I did not answer him.
"This is your one chance to say what happened and I won't chastise you for tattling," Father said. His voice had a teasing lilt.
With a grumble I let go of the tree and fluttered down to stand beside him. He was fresh out of his genetics laboratory, still wearing his white lab coat with the endless pockets. Wild white hair stuck out of his head as though he had stuck it in an electrical socket, the version of Father I found most comforting and not that younger version of himself who sometimes scared me.
"What did he say to upset you?" Father asked.
"He said I was like Shemijaza!" I crossed my arms in front of my chest and looked back up into the branches of the Eternal Tree.
"You are like Shemijaza," Father said. "In many ways."
I glowered at him.
"But you are also like your mother," Father said. "And that's the part of you we all love."
"I don't want to be like him!" I cried. "I want to be like -you-."
"And so you are," Father said. He gestured for me to follow him, to sit on a root which moved upwards to make a seat for us. "Come. Sit. We need to talk about what is happening."
"I don't want to go with him!" I cried out. "Why can't Mama stay here and marry -you-?"
"Because she doesn't love me the way that she loves him," Father sighed. He ran his fingers through his wild white hair, making it even messier. "Someday you'll understand what it's like when your duty to something bigger than yourself takes precedence over your own personal desire. Your Mama put the Alliance first all these years because she wanted to protect -you-, but I made a mistake. When you were shot my first impulse was to get back at the person who had hurt you. In a way I forgot you really -weren't- my son, because I can heal myself of such a wound and you cannot."
Father's eyes glowed soft gold in the dim light of the garden, illuminated only by the cast-off light of the Eternal Palace windows and the lightning bugs. Around us the wind whispered through the lush vegetation, ruffling my feathers and giving me a chill. It was as close to that paradise I had caught a glimpse of in the world between that Father had been able to replicate.
"That's what Shemijaza said on the television," I said.
"Television!" Father snorted. "If I'd had any idea Shemijaza would someday use my own media networks against me, I would have outlawed them a long time ago, like Shay'tan does."
"Then why don't you?" I asked.
Father sighed and looked down at his hands. "Because I want to be different than Emperor Shay'tan. If I make our people live the exact same way, then I wouldn't really be offering them an alternative, now, would I? Usually when I get called onto the carpet, the people are right."
He stared off into the distance. "It's why the Alliance has never had the kind of bloody, galaxy-shattering rebellions that Shay'tan has. I try to listen to what people tell me so I can fix things before it ever gets that far."
"But sometimes you suppress things?" I thought back to the locked cabinet full of history books Father had rewritten.
"I am not a perfect god," Father gave me an apologetic grin. "Sometimes, you just want a problem to go away. Even if that means quashing a rebellion because -not- quashing it could put the larger Alliance at risk."
"Shemijaza said my people are dying," I said.
"My, you -have- been watching a lot of television?"
Father had forbidden me to watch television, saying it would rot my brain. In a way, I had to agree with him. So much of what went on there was rubbish. But it was also a way to figure out what concerned people.
"Haven't -you-?" I asked. "I mean, I hear lots of newscasts telling people what Shemijaza says because he's willing to talk to them, but you always tell them -no comment- and slam the Pearl Gate in their face. Is it any wonder people are suspicious of you?"
"I have given more to this Alliance than anyone has a right to be asked to give," Father's golden eyes turned that deep copper which glowed like fire whenever he grew angry. Having seen him lose his temper the day I was shot, I had no desire to provoke him. In fact, I suspected the reason he stayed away from the media was because he didn't want to be seen losing his temper on the cameras.
"But how do -they- know that?" I asked. "How do they know if you don't tell them?"
"I give people things," Father said. "If an endangered species is dying, I give them a genetic adaptation to help them survive. If the Tokoloshe want to annex your planet and eat your citizens, I send warships to kick them out of that sector. If some disease is killing your citizens, I send scientists to study the problem and come up with a fix for it."
"Then why haven't you fixed Shemijaza's people?" I asked.
"Because I don't know what is wrong with you!" Father said. He looked away.
