Guests? How had she missed an arriving transport? Alarmed, Skalet reached for the knives in her belt. The energy weapons the Kraal favoured were forbidden within the domes. Fire was the enemy; extinguishers hung at intervals on every wall and drills woke them just as regularly. Were these guests a new threat?
“An unexpected visit, but by one who is entitled to do so.” Maven-ro’s eyes gleamed approval. “Come. A meeting’s called. Your presence is commanded, Icicle. If you’ve sufficiently thawed, that is.”
Humour. The Kraal, like other Humans, were prone to its use in stressful situations. Skalet saw no purpose to it.
It didn’t help her feel any better at the thought of some Kraal authority interested in her.
* * *
Meetings were held in the one room large enough to hold everyone, the dining hall. Not by accident, it was the only portion of the outpost to benefit from the Kraal aesthetic--at least to the extent that the wall without kitchen equipment was crusted with gilded metal plaques commemorating the achievements of House Bryll in battle. A small and central spot was reserved for accomplishments from this obscure little outpost. The Kraal were also afflicted with Human optimism.
In Skalet’s judgment, the expected future of the place was more accurately seen in the lack of ornamentation anywhere else. The poorest Kraal House indulged in ostentatious display everywhere possible; even warships boasted wood carving and lush upholstery. Here was ice, frost-covered metal, and bags of supplies.
Reluctantly accepting her tiny glass of serpitay, the ceremonial drink no Kraal gathering of import could start without, Skalet eased behind others. She couldn’t disappear from view completely; her Humanself was taller than most of the Kraal assigned here. Every set of shoulders was braced, as if ready for anything.
A querulous voice demanded “This is all?”
“The full complement, Your Eminence.” The outpost’s commander, Dal-ru, touched the backs of his hands to his tattooed cheeks and bowed, a gesture echoed by everyone in the room. “We await your pleasure.”
The pleasure they awaited belonged to the oldest Kraal Skalet had ever seen for herself. Ersh-memory held older, but not by much. In a culture like the Kraal’s, such age meant extraordinary value to a House, toughness, or, most likely, both. The female’s maze of tattoos warred with wrinkles; her face might have been heartwood, ringed by the passing of countless seasons, a record of survival and success, for they were the same among Kraal.
Impressive.
“What’s the status of the fleet?”
“Fleet, Your Eminence?” Skalet was amused by the immediate tensing by everyone in the room. She knew, as well as they, there’d been nothing on their scans for months. Which put the obedient Kraal likely to offend this noble no matter what. Dal-ru took the braver course. “We haven’t detected any ship movements.”
Her Eminence had not come alone, although her entourage was peculiarly small for a noble away from flagship or homeworld. Undoubtably, Skalet thought, others waited outside the domes, perhaps within the connecting tunnels. A courier, for such the noble must be, travelled with sufficient force to affect the actions desired by her House. Here and now, she was flanked by only two black-garbed guards, taller than Skalet, more muscular than the most fit crew of the outpost, girded with every weapon possible, including several that would be fatal to all if used in this room. Now, one stooped to whisper something urgent in the courier’s ear. She shooed him away impatiently. “Then that’s the status, isn’t it?” she snapped. “I trust you have eyes on all scans for when that changes?”
Seven Kraal bowed hurriedly and dashed from the room. Two had been in front of Skalet. Thus exposed, she found herself caught by the curious regard of the old noblewoman’s milky eyes. “Who are you?”
Skalet’s bow was impeccable, the brush of knuckles to fake tattoo exquisite. Inwardly, she trembled. “S’kal-ru, Your Eminence. Tech Class--”
“Ah. The Dauntless Icicle. Attend me.” The noblewoman rose to her feet without assistance, a smooth efficient motion that lifted Skalet’s eyebrow in involuntary appreciation. Admirable.
