Empress of Eternity

by L. E. Modesitt

  “You were not what was expected…after all these years, but that matters little. You are the husband of a lady with amber eyes and hair, and your entire future lies in her eyes and hands.”

  There was something about the way she spoke, a clarity at odds with the softness of her words. But he couldn’t place it. “My entire future? And what of my…work?”

  “You will find answers, but they will not aid those you believe to be your allies, nor those who are your enemies. The man who seeks you stands outside the archway and wears a worn blue winter jacket. His partner is the loader on the canal-runner.” The young/old woman smiled…and vanished.

  Maertyn swallowed, then glanced around and back where the woman had stood. Nothing changed. He was alone on the platform. Holographic images? Yet he’d never seen an image that sharp and real, and with no sign of any projection equipment and no other light sources. Had he really heard and seen her?

  After a moment, he took a deep breath and started up the ramp, putting his hands in his jacket pockets as if they were cold. By the time he reached the upper level, the Reserve guards who had accompanied him on the tube-train had all dispersed, and the inside upper level of the station between him and the entrance was empty, except for a bearded man leaning against the archway.

  With his hands still in his pockets, Maertyn walked deliberately toward the arch.

  The bearded man in a faded and mottled blue ice-jacket stepped away from the arch, lurching toward Maertyn and smiling broadly. “Sir!”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know—” As he said the word “know,” Maertyn pressed the stud on the stunner in his left pocket, hoping that he wasn’t acting on false information, yet knowing he was not.

  The would-be beggar toppled.

  “Medical aid! Security!” Maertyn yelled at the top of his voice. He did not approach the fallen man.

  Within moments, a squarish woman in the olive brown suit of a Reserve guard—since the Reserve guards were also security in Daelmar, even for the tube-train station—hurried toward him and the fallen figure sprawled facedown on the lichen-carpet. She looked at Maertyn, taking in his garb, and then at the man lying there. “You’re Lord Maertyn?”

  “Yes, officer. I was just returning from Caelaarn. This fellow hailed me and stepped toward me. I started to tell him that I didn’t know him, and he fell over.”

  The guard glanced back at another guard, younger and male, who had wheeled a medicart up behind her, and then at the handful of bystanders who had begun to gather. “Just stand back.” She started to turn the man over, then paused and lifted his right hand. From it fell a dark gray object.

  A single-jolt nerver, Maertyn suspected, the kind that would have produced an instant heart-stoppage.

  The guard’s eyes narrowed. She looked to Maertyn, and the faintest of sad smiles appeared. “I don’t think there’s any more you can do, Lord Maertyn. He’s had some sort of seizure, and we’ll find out why it happened. If there are any more questions, we know where to find you.”

  “You do…and thank you.”

  “Not a problem, sir.” She eased the nerver into an insulated bag that she slipped from her belt, then turned to the other guard. “He’ll need to go to medical confinement. He was carrying a proscribed weapon.”

  Maertyn stepped back. There were some benefits to being the only lord in at least two hundred kays in any direction, he reflected, as he walked through the archway to the main street, angling away from the space where the canal-runner would appear in the next half hour, and crossing the street on his way to Haarlan’s Victualary. He was vaguely surprised to see that the Outfittery was open, the first time he’d seen it so in months, if not longer.

  When he entered the victualary, he noted that Eylana was behind the counter.

  “Lord Maertyn…what can we do for you?”

  Maertyn smiled politely. “What would it cost me to request a number of special items for delivery today and to accompany whoever drives them out to the station?”

  Her eyes widened. “Lord Maertyn…that is most…unusual.”

  “Humor me, if you would.”

  “I will have to check with Uncle Haarlan.”

  “Please do.” Maertyn turned so that he could watch the entry as she linked to Haarlan, wherever the proprietor might be, listening as she relayed his request, but trying not to be too obvious about it.

  “…yes…yes, sir. I’ll tell him…and see what he says.” She looked up to Maertyn.

  “Yes?”

