Waice nodded. “I’d heard that you were an amnesiac. You remember everything now?”
Jav bowed his head. “No, not everything. Not yet. My memories are the last piece. I don’t think I can afford to face them just now, but otherwise my mind is clear. For the first time in centuries, it’s clear.” He held his hands up before his face, regarded them. “From now on, I’ll only use these to protect the helpless and to punish the guilty, not the other way around.”
“And what of the Empire?”
“It has to end. The Empire is the Emperor and I’ve promised to destroy the Emperor.”
Waice went Dark, held his fists before him. “The Empire has its share of helpless, of innocents.”
“Shall we try again then, Waice?”
“I’m sorry, General Holson!” Waice cried. He framed the Whirl Plate at his middle with his hands and it began to spin, to take on depth, and to cast the whole scene into warps and ripples.
Jav felt like his body was made of water, like his limbs had taken on new, and insupportable proportions. He was nauseated, and his head began to hurt. “This is the Phantasma Spiral?” Jav shouted over the false noise of warping space. “Impressive.”
Waice ignored him, leapt back a full ten meters, and threw his Phantasma Screw. The twist of his fist produced a tight coil of crackling ultraviolet light, shooting out like a drill bit, heading straight for Jav.
The Kaiser Bones flared and glowed white while Jav shot forward as if on rails. The Phantasma Screw passed through him, distorting his image with its spiral motion. He finished with Waice’s head held in the Kaiser Claw.
“I’m not going to kill anyone I don’t have to, Waice,” Jav said in the same position. “That includes you. I don’t know what will happen if or when the Emperor is destroyed. Some may die in the process, since the Vine holds everything together, but it’ll bring an end to serial genocide.”
The Kaiser Bones dimmed and Jav took on substance again as he dropped lightly to the ground, the tension completely gone from his body. Though his hands had been incorporeal, the AI between them had been real and tangible.
“Please don’t try to fight me, Waice.”
Waice stepped back and away. “How did you do that?”
Jav paused for a moment as the Voice answered in his head. “The Charge Circuit temporarily converts mass to slow light with a maximum velocity of one thousand meters per second. Because it’s been integrated into us, and because of your reflexive mastery of Approaching Infinity, you can unconsciously adjust linear progression, delaying the impact reflex, and remain what is essentially a ghost indefinitely.”
To Waice he said, “The Charge Circuit.
“Stay here. If you have the choice, choose to remain out of this. With your Black Light Rail, you can go anywhere.”
“Let me join you,” Waice said.
“Wait. What?”
“I said let me join you.” Conviction was firm in his voice.
“Just like that?”
“Not exactly. There are others who feel—who have felt for some time—that serial genocide must come to an end.”
“You and who else?”
“Let’s start with me. We can work towards trust.”
“Do you realize what you’d be committing to? I’ve had to kill Raus and Ban. It wasn’t easy to do and if, as you say, the rest have been compelled to fight. . .”
“I would prefer not to have to kill to accomplish our goal, but realize that a few guilty individuals may have to die to prevent future atrocities.”
“You can understand my skepticism,” Jav said. “You could easily be a plant. Aside from making our professed aims easier to accomplish, why should we trust each other?”
“Well,” Waice said, “I should trust you, because I’ve known that the Empire has been planning to consider you a traitor for about a year now. And because I have no paranoid delusions that might make me think that the whole thing was a conspiracy to root out other possible traitors, which I’ve essentially told you I am. And because you could have killed me just now, but didn’t.
“You should trust me because,” he continued, “unless I’m mistaken, I’m the only one who hasn’t immediately tried to kill you, the only one who’s taken any time to try to talk with you. I did try to stop you from attacking for that very reason.”
“Waice,” Jav said, “a shadow—a Shade, I’m sure—has been stalking. . . uh. . . me, I guess I should say, for the last couple hundred years. His actions over time took just about everything I was. How do I know I’m not looking at that shadow right now in the flesh?”
