvan. This move had obviously upset all her calculations. And others’ as well. Vannis noted a quick glance pass between al-Gessinav and Srivashti while Torigan looked back and forth, glowering. He obviously knew something was wrong.
No one spoke or stirred as she finally stood and described, in clinically disgusting detail, what had been done to the Kendrians and five others—servants and relatives. It took several hours to lay out, including vid depositions from witnesses not present. Then, having built this vivid mental picture, she assembled a damning image of a bored, sulky youth who, the night before the murder, had had a violent argument with his parents about his fitness to travel to Minerva to take the entrance exam for the Naval Academy.
When she got to the few verifiable facts about his day, the implication was clear. Through all this the defense vocat participated minimally, interpolating only questions of clarification, objecting only when the prosecution attempted to introduce as evidence the naval bonus chip on the Telvarna.
“The alleged ‘violent and lawless episodes’ of the defendant’s subsequent life,” said Ixvan in his dry voice, “are not admissible in this action.” He tapped his console, relaying precedents to the jurists.
The vocat’s quotation of the prosecution’s characterization, delivered in a manner reminiscent of the novosti frenzy that had been building for months now, was as much a part of his objection as those precedents, Vannis saw, appreciating his stealth tactic. And, judging from the Janus’s reaction, even more effective.
“The Mandala will confine itself to matters of law,” he said grumpily, “not hearsay. I assume the honorable prosecutor is not interested in a career with the feeds?”
Ban-Attimar colored and concluded her remarks with a wooden neutrality that suggested it was extempore—that she’d planned a far more fiery indictment, relying heavily on the emotional freight of the Rifter connection.
When she finished, the Janus said, “The afternoon approaches, and this seems a good time to adjourn for lunch. Has the honored defense any objection?”
Vannis tingled with anxiety: she had thought long about the timing, concluding that the trial would be short. If they broke now, then took time reassembling, Cormoran would not wait for the trial’s conclusion to break the story, which had to be the biggest of his career. And her careful planning would be worthless.
Ixvan rose and bowed. “With your honors’ indulgence, I believe the defense can conclude this matter with a clarity satisfying both justice and appetite.”
Nirtus-Vescor blinked. He conferred briefly with his fellow jurists; then his mouth quirked, breaking the death-like appearance of his face.
“We will indulge the defense. Proceed.”
Vannis held her breath, watching Torigan shift impatiently. Both Hesthar and Srivashti stilled, their attention concentrated on the vocat.
With meticulous care, Ixvan separated out the few facts from the innuendo, showing the ambiguity of the circumstantial evidence. Even Vannis, ignorant of the fine points of law, could see how he was using the prosecution’s case to focus the court’s attention on the aspects that dovetailed with the information the two noderunners had dug up.
Ixvan paused, looking back at his client and smiling.
“But that is all prelude to the truth. The Sanctus Gabriel said:
“The Hand of Telos has five fingers
Forth from the first came first the word
The echo of that act still lingers
Yet to the proud a sound unheard.”
Vannis saw Brandon look up shar
ply.
“As with all truths, that one has myriad levels,” Ixvan continued. “And any noderunner will tell you that the echoes of data linger long on the DataNet.”
He described briefly, with admirable perspicuity, the replication of data that made the DataNet a cohesive whole as Torigan’s jowly face paled, his lips compressed with anger and growing fear. Srivashti’s profile was hard-etched, and Hesthar’s rigidity made her look as thin and brittle as glass.
“So the echoes of this act, this murder, too, still linger, unheard by the prideful man who ordered them committed,” Ixvan said.
The guards standing at every door shifted their positions slightly, arms at the ready. They were Marines, in the garb of court sergeants out of deference to civilian justice. As the vocat’s dry, rumbling voice went on to detail how professional assassins had been hired to kill the Kendrians and to destroy their database, and how the murderers had been in their turn eradicated, covert looks, restless stirrings, and whispers moved through the audience like ripples through a lake just before a storm strikes.
The prosecutor, with a desperation born of anger, probed at Ixvan’s findings—ending with the claim that if anyone had hired those four, it must have been Kendrian. But instead of answering, Ixvan tapped a code into his console and then strode forward with a sheaf of flimsies, handing them to the Janus.
From the rest of the room the jurists were merely three impassive figures, one high, two low, seated behind carved wooden benches, but they had extremely sophisticated consoles at their fingertips, and they were in constant communication.
They were already masters of the information on the flimsies, whose use was purely symbolic, by the time Ixvan turned around and looked straight at the Archon of Torigan. “That is the proof that the hirelings were put to this task by the Archon of Torigan, Stulafi Y’Talob.”
Torigan heaved himself to his feet, but his protest was lost in the din of the audience. The Janus glared at the courtroom, tapping his gong with increasing fervor. The augmentors cut in, and the entire chamber shivered to the tritone harmonics of the now enormously loud gong. The uproar ceased, except for the Archon.
The Rifter's Covenant Page 40
