by Mike Sheriff
“I always thought he wished I wasn’t his son. Like I’d disappointed him.”
“No, no, no,” she said. “Frustrated, perhaps, but never disappointed. He loved you.”
Daoren’s eyes welled again. He’d given Lucien meager evidence of his love. He hadn’t spoken the word aloud in more than thirteen years. He’d give his life to let his father hear it now, but that aerostat had sailed.
Cordelia leaned forward and kissed his forehead. “Embrace the feeling you hold in your heart. Heqet will give you a reason to live a long and happy life.” Her eyes shed their pitiful sheen. “She needs you. We need you. Compose yourself and come join us.”
She headed forward into the control gondola. Daoren loitered before the rack, humbled by her strength. It reminded him of what Laoshi had said in the Void, a lifetime ago.
Dominus’ strength and courage, his determination to protect the innocent from harm—all these qualities inhabit you.
The memory gave him comfort. The feeling was as fragile as whisperglass, but firm enough to displace the images of Laoshi’s death in the seed vault. It revealed the best way to remember the old Librarian; through his words and deeds, not his demise. No better way would honor his memory than finding the strength, courage, and determination to finish the task he’d set them upon.
It was time to make a plan.
FIVE MINUTES LATER, Daoren strode into the aerostat’s control gondola. Two Africoid Jireni manned the mid-deck navigation console. Cordelia and Pyros gathered by the forward windows in mid-conversation. Heqet gazed through a window on the gondola’s port beam, maximizing her distance from the group. Daoren joined her.
The Sea of Storms glimmered one thousand feet below, its surface tranquil. The prevailing northerly gales had eased. To the west, the sun touched the watery horizon, washing the sea and sky with red and purple hues.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
Heqet nodded, maintaining her sterile gaze on the sunset.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Daoren didn’t pry any further—she’d open up of her own choice if she felt the need. He directed his attention to the navigation console. “How long until we make the southern coast?”
“Eleven hours,” the smaller of the two Jireni said. “If the winds stay calm.”
“That puts our arrival at morning twilight.”
“An auspicious time,” Pyros said. “Alertness tends to be low.”
“It will help,” Daoren said, “but we’ll need a strategy that strikes at the heart of the Unum’s reign if we’re to have any hope of surviving until evening twilight.”
“One that boasts sound and fury,” Pyros said.
“Exactly.”
Heqet spun from the window. Her flushed cheeks matched the western sky. “The Unum commands an army of Jireni! What sound and fury can we bring to bear against such odds?”
“He may command the Jireni,” Pyros said, “but he doesn’t control them. Not all of them, at least. And many are consumed with quelling the uprising.”
“What do you know of the uprising?” Cordelia asked.
“I know it’s widespread. Commander Cang of Zhongguo Cheng has been given tactical control over the operation to quash it, but she’s allied to our cause.”
“We’ll need more than one district commander to unseat the Unum,” Heqet said, the words ground to a fine edge.
“There are other district commanders who support us. We’ve also engaged some dissenters and rallied them to our side.”
“That’s odd,” Heqet said. “You Jireni spend most of your time culling dissenters.”
Pyros lowered his gaze to the deck. “I mourn your grandfather as well, Heqet. He was a good man.”
Heqet lunged forward. “What do you know about good men?”
Daoren grabbed her sleeve, halting her. He didn’t let go until the rage behind her eyes had subsided. “How many dissenters have you rallied?” he asked Pyros.
Pyros lifted his gaze. “At least three thousand.”
The number surprised Daoren. “Do they have weapons?”
“Commander Hyro has assumed control of the arms depot in Yindu Cheng. She’s given the dissenters access to personal arms, heavy weapons, and Hexalite levicarts.”
“I thought Hyro was from Riben Cheng,” Cordelia said.
Pyros shrugged. “There was a change in command.”
Daoren absorbed the news. It was better than expected, but the Unum could easily counter a well-armed, ad-hoc force with his loyal Jireni and personal guard. The key to success lay in severing the connection between the Unum and the Jireni. How to sever it was the key question—and they had eleven hours to find the answer.
