"I asked," Tezozуmoc bit out, "if he was dead."
"No, mi'lord! He's…staying at another house while you are here. Perfectly safe."
Tezozуmoc turned back to Dawd, his fury draining away as the puzzled Skawtsman watched. "I walked out onto the shooting pitch," he continued, as if nothing had happened, "and tried to stand as steadily as I could. You're allowed sixteen rounds at ten, twenty and fifty meters. I took every one. Emptied my ammunition clips and walked to the next marker. Then I did the same with the rifle. By the time I reached the sword-dojo, I wasn't even aware of the hour of the day. The only thing in the whole world was a cord-wrapped sword hilt and the face of the slave they'd put into the dueling square with me."
A gust of wind rattled the goblets, making Tezozуmoc glance away for an instant. He remembered the bottle of vodka in his hand and took another long swallow.
"An officer is expected to dispatch his opponent with finesse, Sergeant." Tezozуmoc grimaced, weighing the half-empty bottle in his hand. "But in the end, all that matters is your ability to spill the teoatl tlachinolli – the divine liquid, the burnt things – for the Empire. The sword-sacrifices at Chapultepec are not diseased or starved or beaten before being put into the square. Do not think they are unskilled men! Their patron saint is Tlahuicole of legend, a captive so valorous the Emperor Moctezuma spared his life again and again, yet the noble Tlaxcalan demanded to be sent to the gladiatorial stone that he might die properly, as befitted one taken prisoner. The man I faced believed implicitly in his divine duty. What could I do but hope to be worthy of him?"
Grimacing, the prince tossed the empty bottle carelessly away. Colmuir almost lunged to catch the unexpected missile, but controlled himself. There was a crashing sound as the heavy imported glass shattered a window, and the sound of scattering feet as the servants fled.
"I am indifferent with the sword," Tezozуmoc allowed, shaking his head in remembered wonder. "But that morning – the last day of my life, I thought – I strove to be worthy of a nameless, unknown slave who had volunteered to serve the gods, to serve me by testing my skill with the sacred blade. We fenced – there was a blur of steel – and then he happened to block a kesa giri cut I'd thrown at his shoulder edge-on with his katana."
The prince snapped his fingers sharply, startling Dawd. "His blade shattered – broke like cheap glass – and I'd thrust and pierced his heart before I realized what had happened. That much of my training had taken hold.
"Then I was an officer and they put a red mantle over my shoulders and named me Cuahyahcatl as if I'd taken a hundred captives and a dozen towns. All for killing one pious man on a square of sand. An aerocar from the palace came to take me home. Later, I received my letter of commission in the 416th – in this very regiment – yet no orders came for me to take a duty posting. Nothing but staff work in the capital, until this assignment to Jagan." A wry smile twisted Tezozуmoc's lips. "And here? Here I command a single Cuauhhuehueh" – he inclined his head towards Colmuir – "and a doughty Tequihuah" – he nodded to Dawd – "for the first time."
The prince caught Dawd's eye, a bitter look marring his handsome features.
"But you are still wondering about the pistol and the rifle. An officer must shoot twelve of sixteen to pass. Perhaps…perhaps you are even wondering how a katana of superior manufacture – do not believe the teomicqui are provided with dross! – could break at my weak blow?" Tezozуmoc spread his hands and the expression on his face made Dawd's heart quail. "Never have I seen those weapons – that magnificent pistol, exemplary rifle or shinken again. Never. They were taken away, where by tradition they should have been mine.
"But then," he said, face turning sad, "my father and my mother should have greeted me when I emerged from the dojo; a man at last, a warrior of the Empire. But they were not there. Nor were my brothers. No one was, only a palace driver waiting to take me away in an unmarked aerocar."
Dawd stared at the prince, wondering what, if anything, he could say. Colmuir coughed politely, drawing Tezozуmoc's attention.
"Mi'lord, you'll not be wanting to try this gun out then, I expect?"
The prince shook his head, staring blankly at the sky. "No. Come fetch me when it is time to leave. I will be upstairs."
Dawd followed Tezozуmoc to the master suite, searched the room, bathroom and closets carefully before letting the prince enter, then closed the door quietly. After a few moments, he moved across the hallway and took up an overwatch position behind a massive marble bathtub the viscount had decided to use as an ornamental table, and clicked his comm thread alive.
