Empress of Eternity

by L. E. Modesitt

  “Old-style gas cutting torch,” replied Duhyle. “They’re headed for the junction box where the power cables all join.”

  “They need to burn through the cables? Isn’t there a switch or something like that?”

  “There is. There are switches from each power subsystem, and then a main switch beyond the conformer. But the doors and walls to the chamber are steel. Thermasteel, in fact.” Duhyle smiled.

  “A chemical torch won’t cut through that. Most lasers won’t.”

  “No. But by the time they discover that, they’ll either have to bring in lights or wait until dawn to backtrack the cabling subconduits so that they can find where they can cut through.”

  “Aren’t there plans…schematics?” asked the subcaptain.

  Duhyle nodded. “Over there, in the second chest. I had to install the power systems before Hel—the commander—could start her research. We never sent them to Vaena…”

  “Mother Skadi…” Symra looked down at Duhyle sitting before the small worktable, then lowered her voice. “You’re not just a tech…”

  He smiled. “I was…before I went back to university.” He waited a moment, then went on. “Doctorate in electrical engineering and electronic theory, but I always liked building things better than theory. I’ve enjoyed creating what Helkyria said was impossible.”

  “Oh…you’re that…”

  “For better or worse.” Duhyle watched as the Aesyr assembled the cutting gear next to the squarish steel doors set flush with the stone of the south end of the canal wall.

  Less than a quarter hour later, the Aesyr abandoned the effort and began to disassemble the torch in the long shadows that were almost indistinguishable from the twilight of late summer.

  “Kavn,” said Helkyria quietly but firmly, “I need some help here.”

  Symra stepped back as Duhyle rose and walked over to where she was juggling multiple inputs on multiple physical screens.

  Helkyria looked toward the subcaptain. “Symra…it’s likely that nothing will happen soon. If you would convey that to Captain Valakyr and suggest that the troopers might need a decent night’s sleep. Tomorrow could be quite long.”

  “Yes, ser.”

  Once Symra had left, Duhyle looked at Helkyria and raised his eyebrows. “You have something drastic in mind.”

  “Only if it succeeds. If it fails, we’ll have to retreat along the tunnel, and I have no idea if there are even any exits before the eastern end.”

  “Retreat?”

  “After destroying the equipment. I wouldn’t dare leave any of it for Thora.”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “Opening up the incomprehensible levels.”

  “That means making them comprehensible,” he said lightly.

  “Exactly.”

  He waited.

  “The shadow symbols have a temporal component, not just a command structure. I could be wrong, but I think that’s why the canal is impervious to anything here. I need what amounts to a temporal synchronizer…so that all three command levels are at the same temporal frequency. That’s a crude way of putting it. Look.” She pointed to the screen, then added a line of equations. “You see…if…” Another set followed.

  Duhyle watched, listened, and finally shook his head. “I can do what you want. I don’t fully understand, but I can convert them all to the temporal equivalent of direct current. I hope that will work. We can’t go the other way because of the cycling.”

  “How long?”

  “Two hours if I’m lucky. I won’t be. Before midnight, I’d hope.”

  She reached over and squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t expect things to turn out this way.”

  “I know.” He squeezed her hand in return, then bent down and brushed her cheek with his lips. “I’d better get to work.”

  He felt her eyes on his back as he headed for the equipment storeroom.

  34

  5 Tenmonth 1351, Unity of Caelaarn

  The lounge car of the tube-train to Semelin was close to two-thirds full, but the man—a mid-level Environment Ministry functionary from his pale green and blue singlesuit—who would have been seated next to Maertyn took one look at the silver-gray trim of his maroon jacket and slipped away to another vacant seat.

  Maertyn didn’t sense any special scrutiny from the others in the car, but when the train was less than a half hour from Semelin, he stood and walked from his seat to the facilities in the middle of the car. Once inside a stall, he eased the special stunner from his shoulder bag into his jacket pocket. The weapon, except for the standard power pack, was totally biologic in construction, and assembling it years earlier had proven both expensive and time-consuming.