“I suppose you don’t. But that would have made my fateful sparring match with Vays even more embarrassing. And there’s still the fact that, with the Charge Circuit, you’re invulnerable.”
“There is that,” Jav said, shrugging. “Okay, I’ll trust you for now.”
“So I can join you?”
“For now.”
“So what do we do?”
“We go forward.” Jav acknowledged his unmoving army. “It’s a waste of resources, but I think we do it without an army.”
“With Gran Pham’s Charge Circuit and my Black Light Rail, we can be at the Palace in seconds,” Waice said, becoming excited by the prospect.
“True,” Jav said. “But I’d prefer moving into whatever Scanlan has built around the Palace with Gran Mid.”
“Ah, yes,” Waice said, remembering. “The Palace surroundings are unrecognizable from when you left. They’ve been turned into a machine city, with countless factories producing and stockpiling weapons and ordnance.”
“That was the plan,” Jav said.
“Gran Mid will be invaluable.”
“It’s a compromise,” Jav said. “Gran Mid can make eighty to a hundred kilometers an hour, more than ten times the army’s march rate. Not nearly as fast as you and I alone, but not bad either.
“Right.”
“One last task for the troops,” Jav said, and suddenly his troops were moving, pushing, pulling, shoving the corpse soldiers out of the way to make room for Gran Mid’s passage.
Jav leapt easily up to Gran Mid’s Brow. “Come on up,” he said, and Waice did, leaping just as easily.
It took nearly thirty minutes to be clear of the constraints of Raus’s dead army. They left both corpse and skeleton troops behind and proceeded rapidly over the countryside.
• • •
“Wil Parish is your teacher,” Jav said. “I’ve never met him personally, but I got to see him operate during the Gun Golem crisis. Very impressive.” Jav reflected for a moment, remembering that Wil Parish had indeed been very impressive on Bahamei, but that he didn’t stay very long to help. “Is it true that he’s one of the first Shades, one of the First Generation? I mean, it’s not that I doubt it, it’s just that the histories covering the origin of the Empire are quite vague, probably intentionally.”
“No, you’re right. But, yes, he was one of the First. There were three of them. He was the Office of Subtlety. Pylas Crier was the Office of Permanence. Leilia Purpurata was the Office of Imminence.”
“Leilia Purpurata? I’ve never heard of her.”
“Few have.”
“Pylas Crier, though,” Jav said, “that’s King Yellow.”
“That’s what they called him.”
“Whatever happened to him, other than becoming a story for mothers to use to scare their children?”
Waice hesitated for a moment. “I, uh, I don’t know. But he and my teacher were both masters of Divine Pattern Fist. They trained together, helped build the Empire together. My teacher wanted Crier’s positive contributions to count for something, in spite of his legacy. He taught me a hybrid form of Divine Pattern, using both hard and soft elements. This fore-knuckle fist,” Waice said, demonstrating, “though he used it differently, was Crier’s trademark.” He dropped his hand and didn’t say anything more.
“There isn’t a lot of information on Divine Pattern. I know it’s one of
the oldest styles in the Empire. I guess it would have to be.”
“I’ve been blessed with the opportunity to learn it.”
Once again, the conversation came to an abrupt end, but Jav didn’t pursue the topic any further. He could tell that Waice was walking a thin line between enthusiasm and strict caution, and he knew why. The stories about King Yellow were more abundant than any available facts, but they were clear on one thing: he’d been a traitor to the Empire, had tried to overthrow the Emperor, injuring him somehow in the process. Waice had to know these stories as well, but also had the word of Wil Parish, Crier’s contemporary and friend. Despite Parish and Crier necessarily being at odds as a result of Crier’s actions, the information conveyed to Waice regarding Crier, or at least the way Waice conveyed it, was far more respectful than what might be considered appropriate.
