by Jo Zebedee
“Get to the surface, Kerra,” he told her. “Run!”
She got caught up in the crowd again. The smell of fear – sweat mixed with the salt air – shifted around her. Another boom, closer this time, caused a shower of dust to fall from the ceiling. She didn’t dare look up.
A glance behind, and she saw that Lichio had fallen back, limping badly. She tried to stop, but the people around her were panicking and strong.
Shouts came from the main corridor ahead, merging with the pulse of lasers. Another explosion thudded, bringing more screams. Dust swirled from disturbed rocks, going up her nose, making it hard to breathe.
“Hurry!” she shouted, over her shoulder. “Run, Lichio!”
He swore. “Get to the main cavern. I’ll follow.”
An explosion hit to her left, dislodging a chunk of rock. She ducked to the side, pulse racing, and pushed herself against the wall. It missed her by inches. Forwards or back? She couldn’t tell – the cracking was all around her.
“Go!” The crisp command got her moving, but the ground shook, nearly knocking her off her feet. A crack widened under her. She screamed and jumped.
“Run!” Lichio drew to a halt on the far side of the crack, his gaze running the length of it. It was too wide, she realised. At another thud, the ceiling rained small pebbles around her. They hit her bare arms, her shoulders, and she yelled out, part-fear, part-pain.
“Woods, get her out!” yelled Lichio. “Take her!”
Running footsteps sounded behind her. Hands grabbed Kerra and pulled her back, into the wider corridor. A jarring impact hit, knocking her off her feet. The corridor she had just left came down in a shower of rocks and dust that rumbled on and on.
She fought to free herself from the hands still holding her. “Lichio!” Her words echoed back. She twisted. She had to see if he was there.
A voice stopped her. “You can’t.”
She turned to see a female soldier, her face hard and closed. Her dark hair was cut short around her face, and she was dust-stained. She held a gun, cradled against her.
“We have to go,” the soldier said.
“I have to look for him,” Kerra said. Her voice broke, clogged with dust and tears.
“You can’t,” said the soldier. She tried to shepherd Kerra into the main cavern. “Come on.”
Kerra shook her head. “He might be okay,” she said. “He was close to me. He must be trapped, but he’s not far back…”
Another shower of rocks fell from the ceiling, hitting off the cavern sides, adding to the rubble that blocked the corridor. It was as if they were mocking her hope.
The soldier led her to where the Roamers were evacuating. Their ships were holding the attack off, allowing others to leave in convoys. Another explosion rocked the base, and a thunderous roar filled the cavern. The last part of the corridor – the part where Lichio had been – caved in.
She bit her lip, holding back tears. The soldier squeezed her arm. She looked sad, as if she understood. Kerra took a last look at the corridor, and turned away, burying her head against the soldier’s shoulder.
She stayed like that until she heard the familiar voice of her mother, calling for her. She broke away and ran across the main cavern, throwing herself into her mother’s arms. From somewhere she found the strength to say what had happened, and her mother tightened her arms around Kerra, holding her close and safe.
***
Kare gasped. Voices, crying for help, cut through his cabin’s quiet. A stabbing pain in his head made him put his hands up. More voices came, the sense of panic, of pain. Of death.
Farran appeared in the doorway, clutching the air-seal so tightly his knuckles were white.
“What’s happening?” Kare asked, but his voice was blurred, lost in whatever was happening in his head.
“The caves are under attack.” Farran tried to grab Kare as he slid down and scrunched onto his knees, head against the floor. He rocked, as if that would ease the pain. He swallowed against it, focused, and swam through the mesh, seeking the mind he needed. Panic grew, the closer he came, and he couldn’t tell if it was his or Kerra’s. He bit it down until, at last, he felt her. She was okay. Relief hit, and he brought his head up.
Lichio. The name was through her thoughts. He looked up at Farran, pain shifting as he moved, making him gag against bile.
“It can’t be, not Lich,” he said. Damn it, not like this, dead in a cavern where he should have been safe.
