by David Winnie
Tahn had summoned the rest of the File Committee even before the ceremony concluded. They reviewed her sequencing and training. They observed her reactions to the stimuli, right down to which hand she placed upon the other when she sat. The discussion was short. Tahn and his team had succeeded magnificently.
A few anomalies existed, of course. Most could be repaired or adjusted. But the defective genetic sequence in the line of the Khans was present in young Red. She would require the Descendent to complete the sequence for her heirs. The search for the Descendant was well underway. He must be found and soon. When Red became Khan, she must be bonded with him.
The very future of the Empire would depend on it.
The Imperial Council was in disarray as they arrived. Cacophony in the streets was reflected in the council chamber. Tahn and the File Committee sat in tranquil thought as minister after minister yelled and disputed what should be done to correct their momentous error.
Some argued the children should be destroyed and new heirs drawn from the new Khan. Others argued that both the current Khan and his wife be executed and the best of the children be installed as Khan, with the Council serving as the advisors and teachers. The Council would retain all authority, until the Khan showed he (or she) was capable of ruling. A small minority nearly caused its own riot when they suggested that perhaps it was time to move away from the monarchy, that perhaps it was time to try democracy again. They were shouted down and physically assaulted. One of their number later succumbed to the pummeling he took. None dared forget the lessons of the Eighth Khan.
Finally, Tahn stood and spoke quietly. “There was good reason why Ming si Haun was not made Khan,” he said. “He is selfish and vain, interested only in what he can get for himself. The qualities we found in Robert Khan have transferred to this latest line. We are seeing evidence with in terms of leadership and wisdom. This class also is demonstrating the balance of boldness and restraint needed in Terra’s Khan. The File Committee believes these traits alone would clearly improve the line and lead to an even greater future for the Empire.
If we destroy these children and use Ming si Haun as the template, we cannot fully remove the selfishness that is Ming si and he would doubtless pass that on to his children. This would be a disaster for the Terran Empire. No, the File Committee agrees, these children are the ones that we must use to select the next Khan. It is to you to decide what the Empire is to do until the new Khan is ready.”
There was no more discussion on the question of succession. In thirteen years, the new Crown Heir would be named. After more debate, it was decided to leave Ming si Haun in his place, changing his title from “Emperor” to “Regent.” His name would be returned to ne-Kahn and he would rule the Empire only until the heir chosen ascended to the Throne. To protect the Empire further, they decreed the new Khan would be announced on the Naming Day, but wouldn’t assume the title until age twenty-five. They hoped that the Crown Prince or Princess would put this time to good use in preparation for their responsibilities of the Terran Empire.
It was done. Ming, of course, was furious. It was enough that the title of Khan for which he had always been destined had again been stolen from him. But he was also reduced in name, back to ne-Khan. Of the Khan’s family, but not Khan. No one ever remembered a ne-Khan.
He sat in his Palace at Argulea, smoking. Usually, the cool vapor would be enough to calm him, along with the kind ministrations of whichever slave he had selected for the evening. Tonight, it availed him not. The girl they had sent displeased him, and guards had already dragged her broken body away.
Ming considered option after option, but unless he could eliminate the entire Council or murder the eight, he was consigned to be a footnote in history. The small nothing between the fifteenth Khan, his worthless, dead brother, and the sixteenth Khan.
Ming si Haun ne-Khan reached for his comm.
Chapter 2
The assassin moved quietly through the darkened corridor with a practiced grace. A faint glow came from the light fixtures but, since it was evening, the lights would be low to replicate Terra. He didn’t mind; the darkness was his friend.
This would be the assassin’s last job. The boss had told him this one thing would set things right between them. Ross had screwed up royally, all right. The contract the boss had put on his life had proven that. But all would be forgiven if he pulled off this one little job. He’d get paid and a long-range scout ship that would take him far, far away.
Whoever had ordered the hit had pull and money. The scout ship proved that. It was nice to do a job that, while dangerous, seemed to have enough protection from above that he had a better than even chance at succeeding.
