“There is another such woman on this planet and I fear that there will be more along the way to The Place with Many Doors.
“So far, I have not interfered with the state of Jav Holson’s memories, and I would keep it so. But I would have his mind on other things. His duty, another woman, some other distraction. It does not matter what.”
He paused for a moment, his features suddenly altered so that Tia could feel the weight of his gaze intensify upon the back of her bowed head. Her eyes went wide as she began to understand what she was being asked to do. Spinning truths and even outright lies to the Viscain people through Public Relations and Standards was one thing, directing her power at another Shade—for anything besides achieving her own physical pleasure—was something else entirely.
“Do you understand, Tia Winn?”
The question was like a stab, the tone almost mocking when considering its timing—the perfect length of his pause—in conjunction with her thoughts.
“Y-Yes, Lord Emperor.”
“Good. At your earliest convenience, then.”
“Yes, Lord Emperor.”
10,689.155
Planet 1026 was a long way from Sarsa—now Planet 1401—but the Emperor was the Vine and could direct his attention anywhere along its length at any time. Now he chose Planet 1026, where Salton Stoakes, the last of the 19th Generation Generals, made his home. Stoakes’s retirement planet had no artificial sun to light or warm it, but the sparkling sea of stars that shone down from all around still managed to produce shadows in the dark. A great, lone concrete cube kept the Vine company at a distance of about one kilometer. No other structures stood upon the land, at least as far as the horizon, in any direction. Stoakes lived here alone and rarely saw visitors. He was often out himself, though, visiting any of the hundreds of Imperial colony planets to pursue his own interests, but he made a point to stay close to the former Root Palaces—always the heart of colony world civilizations—and so did not miss the Emperor’s attempts at contact.
In the Emperor’s stark, high-ceilinged chambers, within the abandoned Root Palace on Planet 1026, a gourd budded and grew frighteningly fast, spilling from its bottom countless thin strands that lengthened and writhed with something like life, thickening to fat, fleshy proportions until finally the figure in the likeness of a man stood in the room. The Emperor flexed his new, temporary fingers. At this point along the Vine, there had been no Witchlan—no need of him in those simpler days—so this Palace was not as well-equipped to produce effective terminals. He ran his rough fibrous fingers along the stem that chained him to this Palace.
The Emperor thought back to the time when this planet was the frontier and how complacent he’d become by then. Complacency had been his only recourse after Pylas Crier had robbed him of so much so long ago on faraway Planet 1. But The Place with Many Doors would change everything. Eventually the Emperor would have freedom, true freedom, once again. Until then, he must accept limitation, but such was irrelevant now. Salton Stoakes would come when called. A physical manifestation was not, strictly speaking, even necessary, but the bargain was for Stoakes’s ears only, and the Emperor’s presence would confirm the seriousness of the request.
• • •
Salton Stoakes was not long in coming. He walked the long-dead, black corridors of the Palace until he reached the Emperor’s chamber, the doors open, the Emperor himself waiting within.
Stoakes immediately went down on one knee and bowed his head.
“Lord Emperor,” he said, his voice a soft and strangely not unpleasant rasp.
“Salton Stoakes, for what I am about to ask of you I would have you look upon me.”
Stoakes did as bid, and though the form was unknown to him, he knew it to be that of the Emperor without a doubt.
Stoakes was 55 when he’d received his Artifact, the Suicide Knife. He was clean-shaven and had close-cropped iron gray hair. He was not tall, standing at 165 centimeters, but he was solid with a broad chest and shoulders and a narrow waist. He wore soft clothes of charcoal gray, loose except for the forearms and lower legs, which were wrapped tight. His feet were wrapped in the same material, tied split-toe fashion. He wore no other footgear and, even without going Dark, could approach soundlessly, taking man and beast alike completely unaware.
“It has been a long time, Salton Stoakes. You are the last of your generation. I could not protect Isker Vays or Aila Schosser, but you should know that they died fighting and are not forgotten.”
