“They were betrayed, then,” the Nisei officer continued. “Their most loyal servants turned upon them at a most crucial juncture—their great fleet shattered by their own weapons. The Vay’en had to descend into the singularity to birth a new generation? But the Hjogadim trapped them too close to the event horizon, in slow-time. Then the treacherous Hjo abandoned the artifact and fled—to assume custody of the Vay’en dominions—to become Gods themselves.”
“Plagiarists,” Anderssen mumbled around the chewy bar. “Doesn’t sound like the traitors told anyone, though. A ‘Guide of Thought’ still rules the Hjo, from what I gather. But the Guide is not a Vay’en anymore, just some old fart of a Hjogadim pissing around a palace. So do the great powers pass!”
During this Helsdon had said nothing, but now the engineer stirred, moistening his lips before venturing: “You are saying the elder Vay’en had discovered how to live forever by impressing their memories and personality patterns upon the newborns of their own kind as they emerged from the birth-caul. They murdered their own children, so they might live on themselves?”
“Not just kin-murderers, either. They had no care for others of any race.” Gretchen’s voice was flat with anger. “You saw how Sahâne viewed us. A pale echo of the attitude of his Gods. I think when the Vay’en departed their puppets en masse and descended to renew themselves, the Hjo rose up, seizing their one moment to escape. We have stumbled across the traces of a successful slave revolt.”
“But they didn’t all rebel, did they?” Koshō lifted her chin at the nav plot, where the vast shoals of broken leviathans still drifted in the abyss. “Even within the shield-reed, there must have been those who remained true to their masters.”
“Yes, many remained loyal. Quite a vicious little struggle they had. It was brother against brother … so much for the legacy of the glorious Vay’en. A squalid play of infanticide, kin war, and murder played out on a galactic scale, just to forestall death one more day.”
“And now? What will happen to the children you’ve released from slow-time?”
Anderssen shrugged, managing the faintest smile. “I don’t know. It’s not much of a gifting day present, but they are freed from a cruel past.” And free of Lord Serpent, I hope. A nagging feeling of unease began to steal over her. Did that one escape the rebellion? How would you kill something like that? How long do they live?
“Was that what Hummingbird wanted?” Susan’s old anger began to return, thinking of the old Náhuatl. “Was that the choice of a nauallis? You said the end result was much as he desired—”
“His desire?” Gretchen snorted incredulously. “No, this was a tired mother’s choice, one who has seen both happy children and sad in full measure. No child was ever so blessed as to grow without the hand of expectation on her neck! Those which are let be, flourish, while those who are pressed hard wither. The Crow had no comprehension of what I felt, holding any of my babies in my arms. This was his great failing, I think, having no children of his own.”
With this, Anderssen finally lay back on the bed, her eyes turned to the ceiling and some distant vision. Koshō watched her for a minute, and then for five. But the Swedish woman said nothing more. At last, the Chu-sa turned away, motioning for Helsdon to follow.
When the door had cycled shut, Susan tapped open a comm channel to Oc Chac, who was acting duty officer on the bridge. “Sho-sa, can you connect me to Captain De Charney aboard the Pilgrim? Extend my regards and let him know we’re ready for the rest of the wounded to come aboard.”
Then she turned to the engineer, who was waiting silently, head slightly bowed as he tried to digest all they had heard in the medbay. “Kikan-shi, find Hennig and let him know we’ll be underway and out of this cursed place as fast as his crews can get the hypercoil in operation.”
Koshō’s face was calm and composed but her eyes were dark with troubled thoughts as Helsdon departed in haste. She could think of only one thing to do, given the intricacy of the situation. It’s at least seven days to get in range of one of the big t-repeaters on the Rim. If we push it, six. If I can manage a secure channel to Obasan Suchiru, then perhaps an accommodation can be made between the Mountains. Emperor Ahuizotl cannot be pleased to learn I’ve lost his son—not even an honorable corpse to bring home—as well as any possible prize from this tar-pit.
The thought of facing her grandmother with a disaster of this scale made Susan’s stomach clench, but despite this she walked steadily to the nearest lift, nodding to the doctors and corpsmen hurrying here and there in the medbay. When the doors cycled closed, she was perfectly composed, her white uniform shining in the gleam of the overheads.