"Master Sergeant?"
"Aye, lad. I hear you." Colmuir sounded subdued. "Lovely story t' brighten up a morning isn't it?"
"Had you heard it before?" Dawd didn't bother to suppress his curiosity. "Did his father order him passed out of Chapultepec?"
"Ah, now lad, tha' is dangerous business, wanting to poke about in the lives of the Imperial Family. Some things are best left alone." Colmuir clicked his teeth together, a pitying tone coming into his voice. "But I've heard a bit, here and there. I asked around you know, when I was assigned to watch the wee lad. No one would say much, but still…you've seen him hold a gun; like a sack of apples and his eyes closed half th' time!"
"Master Sergeant, for the love of the Revealed Heart of Jesus, who gave up his life to sustain the world, will you tell me what happened?"
"He passed, is what happened," Colmuir replied, a little put out. "He shot his twelves of sixteen at range and killed that poor teomicqui and walked off th' dojo sand white as an Aberdeen-man in winter, he did."
"What?" Dawd looked around in the hallway, startled by the sound of his own voice. "What about the weapons? Were they rigged? Where did they come from? Why did his family stay away?"
"No idea, Sergeant, no idea. First I've ever heard of those details – but then only the lad would know those things, wouldn't he?" Colmuir's voice turned brisk. "But back to business – this hunting trip will prove purely interesting if he won't carry a gun – one of us will have to carry it for him and then be bleedin' quick if one of these wasps jumps out at us."
Dawd rubbed his face, feeling a little ill.
"Now I've given the matter some thought, my lad, and I'll walk with him in the high brush. You now, you will be piloting the aerocar with luncheon and drinks and what not and I'd be very appreciative if you'd bring along that bleedin' huge Whipsaw of yours. I have a most depressing feeling we will need its services."
"Master Sergeant! I should walk point for him, not you! I'm the junior man -"
"My responsibility, Dawd, my responsibility. Nor will I shirk. You just be quick with that cannon when th' time comes."
A Nondescript House Parus
"I have a private comm call to the Cornuelle on intercept," Lachlan announced. "The Legation naval attachй is calling Chu-sa Hadeishi directly."
"Show me," the old Mйxica woman growled, sitting up from her bed. A v-pane ready to display voice analysis and a running transcript appeared on her panel. The hour felt late and cold, even in the humid Parusian night. Itzpalicue rubbed her eyes and pinched a maguey thorn from her sleeve. "Where's the visual?"
"Voice-only call, mi'lady." Lachlan didn't sound apologetic, he sounded exhausted. "The call is on a cross-link from a native cell network."
"Where are you intercepting? Can you get me a delay?"
Lachlan's image shook his head. "We're tapping the call directly from the Cornuelle. We could override local comm on the ship, but their bridge crew is sure to notice."
Itzpalicue grimaced, head cocked to one side, listening. The sound of aerocar fans was loud, and then the voice of a Fleet ensign said, "Connecting now."
Chu-sa Hadeishi? This is Thai-i Sagamish – I'm attached to Resident Petrel's staff -
Yes, the Naval attachй. Has something happened? Where are you?
Flying into Parus by aerocar. Kyo, have you seen the latest news reports? Is there fighting in the city?
&n
bsp; Itzpalicue raised an eyebrow. The senior lieutenant sounded panicked. She tapped up his personnel record and started scanning through the entries, half an ear devoted to the two men talking.
Things were quiet when I went to bed, Hadeishi said in a very dry voice. Why the call, Thai-i ?
I live in the suburbs, Sagamish replied, still sounding on edge. Just after midnight my house was attacked – vandalized – graffiti on the walls warned me to leave Jagan before the old ways were restored and the Empire swept away.
Has this happened before in your district? The sound of the Chu-sa tapping up the latest situation reports was clear in Itzpalicue's left ear. He sounded very calm. Have you been attacked before?
Slicks throwing rocks at my car. Two of my servants quit – I believe they were threatened.