Kerra’s panic filtered up and through him. Not dead, or at least no one knew. He took a moment, gathering his thoughts, seeking through the mesh to ascertain the extent of the attack, and the level of danger his planet still faced.
He could go back – he might be able to do something. But what? He couldn’t erase time. The cave had come down. He couldn’t undo this past, any more than he had Silom’s death. He could only go forwards, for the people he’d already lost. Karia, his father. Silom. Lichio, perhaps. He had to break his mother’s empire apart and leave nothing for her to take back, and this was the moment to do it. If he drew back now, she’d have time to consolidate herself in Abendau. He managed to get to his feet, pulling himself up on the bulkhead.
“Take us into the Ferran system, Farran,” he said. The Roamer looked like he might argue, but Kare held his hand up. “What can we do if we go back? Syllte is a day’s flight away – whatever has happened won’t change.” He sounded as callous as he felt, but this was a strategic decision. Someone had to take it. “Tell the Roamers to get Sonly and Kerra off planet. They can rendezvous with us at the hub.” He rubbed a hand over his forehead. “Lichio, too.” His throat closed, and he had to force the words out: “If they can find him.”
CHAPTER SIX
Kare wiped his hands on his trouser seams, using the rough material to ground his thoughts and settle his nerves. A row of medals, pinned on his uniform jacket, jingled, and he fought not to straighten them. He had discarded any of the ceremonial sort, selecting only those earned in combat to give a message of authority. That was the difference between him and his mother – he was a military officer, who’d fought for his empire. His soldiers – soldiers he’d known – had died to take it. Let the families take the meaning from his uniform, let them see the message within it.
He stared ahead, bringing to the fore the Kare of the last decade. The one who looked forwards, not back, who’d endured meeting after meeting, dignitary after dignitary, to get to this point. The one who could put thoughts of Lichio out of his mind for the next few hours, if he had to: who’d learned to compartmentalise for the sake of what was left of his sanity.
The double doors opened, and he walked into the meeting room allocated by the Ferrans. It was as grand as expected – everything about the expanded hub had been designed to impress, although he preferred the older sections, constructed during constant attacks from the Empress. He liked the scarred walls and the bays that had clearly been added as need arose and not designed in a corporate office for a system finally granted the independent status it had fought so hard for, and lost so many of its people to. Rjala’s home, the satellite Ferran-V had suffered particularly ferociously, its people wiped out in a devastating attack by the Empress, the survivors left to fend for themselves in the lethal fire forests.
He’d given the Ferrans their status. He’d lifted the middle zone out of servitude to the central planets. He’d given the planetary governments autonomy for their own budgets and had funded development. It had stretched even the funds of his vast empire, had been a gamble he’d faced down the families about more than once. It had been worth it – this austere, impressive room was part of his legacy. Already, the families were seeing the benefits of some of his policies – a richer middle zone was feeding money back to their central planets. It was, he supposed, appropriately ironic that he disliked it as much as any of the other trappings of power he’d inherited or built, but it still gave him a sense of pride, to know when – if: it still had to be ratified –
he stepped away from his role, he’d left something to be built upon.
The delegates came to their feet. His guards kept pace with him, their own medals catching the high-ceilinged lighting: veterans of many campaigns, they’d earned their right to be here today.
He drew to a halt at the top of the table and indicated for the delegates to sit. Rilal Balandt, on his right, was first to drop into his seat. He drew his folder to him, long fingers sifting through its contents. Eva Tortdeniel sat beside him, Borlon Al-Halad another seat down, almost outshining her in his crimson formal uniform.
Kare gave a cool nod to the Menl-iar ambassador, who had the grace to look away. His family would be repaying his comms-call with Lichio, to whom he’d denied desperately needed support, for some time.
A needle of pain made his breath catch. Lichio had fought for his empire on Belaudii. He’d held the planet long enough to beat some sort of retreat, not surrender. He’d been beside Kare since he was seventeen, seeing things no one else did, offering a support that couldn’t be replaced.