“Yes, Lord Emperor.”
“I have asked you here to once again request your services, but some explanation is required. For centuries, and millennia even, I fed aimlessly, taking us to the next closest planet or system at hand. But over time I came to detect a pattern. There were always choices to make and as I examined those choices and their results, an image began to take shape, of The Place with Many Doors and the woman who would lead me there. I have developed techniques to find this woman, wherever she is along each step of the path.”
“I don’t understand, Lord Emperor,” Stoakes said with a frown.
“It’s not just one woman, but her echoes which populate the universe, each resonating more strongly the closer it is to the source. These are soul echoes, and I want you to kill them all. Well, I want you to end their lives without killing them, actually. I fear that as we continue, we will encounter these soul echoes with increasing regularity.
“Perhaps you know of Jav Holson. He replaced Karlan Farsal of the Plague Squad and remains on the remade Death Squad. Because of all that has happened to us lately, I am considering instituting the 21st Generation early and making him First General.”
“My Lord Emperor is generous,” Stoakes said.
“I am, but Holson is deserving, and I fear that Wheeler Barson may not make his retirement should I maintain the schedule. Tia Winn and Mefis Abanastar are excellent Shades, but Barson is our military strength now. He was hurt badly by Ty Karr and it would not do to have Barson, already weakened, fall without back-up in place. It is early, but they have served. This brings us back to Jav Holson.
“Holson is connected in some way to the woman or the echoes. If just an echo, the problem could potentially sort itself out. But I fear that his connection is with the source.
“I would have all future associations prevented.”
Stoakes nodded silently. “And why must her corpse live even if she does not? My blade can do a great many things, but I must know the stakes and the potential consequences. You know that I take the utmost pride in my work, but a surgeon who lances a boil one day and mends a pumping heart the next prepares differently and accordingly.”
“Just so. Each echo we have encountered so far has been killed, either on purpose or by accident. Perhaps you noticed.”
Stoakes shook his head.
“Oh, but I think you have, even this far out, at least the news of the worm holes has reached you.”
“The worm holes?” Stoakes furrowed his brow, concern beginning to stir in him.
“The worm holes. I believe that it is possible to accomplish our goal without bringing forth another brood of spatial anomalies. They are a nuisance and a hazard, but more than that, they are a signal. I don’t want Jav Holson meeting any more of these soul echoes nor do I want him alerted to their deaths.
“Each of these echoes is connected to the source by some means. This connection must be isolated and severed without directly resulting in the echo’s death.”
Stoakes nodded somberly.
“Was I wrong in my choice of agents for this duty?”
“No, Lord Emperor. You were not.”
“You have the skill and the means then?”
“I believe I do.”
“Then all that’s left to discuss is your fee.”
“My fee, Lord Emperor?”
“Indeed. This is not business that can be concluded anytime soon, though your first target is already waiting for you. This will take centuries, perhaps even millennia.
You may also find yourself at odds with Jav Holson. There will be risk, and if you are discovered, there will be no support for you and I will disavow any knowledge of your activities. I ask all this of you, but do not expect something for nothing.”
“My Lord Emperor is generous, as I have said, but what could I want that is not already available to me?”
“There is one thing, is there not?” the Emperor purred.
“I have everything that I could want. If there is something, then even I do not know what it is.”
“You do. You simply don’t know that it can be done.
“I know that you have one regret, Salton Stoakes. I know that you secretly curse the fact that your F-Gene did not blossom sooner. Since receiving your Artifact, you have not aged a day, but nor did you regain those years lost to you.”
Stoakes jerked in surprise, momentarily losing his composure. He licked his lips. “They can be returned?”
“They can. What do you say, Salton Stoakes? Do we have a bargain?”
“We do, Lord Emperor. I am happy to be in your service and will complete the task as assigned, no matter how long it takes.”
“Excellent.”