  “Two hundred more than whatever the order is…and he can’t drive out for another hour and a half.”

  “That’s fine. Done.”

  Eylana’s mouth opened.

  “Not a word to anyone, except your family, if you please.”

  “Yes, sir.” Eylana cleared her throat, and added through her link, “Lord Maertyn says that is fine.” She paused. “Yes, sir.” Then she looked to Maertyn. “What would you like to order, sir?”

  “Enough so that it’s worth your while, your uncle’s, and mine.” Maertyn grinned.

  After a moment, she finally smiled.

  35

  33 Quad 2471 R.E.

  Eltyn and Faelyna worked, with little success, for the few hours remaining in eightday before finally retiring for the night. He did rig the alarms to wake them if anyone approached the station. Nothing did, and they resumed work early on oneday, after forcing down a breakfast extracted from ration paks.

  The minidrone—or its replacement—was still circling overhead. When Eltyn took a brief break from helping Faelyna and went outside to inspect the antennae for damage, in less than three minutes, the system was reporting an incoming missile. The explosion to the southeast of the station didn’t damage any of the exterior equipment, but Eltyn decided that any more excursions would only increase the odds of a warhead finally doing some serious damage to the exterior components of the scanning and power systems. And the riffies just might get lucky and time something so that he wouldn’t get enough warning to return to the station.

  No more outside work for a while, he pulsed as he headed back to rejoin Faelyna.

  Good3 idea!

  Glad you approve. [mild sarcasm]

  Interrogative comm-links? [concerned curiosity]

  In a moment. From the time Eltyn had isolate-blocked the comm system, he’d checked the incoming messages periodically, but the quarantine file had only contained general grand pronouncements similar to what had come in on the emergency system. Still…he hadn’t checked lately.

  Besides several more declarations from The Twenty asserting authority, there were two other text messages. They were identical.

  All research activities previously conducted by members of the Ruche under the auspices of the radical organization termed TechOversight will now be assumed by Ruche Research Central. Any researchers who fail to preserve and protect such work will be treated as traitors to the Ruche and terminated. Those who preserve such work will have their efforts reviewed with a more lenient view, despite their previous allegiance…

  Eltyn copied the text and flashed it to Faelyna.

  Lovely choice. Immediate termination or brain-wipe. Doesn’t change anything. That’s all?

  Except for more pompous4 pronouncements.

  The insanity of the Ruche as end-all and be-all…as bad as hysterical religiosity.

  Worse.

  Another reason to find a solution before they bring more force against the station.

  Agreed. Eltyn walked up the ramp to her work area. Status? He sat down at the table adjoining hers.

  Derivative and inversion approaches not viable, Faelyna pulsed.

  ????

  Attempting commands in those formats results in return feed = frozen projector controls. Nanosecond response. Requires shutdown and power-up.

  Less obvious alternatives?

  Such as?

  At that moment, Eltyn couldn’t think of any.

  They sat there silently.

  Fina
lly, Faelyna suggested, “Time to eat. Low blood glucose doesn’t help with thinking.”

  “It’s better than sitting here.”

  They walked down to the lower level, where Rhyana had already set up three places at one end of the plastene table that could have held ten. A rice and cheese casserole of a variety that Eltyn didn’t recognize sat in the middle of the table with a rounded dome that looked to be hot bread beside the casserole on a square plate.

  “Thank you,” said Faelyna, “but you didn’t have to…”

  “Not much else to do right now. Can’t go out without having missiles shot at you. You two need more than rations.” Rhyana’s voice was mock-gruff.

  “We appreciate it,” said Eltyn with a laugh.

  “We really do,” added Faelyna.

  Eltyn had to admit that the casserole tasted far better than it looked, and he found himself taking seconds. “You’re a good cook, and we don’t have that much to work with here.”

  “Can’t think on an empty brain. Got sweet fritters for dessert,” offered the delivery woman. “I’ll feed the riffie once we’re done.”