Later. That was for later. Kare took in the final delegate at the table, and smiled. Dimara Clorinda, the thin-stranded gold chain woven through her plaited hair glittering as if a crown. Not the family head, but a senior daughter. The message was clear: the Clorindas would support Kare, if his terms were right. Enough seniority, but deniability too. He inclined his head to her, and she did back, the cool Clorinda eyes – a colour like no other, almost amber – regarding him. For all they were snakes, he had a respect for Clorinda. They held their position at a level with the Peirets, above the other families but in thrall to the Pettina, and were not to be underestimated. They were as much sharks as any other around the table, but they were no fans of the Empress; if he could present a viable alternative, they’d go with him.
He pulled his own folder to him. Would the families see it as viable? He hoped so, but was experienced enough to know that pleasing each of them in one document was nigh-on impossible.
“I assume you have read the contents?” he said. A general murmur of assent went around the table. He flicked open the folder to its first page. “Good, then I’ll open the table to discussion.”
***
Kerra waited on the beach with the other survivors. The battle was over, and it had been deemed safer outside than in the caves, at least until they’d been surveyed. She shivered in the clammy air, her eyes fixed on the exit to the cavern. Survivors had been emerging over the past hour or two, first in crowds, then a trickle, many dazed and wounded.
Now, those emerging were being helped by others. Medics triaged them, racing from those able to plead for attention to the almost dead. She’d offered her help but had been waved away, treated as a child and not the healer she was. More must be lost inside – the mesh had been clamouring with Roamers seeking each other.
In the centre of it, her father’s presence remained, distant and closed off. She understood why – he had work to do and needed to concentrate. But the Roamers needed him. She wanted to reach out to him, but didn’t dare, recognising the coldness in him – at the moment, he was being the Emperor.
“Kerra!” Her mother’s voice floated towards her, and Kerra got up. It was only her mother, though, no Lichio beside her, and the emptiness that swept through her made her breathing catch.
“They’re going to try to free him,” said Mum. She led Kerra back to the caverns, pushing past a Roamer who tried to challenge them, her palm raised as if she were silencing voices in the Senate.
“As far as the cordon and no further,” said her mother. “I told them I wanted you here, in case—”
Kerra nodded. In case there was any hope. She went as close as she could to the line of Roamers blocking entry to the caves. Beyond the main cavern, the corridor she’d escaped along was filled to the ceiling with rockfall. She couldn’t see how anyone could have survived. She found herself reaching for her mum, taking her hand and clenching her own around it.
A group of Roamers approached the corridor. One pointed at the ceiling, gesticulating with her hands, and another nodded. A joist was brought from one of the ship-building workshops and wedged into place, supporting the ceiling. Carefully, on the opposite side of the corridor, the group began to shift the rocks.
It was slow going. Dust filtered into the main cavern, making Kerra cough, and her eyes smart. She leaned forwards, watching, willing the rescuers on. At last, they’d made a narrow gap through the fall, and one scrambled in, taking a light passed by another. He emerged a few seconds later, and the squad worked with more energy, the surveyor glancing between them, the joist, and the ceiling.
The gap was widened. One rescuer stepped into the darkness beyond. Kerra let go of her mum and ducked between two Roamers in the cordon, straining her eyes to see what was happening, but the passage was too dark.
A figure emerged, moving backwards. Another of the group climbed to reach him, and they came out a few minutes later with something carried between them. Kerra’s heart flared with hope. She squirmed to the front of the line of Roamers.
Lichio lay still, his face covered in a film of dust.
“Is he alive?” she asked, seeking a response in the mesh, but there was no response.
***
“Finance tariffs need more clearly ratified.” Rilal Balandt leaned forwards, earnest. Nothing got a Balandt more excited than talking finance.
“There is room for each planetary government to take that forward.” Dimara Clorinda – never a family to let go of a credit easily.
