by Alma Boykin
Rada bowed where she sat. “I shall summon her at once, your highness,” she murmured.
“Do that.” Keershan turned and stalked out of the public room, through Rada’s sleeping area, and out the same hidden door he’d come in.
Rada flopped onto her side, then rolled onto her back, arms spread, staring at the ceiling. What the hell did I get myself into? She asked the universe for the thousandth time. And what the hell is wrong with the King-Emperor? Well, she could guess the latter. So fat that he could barely walk, let alone fight, Schleer’s dissipation and resulting medical problems meant that if someone tried a coup, he’d be unable to defend himself. And he’d never cared for Rada, even when he was crown prince. For her part Rada loathed Schleer’s blatant favoritism and his diverting funds from the Defenders to the Imperials. When minister of war Lord Daetak is protesting on the Defenders’ behalf, it’s pretty damn blatant.
Rada rolled onto her stomach and pillowed her head on her folded arms. If he’d tried to kill just me, I would not be so mad. But putting Defenders at risk like that? Allowing so many civilians to be killed? Rada’s stomach churned and she took a deep breath of the cool air near the floor, then another, and a third, calming herself yet again. Well, napping on the floor would only get her a stiff back and scare the servants, so Rada levered herself onto her knees and stood, then returned to her desk. She’d worked for another hour when someone klopped on the main door. “Enter.”
A servant in gray robes pushed a meal cart into the chamber, bowed, and fled. Thus warned, Rada removed the dish covers with great care. The soup and kurstem balls in red sauce looked and smelled safe. Instead of a main dish, however, Rada found an apologetic note. She read it twice, initialed it, and used her signet to put a wax seal on the bottom before returning it along with the dishes. Then she sent a discreet message to the steward of Burnt Mountain lodge.
Three days later several large boxes of smoked and preserved meats from Rada’s private cache arrived. She pulled out a pair of sausages and stored the rest of the food in her sleeping quarters, locked away from tattle-tales and spies. She needed to eat out the oldest stock anyway, since hunting season would start in two double-moons.
Zabet walked in that afternoon and found the sausages. Rada barely heard a voice say, «Yuck, that had better not be,» as the door to her quarters opened. She thinned her shields a little as the voice continued, «Oh scales, I thought you’d quit eating that.» Zabet stalked in, looked around, and spotted the offending meat. «Really, my lord? Must you?» She broadcast to anyone who might be eavesdropping.
Rada leaned back in her chair, stretched, and almost knocked her weapons stand over. “Yes, because one always eats the oldest stocks first. You know that. And hello to you, too.”
The silvery-blue True-dragon stiffened her whiskers and gave Rada an arch look. «No civilized person uses that much bitterberry in sausage.»
Rada returned the look with a raised eyebrow. “And who, do tell, likes her cheese with more blue mold than cheese?” When no reply came, Rada nodded toward a small pile of invitations. “Those are for you, and for us. At least two are from Lady Klae.”
Zabet started toward the stack and then stopped. «Lady Klae. She’s Prince Keershan’s mate?»
“Not quite yet but I suspect he’ll make it formal in the near future. A large number of things are on hold pending short-term developments.”
Zabet did not press the matter. Instead she took the invitations to the window seat and after arranging herself in the sunshine, began opening and reading the ornate cards, sorting them into three groups. The smallest group contained those to be refused, either because of schedule conflicts or for reasons of rank. The second group Zabet would consider. The third pile, only three invitations, required either Zabet or Rada, or both of them, to attend. «One is from House Kirlin, an invitation to an art viewing. It sounds entertaining. Two are for me from Lady Klae, both small afternoon events.»
Rada nodded, more interested in trying to find anything at all about the Death Lovers than in her associate’s social schedule. At least, that was until Zabet added, «one of the invitations from Klae is in code.»
“Ah,” Rada observed aloud. Silently, she sent, «Klae may be planning to relay information from Prince Keershan. He has to avoid me for security reasons,» Rada explained.
«That’s messy.»
