by Jo Zebedee
“Keep me here,” he said. “Have me scanned every week– I didn’t expect a tracker, not in the short time she had. Be ready. I think she’ll try to take me, rather than the base– she won’t risk losing me. I’ll be the shield you need to keep your people safe.”
His voice was dull, his thoughts equally so– it was as if he was talking about a stranger.
“You expect her to try again, then?”
“Yes, sometime. She’ll be patient, though. She’ll wait for an opportunity, not rush it. She knew I was on Corun, must have known the whole time, but waited until I made a move. Just like on Dignad– she didn’t assume I was dead, she waited. I can assure you that in the ten years I was there she did not know of me: I barely stepped out of the house; I was on no databases; I was invisible.”
“I believe you.”
“She’ll know the tracker’s been found, and she’ll expect security to be increased. It won’t be now she attacks; it’ll be when you– and I– least expect it.”
He fell silent. It was all so bloody unfair; he hadn’t asked for this and didn’t want it. If he could, he’d hand his power back and walk away, useless to anyone. Except– he turned his hands over and looked at the thin ribbon of blue on his wrist– they’d have to take his blood, too.
“A security detail?” Rjala asked.
Anything but that. He shook his head. “No. A security detail can be infiltrated, or swayed.”
“We can assign good people– they’d be vetted.”
They’d be dead. “No.”
Even after Corun, they didn’t get how remorseless she was. He thought about trying to tell Rjala again, and stopped. What was the point?
“Ma’am, what she offers will be enough to sway anyone,” he said.
She tapped her fingers on the desk and finally nodded. “I’ll put you in the tech division; your sergeant says you have an aptitude for it,” she said. “They’re a small team; it’s easy to increase its general security.”
He sat forward; this was his chance to prove he had more to offer than his blood and his powers. That he could be valuable for himself, not his heritage.
“Ma’am, you know I was helping to improve the comms systems on Corun? Some of what I did could extend out, make a difference to our inter-space time delay. I’d really love to take that further– ”
“You misunderstand me,” she said, her voice cutting across his words. “I don’t intend for you to tell me what you’re going to work at.”
Disappointment filled him but he tried to bite it back. “Yes, ma’am.”
She must have noticed because she smiled, a slightly warmer smile. “I’m not dismissing your ideas, but if it’s good it’ll be good in a year’s time– better, in fact, more thought out.”
It was good now. “Yes, ma’am.”
She nodded. “As well as the tech team, we’ll be introducing you to some of the work Michael does.”
He tensed. “No, I’m not doing that.”
She frowned. “It’s not your choice.”
“Ma’am, I’m happy to do whatever you like in the army, anything at all, but I will not be trained up to be a political tool…. I’ve had all my life to think about this.” Years, cooped in the house, studying the great families, their liege planets, devouring every filche and book Marine brought home to him. “I’m not prepared to fill that role. With respect, ma’am.”
Rjala leaned forward, across the desk. “Then you’re a fool.” He pushed his chair back, and her voice whipped across to him. “Sit there; you haven’t been dismissed.” She looked at Lichio, who’d been so quiet Kare had almost forgotten he was there.
“You are dismissed, Lieutenant– you did well on Corun,” said Rjala.
Lichio stood, his eyes wide, surprised at either the dismissal or the compliment. “Thank you, ma’am.”
There was silence until he left the room and then she turned her attention back to Kare. He tried to read her, but couldn’t. He blinked: it was rare for someone to stay so hidden from him.
“Do you think it’s just the Empress who wants you?” she asked.
“Of course not; most of the great families do as well. Do you want me to list them, tell you which will want to keep me alive and which will want to kill me? I know all this, Colonel.”
She paused for a moment. “I think you’ve decided that if you say no, and say it loudly enough, that’s it. That if you keep refusing, no one can force you to it.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He kept his voice bland, uncomfortable at how close she was coming to his thoughts.
“I suspect you’re feeling sorry for yourself, wishing it wasn’t like this.”
He swallowed and ducked his eyes from her scrutiny.
“All you’re doing is making yourself the weakest person in the game,” she said. “With only one card to play. And if that card gets taken from you, you have nowhere to go.” She paused. “If you choose to stay here, there will come a time when your mother may change her ambitions for you. She needs a blood heir– you don’t have to be it.”
“I’m her only– ”
“She captured your father, tortured him and destroyed his mind. She took his sperm and made you. It was, I think we’d agree, a calculating way to go about it.”
“Yes.” Their father hadn’t quite put it as bluntly as that, but he’d known his mother had created them for their power; that they weren’t born from love. It didn’t matter, though, it never had– his dad had his faults, but lack of love hadn’t been one of them. He leaned back in his chair, trying to find a way to ease the tightness in his chest that made it hard to breathe properly, but nothing had felt as raw as this for years, not since he’d first reached Marine and told her what had happened.
“Then you understand you as her heir is only one option. Draining what you have and killing you is another.” He winced. “You have a choice, Kare, you can sit here like a lamb and wait for someone to use you, or you can learn how to do the using.”
