In Extremis

by M. C. A. Hogarth

  He would gladly have given up his own time, had the Emperor needed him. But it was for the best that the Emperor didn’t, because Lisinthir also needed solitude, and as before he spent it in the salle, working until he thought he would break his cage of bones.

  Jahir and Vasiht’h, gone missing. Sediryl, vanished in search of them. The Emperor, trapped in a struggle which permitted only witness… and Laniis, who was either making it worse or better for them both, and he could not consider it appropriate to interfere.

  While Lisinthir fought his solidigraphic enemies, and felt his impotence.

  Several days after the conference, the gymnasium door chimed, and his scenario froze. Lisinthir straightened, wiped the sweat from his brow, and waited for his unscheduled guest. Seeing the shape in the door, he managed a crooked smile. “And here we are again.”

  “Yes.” The Knife stepped far enough into the room for the door to slide shut behind him. “I apologize for the interruption, Ambassador.”

  “Have you come for another lesson?”

  “No.” The Knife found one of the benches and perched on it, wings spreading to keep from bumping the wall.

  “You’ve come to admit to doubts over your Emperor’s chance at success?”

  The Knife shook his head in a Pelted gesture, staring at his knees. “No.” Lifting his head, he said, “Definitely not that.”

  Lisinthir sheathed his swords. “What then?”

  “That we’ve lost contact with your other Eldritch… the female. That concerns me.” The Knife smoothed his palms over his knees. “If we are to help the Emperor take back the Empire, he must have the right tools. That link into the pirate connection… that was a vital intelligence asset, and we no longer have access to it.”

  Lisinthir propped a foot up on the end of the bench, resting his arms on it. “The loss may be temporary.”

  “Maybe,” the Knife said. “But it’s not available now, and we must face the likelihood of it being closed to us.”

  “Uuvek hasn’t been able to re-establish contact, I presume.”

  “No. And not for lack of trying.” The Knife grimaced. “I don’t expect you to know what to do, Ambassador. I suppose I just wanted to… to air my concerns to someone who would not misinterpret it as a lack of confidence in what we’re doing. I believe in the scheme we’re attempting. Using the Living Air’s tracts will work. Maybe not as broadly as we hope, but it will. And yet, I am discouraged by the loss of your nestsister’s help.”

  “You and me both,” Lisinthir murmured. “Nestsister, is it. Even though we’re not born of the same mother and father?”

  “The term is poor, I suppose,” the Knife said. “It’s old. From a time when the children born in the same place might have expected to be related, and have ties because of it. It is no longer literal when used. Uuvek could reasonably call me his nestbrother.”

  “And huntbrother…”

  “A huntbrother is a friend you trust in a fight,” the Knife said. “But you might not invite them to your home, share meals with them, feed their grandparents, talk about how much you hate that you’ve lost a vital intelligence asset.” He smiled a little. “A nestbrother, you trust with the rest of your life as well. Or so I would say. Others would have it backwards. That a huntbrother is a more advanced, more perfect form of nestbrother, one who can fight as well as help.”

  “I would call Sediryl both my huntsister and my nestsister, then, not knowing which interpretation my audience will be using,” Lisinthir said, amused. “And, Knife… I do trust her, even if I don’t know what she’s doing.”

  “She’s new to the fight, isn’t she?”

  “To this fight, perhaps. To fights in general?” Lisinthir shook his head, just a little. “Rest assured, she does not need advice on how to conduct herself. Though it’s too bad we can’t share what we know with her anymore, either—”

  The Knife was nodding again, the alien nod that looked so strange on Chatcaavan necks. “Like the Queen. I wish so much to tell her that we received her message…” He stopped, eyes widening in shock. Swiveled his head toward Lisinthir.

  “You are thinking what I’m thinking,” Lisinthir breathed.

  “That she sent word to us through the palace somehow.” The Knife rose, hugging himself. “And that there’s no evidence that conduit has closed to us.” He looked up, eyes wide. “I’m right, aren’t I? We might not be able to contact your nestsister, but we could see what the Usurper is doing... if that contact is capable of telling us.”