  After finishing the last of the casserole on his plate, Eltyn took a bite of what looked to be a barely baked dough-strip, only to find that it was a light and flaky pastry that nearly disintegrated in his hands. “Good…very good…” he mumbled as he guided the remaining pastry flakes toward his mouth.

  Alert! Possible Intruders!

  At the warning, Eltyn immediately swallowed the last of the flaky fritter and shifted his attention to the monitors, noting first the surface-effect vessel skimming from the east toward the canal, holding a position midway between the north and south walls. In addition, there were five large trucks moving along the canal walls. All the trucks were hard-sided and roofed, with a shiny plate-like material on the outside that appeared to have been added recently.

  What was it about the station that commanded so much interest from The Twenty and the riffies? No one had seemed to be interested before TechOversight had slipped Eltyn and Faelyna into the MetCom system in a quiet effort to research the station. Then, abruptly, the entire Ruche system had imploded, and the RucheFirst extremists and The Twenty had taken over in a coup. Since then, the station had been under continual, if intermittent, attack. Except, he corrected himself, none of the attacks had really involved major forces. It could just be that The Twenty were handling what opposition that remained as swiftly as possible.

  Ship moving westward in the canal. Headed toward station. Several vehicles following on the canal road. Eltyn reached for the mug of cold café.

  All entrances to the station already locked, Faelyna pulsed, swallowing the last of her dessert and rising from the table.

  [affirm] Appears trucks retrofitted with armor. Driven all the way from Hururia? Eltyn stood.

  They think we’ve discovered something special……and they want it.

  [affirmation…sadness]

  “What is it?” demanded Rhyana. “You both jumped up. You have those looks again.”

  “There’s a surface-effect ship in the canal, probably with weapons, and five recently armored trucks rolling toward us,” replied Eltyn. “Faelyna has made sure the station is locked. They can’t get in, but we can’t leave, either. Not without being terminated or brain-scrubbed, depending on the leniency of The Twenty.”

  “Death either way,” said Rhyana, her tone almost matter-of-fact. “We got enough food for a good while. Might last long enough for you two to figure a way out for us.” She gestured. “Go do what you have to. I’ll come up after I clean this mess. See if there’s anything I can do. Riffie can wait.”

  While Eltyn had his doubts about their figuring out a way out, he hurried after Faelyna, checking distances as he did. Nearest truck is two kays plus. Estimate arrival in five minutes.

  Interrogative obvious weapons?

  Nil obvious.

  Once he was on the upper level, Eltyn sat at the worktable and began to check the monitors methodically. The trucks were slowing, and the first came to a halt more than half a kay to the east. All of them had been coated with a shiny golden brown polymer or something similar, but the coating didn’t conceal the slightly uneven alignment of the thin plates that covered the panel siding and top of the cargo area. All five vehicles had stopped, and small dome-like turrets rose from the cabs of the first two.

  No one emerged from the truck cab or from the rear. He checked the north monitor. The SEV remained stationary in the middle of the canal. From what he could tell, there were no comm-links, either.

  Five minutes passed.

  What are they doing? pulsed Faelyna.

  Nothing. Nothing I can discern anyway. You?

  Nothing. Don’t dare to freeze the system. Shutdown and restart will unlock everything.

  They continued to wait. Rhyana joined them, standing well back and saying nothing.

  Eltyn kept scanning the monitors. When his virtie eyes locked on to the image of the area to the south, he blinked. An entire line of enormous bearded men swinging what looked to be battle-axes marched across grass—with pine trees behind them—toward the station. Where were the low dunes and sweeping sands? He blinked again, but the scene didn’t change.

  Check the south monitor. You see that?

  Armored warriors with axes? No sand? pulsed back Faelyna.

  That’s what I see.

  “Now what?” asked Rhyana.

  Eltyn moistened his upper lip. Could he project the image he was seeing beyond the mental virtie picture? He shrugged. Either the system could or couldn’t. He switched the scanner feed from virtie to projection.

  The three stared as the full-sized image appeared between them and the south wall of the station.

  “Who are they?” demanded the delivery woman. “Where are they?”