Kare zoned out of the ensuing conversation, his attention taken by Kerra. She was reaching for him, not consciously, but seeking comfort. Sadness was around her, and fear. For Lichio. For the Roamers. He put his hands to his temples, massaging them.
“Emperor?” Balandt’s voice was insistent and Kare brought his head up.
“Yes?” Damn, he needed to concentrate.
“The tariffs outlined. Are they flexible?”
“Within reason.” Still the insistent demand that he was needed, that Lichio wasn’t moving. He blinked, dismissing it. “They are tied to the support levels outlined for the zones. Those have been agreed in principle. The planets will not be able to deny their fiscal responsibilities.” Principles discussed over the past months, drawn out in various meetings with ambassadors and presidents, prime ministers and lackeys, most carried out without anyone else’s knowledge. Even Sonly hadn’t known what he’d appended onto meetings, burying it within committee notes in the minutes. He needed to concentrate and ensure the spirit of what he’d promised was upheld.
The mesh pulsed, demanding his focus. His people needed him, as much as those in this room did. His daughter needed him.
He got to his feet. “I have something to attend to. I’ll be back very soon.”
He strode to the door, allowing nothing of the circling confusion in his head to be seen. He went into an anteroom, dismissing his guards at the door. He closed it and leaned against it. His head throbbed; his brow was wet with sweat. He found Kerra, trying not to show his distraction or need for space. He could feel her doubts – that Lichio was too badly injured and she didn’t know where to start. She might be a healer, but she was still young and growing into her powers. She didn’t have the knack of trusting her psyche and letting it do the work.
He focused on her, allowing his power to touch her, bringing calm and control. He sensed what she did, the injuries, the broken skin, a collapsed lung that stopped the breath Lichio needed, the slow bleed deep in his stomach.
Steady, he told her. Breath first, then the bleed. The rest, the cuts and bruises, can wait. Steady but quick: he could feel how little life Lichio had left. He touched Kerra, giving her confidence, and she started to work on Lichio’s lungs. Kare winced in sympathy, imagining the pain as the tissues mended. She was moving with more confidence and he drew away.
Gods, this was insane, trying to hold everything in one place. The mesh was normally held by a king or queen immersed
within the Roamer culture. They had no other function but to govern the Roamers and hold the mesh. He didn’t have that luxury.
He pushed the door open. At least, in a few hours, he should be free of some of his duties.
***
She’d needed him, and he’d come. Kerra dipped her head, guilt lacing her. She’d felt her father’s tiredness and how much he was trying to control. But now, at last, she could feel what Lichio needed. A touch here, to meld a rib that had broken; another there, repairing his spleen and stopping the bleed. His hand gripped her forearm as she moved it, and his grip grew stronger. He had his eyes shut, and she knew the pain must be ripping through him as she healed. But it was working. Lichio would be okay.
She sent the thought to her father, felt his answering pulse of relief, and then she pulled away, giving him space to do his job. A faint wish, that he could be more focused on the Roamers, binding them as he should, washed over her.
***
Kare went back into the boardroom, his steps easier, and retook his place.
“So,” he said. “The screens on your desk show your voting options. Aye for supporting a New Republic, Nay for maintaining the Empire. No abstaining.” He looked around the room, taking his time. “If this is ratified, we remove my mother’s power base. She cannot match the support here.” He clasped his hands together, but quickly opened them, refusing to show any doubt. “If you veto it, she will be in the position to reclaim her title. I will fight that, but—” They had no idea how he planned to fight her. Dirty and deadly, as needed. “She may prevail. You could be handing her back her empire.” He reached forwards and firmly pressed the aye command on his screen. “I leave it to your conscience, and good sense, to make the right choice.”
Nothing to do but wait. Briefly, he checked on Kerra and she was lighter, less worried. A buzz confirmed the votes were in. He brought up a new screen and, for a moment, dizziness swept over him. The dizziness of relief, of a new path forwards. A landslide: all signataries in the room had ratified the Republic.