  “Possibly,” Lisinthir said, heart racing. “Possibly. Uuvek—”

  The Knife was already talking to the computer, which he’d addressed in Universal before resuming in Chatcaavan. His request brought the other Chatcaavan, who stopped at the door and sighed. “This again?”

  “Uuvek!” the Knife said. “The contact the Queen used to reach us from the throneworld. Can you see if they’re still responding?”

  Uuvek’s eyes widened. “I could, yes. You are testing to see if we can hold that line open? It’s a good thought.”

  “It is,” the Knife said. “Why didn’t you think of it?”

  Uuvek snorted. “I may have been busy trying to encrypt your fancy lyricism so that it doesn’t draw the attention of our enemies?”

  “Oh, yes.” The Knife rustled his wings, folded them. “Well, take a break and try this.” He glanced at Lisinthir. “What shall we say?”

  “We begin simply, and ask whether they’re willing to keep the line open, and what information they might have access to,” Lisinthir said.

  “And if they’re willing to share it?” Uuvek added, dry. “Technically it is treason.”

  “If they cared about treason they would not have passed the Queen’s information to us in the first place,” the Knife said.

  Uuvek snorted. “That was when she was there. When your allies are gone and you find yourself with a new master, you sometimes discover the prudence of silence.”

  “He has a point,” Lisinthir said. “But I prefer to hope that anyone the Queen might have tapped would have been hers, heart to skin.”

  “It’s all we can do, anyway,” the Knife said. “So I guess it’s what we will.”

  Uuvek snorted. “I’ll go see to it. If I hear an answer, you’ll know.”

  “Thank you,” Lisinthir said.

  Uuvek flicked a wing in an off-hand gesture and left. In his absence, the Knife exhaled, a long, shuddering sigh.

  “Feel better?” Lisinthir asked.

  “Now that I know we might still be able to learn something about what our enemies are doing while our backs are turned? Very much so.” The Knife grinned, showing teeth. “I could even take another lesson in sword.”

  “I might even be able to teach it. Shall we?”

  The pirate did not summon the Chatcaavan Queen for dinner. That was either a good sign or a very poor one. She didn’t know enough to guess at which it was, and she had long since learned to make peace with impotence. The Eldritch female had arrived; that in itself was a good sign, for surely she’d been sent as a result of the message she had communicated to Uuvek.

  What had the Ambassador thought on hearing it? Had the Emperor been with him, or had Second and the Usurper’s treachery injured him? Maybe even… killed him? The Queen shuddered once and let that thought go. She had her own task here, and to accomplish it she could not sap her strength with fear. She requested and received a simple meal, washed, and composed herself on the alien bed to sleep.

  Her eyes had been closed for less than half an hour when a voice whispered in Chatcaavan, “Wake, Queen of the Chatcaava.”

  The peculiarity of the title convinced her she wasn’t dreaming. She had never heard such a construction. Perplexed, she lifted her head, wondering how someone had entered without her hearing it, and what it augured. Surely an assassin wouldn’t have woken her.

  “You won’t see me because I’m not in the room,” the voice continued. Not Chatcaavan, she decided. The voice wa
s too androgynous for a male and too forthright for a female. “I am the Eldritch’s helpmeet.”

  “You have seized the base’s computers?” the Queen asked.

  “I… live in the base’s computers, for now,” came the enigmatic reply. “It’s not a simple explanation and I don’t know how much time I have. There’s a massive data transfer going on right now, so it’s easier for me to hide my use of your room’s systems. I don’t know how long that will last. The pirate. You’ve talked with her?”

  “For several days.” The Queen sat up, wing-arms tightly folded. “She is dangerous.”

  “What can you tell us about her?”