"Have you told -them- that?" I asked.
"And tell people their God is fallible?" Father asked. He picked a leaf off of a branch of the Eternal Tree and began to fiddle with it. "What use is having gods if they can't fix things for you?"
We stared across the garden in silence, watching the second natural moon of Haven rise and add its light to the dim light of the first-rising, smaller artificial moon Father had created as a long-term spaceport. The night-flowers were open, casting their sweet perfume throughout the place, and the chirrup of amphibious tree-dwellers and click of insects gave the night garden a rhythmic percussion the day-garden lacked. Father spent many nights in the garden when he needed someplace besides the laboratory to refresh his thinking.
"Shemijaza has this thing called a Parliament," I spoke at last. "If the people are unhappy, they go -there- and let -them- fix it. Why don't -you- create a Parliament? Then people can blame -them- instead of -you- when things don't get fixed because it's not your job?"
"We have a Parliament," Father said. "Where do you think Shemijaza got the idea?"
"But -your- Parliament is just a meeting place," I said. "The delegates don't have any power to actually -fix- things, just to talk about their problems. Why not figure out which things you want people to fix themselves and then delegate the power to do it?"
"Because they would run amok," Father said. "If you think Shemijaza is having a field day with the media, what would happen if I gave people free reign of the Alliance?"
"Assign somebody else to be in charge," I said. "Somebody you trust. Shemijaza doesn't do that … he is both their emperor and their Parliamentary leader. And then … I don't know. Make it so you have the right to strike down any law you don't like."
"I do that now," Father said. "Shemijaza has accused me of only giving the illusion of authority."
"So make a procedure so people can override your will," I said. "Like the Mer-Levi do because the Alliance is too far away to take care of every tiny detail. Then nobody can ever accuse you of being a dictator."
Father stared at me with those golden eyes, which faded to the pale gold I associated with him having just experienced a brilliant insight.
"Go to bed, chol beag," Father said. "In the morning I will have a surprise for you."
Father walked me back to my empty apartment and gave me a rare hug. Usually I shirked washing my face unless Mama insisted, but Mama wasn't here. I was getting too big to be told to do things like a little baby. I missed her so much it hurt. Don't tell anyone, but every night since she had left I had slept in Mama's bed with her pillow hugged against my face so I could smell her scent. I didn't want to go with that brutal-jawed man, but what would happen if Shemijaza kept her there, a prisoner? Who would I choose? Mama? Or Father?
I thought of that ship Shemijaza had sent to carry me back to his Empire, the one he had used to snatch Mama right from under Father's nose. It sure seemed like he was eager to win me over?
No! Father was my father! Not a man who blew up planets! I would not go with him!
With that thought in my head, I used my gift to stretch my mind across the dreamtime and touch Mama's mind the way she had taught me to do, a gift of telepathy shared amongst close family
members inherited from a Seraphim grandmother, though never had I tried to use the gift from so far away.
"Is féidir liom a bhraitheann tú, Mama," I whispered to Mama's pillow. -I can feel you.- "Please come home."
It was not so much a thought as warmth which resonated in my chest, a sense of knowing that Mama was okay. She knew how much I missed her and, whatever had taken so long, it was now done and at last she would come home.
I snuggled into Mama's pillow and fell asleep.
Chapter 67
Galactic Standard Date: 152,323.11 AE
Neutral Zone: 'Prince of Tyre'
Special Agent Eligor
Eligor
Eligor glanced back as Lerajie moved into the cockpit of the shuttle they were piloting back from Haven-3. On a long hyper jump such as this the ship technically ran on autopilot, but they'd traveled incognito just in case the Emperor decided to retaliate by grabbing Lucifer a second time. This bucket of bolts was all engines, not a lot of places for privacy to let the Prime Minister get some rest, so they'd taken to hiding out here whenever they wanted to talk.
"How's he doing?" Eligor asked.
"He's rambling again," Lerajie said. "He keeps saying she really talked."
"She did really talk," Eligor said. "You saw it as well as I did."
