They both put their hands on their hearts. Exchanging glances, they said in unison, “We hear and obey, Princess.”
TWO DAYS LATER found Rhea and Diana in an airboat, carrying out a final exterior inspection of the Hydromeda. The huge airship was anchored in her gargantuan hangar. Supplies and gear were still being loaded into her holds. Her batteries were hooked up to massive power cables leading from the Great Engine.
Rhea hopped out of the airboat on to the airship’s control fins, inspecting the leading edges with an ultra-scanner, looking for cracks. She balanced easily, more than a hundred meters above the hangar floor. Diana followed her out onto the fin, hearing her call out into her communicator, “Starboard section twenty-one, okay; starboard section twenty, okay…” and so on. Completing the inspection of the fins, they continued, inspecting the external nacelles of the airship’s engines, the exterior lights, and lastly, the landing gear. Finally, Rhea was satisfied, and she landed the airboat on the ship’s flight deck and taxied onto an elevator.
“We should complete loading our supplies within the hour,” Rhea said, as the elevator descended to the hangar deck.
“What about the batteries?” asked Diana.
“Let’s go and take a look, shall we?”
They both unbuckled their seat harnesses and walked down the exit hatch together. They walked across the hangar deck, returning salutes from numerous crewwomen. There was an antigravity shaft at the rear of the hangar deck, and they stepped into it, smoothly stepping out in the motor room on the lowest deck. The motor room crew snapped to attention as they entered. Rhea knew that the formality was due to Diana’s intimidating presence. She ran a tight ship and her crew respected her, but most of them had sailed with her for years. She had an easy working relationship with her crew, rather than a formal one.
Mechanica-Centuria Saskia Warrina, Hydromeda’s Chief of Engineering, approached and saluted. “At your service, Captain,” she said. “And yours, Cornelle.”
“Just here to check on the batteries, Saskia.” Rhea kept walking toward the display panels, and Saskia fell in with her. Diana followed.
It took enormously powerful batteries to drive the Hydromeda, and it took a correspondingly long time to fully charge them.
“Only nine days of charging, Captain,” said Saskia somberly. “We have about forty percent of full charge. It will take another two weeks to get up to a full charge.”
Rhea read the complex displays quickly. Diana contented herself with looking at the large charge-meter with the green bar that stood just below the forty-mark, as Saskia had said.
“We are ordered to sail as soon as practicable, Saskia,” said Rhea. “We cannot wait two weeks. Our provisioning will be done this afternoon, and Cornelle Diana’s Guardians…” Here she looked inquiringly at Diana.
“My Guardians already have all their gear aboard,” she replied. “They are ready for the ceremonial embarkation whenever the Hydromeda chooses to weigh anchor.”
“We will weigh at 1600 this afternoon,” said Rhea, decisively. “Saskia, set all systems on power-saver mode. We may be out for months; we must make our power last.”
“I hear and obey, Captain.”
“I will take your leave, Captain,” said Diana, formally. “I will see you at the embarkation at 1600.”
THE HYDROMEDA WAS ready to weigh. All the officers were in the wardroom at the pre-voyage social hour. Handmaidens were circulating with trays of fitza, the bubbly white wine that was the specialty of the Vale of Atlantic City. It was served in crystal goblets that bore the Hydromeda’s coat of arms. Rhea mingled with her officers, exchanging a story here and a joke there, endeavoring to spend at least a few minutes with as many as possible. She sought out Dannae and touched her on the arm. Dannae turned, and when she saw it was her captain, she put her hand on her heart in salute. Breaking with protocol, Rhea took her in her arms and greeted her as an equal.
“I hear you have taken on the burden of motherhood, Dannae,” she said softly. “I salute you. The Sisterhood is in your debt.”
Dannae beamed. “Thank you, Captain,” she said happily. “Repro did not want me to sail, but I felt it was my duty.”
Rhea frowned. “If there is any danger, you must debark, Dannae. We cannot risk your pregnancy.”
“This is no risk, only bureaucratic rules,” said Dannae quickly. “Besides, I cannot debark. Medica-Seignora Portia Clementina was thrown by her horse yesterday and is in Repro with a broken arm. I am the only fully qualified Medica on board.”