  The Queen pulled her blankets around herself. If they were short on time… she organized her thoughts. “She wishes to found a pirate nation. She does not trust anyone. She hates the Alliance; she hates the Chatcaava. She appears to hate males, but she does not love females either, unless they are useful to her. She was betrayed when she was in the Alliance. She was formerly military. She wishes to think herself generous, but only because she perceives generosity as a way to control others. She wants to control everyone. She is not right in the mind. Not sane.” Was that everything? “She longs for a confidant, but she is frightened of people with power. She disliked me because I did not respond to her with enough passion.”

  The voice when it returned sounded respectful. “That’s… quite a lot.”

  “It is not enough,” the Queen said. “Particularly since I do not think she will confide in me. But your Eldritch…”

  “I know.”

  “It may be that she will be able to inspire the pirate’s trust,” the Queen said. “And then she might learn more.”

  “We can hope. Everything we can learn, we have to learn. We’re going to keep in contact with you, so please keep listening.”

  “It is why I am here.”

  “Good. Thank you.” A pause. “I have to go. They’re about done with their upload and I don’t want to be caught by a load test. I’ll be back when I can.”

  “All right,” the Queen replied, but the voice did not respond again. Gone, then. Mystified, the Queen rested her head on the pillow and pulled the blanket up over her shoulders. She had not seen the Eldritch’s ally before she’d been dismissed from the pirate’s chambers. Had this person come later? Or had the Eldritch snuck her associate into the base somehow? The comment about existing in the base computers made no sense to her, but she had little context to interpret it. Still, this ally could not have arranged the conversation without having some way into the system.

  Her eyes were closed and she was almost asleep when the connection snapped into place and she gasped in.

  If the ally had a way into the system… did that mean there was a way out?

  “Oviin,” she breathed.

  Sediryl slept fitfully, waking too often from nightmares that left her heart pounding and mouth dry. The final dream near dawn, though, pulled her under and into the arms of her cousins. Their earnest conversation she recalled only as a low murmur, like the sound of a distant brook; it was the sticky-sweetness of their embrace, the one that included her, and the heat of their skin against hers that comforted her. When that dream released her, it was almost a natural waking. She parted her lashes to stare at the door into her bedchamber with no desire to lift her head. The images were dissolving, but one or two persisted: the kiss pressed to her palm by cousin Lisinthir, and Jahir’s hand threaded through her hair. She smiled because it made her cheeks warm.

  Alone, surrounded, in the greatest mortal danger she’d ever been in her life, still, Sediryl could smile, blush, be moved by honest passion. “I’ll come home,” she promised them all, under her breath. And to herself, lower, “I’ll win.” Then she pushed herself upright to shower and decide how best to attack her day. Had she not told Maia she would be a fool to throw away her lever? Was it too soon to use it? Ridiculous question. She washed, dressed in her discarded undergarments, and then tried lifting her voice. “Computer, attend. I wish to speak with Admiral Kamaney.”

  Nothing. Interesting. She considered making her request of the guards no doubt posted outside and decided against it. Exciting their avarice was not in her best interests. Instead, she investigated her suite, tried her computer access from the study’s desk, opened cabinets and drawers to distract herself from the knowledge that she was waiting. That she was guessing that the pirate wouldn’t be able to resist checking on her. That she was seeing how this would play out, wondering if she was right, and if she could go through with it.

  She didn’t have to wonder long.

  A chime sounded, and then the pirate’s voice dropped into her suite without waiting for her to accept the call. “It’s time for breakfast, Lady. I hope you’re hungry.”

  “I am,” Sediryl replied. “I find myself unable to join you, however.”

  The pirate’s voice sharpened. “Oh? Is there something wrong?”

  “There is, yes, but it is a matter I would rather discuss face to face.”

  A longish hesitation. Then, “I’m a busy woman, you know.”

  “I do,” Sediryl said, striving for cordiality. “It is because you are a busy woman that I feel I can trust you with this matter. I cannot take it to your guards.”

  That piqued the woman’s interest, from her voice. “I see. A moment.”