Heqet tugged his sleeve. “May I talk to you back aft?”
Her crumpled brow hinted at urgency. Daoren accompanied her into the darkened cargo hold, leaving his mother with Pyros by the forward windows.
Heqet halted before a rack of screw mines. Light-bleed from the control gondola sharpened the glint of her guarded eyes. “I don’t trust him.”
“You saw how he helped us in the seed vault.”
“After his men culled my grandfather.”
“That happened before Pyros could stop them. They were acting under Narses’ orders.”
“I heard Narses threaten his daughter. You think the Unum hasn’t done the same? What if he’s leading us into a trap?”
“We have to take Pyros at his word, Heqet. Without him, it’s just you, me, and my mother against the Unum and his forces.”
“Even with him, I don’t see how we can defeat the Unum.”
She turned away. The move unblocked a screw mine.
Its guidance panel glowed in the subdued light. Black digits ticked off a countdown.
00:01:45 . . . 00:01:44 . . . 00:01:43 . . . 00:01:42. . . .
Adrenaline spiked Daoren’s veins. He elbowed Heqet aside with more vigor than he intended. “Hey!” she shouted. “Why did you—”
“A mine’s been activated!”
He tapped its guidance panel. A new screen confirmed it had been set to detonate five hours earlier. He sifted through an array of menus, most of which were unfamiliar.
“How did it activate?”
“Narses,” he said, tapping through more menus. “He must have set it before he took off in the aeroshrike!”
The countdown ticked through the one-minute mark. He found the Deactivate/Disarm menu. He swiped through its sub-menus, searching for the deactivation code. The countdown passed the thirty-second mark.
“Daoren . . . hurry!”
He located the code and stabbed its sixteen alphanumeric digits into the guidance panel’s keypad. He rechecked their accuracy twice before hitting the Input tab.
The on-screen countdown froze.
00:00:08.
Daoren rocked forward. He gripped the bulkhead to steady himself, resisting the urge to throw up. Heqet released a whooshing breath. “Eight seconds. Can you imagine if it had gone off?”
He eyed the rogue screw mine—and the four mines nestled beside it in the rack. Twenty-five mines of a similar size had unseated a million tons of sand and blasted it for miles downrange.
Daoren chucklebucked. As a matter of fact, he could imagine it. He pitched his head back and rasplaughed.
“What’s so funny?”
He tapped Heqet’s forehead and smirked. “I think we just found the sound and fury we need.”
16
The Pinnacle of Craven
THE UNUM’S BLOOD reached the boiling point, impelled by ten uninterrupted minutes of his son’s pathetic explanations and excuses.
He launched from his seat and rounded the desk, cocking his arm mid-stride and releasing it the instant his weight transferred to his front foot. The slap landed cleanly, striking with enough force to elicit sympathetic resonance from the gleamglass threads of the Newton’s Cradle atop the desk.
Narses’ head snapped to the side. He staggered backward. �
�I’m sorry, Papa! I’m sorry!”
“You’re sorry?” The Unum pulled his arm back and delivered another blow. “What good is being sorry? If you’d had the guts to finish them off, this crisis would be over!”
Narses cringed and retreated, rubbing his cheek. “What if they’d gotten out of the vault? I didn’t have a weapon!”
The idiotic defense stilled the Unum’s raised hand. “You had an aeroshrike for Sha’s sake! Why didn’t you use it to raze the pyramid to the ground?”
Narses’ brow knotted as though the idea had never even occurred to him. “At least they won’t have any way to get back to Daqin Guojin. I programmed a screw mine to destroy their aerostat.”
The Unum blinked, barely containing his rage. “You what?”
“I programmed one of the mines in their vessel to auto-detonate.”
“On how long a delay?”
“Five minutes.” Narses managed to plant a triumphant smile on his lips. “It would have gone off before they—”
“A single barometric round from a gun turret could have destroyed their aerostat ten times over!”
Narses shrank from the shout. “But I’d programmed the mine to—”
“And then you abandoned Julinian’s body?”