Very messy, Rada thought only to herself. She looked back down at the display as a message from Himself appeared. She opened it.
“Dear Miss Ni Drako,” the missive began. “I regret to inform you that my records currently contain no information on the species that you recently encountered. However, I took the liberty of passing your query to a former associate. Kthporli suggests that you look into the history of the Morinci Confederation, notably their last phase. Your observations reminded Kthporli of a legend, Kishthzu 24 in that compilation. I look forward to adding the results of your researches to my collection. Sincerely,” and Rada noted his sigil, meaning that Master Thomas wrote as a professional contact and not as her mentor.
The next afternoon Rada stared into the distance, trying to process what she’d found on the Morinci Confederation. The Azdhag Imperial Archives provided some basic information, to both Rada and the archivists’ surprise. “They tried to invade the Empire fifty years after the Great Relocation,” the whip-thin researcher on call explained. “Or so it was thought. The invaders were actually fleeing something that happened in the Morinci System,” and he pointed to the note attached to the official document.
That, plus hints that Rada picked up from an old text about the development of psychic talents in various species, gave her a great deal to think about. She laced her fingers together behind her head and stared into the distance, ignoring the routine sounds outside her office in the Defenders’ area. The Morinci called the Death Lovers “the twisted ones.” The dominant species on Morinc-loy used emotional energy as a way to locate prey, predators, and each other. Over time this ability shifted so that a few individuals could use those energies as a secondary form of sustenance. Some clans deliberately interbred until energy absorption became their primary energy source. Rada understood the basic idea. After all, plants used a similar process to photosynthesize, and the symbiotic creature in Rada’s time ship did something very similar using temporal energy. But then something on Morinc-loy changed.
As Rada began writing out the story, she felt herself growing nauseated again. The Morinci’s energy source apparently altered over the course of a few generations, from all emotions to only negative or sex-related emotions. Whether the shift predated or followed a planetary civil war Rada could not determine, but it accelerated the break-up of the Morinci Confederation and caused the unchanged Morinci to flee Morinc-loy. Rada wondered who else the “twisted-ones” had attacked over the past three hundred Azdhagi year-turns. She could learn nothing more about their habits or biology, although Prince Keershan had brought two bodies back for study. Rada made a note to go check on the progress with the autopsies. The lack of information made Rada suspect that once the Death Lovers, “twisted ones,” or whatever one called them landed somewhere, no one survived to tell the tale. With that, Rada had to stop. She saved the file, sent draft copies to the minster of war and Prince Keershan, and went in search of fresh air before she either broke into tears or started screaming at the King-Emperor. Or lost her breakfast as another flashback started building.
Rada preferred not to be in Drakon IV’s capital during late summer and her stroll reminded her why. She walked out of the well-shaded gate leading to the spaceport and started panting the instant the sun touched her. She gritted her teeth and kept moving, lest she turn into a furry puddle of equal parts misery and sweat. She continued along the outer wall of the old palace, limping with grim determination until she reached the forest on the north side of the massive complex. Yes, she could have brought a vehicle, but she needed to walk and think.
The shade of the old trees made the after
noon almost bearable. Rada scratched her claws on the trunk of a smooth-barked specimen before venturing deeper into the remnant of the bottomland forest. A few birds and lizards skittered and fluttered through the branches. The normal sounds soothed Rada’s spirit. She found a rock outcrop overlooking the north face of the river bluff and sat on it, staring out at the city and plains surrounding the small plateau. No boats plied the Zhangki River this time of year because of the low water. As Rada watched, the scene grew dark and she imagined that she could smell rotting flesh and the sharp, foul smoke of a burnt-out city. “No,” she gasped, clutching the rock. “Blessed Bookkeeper, that is not real. We stopped them, what I see is not real.” The feel of the hot, gritty rock under her hands gave her something to lock onto and she fought off the flashback. She panted, her head aching and hands sore from clutching the rough stone. Muddy, sour, river smells and the susurration of wind in the trees replaced her hallucination and Rada relaxed.