“I cannot pretend that I am happy with this, Dannae,” said Rhea worriedly. “If we go into action, you must remain in the infirmary, away from the main decks.”
“I hear and obey, Captain,” said Dannae, smiling.
Rhea struck her goblet several times with a silver spoon. Talk died away, and the officers looked to their captain expectantly.
“Ladies!” Rhea called out in a carrying tone. “To your stations! We weigh at 1600. All department chiefs and officers of the conn, to the bridge with me.”
Rhea took to the bridge, followed by her executive officer, Centuria Blanchia Rodina, and her other conn officers. The department chiefs, Mechanica-Centuria Saskia of engineering and Medica Dannae of the infirmary, brought up the rear. They did a very brief examination of the instruments on the bridge and then proceeded up the spiral staircase to the flying bridge. Out here, in the open, was a duplicate set of the Hydromeda’s main controls. Rhea walked up to the railing and looked down over a hundred meters to the ground. She opened a comm channel to the motor room as well as the seignora commanding the hangar ground crew.
“Motor room, give me lift-off power. Ground crew, release tethers,” she called.
The deck gave a gentle lurch beneath their feet as the Hydromeda’s tethering cables were freed from the massive stanchions on the hangar floor. Winches silently wound the cables into the ship’s belly. The ship’s red and green external navigation lights came on.
“We are airborne,” Rhea said, turning to her executive officer. “Centuria Blanchia, you have the conn.”
Blanchia Rodina was sloe-eyed and petite by Zon standards, with jet-black hair. In response to her captain’s command, she seated herself in the raised captain’s chair on the flying bridge, just abaft of the helmswoman, and opened a comm channel to the motor room. All the other officers on the bridge moved to the forward rail, in preparation for the ceremonial embarkation of the Guardians.
“Motor room, all ahead ten percent,” said Blanchia in even tones. “Helm, straight ahead, even keel.”
The huge airship began moving forward, slowly emerging from the hangar and gliding over the level grass of the airfield.
“Helm, port sixty,” called Blanchia, and they banked smoothly, heading toward the edge of the wide field. The two centuries of Guardians awaited them there on horseback. They were drawn up in serried ranks behind Diana, who was astride a huge white stallion. There was a mesh fence behind them, and a great earthen mound rose beyond it, covered with tiers of stadium seats. There was always a crowd to see an airship sail or dock, but today’s crowd was much larger than usual. The news of the embarkation of the Guardians had spread rapidly, swelling the crowds, eager for spectacle.
Blanchia brought the huge airship to within fifty meters of the Guardian formation and engaged the motors to the delicate task of hovering just meters off the ground. The boarding ramp was extended, and Diana drew her official sword, Light, raised it, and called, “Forward for embarkation!”
The cavalry clattered up the ramp, their standards fluttering and helmet plumes waving in the breeze, as the crowd cheered. The assembled officers on the flying bridge waved, as did the dozens of crewwomen on the flight deck. The crowd of huntresses, priestesses, and commoners alike waved circle-cross banners, streamers, and handkerchiefs, many pointing and blowing kisses to friends or loved ones on the airship. As the last Guardian rode aboard, the ramp was retracted, and the seignora commanding the ramp reporte
d it sealed to the bridge.
“Deck, sound the departure klaxons,” called Blanchia. “Motor room, forward one quarter. Helm, up angle fins fifteen degrees.”
The Hydromeda’s deep horns sounded twice, the announcement of her departure heard all across the city. It prompted renewed cheers from the assembled crowd. Her motors thrumming deeply, she gathered way and gracefully rose into the sky. Blanchia kept her on a steady climb, and soon the airfield and then city itself dwindled beneath her. They could see the whole of the city: the wide tree-lined boulevards, the palaces of the wealthy and powerful on the high ridges and peaks, Chateau Regina fronted by the huge pink marble edifice of the Long Trek Memorial. However, the most striking structure in the city was the graceful glass needle-shaped Confederation Tower, headquarters of the Trading Guild Mistresses. It stood out from the cluster of tall residential and business towers in the Lower Wards and rose to such a height that its topmost viewdeck looked down even on Chateau Regina. To the north, Atlantic City abutted the Encircling Ridge, the snow-covered natural protective barrier of the Great Vale. The Ridge also anchored the ancient city walls of white stone. The River Stevia was fed by waterfalls from glaciers high on the Ridge and had been harnessed to flow around the city walls, forming a natural moat. From the flying bridge of the Hydromeda, Dannae watched transient rainbows form as the sunlight hit the gushing waterfalls, made even brighter by the backdrop of dark green bushes and undergrowth.