Ross knew who the target was. You couldn’t go anywhere in the Empire and not know who THAT kid was. It didn’t bother him, a hit like this on a kid. It was going to square a lot away for him and give him a chance to start over. And, if he failed, well, he wouldn’t have a spacing to anticipate.
He found the child’s room straightaway. Only one kid had hair of gold, and there it was, glistening on the pillow in the faux moonlight. He slipped into the room noiselessly and closed the door. The knife slid from the concealed sheath on his forearm, cold glitter in the room’s pale light.
He moved on cat’s paws to the side of the bed. Stretched out his arm to lift the blanket.
Or he tried to. His right hand held the gleaming knife, his left arm was trying to reach. Trying. Hard. He couldn’t move the knife... Or his arm. He suddenly realized he wasn’t breathing, either.
“Ooooo,” he heard in his head. “That’s pretty. Arcimanium, isn’t it? Can I see?” His eyes worked. She threw aside the blanket, her emerald eyes never leaving his face, and easily took the knife from him. “Nice,” she commented. “Let’s see, how does this go?” She held it against her thin arm. “Oh, poo, it won’t fit. I think I’ll keep this as a souvenir.” Swiftly, the knife disappeared. “Now, my brother, Black, is interested in spies and assassins and stuff like that,” she said. “I think this is the perfect time for him to practice. Black?”
A boy appeared from the darkness. “Get it all out,” she instructed him. “Every bit. We need to know who ordered this, for our enemy list.” The kid in black just looked at Ross, his eyes bored into the assassin, who screamed in silent agony. Sharp claws ripped into his skull, tearing it open and pulling it to the sides. The boy was rampaging through his head, those eyes exposing everything Ross knew, everything he had ever done or attempted. His fears were exposed, his weaknesses. His terrors. The Black heir flipped through Ross’s memories as though he paged through a manuscript. Nothing was sacred, nothing missed.
He needed to piss, but wasn’t even allowed to do that. When the boy was finished, his victim’s mind sundered, he nodded at his sister and disappeared again into the shadows.
“That went well,” she told her captive. “Black is very pleased. You told him some things he needs to know and gave him valuable practice. As a reward, you may breathe once.” Air left his lungs once, then he inhaled. And was frozen again.
What to do with you,” she mused. “I can’t very well let you go, because you’d just go back to being a bad guy. That is, if that Tony guy, the boss, doesn’t find you first.” Red’s face brightened. “I’ll give you a choice in deciding what happens.” His hand moved of its own accord and emerged with his small slug thrower. He also found himself shuffling to a spot beside the door, raising the weapon to his forehead. She giggled.
“Here’s your choice,” she said gaily. “You can have five more breaths. Just five! Then you can shoot yourself. Or, you can stand there and not breathe at all. It’ll take longer, but you’ll die anyway. So, what’s your choice?”
A few moments later, there was a soft pop, followed by a heavy thump and the rattle of air leaving lungs for the last time. “That was a good choice!” came a little girl voice.
Chapter 3
Ten years later
Celtius 4 was an unusual find for
the Empire, a century ago.
While like many Terran worlds in terms of gravity and atmosphere, it differed in several ways. It orbited around both stars of a binary system. The planet had water ice, but was curiously completely devoid of life.
Scientists poured over the planet, convinced they had missed something. But it was Celtius 4 that had missed something. Life.
The Empire established a terraforming facility on the surface. While close to habitable, the ecosystem needed adjusting. It was estimated that it would take a full century for the planet to support a full, viable colony.
The eight were sent to the newfound colony, Celtius 4, for two standard months. It was to provide both an excellent opportunity for the children to learn firsthand the terraforming process and to perhaps get a sense of ecological responsibility. The research station would provide the stimulus they needed and there would be ample work to do.