The Emperor’s terminal pulled gently at the umbilical stem issuing from the top of his head to give himself some slack, walked to the wall and placed his hand within it, parting the fibers as if they were folds of silk. He turned to face Stoakes again, presenting something sitting on the flat of his open hand.
“Take them,” the Emperor said.
“What are they?” Stoakes asked.
“Yellow Diamond Spectacles. They will aid in your identification of targets.”
“Yellow. . . Diamond?” Stoakes said uncomfortably.
“Yes, these were Crier’s. One of his first pairs, crude and lethal to anyone but a Shade.”
Stoakes took the glasses and examined them. Two small, round milky yellow lenses, translucent at best, were held together by a thin but sturdy wire frame. They didn’t look like they were any good for aiding one’s vision, nor did they look the least bit dangerous. “These are lethal to normals?” Stoakes said.
“You will find them maddening yourself, I believe. The lenses provide several layers of augmented perception, which would overwhelm and destroy a human mind without an Artifact to help sort and translate the otherwise alien information. You will need to concentrate on some layers while trying to ignore others. What you will see most clearly is an overlay of faults and cleave planes upon reality itself. These faults and cleave planes you must try to tune out. If you find yourself too interested in one of them, you may find yourself drawn into it, and into the interstices that only Pylas Crier could navigate. And I will be in need of a new agent.
“You will also perceive my unique energy signature, which may act as a beacon to you, should you ever find yourself separated from the Empire.
“Most importantly, though, you will perceive open doorways. These are similar to wormholes, which will also be visible to you, but they are not physical. These doorways are distinct from wormholes, and the faults and cleave planes, in that you cannot go through them. When you look upon your target, you will understand.
“There will be many details to discuss in the future, but now we must get you to Planet 1401 as quickly as possible.”
“Lord Emperor, how is it at all possible? You have just made planetfall, have you not? There are no jump decks or relays in place between the old and the new systems.”
“You will go by jump deck to Planet 1398. From there, I will see you safely to Planet 1401. The trip will not be pleasant, but should only take two days. I give you leave to prepare your home. Once the jump system has been integrated into the new length of Vine, you will be free to return, but from now on you will reside in secret in the Root Palace, making advance forays when necessary.”
“Understood.” Stoakes was about to turn to leave, but was compelled to ask a final question. “Lord Emperor?”
“Yes, Salton Stoakes?”
“What do you fear would occur if Holson and the woman were allowed to meet?” Stoakes asked.
“They have met and more than once, but I believe that whatever is destined to happen has yet to run its course. I will confide and confess that I do not know the ultimate result of their coupling. But every fiber of my being—which you know to be of considerable size—screams out that it should not be.”
10,689.158
For two days, Salton Stoakes was subjected to hell. Travel through the old, disused phloem tubes was, as the Emperor had indicated, not pleasant, but never had Stoakes been inside so long or travelled so fast through the tubes. Though there were no jump stations, he knew that, under the Emperor’s control, he was making use of the fold zones at key stitch points to speed his progress. At journey’s end, he was disgorged, wet and exhausted, from parting Vine fibers into a hidden chamber in the Root Palace on Planet 1401 that would serve as his quarters for the duration of his assignment. He was given the leisure of a third day to use as he would before beginning, but only took half of it to clean up and to sleep.
Now he dressed in his charcoal gray clothes as he reviewed the video record of Anis Lausden. A pretty girl. A giantess, but a girl nonetheless. And pretty. It was a shame. He went Dark and passed through the slit in the wall that was the only access to his quarters.
He emerged into a service hall that fed into one of the main corridors. He returned to normal and joined the light traffic walking the halls and made for the main gate. Many had the same idea. The Palace was still settling into the planet and expanding to its final proportions. Before that was done, no one could really start their proper work. There was a certain amount of restless excitement that had no other outlet than to lay eyes on Planet 1401. The courtyard, with its enclosing walls nearly complete, was filled with people wanting to get a look from the courtyard gates and just beyond. Many more were already atop the walls.