She’d had a spell in her quarters the previous night and Zabet had demanded to know what was going on. Rada refused to tell her anything beyond “The fighting was bad, Boss. Very bad. I can’t say more than that until I’m authorized.” Schleer had put a seal on the episode, consigning it to the most restricted military files.
The lack of civilian survivors was the only reason his ploy worked, or had worked thus far—Rada snarled, tensing again. Schleer had gone so far as to order Defenders to demolish the remains of Edgehill, Sweet Stream, KeersTown, and Big Meadow, putting the area under interdict for thirty year-turns at least. A mist of red replaced the green of the tree canopy and Rada forced herself to calm down. She needed to protect Zabet from the information. The True-dragon did not deserve to get caught between Rada and Schleer if it came to that. “No, when it comes to that,” Rada whispered in Trader.
Zabet could sense something wrong in Rada’s brain. Rada kept her shields very high, enough so that she could barely hear Zabet at times. “What is wrong with your mind?” Zabet had demanded just that morning, resorting to using a vocalizer when Rada failed to respond. “You sound hoarse and feel prickly.”
“I can’t say, Boss. It will improve and yes, I’ve seen a Healer already,” she had assured her “concubine.” Zabet had given Rada one of those looks, the ones that let Rada know that her business partner knew that something was up besides the temperature and the price of game.
Rada heaved herself into a sitting position and watched a carrion-eater circling on a thermal, the bare skin on its wings shining in the hot sun. The oily sheen reminded her of Schleer. To their mutual surprise, after breakfast that very morning, she and Schleer had discovered that they actually agreed on something: Lord Daetak’s failure to spend appropriated funds had put Drakon IV at risk. “What were you thinking?” Schleer had demanded, bellowing at the minister of war as Rada tried to be invisible. Anger had restored at least the illusion of health and vigor to the King-Emperor, something Daetak failed to notice.
“The satellite net has multiple redundancies, Imperial Majesty, and the loss of one unit did not justify expending the allotted funds,” Daetak had whined.
“And the loss of three satellites?” Rada’s fur had risen at the deadly quiet question.
Daetak had heard the menace too, and had prostrated himself on the floor of the lesser throne room. “Imperial Majesty, we failed to anticipate the debris that destroyed the out-facing unit,” he admitted. Debris released by the Death Lovers to mask their arrival, as it turned out. “And the storms would have concealed the landing from the...”
“Enough!” Schleer had bellowed. “Ni Drako, you are dismissed.” Rada had jumped up, bowed, and fled the room before Schleer changed his mind. She’d ensconced herself in her office, reviewing personnel lists in order to find candidates for the now-vacant position of Defender. Less than an hour later, someone had klopped on the doorframe and Rada had looked up to see Sergeant Nahrk trying to hide a grin.
“Yes, Sergeant?”
“Lord Mammal, Minister of War Daetak needs to draw on our stores of medical supplies.”
Rada had blinked and considered the request. “Give him whatever he needs but make certain to document everything.”
Nahrk had backed partway out of the door, stopped, and had walked into Rada’s office, drawing very close to the Lord Defender. He whispered, “Ah, Lord Mammal, which burn salve do you recommend that he use? The Healers did not specify.”
Rada had thought about the question. “The older water-leaf preparation, Sergeant. Black lid and label if memory serves, although the medics will know better than I do. It is clear and scentless,” she’d explained, expression sober.
“Thank you, my lord,” and Nahrk had bowed, tried to turn around, and decided that backing out of the cramped space entailed less risk.
Rada had stood up and slid the door closed after he left, activating the privacy field as well. Then she’d leaned against the wall and begun laughing. She laughed until tears ran down her face and she had to gulp air. “Oh, fewmets, he’s going to be so miserable,” she’d wheezed, gut-muscles aching. Water-leaf accelerated healing but did nothing for pain. In fact, after a few days use, the surrounding skin began itching as the healing effect reached its peak. The older the preparation, the stronger both effects became. Lord Daetak would be writhing in itchy misery within the next few days, and Rada indulged in a very broad, nasty smile. And blaster burns hurt like hell anyway. The Lord Defender had wiped her face, regaining her composure before she opened the door and returned to work.