* * *
I knew Ersh filtered my web-kin’s reactions to their own experiences before sharing them with me, probably viewing most as non-essential to my learning. Oh, I assimilated physical sensations, such as taste, and useful emotions such as fear, but, to this point in my life, the latter came to me so dimmed the memories could have belonged to any of us. This sharing was different. The intensity of Skalet’s fascination with the old Kraal came through as clearly as the remembered chill from the outpost. I fluffed out my fur and shivered. “I thought Skalet didn’t want to be noticed.”
“What have I told you about asking questions before you’ve finished assimilating?”
“Wasn’t a question,” I mumbled, hastily dipping back into memory.
Ersh, as usual, was right. I now owned this part of Skalet’s past–whether I wanted to or not.
* * *
“They tell me you don’t feel the cold, S’kal-ru. Is this true?”
Skalet, granted the unthinkable privilege of being allowed to sit in the presence of such high rank, hesitated.
“Come now. I didn’t invite you here to be a statue. If you won’t converse, let me hear that lovely voice of yours. Your commander didn’t exaggerate. Surely you sing.”
Banter, from someone like this, was even more unthinkable. Skalet felt her skin warming as her stressed form dumped heat. Luckily, this intimate setting was, as befitted the outpost, barely above freezing. Their breath mingled and twisted in the air like the fumes of forgotten dragons. “I don’t sing, Your Eminence,” Skalet said with a hidden shudder, then added honestly. “I don’t mind the cold.”
“You don’t let yourself mind it. That is good. Very good. So few learn to control the flesh, to put aside the instincts that would keep us cowering by the fire.”
As this didn’t seem to require a response, Skalet merely looked attentive. Her Eminence had taken Dal-ru’s office, a room hardly used since its location in a poorly insulated storage dome made it impossible to heat properly. Cases of beer lined the wall behind the ancient Kraal. She’d ignored them, more intent on this strange conversation.
“So tell me, Icicle, of the state of affairs among the Houses of Bract, Noitci, and Ordin.”
On familiar ground again, Skalet took care to answer as any Kraal here could. “The Bract and Noitci share fourth, possibly fifth level historical affiliations; both hold ninth level affiliation with House Bryll. Ordin is a newer House, also affiliated to House Bryll.” She flicked her fingers over her tattoo. “Through us, Ordin gains third level affiliation with both Bract and Noitci.”
The wrinkles and tattoos reshaped into a look of pure satisfaction. “The nexus being ours. The position of strength.”
Skalet frowned slightly in thought, but didn’t dare speak.
She didn’t have to. The Kraal was terrifyingly good at reading faces. “You see some flaw,” she guessed softly. “Interesting. Tell me. I grant you leave to criticize your own House.”
“As you wish.” Challenged, Skalet drew upon memory. “House Arzul, powerful yet inherently unstable, recently lost reputation and ships to Noitci, itself a fairly weak House but, thanks to a high-status alliance, temporarily enjoying a tenth level affiliation with Bract, one of the strongest and noblest.” She found herself warming to her topic. Her own kin had no appreciation for the subtlety of this culture. “Arzul will rally to reclaim those losses. The nobles of Ordin are too impatient for power and lineage to let this opportunity slip by, or worse, be taken by a rival. They will attack Arzul, acquire affiliation with Noitci through blood debt, and thus gain ties to Bract. Unless House Bryll acts, it will be forced from the nexus to the outside of a new, powerful set of alliances, losing a great deal of status. Perhaps more than a House can afford to lose.” A disgraced Kraal House was like a fresh corpse to scavengers. Something to dismember.
“Acts how?” softer st
ill. The Kraal noble leaned forward, creased chin on one palm, sunken eyes intent on Skalet. “Go on.”
Skalet could see it so clearly, like pieces on a board before a skilled hand swept them aside. “A preemptive move against Bract. Remove its alliance with Noitci by assassinating the First Daughter before her union, then remove the five who remain in the Bract Inner Circle.”
The wrinkles mapped nothing worse than curiosity. “You’d sacrifice a powerful ally and two former lovers of mine to what gain, S’kal-ru?”