“I don’t want it,” he muttered. He couldn’t face the idea that they might have died for nothing. If he played his mother’s game and stepped up to being a true heir to the empire, he may as well have been raised in the palace, Karia with him. Her death, his dad’s death, would have been for nothing.
“I didn’t want to lose my home planet and be taken in by the Banned,” said Rjala, and he sensed her anger, quickly smothered. “I didn’t especially want the Empress’ heir turning up in my army. I got it; I’ll use it. You have your name, your blood, your psyche– you need to learn what you can do with them, and stop behaving like a child.” She smiled, and it was the smile of a cat about to pounce. “Darwin le Payne was an excellent political operator– he took this group from nothing to a credible opposition. Sonly learned from him– he spent years teaching her, wanting her to follow him– and you could learn a lot from her. Michael is prepared to release her for a few hours a week to give you a share of that knowledge.”
“Why should I?”
“Because I’d hate to see your father’s death wasted.” He drew in a sharp breath and she must have noticed, because she nodded and went on, “Ealyn and I, we didn’t like each other; I guess you know that.”
“Yes.” It was, he reckoned, the understatement of the year.
“He thought I was obsessed with protocol; I felt he didn’t put the group first.” She waited until Kare nodded. “But I respected him. When Ferran Five– that’s where I’m from, the fire-forests– was liberated, he led the squadron that broke past the Empress’ fleet. He brought down their last cruiser but took a bad hit, defending the transporter. When they lifted him from his ship, he was half dead.”
Kare leaned forward, fascinated. His dad had never told them much about his past, only the future.
“There were only three hundred of us left by then. Out of half a million. Another day– perhaps a week– and we’d have been wiped out. The fire sprites stole heat from the people in the for
ests, sucked them dry in the night. We were being picked off one by one, taken from the stockades to feed their need. The army didn’t bother to chase us; they just left us in the forest to die. And we would have, except for the squadron your dad led. So, I respected your dad as a pilot. I have never met a better one, or a braver one.”
That, at least, was true. “Yes.”
“He took you so you’d have a choice, not have your mother’s will imposed on you, and you’re wasting that opportunity. You're alive because of the Banned support– we provided the only safety your father had for years. But the base wasn’t secure then. We were being evacuated all the time. All it would have taken was one agent getting lucky and finding out you were there, the wrong word back, and you’d have been targeted. That you are here vindicates our sending you away."
"Dad wasn't well when he left, and you knew it. He should have been supported."
"Your father refused to take anyone on that flight with him. Darwin himself offered to go but your father said if anyone was going to abandon his kids, it would be him." It sounded like his dad, all right. Her eyes softened, just a fraction. "I am sorry about what happened, just as I was then. But faced with the same choice again, I'd take it. It was the only way to ensure your safety. Anyone else on the base could have been replaced– but not you and Karia. That blood you hate is important." She leaned forward. "Being passive won’t win you anything, and it’s not what he’d have wanted. Ealyn Varnon was never passive in his life.”
Also true. There was a silence and Kare realised she was waiting for his response. “And if I don’t want to be Emperor? Do I get to refuse?”
“That’s a much smarter question,” she said. “If you don’t want to be Emperor, then you need to find a way to be something else. And you won’t do that by refusing to discuss it.”
Could she be right? He’d studied what he could– self-taught, in the attic of his aunt’s house, while Silom went about his normal life– and knew at least some of what she was saying was true.
“So,” he said, looking up at her, meeting her eyes. Try being the user, that’s what she’d said. “My idea– I’d like to explore it, ma’am. If I agreed to meet up with Sonly…”
He stopped at that thought, remembering the waves of emotions Sonly sent, the connection they made with him, like they were a dart targeted at the very centre of him. Part of him wanted that connection to another so badly, he’d risk anything. Another part of him knew it was a terrible idea, that he needed to stay distant. But, still, the memory of her touching him, her blue eyes…
“No,” Rjala said, mercifully taking his attention. “Your meeting with Sonly is for your benefit, not the group’s. Take your idea to your officer when you get to the tech squad.”
He paused, knowing– as she must– that no officer was going to look at it, not from a private who had so little experience.
“Ma’am, if I agree to meet Sonly, please let me outline it to you.”
“No, Private. It goes through the official channels.” Her voice was firm, leaving no room for further protests.
“Yes, ma’am.” Her pale eyes still watched him and he found himself nodding. “I’ll meet with her. If you think it will help.”
“I think it will. We’ll take it slow,” she said. “I’ll release you for an hour a day.”
An hour a day. He gulped. “Yes, ma’am.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Taran Phelps watched out of the window of the war room, scanning over Abendau city far below. The desert air dragged at his throat, making him cough. He doubted he’d ever get used to it. He’d been based on Belaudii for five years, yet still yearned to escape the incessant heat.
He frowned. If he wasn’t based here he’d have to leave his Empress. Her presence ran through the palace– it seemed to flow through the very walls themselves– and out, past the lush palace gardens into the city beyond. When he closed his eyes, he was comforted by it. More than that, it sustained him. Enough that he’d been prepared to leave Hiactol behind and ask for a transfer from their home army to the Empress’. One meeting with her at an official reception, and she had bound him to her, so much that he’d followed her, sure of his vocation. And she'd rewarded him amply since.