Do you know why? Hadeishi's voice changed tone, making Itzpalicue curse softly, wishing the transmission were carrying video as well. She opened another v-pane, showing the data sources from the Cornuelle, but a tap into the captain's workstation was not available.
I've heard…I'm sorry, Chu-sa, I shouldn't be bothering you with this. Legation comm section is shut down at this hour…I was hoping to reach your bridge watch officer for a situation report.
You're on the shortlist of groundside personnel to route directly to me, Hadeishi said wryly. What did you hear?
I've heard plenty, Sagamish said, now almost calm. It is said the Fleet is going to tear down all the old temples and put statues of the Emperor in their place; that the kujen is going to accept the quill as the official currency in Parus and its dependencies; that prince Tezozуmoc has been sent to be the new planetary viceroy; that the kujen has agreed to sell six hundred thousand Jehanan of the lowest caste to Legate Petrel for blood-sacrifice on AnГЎhuac. Those are the things I've heard – or my informants have heard – in the last three days.
The Emperor is very busy, it seems. Hadeishi's voice was tinged with dismay. Next there will be secret weather satellites causing famines and droughts to inflate the demand for imported grain.
The old Mйxica woman coughed in surprise, her lips twitching into a grim smile. "That is for later," she muttered caustically. "If this world becomes unruly. Or the pochteca cartels need a few extra quills at end of quarter."
Thai-i - none of these things are fact, to my knowledge. Have you heard differently?
No, sir. The sound of aerocar fans in the background changed. Itzpalicue could tell they were shifting into vertical landing mode. Unbidden, a v-pane opened in a relatively clear section of her panel, showing a video-feed from the Legation. A late-model aerocar, splashed with angular Jehanan script in vivid green paint, was setting down on the staff landing stage. Legate Petrel has been very, very strict about keeping a low profile, adapting to native customs, treating fairlywith the princes… I don't know who is spreading this…it's not us, not the Fleet or Armystaff…
How many, Hadeishi said slowly, in a thoughtful tone, Imperial citizens have business on Jagan?
I don't know, Sagamish replied and the sound of venting fans whined down to nothing. What kind of merchant or tourist is going to spread those kinds of rumors? Be bad for business, I think…
True. The Chu-sa did not sound convinced. Let me know if anything else happens.
Hadeishi closed the connection and stood with a grimace. Even with the unobtrusive assistance of his medband, two hours of sleep was just not enough to clear his head. He yawned and wrapped his robe tighter. Like everything else on the ship, the flannel-lined silk was threadbare. Old Yejin was a deft hand with needle, thread and a fabric sealer, but all things – even high-quality cloth – gave way in time to wear. He sat on the bed, trying to marshal his thoughts, but he was too tired. The best he could do was key himself a note for Sho-i Smith to review local comm traffic in case someone was stirring up trouble on the planet.
Then he fell back into bed and was instantly asleep.
"Lachlan, what did he hear?" Itzpalicue turned her fierce dark eyes on the Йirishman.
Lachlan shook his head slowly, unkempt hair falling into his eyes. "We've…nothing scheduled on the Flower Priest agitation plot for his district. Must be either the darmanarga-moktar or locals copying what they've heard has happened elsewhere."
"Coordinated action? Or is the lid starting to come off? Did the attachй provoke something with his neighbors?"
The young Йirishman shrugged, spreading his hands. "If a local animosity cell has triggered, they're not organizing by comm. The build-out schedule for the wireless network won't even reach this suburb for another two years. So any organization will be face-to-face and we've no tap on that."
Itzpalicue nodded in understanding. These kinds of operations were always much easier on planets with pervasive comm networks. Here, hoary old rumor had legs like Painal and leapt from city to city with a speed rivaling a t-relay. "Re-route a Flower Listener into his neighborhood today. See what they can pick up. And have analysis section pull an incident map for the last two days for the whole land of the Five Rivers. This feels…"
She stopped, shaking her head. The agitation pattern running up to the outbreak of hostilities was still quite clear. All of her data sources – both from the Flower Priests, her own comm intercepts and groundside informants – pointed in the same direction. Another week of steadily rising tension would rupture equilibrium somewhere – indicators were good for the shantytown districts of eastern Parus to erupt first, followed by the noble cabal and the princedoms trying to capitalize on the wave of popular hatred. There seemed little need for the Flower Priests to try and ignite the tinder themselves. The xochiyaotinime were past masters of this kind of exercise. The right kind of wind always seemed to blow hot enough to strike sparks.