There were detractors, those who decried the Empire’s method of expansion, but these were, for the most part, artists and poets, individuals who could not organize, who had no real power, and who in some ways benefited most from what the Empire had to offer. It was possible that Waice was in league with Geiss Sinzer, but Sinzer had been quiet for a long time, and there was a question about whether or not he was still alive. Jav had heard from Lor Kalkin about some of Sinzer’s exploits, but all of them predated Jav’s entry into the Empire. No, it was far more likely that Waice was working with his teacher, Wil Parish. Why else would he have come out of his long retirement to take on a student once the location of The Place with Many Doors was announced? And who else but one of the Empire’s founders could have sufficient objectivity to see any real fault with what the Empire had become?
If Parish could be counted as an ally, then there was a chance that this wasn’t a suicide mission. Whether it was or wasn’t was moot, though. Jav wasn’t afraid to die. He didn’t want to die, not with his connection to the Loss Queen now (re?)established. He ached to be with her, to put his arms around her, to feel her touch. He would likely never get the chance to be with her again, but that was okay. He felt her presence everywhere, in everything, in every passing moment. He felt whole and the mere possibility of reuniting with her was more than enough to keep him going. He’d made a promise, one not based on any reciprocation of feelings or even on his own guilt, not entirely anyway. He’d promised to destroy the Emperor because it was the right thing to do, and at least in part, his obligation. Success would be preferable, of course, but failure was an acceptable outcome if it was the inevitable result of his striving. Inaction would have been worse than death, and his guilt would have consumed him sooner rather than later.
He hoped Waice was genuine. He wanted to trust him, whether or not it meant Parish aiding them. Jav had no way of knowing when or if Parish might show up, but was certain of his role as a potential player. He would say nothing to Waice and allow whatever trust that was to develop between them to do so naturally. He hoped also, assuming he was right, that Parish wouldn’t be found out prematurely.
10
THE PUPPET GENERAL
10,923.026.0000
Planet 1612 (Loss)
2nd Perimeter (Yago River)
Icsain stood within the control kiosk of his bunker. Witchlan, broadcasting from the Palace war room, was on the screen.
“It has been twelve hours with no report from Ban Kapler or Spaier Waice,” Witchlan said. “We must assume the worst.
“Mr. Vays, Miss Karvasti, you will jump to Icsain’s bunker. You will do so by way of jump ship. On your arrival, Icsain will begin a search for the miscreant Jav Holson.
“Icsain,” Witchlan said, preventing Icsain from interrupting, “you will proceed with this search because you are best equipped to do so. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Minister,” Icsain said, affecting a sigh.
“Good,” Witchlan said sharply. “Mr. Vays, Miss Karvasti, you will secure the bunker, stand by to offer assistance should such be necessary, and then await further orders. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Minister,” Icsain heard them both say.
Within ten minutes, Icsain’s jump deck screamed to life and was instantly occupied by a jump ship. Icsain raised the deck bay door to allow it to exit. The ship was a sleek wedge, composed of a number of stacked pyramids, the bases providing a succession of sharp, raised lips. It was twenty meters long with a pronounced point—running for three-quarters of the craft’s length—ten meters at its widest point and five meters at its highest. The resonant lift engines were unaffected by the scrambling properties of the mist, but the equipped Farmingtons were offline and communication from the ship to the bunker was already spotty as the ship, hovering unwaveringly in the air, eased out past the deck bay door.
As the ship came to halt, still in the air, the hatch opened and a partial stair dropped down. Vays, Dark with the Titan Star, appeared within the aperture and jumped down to the ground.
“Sorry to kick you out, Icsain,” Vays said, not really meaning it.
“Yes, indeed. I suppose I should be on my way.”
Vays made a sweeping gesture with one hand as he stepped aside. “By all means. What do you plan to do if you find him?”
“I plan to kill him, of course,” Icsain said.
Vays stared blankly for a moment. “What do you plan to do if on the off chance you find yourself in need of aid?”
“That’s absurd.”