“Because I had no time to—”
“You left your own cousin to rot in the Great Saharan Desert! What kind of man are you?”
“You’re not letting me explain!” The boy’s lower lip jutted and quivered. “You never let me explain anything!”
The Unum drew a deep breath, stilling his fury. “So explain.”
“I tried my best. I did, Papa, I truly did. But no one listened to my orders.” He swiped his hand beneath his nose and sniffled. “Julinian mocked me at every step. Pyros called me a fid. The Jireni were incompetent.”
“So everyone but you was at fault in this disaster?”
“Yes.”
“You’re saying you did your best?”
“Yes!”
He leveled a frigid glare. “Your best isn’t nearly good enough.”
Narses’ eyes pooled. “I’m sorry!”
The Unum raked his hands over his scalp. Sorry. If anyone was sorry, it was him.
He was sorry he’d entrusted the mission to his son. He’d done so for one reason—to strengthen his position as Unum Potentate. Its success should have been guaranteed. Two aeroshrikes crewed by over two hundred Jireni should have been more than adequate to cull Daoren and the others. If the mission had succeeded, Narses would have been known ad infinitum among the people as the Protector of Daqin Guojin. History would have crowned him the Culler of Dissenters.
Instead, he’d proven himself to be the Pinnacle of Craven and the Cultivator of Disaster by turning a glorious victory into an unmitigated shambles. Not only was Daoren still alive, but he’d almost certainly found the seed vault. Laoshi had likely succumbed to his wounds, but Pyros still drew breath. Sha knows where the Primae Jiren was now or where his loyalty lay.
Since his arrival in the chamber fifteen minutes earlier, Narses had relayed only one piece of good news; the precise coordinates of the fabled seed vault. The coordinates yielded just enough solace to alleviate the urge to fling his son off the chamber’s balcony. He’d be able to send aeroshrikes to destroy the vault once the damnable insurrection was—
“Forgive the interruption, Unum.”
The Unum put his back to his sniveling son.
Commander Cang stood amid the plasmonic floor-projection of Daqin Guojin. The green blotches marring its districts had expanded since her last briefing.
“It’s my aide,” she said, holding up a quantum tile. “He says I have an urgent call. May I take it on the balcony?”
“For all the good you’re doing me, what’s one call going to matter?”
Cang bowed and strode toward the glass doors.
CANG STEPPED ONTO the balcony, welcoming the fresh night air and relative tranquility. It had been ill enough listening to the Unum’s rants on the growing insurrection. The tirade Narses’ return had unleashed made it a hundred times worse.
As difficult as it was to witness, Narses’ briefing to his father had brought some stunning news to light. She’d discovered why the Unum had dispatched two aeroshrikes to pursue Daoren and the others. She’d learned what had transpired in the Great Saharan Desert. And she’d confirmed that the geology aerostat was the only remaining vessel in which Pyros could return to Daqin Guojin.
The last discovery explained the poor quality of his first air-link transmission; the aerostat had a low-power transceiver. It didn’t explain why the aerostat hadn’t been destroyed by the screw mine, but the point was moot. Knowing Narses, he’d probably botched its programming sequence. Only two things mattered. Pyros was on his way back with Daoren al Lucien, and they carried with them a discovery that would alter the course of the city-state’s future. The prospect thrilled her to the core, but sober caution remained the watchword.
She walked to the balcony railing. After a quick check over her shoulder to ensure she wasn’t followed, she raised the tile to her mouth. “It’s safe to talk, sire. Where are you?”
“Close,” Pyros said, voice hissing with static. “We should cross the southern coast in six hours. Where’s the Unum?”
She placed a hand on the railing. “He’s in his chamber at the Assembly. I’m here with him now.”
“Has Narses arrived yet?”
She glanced at the open square, three hundred feet below. Her heart raced.
The Imperial Regalia’s ceramic tiles glowed with iridescent light, bathing the Assembly’s façade in red and gold. No Jireni marched upon them tonight. All were engaged in quelling the uprising . . . or preparing for Pyros’ return.