“The audacity of the strike would enhance our affiliation with Ordin, a House of significant future promise should Bryll help it survive its own impetuousness. At the same time, Arzul would lose its patron, removing it as a threat to Noitci. Noitci, its alliance cut, would in turn be diminished, as would any affiliations outside of House Bryll held by Noitci and Arzul, drawing both closer to Bryll. Finally, and most importantly, existing alliances would mean the Inner Circle of Bryll would dominate that of Bract in the next generation. The closest affiliations between Houses of true power. All Kraal would benefit.”
“This presumes success.”
Skalet let herself smile, nothing more.
“Few think in generations. They want gains now, in their lifetimes.”
“’What are lifetimes but strokes on a canvas?’”
“You quote N’kar-ro. Not easy reading, S’kal-ru. Again, you impress.” The noble paused, wrinkles deepening. “How has Bryll overlooked such quality as yours?”
Not a safe question. “I should return to duty, Your Eminence.”
“Your duty is to keep me company while we wait.”
“Wait for what?” Skalet’s own audacity shocked her.
The courier merely nodded, as if she’d expected the question. “For fools, S’kal-ru, who lack your grasp of tactics. Oh, they see the same patterns, but rather than the prick of a pin in the hollow of a neck, the certainty of poison built for one, they prefer the sound of trumpets and mountains of rubble.”
“A planetary assault force?” Skalet’s eyes widened. All she’d learned of Kraal pointed to a growing control and finesse of conflict, not a return to the devastating attacks that had almost ended this race in its infancy. “Against what target?”
The other woman’s mouth twisted and she turned her head to spit decorously over her own shoulder. “Farmland. Factories. The uninvolved. The sous.”
Sous. Non-combatants. The quiet majority of Kraal, who served their affiliations through a lifetime of peace and accomplishment, fueling the vast economy that afforded the great Houses their wealth--by convention and utter common sense, untouchable.
Until now. “You must stop them!” Skalet blanched at the ring of command in her own voice. “Forgive me, Your Eminence. I meant no disrespect.”
“I heard none. Conflict as a challenge to advance a House tempers our society. Strip challenge from conflict and we become no better than Ganthor, squabbling for the day’s profit. Yet even that shame can be forgiven, with time.” Her fingers formed a gnarled fist, punching down through the air between them. “To attack those who provide for all? That, S’kal-ru, is to court our own extinction. Which is why I need you, Icicle.”
Perhaps some part of Skalet remembered the Ersh and the Prime Law. If so, she made a choice to disregard both for the first time in her life.
“What do you want me to do, Your Eminence?”
* * *
Circles within circles, folded back on each other until the overall pattern of Kraal society appeared more an orgy of snakes than an organization of Humans--or those whose ancestry traced back to the same trees. Despite the perception of the non-Kraal, war had never been a game to those who created the Great Houses and defended them. They waged their power struggles without losing sight of the future or their desire to make it as they wished. There was much to admire in a culture that took charge of its own evolution.
Until those who believed they had the right chose the short path, the one that wasted the lives and resources on which the future depended.
Skalet fastened the strap of her goggles around her neck then methodically checked the laces and zips of her clothing. One opening and this form could suffer frostbite and impairment. She could risk neither tonight.
Her role was deceptively simple, elegant in Kraal terms. The Bryll assault fleet would pass in range of this outpost on its way to attack the Bract home system, to take advantage of their scans to detect and warn of any Bract ships in the area. Their fleet would remain unseen until it was too late to mount a defense. Except that Her Eminence, as Courier to Bryll’s Inner Circle, specifically those within that Circle in opposition to those mounting the assault, had sent a coded message to the Bract, recommending this system as the ideal place for an ambush.
Bryll would sacrifice her own, Skalet the pin to prick the unsuspecting throat.
Maven-ro, always alert to comings and goings, appeared in her doorway. “Didn’t you just come in, Icicle?”
“Hours back.” Skalet shrugged her fur-cased shoulders. “Weather’s worsening. We can’t risk anything impeding reception.” She flicked two fingers against her pseudo-tattooed cheek. They’d all been briefed by Dal-ru on the importance of protecting the fleet.