Vays shook his head. “No. No, it’s not absurd. You, however, are a different story. In some respects you may be well-entitled to your ego, but as far as we know, Holson has killed three Shades so far. I don’t really have to point out his numerous other exploits and accomplishments, do I? The ones you were present for, witnessed firsthand, I mean?
“You are best equipped to find him, but not necessarily best equipped to fight him.”
“Says you.”
“Says me,” Vays said, nodding. “The important thing is to defeat Holson. Your ego really shouldn’t figure into this.”
“But yours should, I see.”
“However you want to view it.”
Icsain faced Vays in silence, the grain patterns upon the smooth orb of his head shifting slowly, surreally. “Oh, very well. I’ll leave one of my soldiers behind.”
“Connected.”
“Yes, of course, connected! I will relay any pertinent information through the puppet. Is that sufficient, First Specialist, Vays, sir?”
“Yes. Yes, it is. The sarcasm I can do without, however.”
“Soon we’ll both be free of each other’s unwanted company.”
“Can’t wait. Good hunting to you.”
Icsain turned on his heel and started westward. His puppet soldiers followed his lead, many coming out of hiding places Vays hadn’t noticed or suspected.
Once he was some ways on with only a lone wooden soldier left behind, Brin Karvasti called down from the open hatch, “Is he gone?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Brin emerged from the hatch, descended the stair, and jumped the rest of the way down to land lightly upon the ground.
“Forbis,” she said, “I’ve been thinking. Doesn’t all of this seem a little odd?”
“What do you mean? You’re the one who prepped everyone for this.”
Brin smiled patiently. Because she couldn’t stand to be the lone keeper of a secret, she’d told Vays what she’d been instructed to do back during the beginning of transit. Unconsciously, he knew her role and could discuss it with her, but the knowledge never actually crossed over into his conscious mind. Whenever she raised a question about the fiction of Jav’s betrayal, part of Vays would shut off and not remember any of the details. It was like flipping a switch.
“I don’t mean that,” she said. “Everyone is acting as expected, as instructed. Ban’s reaction to news of his brother’s death was understandable and doesn’t really constitute a deviation from what was planned. I can’t be sure that Icsain is or ever was susceptible to my compulsion, but with him it doesn�
�t really matter. It’s Witchlan. The Emperor. Shouldn’t they be more, I don’t know, anxious?”
Vays just shrugged and stared at her.
She rolled her eyes. Sometimes his lack of imagination really bothered her. No, it was more that it was infectious, a spreading sickness of apathy, that more and more threatened to hollow her out and leave nothing behind.
“I don’t know,” Vays said in response to her show of disgust. “What should they be doing differently?”
“Getting involved? Giving us more direction? Showing some concern? We’ve arrived at The Place with Many Doors! Everything we’ve done has led us to this point. This should be the Empire’s loudest shout, but so far the Emperor has done little more than whisper. I would like to think that the Emperor knows something we don’t, that victory, in spite of appearances, is still most assuredly ours.”
“You don’t think it is?”
“Do you?” she spat acidly. “No one else knows about Vansen Biggs, but he’s got to be dead, too. That means that in addition to single-handedly killing at least two, maybe three, Loss Commanders, Jav’s also likely killed four Shades. With him included, that’s half of our offensive force gone.”
“Turns out he really is a traitor. What else should we expect?”
She threw her arms up in exasperation and shook her head. She covered her face with her hands and took a moment to compose herself. It wasn’t his fault. The part of Vays that could converse about these things wasn’t whole or complete. She knew that, but it didn’t do much to relieve her frustration.
She lowered her hands and stepped up to Vays. “Listen very carefully,” she said, exerting her power. “I want you to stand next to that wooden soldier, pester him repeatedly for updates, and report to me anything of note. If there is any mention of Jav Holson being spotted, I want you to tell me and then be subject to a standing blackout for two hours. Do you understand?”
“Standing blackout—like a nap?”
The Loss Queen (Approaching Infinity Book 5) Page 18