Lerajie was silent. Eligor let him think it over, not eager to listen to an idealistic rant about not treating the root stock of their species badly. It was funny how, when he'd told Lerajie he thought the dark-skinned man was sentient, his friend who was so eager to protect the rights of a pre-sentient species was somehow less eager to acknowledge that perhaps they were trafficking a fully sentient one?
That was one way he and Lerajie varied. Eligor called what they were doing what it was. The illegal trafficking of sex-slaves. Hybrids had a problem. Humans offered a solution. It was their job to move the humans from point A to point B so that Lucifer could pull off his little intrigue. Lerajie's idealistic notions of the man he wanted to be would not let him acknowledge the man he actually was. Now that it was obvious something stank, Lerajie had gone into denial.
"Zepar did something to the humans he gifted to the other hybrids," Lerajie defended. "Jacked up their intelligence with one of his drugs. He said it wears off after a couple of hours, but if you do it often enough, you can train them to do things. The rest … it must have been some kind of parlor trick. With a radio transmitter or something?"
Eligor checked the deep space radar, confirming manually that the autopilot had them on the right trajectory and wouldn't dump them off into the middle of a black hole. He did not bother correcting his sidekick. Arguing did no good. It made Lerajie squirm when he refused to argue with him, as though he needed to argue opposite what somebody else thought in order to solidify it within his own brain. Well Eligor wasn't going to help his idealistic friend go out on any ledges.
"He asked for you again," Lerajie finally said.
Eligor pulled down the clipboard and pretended to be busy. What could he say to the man? That his gut told him the last place they should be transporting Lucifer was back out to the flagship in the neutral zone, where Zepar could jab him with syringes full of the same shit he injected into the humans? No doubt some kind of steroids or other brainwashing drugs to make him compliant? And then lead him around by the dick like some horny little puppet-prince? Tossing the occasional human female reject his way to rape whenever it proved too difficult for Zepar to train because what Lucifer wanted more than anything in the world was to not go extinct?
"You shouldn't keep avoiding him," Lerajie said. "Did you see the way he put the ice-princess back into her place?"
Eligor did not meet Lerajie's eyes. "I heard."
He did not add that he'd also heard the betrayal in Lucifer's voice when he accused the Supreme Commander-General of prostituting her ovaries to the Alliance. He'd read the letter. He knew what Lucifer had really been referring to. Why had Jophiel acted like she had no idea what he was talking about?
Perhaps she had rejected the letters without reading them?
Why reject a letter from your Prime Minister without reading it unless you already knew what was in it? When you were a cadet, no less? Who could be court-martialed for ignoring your highest-ranking government official? No. There were fifty shades of weirdness happening right now and it all led back to the puppet-master. Zepar.
"He's not doing so hot," Lerajie said. "His fever keeps spiking and he's delirious. Whatever the Emperor did to him, it hurt him bad."
"He burned off his wings," Eligor said. "Of course he's having a shitty day."
He finished performing his fake circle check, then handed over control to Lerajie so he could check on their passenger. The odor of charred feathers still clung to Lucifer even though they'd pumped him full of antibiotics and plucked any that looked like it might cause the pin-follicles to become infected, leaving the poor man's limbs bald. It was a pathetic sight, an Angelic who'd lost his wings, though because Eligor had known how to slip the wing-joint back into place, hopefully someday Lucifer would be able to fly again? Once his feathers grew back in?
Lucifer slept on his belly as most Angelics did unless curled up with a mate. His back rose and fell, his coloring pale and tinged with blue. A lump rose in Eligor's throat at the sight of those charred, bald limbs, even he who had become hardened beyond caring about anybody but himself forced to pity the man. He moved back towards the cockpit, not wishing to disturb him, when Lucifer called his name.
"Eligor?"
"Sir."
Lucifer struggled to roll onto his side and winced as the lingering burns scraped against the rough blankets which had come with this bootlegged shuttle.
"Please, sit," Lucifer said. Those eerie silver eyes glittered in the dim light, as though he could see into the dark.
Eligor sat on the bunk opposite him.