Stoakes snickered to himself. There was nothing to see, especially on a planet with no real threat to offer. The seas were past the horizon, the sun was weak, and the atmosphere was lazy, making for a boring sky. But they’d been cooped up for a year and scared senseless by Ty Karr. He understood their need, and their presence would make it easy for him to slip out unnoticed.
Holson was still being kept busy and would soon be sent on an assignment that should be a good start to taking his mind off of Anis Lausden. Stoakes wasn’t afraid of Holson, but when he thought of meeting the man, even in passing and even with Holson none the wiser to his identity or his deeds, he couldn’t help feeling an irrefutable sense of dread. Perhaps that was healthy. Though Holson was still new as a Shade, Stoakes couldn’t help but be impressed by his accomplishments. Stoakes had fought side by side with Laedra Hol, and if Holson was anything like his teacher, there was good reason to be impressed—and cautious.
Once past the courtyard gates, Stoakes drew his loose collar up over the lower half of his face, leaving only his eyes exposed. With a quick look around, he went Dark, becoming a true animate shadow. He blended easily with the other shadows and no one thought to pay him any attention. He kicked off the ground and and propelled his significantly reduced mass—a single kilogram now—for kilometers at a time before having to touch down and kick off again.
Along the way, he overtook Barson’s marching tank troops in their mechanized centaur rigs. There appeared to be about two thousand of them, on their way to relieve Holson’s skeletons. A jump ship would be coming for Kapler to fetch him to the Palace. If Barson’s troops were allowed to wipe out the perimeter camps surrounding Kapler’s Tower, it would be simple for Stoakes to slip in and do his work unseen and unknown amidst the butchery, but the Emperor had promised Kapler his choice of genetic samples to later use to repopulate the planet once his term of service was finished. No matter. Stoakes preferred it this way. In and out, unseen and unknown. No witnesses—left alive, anyway—local or alien. The challenge appealed to him.
Once he was within sight o
f the Tower, he leapt high up into the air where he floated like a leaf, getting a clear perspective of the distribution of the locals and the skeletons. With enough wind, he could drift over the lines to the Tower itself, but he’d heard about the Lightning Gun and would make an easy target. He picked his entry point, and upon landing, he made for it, darting through the camp with its tents and its sentry giants, stirring only the wind. He passed through the skeletons and kept low to the charred ground, showing up against the Black Fields not at all.
Stoakes arrived at the Tower’s base and made a complete circle around it, noting the main entrance and several service entrances at intervals. Any of these, locked or not, would allow him entry, but he wanted to wait until he could be sure that the Lightning Gun was deactivated. Barson’s troops were to occupy the Tower and keep the would-be revolutionaries in check—it wouldn’t do to have them accidentally set the Gun off, so Kapler would certainly disable it. Without the threat of the Gun, Stoakes would have a wider choice of exit routes.
The metered stomp of the march started to sound across the Black Fields, and Stoakes could hear the whine of a jump ship approaching. He waited for Kapler to come out and greet the commander of Barson’s troops before slipping into the Tower through one of the service entrances. He figured he had some time—minutes at least—before the occupation of the Tower began and was complete.
Inside, he paused for a moment in a dark corner, reached into a pocket, and produced the Yellow Diamond Spectacles. He examined them one last time before putting them on. They were so plain and the lenses so cloudy that he had trouble believing what the Emperor had said about them. Still, the Emperor didn’t make mistakes. He might bend, twist, or hide the truth, but he didn’t make mistakes, at least not in Stoakes’s experience.
Stoakes pulled the lenses close to his eyes, hooking the wireframe ends over his ears. Instantly his eyes throbbed and his head hurt, bombarded by dynamic, intruding imagery, which his brain scrambled to process. The faults and cleave planes the Emperor had spoken of were everywhere, shifting softly like the in-and-out rhythm of respiration. Besides hurting his head, this movement seemed to reach into his stomach, take hold, and nauseate him.
The Blood Solution (Approaching Infinity Book 3) Page 6