Maven-ro’s look wasn’t as approving as usual. In fact, she began to frown. “It’s bad enough out there even Her Emminence’s guard has come inside. There’s no indication of ice buildup yet. Stay.”
Skalet lifted a brow. “If I wait until there’s a problem, it could be too late. You know that.”
The Kraal shook her head. “There’s attention to duty and there’s being a fool, S’kal-ru. The wind’s have doubled. You won’t be able to stay on your feet, let alone hold to the guideline.”
Skalet rattled the clip and safety cable around her waist. “I’m prepared.”
Maven-ro threw up her hands. “Fine. Go freeze stiff. If we find you this spring, we’ll stand you up as a flagpole.”
It didn’t seem humour. Puzzled, Skalet watched as the other walked away, slamming a door unnecessarily behind her, then returned to her own preparations.
* * *
It was worse. Unimaginably worse. The moment the outer door retracted, the wind howled inside the tunnel, blowing Skalet off her feet, rolling her along the icy floor until she hit the yielding edge of a fuel bag. The rubbery material gave her a grip as she pulled herself to her feet.
At least it was a steady wind, to start. She could force her way against it and did, reaching first the door frame, then the outer wall, and, after groping in the dark, the guideline. She clipped herself to it, and pressed out into the night.
Lean, drag a foot free, move it up and forward, push it into yielding softness to the knee, to the thigh. Skalet couldn’t predict her footing. Drifts were curling and reforming like living things. All she could do was drag the other foot free, up and forward, push it down, and progress in lurches and semi-falls.
She’d run out of choices. There was no living mass except that behind her. Without a source, she could not release her hold on this form and chose another, more suited to surviving these conditions. Not and return to the outpost as S’kal-ru. Only living matter could be assimilated into more web-flesh, and she’d need to replace what she used.
There was escape. She almost considered it as the wind lifted her for an instant, her grip torn from the guideline, one outer glove sailing free and only the cable jerking snug around her waist keeping her in place. She could cycle into a form that flew on this wind, pick one able to hide beneath ice for however many decades it would take for Ersh to notice her absence and send one of her kin to retrieve her. Disgraced.
Skalet dropped to the ground as the wind caught its breath, then drove herself to her feet. If she failed for whatever reason, Her Eminence had another option. She could destroy the outpost and all the talented, complicated beings in it, including herself. Wasteful.
It was only a question of one step after another. This form would obey her will. It wo
uld endure. Skalet pulled her right hand, now clad only in the liner, within the sleeve of her innermost coat, shoving the cuff through her belt as tightly as possible. She would need those fingers able to function once at the ladder.
Her goggles were coated with snow, despite the fur-trim around her hood. No matter. What use were eyes without light? She leaned into the wind again, trusting to the cable. One step after another, a movement that grew only more difficult as she lost feeling below her knees. No matter. She could not control time or the movement of starships, but she could control this body. It would succeed.
At some point, the howl dimmed to a whine and the force pushing her back lessened. Skalet smiled, lips cracking, blood burning her chin. She had reached the array.
The clip had frozen shut. Rather than waste energy fighting it, Skalet drew her knife and cut the cable around her waist. She staggered and caught herself with a grip on the ladder as the wind tried to peel her away again. The climb was a nightmare. Not only were the lower rungs half-buried in a rising drift, but she could not longer judge where her feet would land. Three times Skalet neared the top, only to lose her grip and slip back down.
Once on the platform, she didn’t bother looking for the ice-breaking tools. Skalet felt her way down the nearest strut to its linkage with the rest, found the fastener. She drew her knife once more, then shook her head. No traces. Even if House Bryll was as devastated as the courier implied, there would be an investigation. Like other Humans, the Kraal were curious, tenacious beings. Unlike other Humans, the Kraal took the assignment of fault to extremes. For the crew of this outpost to outlive their doomed fleet, this had to appear an accident.
The Shapeshifter Chronicles Page 15