The city itself sat at an altitude of almost three thousand meters. So as they rose a thousand meters above the city, the air was becoming quite thin. Blanchia turned to Rhea and said, “Captain, I recommend we transfer to the bridge, call all hands off the exterior decks, and secure the ship for cruising speed.”
“Make it so, Centuria,” said Rhea. Everyone filed off the flying bridge down into the warmth and comfort of the bridge.
Once in the captain’s chair in the bridge, Blanchia received confirmation that all exterior hatches were secure.
“Motor room, all ahead half. Helm, set course zero three five at an altitude of thirty thousand meters.” She rose out of the captain’s chair. “Captain, the ship is yours.”
Rhea seated herself in the familiar position of command.
“Thank you, Centuria,” she said formally. “Department chiefs, please return to your stations. Centuria Blanchia, please relay a message to Cornelle Diana, requesting her to join us on the bridge.”
FOUR
IN A WONDERFULLY realistic dreamscape, Caitlin floated weightlessly on a foamy, frothing whirlpool, the warm water wonderfully relaxing. However, there was a buzzing that just kept getting louder, and she wished it would stop. But it would not stop, and slowly she awakened to realize that someone was trying to open a comm channel to her. She reached over to her small night table and clipped on her left wrist bracer, which immediately projected a small image of Princess Andromache with the current time stamp of 0600. What could the High Priestess of Temple Cognis possibly want with me this early in the morning, she thought, slightly irritated.
She threw back the sheets and, still naked, opened the comm channel with suppressed video. Andromache had her video on and was seated in her sumptuous balcony atop Temple Heights, the high ridge that ran the southern flank of Atlantic City. It overlooked the Lower Wards and commanded a magnificent view of Simran’s Peak and Chateau Regina. Caitlin knew the Saxe palace and its view very well—the d’Orr palace was next door.
“I am honored, Princess Andromache,” said Caitlin, formally. “How may I serve you?”
Andromache had known Caitlin since she was born. Now she smiled at her with undisguised pleasure.
“Caitlin, I had to tell you myself,” she said. Her tone was warm, with a trace of excitement. “The examining board has finalized its decision on your research thesis. It has been awarded the highest distinction. You are admitted to Cognis. Congratulations, Seignora Cognis Lady Caitlin!”
Caitlin opened her mouth but could not form words. Andromache went on.
“When you were admitted to Magis, Heliodora told me your exam responses were the best she had ever seen. Now your Cognate research has been recognized as truly path-breaking. I know your mother wants you to rise in the military, but dearest Caitlin, I know your heart is not in it. Of course, you have your mother’s physical gifts of strength and athleticism, but you were born to be a priestess. You are a future leader of the Sisterhood, and I hope you will choose wisely.”
Caitlin’s head was spinning. Andromache had always tried to steer her away from the military. She had been the one who encouraged her to undertake independent research and try for admission to Cognis. Had her lifelong intimacy with the High Priestess influenced the outcome, or was her work truly so good? She lay back on her bed and took a few deep breaths to slow her rapidly beating heart.
“Princess Andromache, my heart is full,” said Caitlin, when she could trust herself to speak. “I worked long and hard on my thesis, and I hoped it would measure up to the standards of Temple Cognis. To be awarded such recognition is such good luck, it is like a dream for me. And to have you call me yourself is more than I deserve.”
“You make your own luck, my dear,” said Andromache. “Complete your tour with the legions, and come back to Atlantic City to take your place among the priestesses.”
Caitlin knew that such a decision would infuriate her mother, so she spoke cautiously.
“I only wish to serve the Sisterhood to the best of my ability,” she said.
“I am sure that whatever you do will advance the interests of the Sisterhood,” said Andromache, smiling. “Again, my congratulations!” She closed the comm channel.