“Main Command,” she requested.
* * *
Hadeishi pressed two fingers against a battle-steel door and heard, muted and distant through the metal, a chiming sound. A moment passed as he stood at ease, hands clasped behind his back, and then the door receded into the bulkhead with a soft hsst! Within, kneeling behind a low desk of teak and rosewood, her fine-boned face pale in the light of a single task-light, Susan Koshō was considering an array of v-displays, all filled with reports, forms, and colorful graphs displaying the state of her ship.
“Yes?” she said, not bothering to look up.
“Somehow,” he said, amused, “you’ve brought your office through in fine shape, Sho-sa. Mine always seemed to take the worst of it, riding such a rough passage. Everything would always be ruined.…”
Koshō’s head lifted, eyes widening at the sight of the thin, weary-looking Nisei officer. She stood, tucking a stylus into the twisted bun of hair behind her head, and stepped around the end of the desk.
“You’re here?” She paused a polite distance away, the carefully impassive mask of her face subtly transforming. Without meaning to, Susan began to smile. “You were very foolish to come through the Pinhole after us—there was no safety to be found in our company.”
“So we discovered!” Mitsuharu bowed, dark eyes twinkling. “But things would have been worse if we ran the other way.… I had no choice, really, knowing you were here.”
She nodded, looking him up and down. Then she shook her head, seeing quickheal gel shining on his neck, his wrists. The trim brown and white uniform seemed to fit him well enough, though it was strange to see him out of Fleet colors. “You’ve been in the infirmary again, Chu-sa. And I’ve seen your poor ship—kindling and splinters are all that remains.”
“Yes,” he said ruefully, shrugging thin shoulders. “She had a brave heart, though, even to the end.”
“Your crew is aboard,” Koshō offered, “under the best care we can provide.” She stepped closer, pursing her lips disapprovingly, and took the hem of his jacket sleeve between thumb and forefinger. “Lost all your clothes, I see. Is this a loaner?”
Hadeishi shook his head, straightening the half-jacket. “I’ve a new commission, Sho-sa. Brevet-captain of the Kader—that same poor wreck lying in tow off the Pilgrim—mine now that I’d found her, brought her to worse state than when she fell into my hands. But—”
“A ship, still. A starship.” Koshō stepped back, her expression turning wan and drained. “I can offer you nothing better, Chu-sa. Not even as an unfounded promise.”
“I know.” Hadeishi smoothed back his hair from forehead to nape in a terribly familiar gesture. “It is strange—not to be in dress whites, not to hear the piping when coming aboard.” He looked around her cabin, at first sad, but then whistling softly in appreciation. In comparison to his old quarters on the Cornuelle, the Naniwa’s accommodations were refined, even luxurious. “This suits you, Sho-sa.”
Koshō looked around at the gleaming wood-paneled walls—the tatami-patterned g-decking—and laughed softly. “Pretty—but all this doesn’t give me another meter of armor, another sixteen hard-points.…”
“Don’t think it useless!” Mitsuharu admonished. “You must find rest somewhere or your alertness will be dulled.”
“How does it compare to a Templar s
hip?” Susan slid a panel aside on one of the walls, revealing a compartment holding a black iron kettle and a rack of cups. “Tea?”
“Dōmo, Sho-sa.” He knelt gingerly on a nearby mat, settling with a hiss of pain. Koshō began measuring matcha into the cups. “What I have seen of the Pilgrim matches the best the Fleet has put underway. Their captains—well, I’ve experience with two—are able.”
“Hm.” Susan whisked steaming hot water into the green powder. “Are you oath sworn now, to the Temple?”
“No.” Hadeishi tilted his head inquisitively. He could see Koshō’s attention was fixed on the molten jade swirling in the two cups, but something in her voice sharpened his interest. “I’ve command of the Kader under the terms of a commercial contract as a serving crewman on a Temple-owned ship—as salvage officer. But I am not yet a Knight of the Temple, or even a poor brother.…”
She turned, holding a small enameled tray in her hands, and knelt as well, pale blue cups and rice cakes between them. “You wish to be?”
“They have use of my poor talents, it seems. As a salvage driver, if nothing else.” He shrugged, and then lifted his cup. “Dōmo arigatō, Sho-sa. It is good to sit with you again, even in such a strange place, so far from home.”