He opened his eyes and his chest contracted, mostly in excitement but with an under-layer of fear. She had built her empire from the ruins of her father’s, forcing obedience from the Great Families with the power of her mind. The blood of the other families lay on Pettina hands– her father’s coup had removed any family heads with the stature to threaten him– and yet they submitted to her and recognised her absolute command. He smiled, a tight smile. They were compelled to: once her mind was known, it was impossible to pull away. The very thought of displeasing her made his shoulders itch, right in the middle of his back.
Ealyn Varnon. He shivered, despite the heat. He’d been given a mission, to find the source of the Varnon powers, and hadn’t completed it. His breath froze, turning him immobile for a moment, and then he relaxed. He was getting close, but although he’d traced the birth parents of Ealyn and his sister, he still hadn’t found the origin of Varnon’s powers. The sister had none, nor had her son ever demonstrated any. The birth family were being tracked down, one by one, but so far there had been nothing. A throwback? It seemed an easy option. He stroked his chin: not one of the family had green eyes. It was possible his progress to date might be found wanting.
He touched the glassine screen in front of him, running his finger down its smooth surface. He may not have fulfilled her mission, but it was Allen who had lost her son– again– and would face her anger. Besides, he was deep in her favour.
He turned at the sound of footsteps to see a white-faced Allen enter the room. Their eyes met, and for a moment he had some sympathy for the other man. The general nodded but didn’t speak, his eyes hard, and Phelps knew he would deflect any blame he could. Let him; Phelps was confident it couldn’t be laid on him. More than that, this must be close to the last opportunity for the general.
The door opened again and both men straightened to attention as the Empress entered the room. She was breathtaking in a deep purple robe over a military style suit. Her soft grey eyes contrasted with the rich colour; her hair fell lightly around her face and onto its collar. His blood quickened at the sight of her, and she must have picked it up because she gave him a knowing smile and a slight nod. Whatever he had been called for today, it was not for failing her.
Both officers bowed to their mistress, low and deep, prepared to sink to their knees if ordered. Her presence washed over them, filling Phelps’ mind and body. It was like a drug– he understood that– but one he had no means, or desire, to combat.
“You may sit.”
The Empress walked to the head of the table and cast her eyes around the group as they took their seats opposite her. Phelps heard the general’s inhaled breath and watched as he raised his eyes to her. She responded with a flare of power. Allen paled, but kept his head up. He had mettle in him, still.
The Empress turned her gaze to Phelps and he fought to keep his eyes forward, impassive. He had no reason to be afraid. He had advised against the attack on Corun: Varnon was an Empath who’d feel a trap; they had no idea what powers he had or how to counter them. In this case, finesse was needed, not force. He had been vindicated. He glanced at the pale and sweating Allen– if it was him, he’d be scared too. Very scared.
“I have been informed they found the tracker.”
Allen opened his mouth and licked his lips. The Empress’ power blasted across the table, hanging in the air, compelling an answer.
“Yes, my Empress, it was found after he left Corun,” said Allen, impressing Phelps with the steadiness of his voice.
“Your men failed to take him on Corun,” said the Empress. “Why?”
“It is hard, to take someone without harming them. We did have him, my Empress, but the platoon pulled out. We missed closing him down by m
oments.”
The general’s voice was less controlled, the words running together. Phelps raised an eyebrow, the inflection perfectly understated, but the Empress turned to him. He forced himself not to quail, but a muscle twitched in his cheek.
“If you were in charge?” she asked, confirming he was here as a possible successor. That made sense– she would never dispose of Allen until she had a successor firmly in place. He took a deep breath.
“I have a squad trained to infiltrate the rebel base. I would be seeking to corrupt the young le Payne boy– or someone close to the central structure– to get near enough to attack the base while my men lift Varnon.” He paused. “I can place the squad at General Allen’s command, if you wish.”
It was a risk, but a calculated one. If Allen used them well, Phelps would remain in his shadow. If he squandered them, Phelps might gain position.
“Do so,” she told Phelps.
“Yes, my Empress.”
The Empress’ eyes swivelled to Allen, who was breathing loudly now. Like a horse. Phelps was careful not to react.
“See you get this right,” she told him. “He will be ready, now, expecting an attack. Let him relax, develop a routine.” She turned her eyes to Phelps. “You have placed some of your specialists in the group?”
“Yes, my Lady.”
She smiled, filling him with her pleasure. He inhaled deeply, striving to hold on to the sensation as long as he could.
“Good. When the moment has come, inform Allen. I want him taken and brought to me.”
Phelps inclined his head.
“Allen,” she said. His eyes fixed on hers, and he looked terrified. “There must be no more failures.”
The general licked his lips; he’d pay a high cost for failure. For a moment– just a moment– Phelps questioned why he’d ever joined the army.
She reached out, touching his mind: caressing him, encouraging him, giving him belief and confidence. He relaxed, the room expanding around him as he breathed so deeply it felt endless. He grew hard, pleasure spreading beyond what he'd known with even the best whores in the Old Quarter.