Caitlin thought of the endless possibilities that were opening up before her. She was now one of the youngest cogniae in the Sisterhood, and with Andromache’s favor, she could doubtless rise quickly in the Upper Temple. She could hope to become High Priestess; she could even aspire to be elected queen! After all, she was a direct descendent of the legendary Queen Thetis the Great and of Simran, the first queen on New Eartha and founder of Atlantic City.
The chronograph alarm in her wrist bracer buzzed, interrupting these fanciful thoughts and yanking her back into the present. She had to escort the market women to the fighting pit. It was time to get ready. She completed her toilette and laid out her lotions. She carefully anointed herself from head to toe in the Zon fashion, taking particular care with her face cream. A thought floated through her mind: when I am High Priestess, my handmaiden will anoint me. She smiled and dismissed it, saying to herself, Today is a big day. Focus.
With a half-formed thought in mind, she eschewed her athletic underwear in favor of frilly lingerie before donning her armored lyntronex combat uniform. She buckled on her weapons belt, drew the d’Orr longsword, Karya, and made a few exploratory passes before returning it to its scabbard. It was one of a matched pair of ancient d’Orr longswords made from one-hundred-fold super-hardened carbon steel. The pair had been brought over from the old world by her ancestor, Queen Simran. Her mother, Princess Deirdre, carried the other, Nasht. She reached down and drew her long dagger from its sheath in her thigh boot. She tested the sharpness of the blade on a whetstone, then broke down and reassembled her laser pistol and went through a thorough check of all her equipment. Then she opened a comm channel to Megara.
“Well, Megara, ready to saddle up?”
“Yes, my lady. I have assembled a hand-picked squad and checked the gear. The horses are saddled, and the speeder is powered up. Do you want to lead the cavalry or drive the speeder?”
“I’d prefer to be on horseback,” said Caitlin without hesitation. “You drive better than I do.”
“And you ride better than I,” returned Megara. “You privileged noblewomen are born on horseback.”
Caitlin laughed. They had been friends since elementary school and sometime lovers—there was no tension between them.
Megara continued. “I have taken the liberty of inviting the market wome
n and the escort to breakfast with us in officers’ mess.”
“Good idea, Megara,” agreed Caitlin. “I am on my way and will see you there momentarily.”
HIGH MISTRESS VIVIA Pragarina of the Trading Guild wore a traveling shift of hand-painted Kanjiam silk, white with a vivid green design that set off her gray-green eyes. She was not tall but sat very straight in her high-backed chair so that she could almost see eye to eye with Caitlin and Megara, with whom she was breakfasting. They had taken a table by the window, so they could look upon the thick walls and battlements of Dreslin Center in the distance across the river.
“So tell me what we should expect on this immersion tour,” Vivia asked, her eyes going shrewdly from Megara to Caitlin. “I trade with barbarians on a daily basis; I don’t know what more I have to learn! And I know your mother disapproves of our Guild’s activities with the Brigons, Lady Caitlin. She has our trading relationships tightly circumscribed and has us chaperoned by huntresses whenever she can. All this in spite of the enormous wealth we create for the Sisterhood and the hefty taxes we pay support to our military expenditures. But what do you believe? What have you set up for us? Are we to meet with King Harald? With his treasurer or Master of Commerce?”
“I have not planned your immersion, High Mistress,” said Caitlin politely. Vivia was a commoner and not due any recognition from an aristocrat or an electra, but Caitlin was not one to stand on petty ceremony. She recognized the truth of Vivia’s claims—the Trading Guild did create enormous wealth for the Sisterhood and did pay the lion’s share of the government’s tax revenues. But it was not a work of charity. Over the centuries, the market women had prospered. Vivia herself was enormously wealthy, and her palace in the posh Lumin Hills section of Atlantic City rivaled the d’Orr palace in size and opulence.
“Oh?” Vivia arched an elegant, well-plucked eyebrow.
“Lady Selene has planned your immersion trip,” explained Megara shortly. Unlike Caitlin, she spoke to Vivia as an inferior. “You are to witness a barbarian ritual killing in one of the Dreslin Center fighting pits.”
The Empire of the Zon Page 7