Itzpalicue squinted at the young Йirishman, who was staring bleary-eyed at one of his displays. His medical readout on her panel indicated he was running on stimulant fumes.
"Lachlan – take yourself off duty for the next ten hours. Take a sleepyhead and rest. Nothing is going to break today. But soon, very soon, we will be quite busy."
He nodded, stretching, and Itzpalicue closed the comm herself. Almost time to send my Arachosians out hunting, waiting for a break in the clouds hiding my prey.
A nagging feeling stole over her, though the old Mйxica tried to ignore the concern that her opponent – if there was indeed a subtle force acting against Imperial influence – might have stolen away from the field of heroes. She had drawn an empty net from dark waters before.
Itzpalicue pricked her upper arm, letting the stabbing pain clear her mind of such phantoms.
Moderately refreshed by four hours of sleep, Chu-sa Hadeishi swung onto the bridge of the Cornuelle, weaved his way past two engineering technicians replacing padding on the shockchairs at number two Weapons and number three Comm and settled himself into his own station. The bridge crew was currently standing half-strength to make room for the repairs. Midshipman Smith nodded to the captain and switched over primary command.
"Captain on deck!"
"Ship's status?" The v-panels making a half-circle in front of the command chair came alive, showing summaries of ship's status, local space and the greater Bharat system. Mitsuharu registered his identity code and let main comp recognize him.
"Repairs underway on all decks, kyo. Traffic control is light today – a handful of shuttles are in-atmosphere and several merchantmen are unloading, all registered and verified. Nothing's made transit in the last six hours. The threat board is clear."
Hadeishi nodded, lips pursed in consideration. He fixed Smith with a sharp look. "Time to hyper for the Cornuelle?"
Smith blinked in surprise, then his hands were active on his own panel. The Chu-sa ignored him, reading through the latest groundside status reports culled from the Legation and public press.
"Ah, kyo, baseline time to spin to hyperspace gradient and reach minimum safe distance for transit is one hour, sixteen minutes." Smith held his voice steady, but he was twitchy and rattl
ed. "Are…are we going to need to make transit today, sir?"
Hadeishi grunted, then looked at the young officer. Smith, being in comm section, did not stand senior officer on duty watch very often. The Chu-sa considered him for a moment, face impassive, and then decided there was nothing to be gained by reprimanding the boy. Not this time.
"Unlikely, but not impossible Sho-i. Keep this in mind at all times."
"Hai, kyo!" Smith shrank into his chair. Hadeishi turned back to the departmental status reports. Repairs were indeed underway on all decks. Isoroku and Kosho are not wasting any time… Every hand not already ripping up worn-out nonskid or cutting out damaged plating was unloading cargo shuttles as fast as they arrived in the number two and number three boat bays. The Chu-sa allowed himself a tiny smile. Real food for a change. Yejin will be pleased, and the crew will swoon with delight to eat something with unfamiliar molecules.
"Smith-tzin? You're on duty for the next half-watch?"
The boy stiffened as if shot. "Yes, sir."
Hadeishi tapped a glyph to transfer a recording of the midnight comm call to the Sho-i's panel. "Review this. The situation on the planet is deteriorating, but no one at the Legation can put their finger on the cause – I wonder if someone is stirring up the locals. Do what you can to verify these reports. If you find anything unusual, strange or simply out of place, let me know immediately."
"Hai…kyo? Do you think there are, ah, separatist agitators active on Jagan?"
"Swedish or Danish terrorists, you mean?" Hadeishi smoothed his beard, considering the prospect. "If so, they're a long way from any system sympathetic to their cause. Difficult to support operations out here without a fleet…but not impossible."
Smith nodded and turned back to his panel. Hadeishi frowned, wondering if the outlawed 'Swedish Naval Research' or its Danish equivalent might have changed their operational patterns. No. There's nothing here to invite their interest…wait a moment! There is one target of opportunity for them here. Not one whom anyone would miss, but still…
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