Lucifer grimaced. "I haven't really had a chance to thank you."
"I was just doing my job, Sir."
"So was everybody else," Lucifer said. "But you were the only one who stuck your neck out for me and defied the Emperor's orders."
Eligor shrugged.
Lucifer recognized Eligor wasn't in a talkative mood. His lip twitched with regret, as though he wanted to talk to someone and there just weren't all that many people in the world he trusted. "I just wanted to say thanks."
"You're welcome, Sir."
Lucifer rolled back onto his belly, the effort of even the brief conversation exhausting him. Eligor pulled out a thermometer and took his temperature again. Shit! The guy had a fever of 108!
"Sir," Eligor said. "I think you need some more antipyretics."
"Lerajie just gave me some," Lucifer mumbled. "Good stuff. Wings hurt like a bastard, but I haven't had a migraine this entire trip."
More likely it because Eligor had hidden Lucifer's first choice of anesthetic, the potent green Mantoid liquor. The puppet prince had been clean and sober the past four days, except for the dribbles Eligor slipped into his beverages from the bottle he'd hidden, just enough to take the edge off so the guy didn't develop a case of the DT's. After he'd realized Zepar was enabling the man, he'd begun to research ways to wean him off the shit … just in case.
"Very well, Sir," Eligor said. He moved back towards the cockpit.
"Eligor?"
"Yes, Mister Prime Minster?"
"Did Abaddon's wife really talk?"
Eligor hesitated. Was Lucifer really that clueless?
"She did, Sir."
Lucifer sighed. "How come my wives never talk to me? Every time I go in to see them, they try to claw out my eyes."
Eligor wondered the same question. He remembered the condition the woman had been in after Lucifer had impregnated them. Those women hadn't walked out of his bedroom smiling like the Angelic females he usually bedded. They'd been pinned down and taken against their will. He had several theories rattling around his head, but until he had more information, he wasn't going to stick his
neck out and talk to the man who was the subject of those theories. No matter how much Lucifer acted like the good twin, the fact remained there was an evil one, and not even Eligor knew which one he was speaking to at any given moment.
"Zepar said he gives you the rejects, Sir," Eligor finally said. "Now that the foal is out of the stable, maybe you should ask him to give you one of the smart ones?"
"Maybe I'll do that," Lucifer mumbled. His breath evened out, his back rising and falling as he slid back into sleep.
Eligor moved back into his cockpit and began punching numbers into his PDA.
"Whatcha doing?" Lerajie asked.
Eligor met his friend's eyes, or about as much of a friend as he'd ever admit to having. "Video game."
"Is it any good?"
Eligor stared at the string of numbers and alphanumeric code he'd been using to jog his memory. He punched in the letter 'G' and then clicked the screensaver over to a real video game. One that encoded his list so nobody could get into it. He knew better than anyone what would happen if Zepar caught on he was keeping track of things.
"Here," Eligor handed it to him. "Amuse yourself and stop asking stupid questions."
"Oh! It's a war game!"
Like an eager kid, Lerajie played the addictively popular video game Eligor had loaded onto his PDA just for cover. It was the one where Angelics swooped down from space to free some newly sentient planet full of spear-chuckers from Shay'tan.
Chapter 68
November - 3,390 BC.
Earth: Village of Assur
Pareesa
“Now!”
Pareesa sliced upwards with her flint knife, right into the gonads of the Halifian unfortunate enough to be climbing over the low stone wall she hid behind. On either side of her the B-team did the same, slashing upwards with spears and knives to use the element of surprise, which was their only advantage against these hardened fighters.
The man screamed and swung down at her, barely missing her neck as she threw her body to one side. Pareesa yelped and sliced upwards a second time, burying her blade into his gut. The man fell on top of her, fighting even as she tried to yank out her knife. Goat dung! This guy weighed three times more than her and smelled like a goat in heat! She frantically pushed against his weight until she'd was able to wriggle out from underneath the man.
Sword of the Gods: Prince of Tyre (Sword of the Gods Saga) Page 69