Now a small, vicious smile returned to Rada’s face as she considered her theoretical superior’s plight. She’d have executed the bastard rather than shooting off his strong-side hindleg and scorching his tail, but leaving Daetak somewhat intact did send a clear signal about failure to do one’s duty to the Empire. And Schleer’s physical condition precluded his killing Daetak with his own talons, as Shi-dan would have done. Rada savored the memory of the minister of war’s suffering a little longer and then dismissed it from her mind. She had no illusions as to what Schleer wanted to do to her, if given the opportunity. In fact, she was a little surprised that he’d not had her killed when she returned.
The answer to that little puzzle appeared that evening. Rada returned to her quarters, hot and cranky, and found Zabet stretched out on the sleeping platform, snoring away, a large lump in her middle suggesting that the True-dragon would not be interested in supper. Rada washed up and found a note, written in Trader, tucked under a stack of papers on her desk. She gnawed on a stick of talkak jerky and read, “Schleer furious at you. Is waiting until you propose new Defender before attacking you. Keershan talked him out of executing you without a successor in place.” Zabet’s sigil ended the message. Rada shredded it, burned the bits in the stove, and then tossed in a cleaning log. The ancient stove needed a cleaning anyway, and the log burned hot and fast, especially after Rada opened the window to catch what evening breeze found its way over the walls.
The Wanderer spent the next sixt working diligently on administrative matters. She even filed the quarterly budget early. The Lord Defender also reviewed the recommendations for the new satellites, adding some information about features that she’d heard were being used in other systems. To Schleer’s growing anger, the Lord Defender deliberated with great care over all possible candidates for Defender and regional commander, to the point of inquiring with Minister Lord Daetak about possible candidates from the Imperials, should any of his officers have expressed interest.
The tension in the Palace built like the storms gathering just beyond the northern horizon, hidden from view but felt by every living soul. Zabet showed Lady Klae some new fabrics and provided her with spice samples that Zabet had found on her travels. Klae in turn passed her lord’s messages to Zabet, who translated them into Trader and left them for Rada.
«This is worse than a bad holo-vid» Zabet grumped at Rada. She’d stretched out on the tile floor of Rada’s public quarters, spread as thin as she could get. R
ada sprawled with her head on Zabet’s flank, trying to will her body heat into the tiles.
«Tell me about it,» Rada thought back. «Some of the servants are going to explode from trying not to sneeze, lest they attract someone’s attention.» She’d submitted her paperwork on the promotion question the previous afternoon, which explained why her blaster lay on the floor beside her hand. She had no desire to be the victim of an assassination. Schleer would have to do his own dirty work.
Zabet continued, «And this heat is not helping. Klae says Keershan wants to move into the shadow pool in the private gardens and not emerge until the start of hunting season.» Zabet sent a mental image of the Prince Imperial, nothing but his nostrils visible in the dark water.
Rada barked a laugh. She had no sympathy for the Azdhagi. Even in her most Wanderer form, the heat took a horrible toll on her, much worse than the Azdhagi suffered. “What’s the spread?”
«Fifty-fifty over under.»
Rada blinked and shifted a little, surprised. «That’s a lot closer than I would have thought.»
Zabet whunffed a sigh, her whiskers fluttering. «Schleer, hmmm, how to phrase it? His Imperial Majesty’s ill heath worries the court. Some have expressed concern that his illness might be affecting his judgment on some matters. No,» Zabet tried again in a much more formal and grave tone. «There are great hopes that Schleer’s return to health will be soon and full, so that he will be able to devote more time to matters which are currently, and rightly, beneath his notice.» She broke pose, adding, «Yeah, that’s it.»
Rada snorted before replying aloud. “Indeed. Prayers for the King-Emperor’s good health are always appropriate. May the Ancestors grant him continued prosperity and ever-renewing strength.” Then she clamped a hand over her mouth to smother her response to Zabet’s obscene and very funny interpretation of the last phrase.