The assignment also provided the heirs with a wide-open playground. By now, the atmosphere had thickened enough to support human life. This allowed for traveling around the planet unencumbered by pressure suits. Various grasses had been seeded planet-wide, one of the first steps to making the planet biome self-sustaining. While much of the travel was done by air cars and wheeled vehicles, horses were brought to the planet as an inexpensive transportation alternative; the added benefit was that horses were more enjoyable for the residents. The eight all soon became adept horsemen and seized every opportunity they could to take off on a ride.
It was Red who suggested they leave before the Proctors awoke and race to weather pylon twenty-five miles away. It would be a long ride, but it would have the combination of upsetting the Proctors’ precious schedule and allowing the children a day of doing as they chose. At fifteen, they were prone to rebellion from time to time, Red most likely of all. So, they all rose quietly and went to the barns. Food for the day’s adventure was acquired. They geared up the horses and sneaked out on the plain in the predawn light.
There was no need for a signal or countdown as there would be with any normal children. Red tensed and mindspoke, “GO!” They spurred their horses and took off across the wide open plain. It was close for the first miles but slowly, Red and Blue began to take the lead. Within another mile, the gap widened. Red, being smaller and lighter, wasn’t as big a burden to her horse. Soon she was pulling away from Blue. She could feel Blue laughing with joy. The wind streamed her long, golden hair. She held her eyes open wide against the stinging wind. The big gray, his nose flaring, was steady and powerful beneath her.
She could see the pylon. Straight in the saddle now, her victory assured, Red released the reins and raised her arms in a victorious “V”.
“VICTORY!” she screamed, laughing. “VICTORY FOR ME! FOR THE NEXT TEN THOUSAND YEARS! I AM VICTORIOUS!” Her brothers and sisters heard her savage cry.
Then her horse stumbled. She grabbed at the reins and missed, her legs squeezed the sides and she nearly regained her balance. She fell anyway, tumbling and bouncing once she hit the hard surface of the plain’s new sod. She felt her left foot catch, her knee twist and tear. She screamed, not in pain, but in anger and fury for having fallen so. Still screaming her rage, she finally tumbled to a stop.
Red tried springing to her feet, but her destroyed knee betrayed her. She sat pounding the dirt in frustration, her horse calmly munching a few yards away. Blue and the rest rode up, laughing and commenting on her fall until Blue realized she wasn’t getting up.
“Come on, Red, No fooling. Get up!” he mindspoke.
She shook her head. “I can’t,” she responded. “I really screwed up this time. Something broke inside, I think.”
The rest of the children heard and stopped at their fallen sister. Yellow leaped off her horse, knelt and looked at Red’s leg. She rubbed her hands together and began to move them over the swelling left knee. “Oh yes. Torn. Several ligaments. I believe your patella is fractured as well, along with your tibia. Red, you need a doctor, right away.”
Blue responded in kind. “All right, she can’t walk, means she can’t ride. Green, White, lift her up to me, I’ll carry her back.” Yellow splinted Red’s knee as best she could. Orange held the horses while Red’s brothers carefully lifted their injured sister to Blue.
Unobserved, Purple trotted over to the pylon and touched it. “I win,” he announced.
Orange handed Blue some of the food. There was no hesitation. The eight touched minds, and then five wheeled their horses about and raced across the green terrain.
Black hesitated.
“Well, go on. I’ll see you at the station in a few hours,” Red told her faithful brother. Black looked to his brother.
“Go on. We’ll be fine,” Blue insisted. “We need you to get the Proctors.” Nodding, Black turned his horse and raced after the others.
The first hour, they said nothing. Red was acutely aware of the powerful, handsome brother who carried her. It was his size, strength and beauty that angered her. Everyone loved Blue; surely, he was the front runner for ascension to the Khan’s Throne. Red was none of these things. Small and scrawny, her overabundance of golden hair seemed to have a life of its own. She was brilliant and her psionic powers frightened everyone. She was of late more irritable and outspoken, defying the Proctors and arguing constantly with the others. Red demanded more of them as she pushed herself harder and harder, attempting to stand out amidst siblings who had so much going for them. To her, even the staid, quiet Black seemed to be more favored by the Proctors.