“Are you there, Commander Cang?”
Cang lurched back from the railing, battling the palpitations sparked by her amygdala’s flight response. Exposure therapy was necessary for overcoming her irrational unease with heights, but now wasn’t the time to engage in the practice. “Narses arrived here twenty minutes ago.”
“Will they be staying at the chamber overnight?”
“Yes,” Cang said. “I convinced the Unum that we’d uncovered a plot by dissenters to intercept his regal fleet on its way to the Eastern Mound. They won’t be leaving here any time soon.”
“Good,” Pyros said. “Now listen carefully. Here’s what I need you to do.”
THE UNUM WADED through the plasmonic projection of Daqin Guojin. Narses had retreated to a divan near the balcony doors. He sat in sullen silence, gaze downcast. The Unum let him bask in his shame and turned his attention to the projection’s tactical symbology.
To the north, the dissenters had gained only limited footholds. Nansilafu Cheng and the other Slavvic districts remained under Jireni control. The outlying boroughs of Zhongguo Cheng had seen sporadic fighting, particularly in the south, but the administrative core hadn’t been touched . . . yet.
Districts south of Zhongguo Cheng, however, were swaddled in green. Seventy percent of Yindu Cheng and Feizhou Cheng had fallen to the insurrection. Yindu Cheng’s district commander, Pabbu al Mandes, was listed among the casualties. His body had been discovered earlier in the day, according to Cang. It appeared he died defending his arms depot.
The Unum cast his gaze farther south in the projection. According to the tactical symbology, Jireni clung to a few isolated pockets and tenuous corridors. Even a novice tactician could appreciate that access to the southern aerodrome and its fleet of aeroshrikes would be jeopardized if the corridors fell to the dissenters. Why hadn’t Cang relocated the fleet to a northern aerodrome? He glanced at the balcony’s glass doors.
Beyond them, Cang still faced the railing. Her head nodded in response to whomever she was speaking with.
His patience, already stretched taut by the swelling insurrection and his son’s momentous failure, risked sundering. She’d been out there for five minutes. What could be so important to delay her? He was about to
ask Narses to fetch her when Cang entered the chamber . . . smiling.
The sunny disposition surprised the Unum. “Good news?”
“Yes,” Cang said, pocketing her tile. “We’ve retaken the arms depot in Yindu Cheng.”
“That is good news!” Narses said, snapping out of his funk.
“I thought Pabbu had been culled,” the Unum said. “How did you retake the depot?”
“I tasked Hyro alum Takeda to lead the operation,” Cang said.
“Riben Cheng’s commander is in Yindu Cheng?” Narses asked.
“I’d asked her to come to Zhongguo Cheng days earlier,” Cang said. “To help make contact with the insurrection’s leaders in the south.”
The Unum scowled. “I gave you no authority to make contact with the dissenters!”
“With respect, Unum, I chose to do it on my own initiative so you and Narses could save face.”
Narses’ brow folded. “Save face?”
“No Unum would dream of negotiating with dissenters, Unum Potentate,” Cang said. “But I wagered the prospect of a negotiated truce might lull the dissenters into a meeting. Rightly or wrongly, Commander Hyro has their trust.”
“That’s because she’s practically a dissenter herself,” the Unum said.
“Yes, she walks a fine line. But tasking her to make contact absolves you and the Unum Potentate of any perceived weakness. And once the dissenters agree to sit down with us, we can crush them with one blow.”
Narses grunted. “If they agree to sit down with us.”
“They already have,” Cang said. “Hyro has achieved a breakthrough.”
“Have the dissenters laid down their arms?” the Unum asked.
“I’ll know more when I speak to her on the scene,” Cang said. “For your own safety, you and Narses mustn’t leave this chamber. I’ll report back to you as soon as I can.”
The Unum snorted. She needn’t worry—nothing could get him out of the chamber in the midst of a wholesale insurrection. “We won’t move until we hear your report.”
Cang halted before him. “Take heart, Unum. This could be over by sunrise.”