  After finishing in the stall and then washing his hands and face, he returned to his seat to wait for the arrival in Semelin. He had no doubts that someone would be waiting for him. In fact, not finding someone awaiting would have been quite a surprise. Continuing to wear a lord’s colors certainly made Maertyn more obvious, but it also allowed him to discover who was after him—and the jacket and undervest offered more protection than could any more proletarian garb he could have obtained while in Caelaarn.

  Maertyn did not stand immediately as the tube-train glided to a halt at the platform at Semelin. Had he done that, all those in the car would have deferred to him. So he just sat and waited with a smile.

  “The train has arrived at Semelin,” announced the car speakers. “All passengers must depart.”

  Most of those on the train rose immediately as the doors opened, although several glanced toward Maertyn. He nodded to them politely, then gestured for them to continue.

  As the last passengers began to leave the car, Maertyn rose and moved quickly, so that he was directly behind a large and muscular woman who wore the blue of the Transport Ministry, if with thin red piping on her jacket, a woman who moved with a grace more athletic than feminine.

  His eyes went immediately to the bottom of the moving ramp leading up to the main level of the station. In the dimmer light to the right of the ramp was a man garbed as a maintenance or sanitation worker who was doing something to a duct in the side of the base of the ramp. He had to be a local agent, because Protective Services would not have had time to dispatch an agent from Caelaarn and because only emergency maintenance was scheduled in the early evening. Regular maintenance was handled in late evening and in the hours after midnight, not that most travelers would have known that or cared.

  As Maertyn approached the ramp, using the muscular woman as a concealment shield, he eased his hand into his jacket pocket, then moved just enough to his right to trigger the stunner. The false sanitation worker toppled forward and a dull black dart-gun skittered across the lichen-carpeted surface. None of the other train passengers seemed to notice, except for a nervous-faced thin woman, who looked away abruptly and resolutely.

  Maertyn stepped forward and onto the ramp, as if nothing had occurred, keeping close to the Transport functionary. The surveillance videos would have the Transport security people rushing down the descent ramp in minutes.

  For Maertyn the greatest danger at Semelin lay ahead. He doubted that the single Protective Services agent was the only one waiting. If Tauzn wanted him dead, there would be more than one agent. For all that Ashauer had said, and all that Hlaansk’s actions had hinted, Maertyn still found it hard to believe that so many people wanted to dispose of him, but searching for those reasons would have to wait.

  At Semelin, as in many tube-train stations, the main platform served as access to two lower platforms, and the other lower platform was the one from where the much later tube-train to Brathym and Daelmar would depart, but Maertyn had no intention of descending to the other platform immediately, even if he could have, which he couldn’t because the kiosk and the top of the down ramp wouldn’t have permitted it until any trains scheduled prior to his had arrived and departed.

  As he neared the top of the ramp and the main platform, he scanned the
area. He still did not see any Transport security personnel, but in moments, he sighted two men in dark business singlesuits, one green and one gray. Both carried thin cases and appeared to be talking animatedly, although they both were facing the ramp carrying travelers up from the lower level. Casually, they turned and began to walk in Maertyn’s general direction, although neither seemed to look anywhere close to him.

  Maertyn anticipated that the two would swing around behind the group of passengers, then come up and flank him, half-stunning him right there and “walking” him out of the station. Ahead, he could see three figures in the red and blue of Transport security moving quickly toward him, more precisely toward the ramp behind him, since they were clearly headed down toward the false maintenance worker.

  The two “businessmen” split to move past the first of the passengers, one going to the right and the other to the left, apparently unaware of or unconcerned with the security officers. Maertyn slipped his hand back into his jacket pocket, while remaining behind the muscular woman until the “businessman” to his right neared and looked toward Maertyn, smiling coolly.