She inclined her head. “You’re welcome, Chu-sa. Magister De Charney would be a fool to refuse your talents. Not as a tug captain, either! I’ve recently reviewed all of the Mirror briefs on the Fratres Milites Templi—and while they have an excellent reputation in counterpiracy activities, and even in some border skirmishes—there is no evidence they have put main line-of-battle vessels like the Pilgrim into service before. Nor deployed ships displaying a countermeasures system which can handily defeat our sensors!”
With this, she paused, watching him carefully. For the first time in their long association, Mitsuharu suddenly felt a distance between them. She’s suspicious? Of me? Hadeishi set down his cup. And why not? I’ve arrived in the colors of a foreign power. Having been aboard the strike carrier for only a day, the Nisei officer had already grasped the leap in power and confidence of the Knights. Seeing the ship’s crew at work in the command spaces, in the medbay, even in the shuttle which had brought him over to the Naniwa, an old, old story from the naval history of old Earth had come to mind. A Danish admiral had once said, when judging his people’s many enemies: “Nothing shows the temper and ability of a nation more clearly and concisely than the crew of a ship of war—be it an aircraft carrier or an attack submarine—everything else can be disguised, hidden, faked … but not the natural camaraderie and interplay of an experienced crew.”
“Susan, I am still an Imperial officer. My name remains on the List, my commission stands. I can tell you this much of the Knights: the Pilgrim is a match in gunnery, speed, crew, and systems for any carrier in the Fleet. Her crew is dedicated, resourceful, and enthusiastic. And yes, I have seen with my own eyes—I have in fact used to excellent effect—an emissions dampening system which rendered a Temple-owned freighter invisible to Khaid sensors at point-blank range.”
Koshō did not answer immediately, setting down her own cup and adjusting the tray carefully. When she did look up, Hadeishi felt a tiny cold shock. Her expression was pinched and wan. “Do you think—” She paused, reordering her thoughts. “Has the Order decided to break with the Empire? Is the Pilgrim on a combat footing?”
“Combat?” Mitsuharu shook his head. “No, they’ve stood down. There are fighter wings on patrol … but I’ve seen nothing which indicates they are hostile to us.”
Then she did seem to relax, a brittle tension flowing away from her, and she raised the cup again. “Greetings, Chu-sa. I did not think I’d see you again, when we parted at Toroson.”
“I either!” Hadeishi laughed softly, feeling his heart lighten. “Who could have guessed we’d come together again in such a remote fastness, or by such a circuitous path?”
“Who indeed?” Koshō offered a faint smile, though her eyes were shadowed again. “It must have been fate.”
* * *
The temple bells were ringing the length and breadth of Kyoto, filling the warm night air with a glad clamoring sound. Uncounted voices were raised, singing a song of welcome and unbridled joy. Musashi nodded to himself, scratching at his stubbled, gray beard, and turned away from the huge mass of people thronging the courtyard. He passed under an orange tree whose branches were filled with chattering, laughing children—all peering wide-eyed at the steps leading up into the hall of Shishinden, hoping for a glimpse of the new Emperor—and then forced his way against the press of citizens flowing into the royal complex from the streets. Once beyond the Imperial precincts, the traffic eased and he sighed with relief. He shrugged his shoulders, loosening his muscles, tucked both arms inside his kimono, and found his feet on the great Nara road, heading west. The night sky was clear, showing the moon in quarter-crescent, and the stars were twinkling like jewels strewn on black velvet.
Breathing deeply, feeling free for the first time in a decade, the old man started home.
TOR BOOKS BY THOMAS HARLAN
OATH OF EMPIRE
The Shadow of Ararat
The Gate of Fire
The Storm of Heaven
The Dark Lord
IN THE TIME OF THE SIXTH SUN
Wasteland of Flint
House of Reeds
Land of the Dead
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
LAND OF THE DEAD
Copyright © 2009 by Thomas Harlan
All rights reserved.
A Tor® eBook
Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC
175 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY 10010
www.tor-forge.com
Tor® is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.
ISBN 978-0-7653-5053-4
First Edition: August 2009
First Mass Market Edition: April 2011
eISBN 978-1-4299-9432-3
First Tor eBook Edition: March 2011
Land of the Dead Page 45