The twin suns continued their march across the sky. The wind across the wide plain rustled the grass as waves on the sea. Red had not until now noticed the smell of the new grass, a sweet fresh odor. Her eyes grew heavy in the warm sunlight and buzzing grass; she even found riding this way with Blue was comfortable. He wasn’t holding her too tightly and seemed to be focusing on walking the horse so it only occasionally jolted. When it did and she hissed in pain, he apologized immediately.
Soon, he began a soft hum. Red recognized the tune. The Proctors had taught them their ancient ancestors were nomads, born to the saddle and created a mighty empire. They learned much of their culture, handed down from the Great Khan himself. Included were a variety of songs that it was said the Great Khan enjoyed singing. Blue was humming a travel song. Red joined in the humming, then began to sing in her soft, pure voice. Blue joined her in the ancient tongue. “The trail, it leads out in front of me. To where it goes, only the Gods of the Sky, Wind and the Grasses know. And they tell my horse, who gladly carries me. Onward to the endless steppe!”
They sang and laughed, as they rode along. Red hissed in pain from time to time, but carried on singing. After three hours, a hovercar came speeding toward them. “Thank you, Blue,” she whispered. “I don’t know what I would have done without you.”
He smiled, happy and confident. “You’re welcome, Red. I only did what was needed. Were the roles reversed, I know you would have chosen the right thing to do.” A quick, brotherly kiss landed on her nose.
Would I? she asked herself. Were the roles reversed, would I do the thing I know to be the right thing? She was still pondering that question when the Proctors stopped the hovercar and loaded her into it.
Chapter 4
The clinic on Celtius 4 was a new building on the edge of the station compound. It boasted a large glass front facing the open plains. A Proctor carried her from the hovercar into the clinic where a matronly woman ushered them into the examination room. Red was laid on a bed; her leg was elevated quickly and efficiently. The nurse placed a cool pad over the injured knee. Red felt relief immediately.
She had seen hospitals before, but none quite like this. The walls were a pleasant, cool pastel color. The light came from an open skylight above her, the odor from the sweet grasses outside. There were no cabinets or counters covered with mysterious jars and boxes. A low table to one side boasted a bowl of wildflowers.
A tall, gangly man entered the room, followed by the matron
ly woman pushing a cart that held a boxy device. “Good afternoon!” the young man said. “I am Doctor Yuri Russolov, the research station physician. I’ll be treating your injury today. So, tell how you did this while I examine, yes?” He removed the cool wrap and positioned the device over her knee. “This is a blue laser scanner,” he said proudly. “It was originally invented nearly three thousand years ago, in Russia. I have found it is the most efficient way of examining injuries such as yours.”
His deportment irritated Red. She snapped, “What do you mean you’re the doctor? You’re much too young!”
“Yes, I am young. I’m only twenty-two. But I graduated college at fourteen, which is younger than you, and medical school at eighteen. That means, for all intents and purposes, that I am smarter than you. So, answer my question, please.” His voice was both smug and cheerful.
Red gritted her teeth. Acid dripped with her words. “I fell off my stupid horse. I was racing my brothers and sisters and I had won the race. Then I fell off the stupid, stupid, clumsy horse.” He had started the machine and was staring at it, writing-WRITING, on a clipboard. “If you’re so smart, why are you writing on that stupid paper instead of using a voice pad?” she asked.
He looked up. “If I use a voice pad, I can’t very well listen to you,” he answered. “Since you’re the one who did all the falling, why does that make the horse stupid?”
Red growled and wrapped her arms over her head, wishing he were finished. Finally, he stood and said, “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.” He pushed the machine back and replaced the cool cover on her injured leg.
It seemed forever before he came back. Dr. Russolov pulled up a chair and said, “O.K. What you’ve done is tear both your menial collateral ligament and your anterior cruciate ligament. Those will be easy enough to fix, however I will need to do a surgery. Your bigger issue is: you broke the ends of both your tibia and your fibula, along with your patella.”