  Maertyn triggered his stunner, but directed the blast toward the man’s knee and leg, so that he stumbled and then toppled forward.

  “Help!” yelled Maertyn moving out to the side and kicking the stunner from the fallen man’s hand. “He’s broken his leg!” The stunner slid at an angle until it came to rest at the base of an alcove displaying a series of commercial scenes.

  Two of the Transport security officers immediately turned and moved toward Maertyn. Most of the passengers continued onward, but the muscular woman did not, stopping and turning. Maertyn could see the other “businessman” quietly turn and join the passengers headed toward the short upper ramp to the street-level exit.

  The agent started to sit up and reach for his waist.

  “I wouldn’t,” said Maertyn, kneeling down, if far enough away that the man couldn’t reach him. “You’re alone. All you have to do is claim that you had a leg cramp…which you do, by the way. They’ll help you leave the station without questions, and you don’t want any. You can report that you couldn’t act without giving yourself away to Transport. Your superiors won’t like it, but you and they would like the alternatives less. If you try anything else, I’ll point out your stunner and suggest you have other weapons.” He smiled, then rose, beckoning to the Transport security officers. “Over here. I think he had a very severe leg cramp.”

  The lead officer took in Maertyn’s maroon jacket, trimmed in silver-gray. “Sir?”

  “Lord Maertyn. I’m headed to Daelmar on short notice. I couldn’t get a direct train. He was walking past…and he fell.”

  The officer frowned.

  “That’s exactly what happened.” The deep feminine voice came from the Transport functionary, who had continued to wait. Her eyes went to the man who still sat on the lichen-carpeted platform floor. “He’s very fortunate that Lord Maertyn is a thoughtful and generous man.”

  “Yes…sir.”

  The muscular woman had continued to stand not quite beside Maertyn, and the two security types looked at her warily before helping the injured man away.

  “Very nicely done, Lord Maertyn,” she said in a pleasant voice. “Lord Ashauer will be pleased.”

  “Convey my appreciation, if you will.”

  “That I will, sir. You might wish to recover the agent’s stunner. It might come in useful later. Transport has no security jurisdiction in Daelmar. Good evening.” She offered a pleasant smile, then turned and followed the two security officers.

  Maertyn didn’t see the third officer, presumably dealing with the false maintenance worker. He did follow the woman’s suggestion, glad that the security types had not recovered it first, but suspecting that they had been ordered not to by Ashauer’s agent, as he picked up the stunner and slipped it into his other jacket pocket. He also continued to puzzle over why Ashauer was so interested in his survival. Or was it just that Maertyn’s survival frustrated Tauzn’s ambitions and schemes?

  The platform was largely empty, given the lateness of the hour, and the only commercial establishment open was a small bistro at the south end. The faintly lit sign above the open door read DHOOREN’S. Maertyn saw no one else on the platform between him and the bistro. Nor did anyone appear as he walked to its open doorway and then inside, where he stopped. He counted the tables. There were eleven. A man and a woman, both in the gray of sanitary services, sat at the only other occupied table. Both glanced at him, then quickly looked away.

  “Anywhere you want,” announced the sole server, a stolid-faced woman perhaps his own age in the cream and white of food service.

  “Thank you.” Maertyn nodded politely.

  After he seated himself at an empty corner table, facing the door, the server moved from behind the short counter that separated what passed for a kitchen from the rest of the bistro. “You’ll be having what, sir?”

  “Do you have a cheese and mushroom kalzeon?”

  “Best I can do is lamb and cheese.”

  “I’ll take it…with hot tea.”

  “Be but a few minutes, sir.” There was a pause. “You’d be traveling late, sir.”

  “Last-moment change of plans.” Maertyn let wryness creep into his voice.

  The kalzeon was adequate, better than merely passable, and filling. Given that Maertyn hadn’t eaten in more than eight hours, he didn’t have trouble eating it all, although he took his time and had four mugs of slightly bitter tea in the process.