  A descending arpeggio accompanied the closed channel. Sediryl went to the bedchamber and posed herself just inside the bathroom. When she heard the suite’s door open—without warning, she noted—she called, “Here.”

  Kamaney strolled in and stopped abruptly. Sediryl had calculated the angle to a nicety: with the bathroom door open, the pirate should just be able to see a sliver of her body, filmed by the chemise but visible in outline thanks to the overhead light. Ignoring the pirate, Sediryl calmly tightened her laces. She’d abandoned daily corsetry in the Alliance because it was such a pain to don one without a lady’s maid, but she’d gone to enough functions to have mastered the time-consuming art of lacing herself without help. And her first lover, Davor, had made it very clear that there was nothing latent in the eroticism of watching a woman bind herself with her spine straight and her breasts raised and her hands trapped in laces behind her back.

  “Your underlings,” Sediryl said, watching her own face in the mirror as if studying it for flaws, “did not bring my wardrobe from my ship. I don’t want to dress for breakfast in the same clothes I wore to dinner.”

  Mesmerized, Kamaney said nothing. Licked her lips once. “No, of course not.”

  “My belongings are still on my ship?”

  “Impounded,” Kamaney said. “The ship I mean. It’s impounded.”

  “Perhaps I might go fetch my things?”

  Kamaney swallowed hard, then twitched her head once. “No, no. I wouldn’t want you to go through the trouble. I can have someone bring you your things.”

  And have pirates rifling through her belongings? Sediryl thought absurdly of the tea set, hated the thought of foreign hands on it… wondered if it had already been confiscated, sold, broken. “I can’t imagine them managing that in time for breakfast. I’d hate to miss it when you’re so busy. I have so many things… you’re sure I can’t just…” She inhaled, making the boning strain, and glanced at Kamaney over her shoulder.

  Almost… almost, she thought the pirate would say yes. But again, that little head twitch, and Kamaney said, “No. It wouldn’t be safe for you.”

  Some voice in her howled her frustration but she ignored it. She had pushed and failed—now she had to erase her mistake. Turn it to her benefit if possible by being acquiescent without obsequiousness. Sediryl finished taking up the slack in the top half of her corset and pulled on the strands until her arms stretched out from her sides like a dancer’s. She heard the hushed inhalation behind her. “I understand. Is there a genie I might use instead? I can make something right now.”

  “Use a genie. Your genie. To make clothes?”

  “I would no
t want your soldiers to see me this way,” Sediryl said, beginning the arduous process of tightening the laces over her hips, up toward her waist.

  “No!” Kamaney’s ears flattened. “No, that wouldn’t be a good idea at all.” She shook herself, a whole body twitch this time. “I can have the genie released for your use. With some limits. We aren’t made of power here, after all.”

  “I quite understand,” Sediryl said. “I have a selection of standard patterns I prefer. Until I tire of them, of course. I would hate to be boring. Your fur has made me re-assess my standards.”

  “Oh has it,” Kamaney murmured.

  “Think of how lovely it would be lining a coat…” Sediryl paused a heartbeat, finished, “Or as a nightrobe.”

  “Does Eldritch lingerie come with fur linings?” Kamaney asked, torn between skepticism and interest.

  “We take cold easily… and we love sumptuous things.” Sediryl pulled the laces again, tied them into a neat bow at her waist before running her hands up the front of the corset and stretching them above her head. “Skin is so sensitive, you know.”

  “I do know,” Kamaney said, so fervently Sediryl hoped she would stop there before saying something that would drive all the thoughts from Sediryl’s head. She did not need to know about medical experimentation or, Goddess help her, a sentient leather trade to companion the fur trade. “I’ll see to the genie access. Breakfast in half an hour, say?”

  “That sounds lovely.”

  “To me too,” Kamaney said, and left.

  Sediryl waited until she heard the doors close to grasp the edge of the bathroom sink and bend at the hip, the corset enforcing a posture on her that felt like punishment. Breathe, she thought. Just breathe.

  “You sure you’re not coming on too strong?” Maia whispered in her ear.