  “That’s what the south scanner shows. Maybe they’re your ghosts,” replied Eltyn. Some sort of jamming…interference? That what the riffies are doing?

  Abruptly, a light of blue-green light scythed through the axemen, but the laser from the second truck had no effect. A second beam joined the first.

  “The riffies think they’re real,” said Rhyana.

  “They’re not exactly ghosts,” offered Faelyna. “I’m getting shadow signals or symbols.”

  Interrogative use/understand?

  Negative. Totally different symbols. Different structure.

  “Funny-looking images…” Rhyana’s voice died away.

  “They must be ancients, or images of ancients projected by the canal,” said Faelyna. “Men haven’t been that big in ages, and they’re carrying antique weapons.”

  “It must be an image from the past that the canal captured. Some sort of defense, do you think?” Eltyn frowned. “Do you have any idea how?”

  Faelyna shook her head.

  The image vanished, and a white misty oblong hung in the air before them. Then the scene flicked, and the three were again looking at the familiar stretch of dunes and sand to the south of the station.

  You think…the projection equipment and locking the station…together? Eltyn pulsed to Faelyna.

  Improbable5…but possible.

  How else?

  Eltyn switched to the east monitor again, where the trucks began to ease slowly forward.

  Between the trucks and the station, the stone seemed to ripple, as if it were moving.

  The trucks stopped, and the lasers swept the undulating stone, with no effect.

  Eltyn concentrated, trying to isolate something from the movements. For an instant, at the edge of the image, he saw a figure, a man silhouetted against a tree, except his uniform looked to be made of canal stone for an instant before it shifted into the green of grass and trees.

  “What’s that?” demanded Rhyana. “The stone’s moving.”

  “There was a man there, a soldier,” added Faelyna. “Then he vanished.”

  “They’re wearing camouflage uniforms of some sort,” offered Eltyn. “They blend
into the background, so that each soldier looks like what’s behind him or her, but they ripple some when they move. Or when the suit or uniform can’t change fast enough.”

  “The ancients had those?” asked Rhyana.

  “They must have. The canal somehow captured those images.” Why? he pulsed to Faelyna. It’s not a defense.

  Surveillance triggered by lockdown and shadow-projection? Playback as side effect?

  Slowing the riffies down.

  For now…

  Can you do anything?

  Not without making us vulnerable.

  [sigh] “The Twenty are novices in warfare,” mused Eltyn, not knowing what else to say.

  Both Rhyana and Faelyna looked curiously at him.

  “They didn’t seem to have much trouble in deposing The Fifty,” observed Faelyna.

  “That’s because The Fifty didn’t even think in those terms.” He gestured vaguely. “Uniforms that blend with the background. That’s hardly a revolutionary idea. As soon as I saw them, I understood why they’d work and their advantages. If the riffies out there report what they saw, I imagine The Twenty could come up with something similar, if they wanted.”

  “They won’t,” replied Faelyna. “They wouldn’t want people who are opposing them to get their hands on something like that.”

  “Still,” mused Eltyn, “we haven’t thought that way in a long time. With just a little time and support, we could build something to drop that minidrone out of the sky.” He paused. “Maybe more time and support, but it wouldn’t be that difficult.”

  “We don’t have either,” pointed out Faelyna.

  “No…but they can’t get in.”

  “And we can’t get out.”

  The stone stopped rippling, and Eltyn studied the riffie trucks. They didn’t move. Neither did the SEV to the north in the middle of the canal.

  A long afternoon, he pulsed.

  Longer than that, replied Faelyna.

  He suspected she was all too right.

  36

  19 Siebmonat 3123, Vaniran Hegemony

  Duhyle finished the synchronizer before midnight. It wasn’t a temporal synchronizer, properly speaking, but a device to synchronize three command levels to “real time,” although it could have been adjusted to any temporal base. That was, if he’d had any way to measure another such base. He’d installed it where Helkyria wanted. She insisted that they’d done enough and persuaded him to go to bed and get some rest.