  He also thought about the agents sent to detain or murder him. Why? There were any number of possible reasons, although most of them made little sense to Maertyn. The only one that held any semblance of reason was that Tauzn wanted media interest and publicity generated by the case of a murdered lord who was researching the secrets of the great canal in order to call attention to that research. But was that because Tauzn wanted Protective Services in charge of the research or to call attention to the “waste” of Unity funds on “worthless projects” in a time of crisis? The latter, Maertyn suspected, probably because no one in the media cared about a lord-scientist with an excellent reputation conducting slightly unusual research on what amounted to a very low bud get. But…if Maertyn were dead…he couldn’t defend himself, and then there would be more digging into Maarlyna’s illness and “treatment” and charges of waste and favoritism…as well as violating the medical ethics laws.

  There might be other plausible reasons for the attacks, but Maertyn couldn’t think of any. The fact that he couldn’t also confirmed his worries about the future of the Unity and his feelings about Tauzn’s utter ruthlessness.

  After almost an hour, the other couple, clearly also waiting for a train, rose and left the bistro. Maertyn watched them walk northward and then descend the ramp to the platform from which he had come.

  Would anyone else appear in the hour or so before the tube-train to Brathym arrived?

  No one else did, except for a contingent of Reserve guards, whom Maertyn followed down the ramp to the other platform. When his train did arrive, the small compartment he had reserved contained no surprises, although he did affix his own additional interior lock to the door before leaning back on the couch that was barely long enough to be a bunk.

  For the next several hours, he dozed, if fitfully, then woke and waited while the train stopped in Brathym to take on more passengers. After that he dozed even more restlessly.

  By just after what would have been dawn on the lands above the tube-train, on the sixth of Tenmonth, Maertyn sat in his compartment in the second car, looking at the image projected on the wall, a view theoretically to the west. Powdery fine snow sifted back and forth across the barren flats between the stands of pines that marked the Reserve. Each autumn, the snows, light as they were, fell earlier than they had in the year before, and by spring, the snows were three yards deep on the ground above the tunnel where the train sped northward on the last leg of its trip from Semelin t
o Daelmar.

  He had hoped to have returned to Maarlyna far earlier, but with all that had happened in Caelaarn, and especially upon his return, he was fortunate to have gotten as far as he had…and he’d still have to worry about what might await him at Daelmar.

  He stiffened out of a semi-doze when the compartment speaker announced, “The train is arriving at Daelmar. All passengers must depart.” For a moment, Maertyn wondered why the system had not addressed him as “Lord Maertyn”…until he remembered that he had not used his priority codes in booking the journey, not that his restraint had helped much, it appeared.

  When he stepped out of the car onto the platform, the pewter finish of the tube-train and the fixtures of the Daelmar station felt cold, almost lifeless, although Maertyn could sense that the temperature was the same as it always was. He followed the Reserve guards, if by a yard or so—until he walked past the gate and kiosk toward the ramp up to the street level of the station.

  Abruptly, Maertyn could feel a different chill, despite the solar and geothermal heat radiators in the walls and roof of the station…and something else, more like the warning or the call he sensed when an iceberg was about to calf and drop into the waters of the canal. Why would he feel that when the station was half a kay south of the canal?

  “Your fortune, honored sir…your fortune?”

  The woman who called to him from the dimness beside the ramp upward was the same slim figure, attired in red, that almost accosted him upon his departure. For all that she looked girlish, her hair was silver-gray and she held the same silvery oblong as before.

  As she neared, not repelled or startled as she had been when he had been traveling to Caelaarn, Maertyn realized that he had never seen anything like the metallic rectangle. He also realized that she appeared…somehow…too sharp, as if outlined in some way…and he had the impression that another figure somehow accompanied her, but could see no one behind her…or to either side.

  “Why did I startle you before, lady?” he asked, gently preemptive.