The male floating in the display was wreathed in the Usurper's memories: competence, trust, a feeling of allegiance against the irritating males who insisted on physical displays of prowess. "Yes. I have used our cypher, on top of existing naval protocols."
"That will do for now. But I need you here. You and as many of our people as we trust."
"Exalted?"
"The males we wish to neutralize are going to attack the throneworld."
This new male scowled. "They plan a coup."
"What else? They are what they are."
"One would think the war would distract them."
The Usurper suppressed anger, poorly. It pulsed through his aura, tinging everything red and cold silver. "Second delayed the war too long. It gave them time to grow fractious."
A hiss from the other end. "He betrayed you."
"No doubt he was planning it from the beginning," the Usurper agreed, cold. "But the past is immaterial. I must keep the throne or we will fail to achieve our aims."
The male leaned toward the screen. "What do you need?"
"As many loyalists as we can muster to defend the throneworld. They will make their attempt here. They are sentimental and irrational, and control of the literal throne is important to them."
"Understood. I will bring allies."
"Make it soon. Less than a week. Some is better than none."
The male frowned. "They might die, if they're found in too small a concentration."
"The first attack won't be for another week, if that," the Usurper said. "But I want to find the spies. When your ships begin to arrive, I will have a chance to identify the leaks before anyone knows we are reinforcing the throneworld."
"Ah. Yes. Understood. I'll dispatch today, then."
"Excellent." The Usurper canted his head. "I will need to replace my entire command structure. Consider where you want to be in it."
"I will. Logistics out."
The Usurper pressed his hands flat on his desk, wings relaxing. His satisfaction was slippery, like machine oil in gears. Jahir didn't like how much smoother it made his thoughts. A calm Usurper was bad for them. But he could not quite make the leap to altering the male's thoughts from inside his mind.
Instead, he shifted on the wall. The Usurper's breath caught. When Jahir moved again, the Usurper snapped, "Stop that."
And Jahir... stopped. And waited. As he hoped, the Usurper remembered the earplugs and wondered suddenly if his alien freak's obedience was accidental, or if he could somehow hear. His thoughts veered into ugly places, about brain damage and pierced eardrums... to assuage his concerns, Jahir moved again. The Usurper's shoulders lost their tension.
Mostly.
That little edge... that was all Jahir wanted. Enough unease to keep the Chatcaavan from making his best decisions. Not enough to provoke rash action. For the rest of the day, he kept the vigil, watching the Usurper read his messages. And Jahir wondered why the Chatcaavan hadn't realized that with Second and the Twelveworld Lord gone, he no longer had anyone to prosecute his war for him. Apex-East was masterless. How long before that situation exploded?
Tsonet could convey that message. It wanted only to the end of his latest session on the wall, and then they could talk-how useful it was to once again have an outlet to the Alliance. Did the Usurper realize that he created his own problems?
Did any of them?
Just a little while longer, until the end of his session on the wall. How long, though? The Usurper might be able to see the time, somehow, but Jahir couldn't find the dragon's mind. Too much oil in the gears: his fingers slipped. He slipped. He fell-
"...up, wake up. Ridiculous alien. Stop dying. Wake up."
Jahir started, found himself in the arms of his attendant. He was no longer on the wall. He wasn't in the bathing chamber, either, but in his own room. His entire body felt wrong, in a way that made his breath short in his chest and his stomach cramp for reasons other than hunger.
"Finally," Tsonet said irritably, but Jahir felt the Chatcaavan's relief, too overwhelming by far for some lesser fear. "Don't try to talk. Idiot alien. The Surgeon was right about you."
Jahir whispered, "W-what?"
"You fell unconscious and no one noticed until they took you down." That noise... that was his tail slapping the stone floor, like an angry cat's. "And it is long past the hour you would normally be here, sleeping. I couldn't wash you, your body is too long to be managed when you can't help. No food either. We have no way of telling how long you were out. Do you faint often?"
"No," Jahir answered, his mouth aching: with the tears in it, and the truth.
"If it happens again, we will have to tell the Usurper. This is beyond my ability to address. I'm a servant, not a medical technician."
/I doubt the Usurper cares,/ Jahir thought, tired.
/I doubt it, too,/ Tsonet answered, his voice brisk. /But we do. So if he won't let you get treatment, we will have to find another way./
The way Jahir felt now made him question the likelihood of anything short of a hospital maintaining his health. Passing out... he had fainted when overwhelmed by mental intrusion, when he'd first come to the Alliance, but this hadn't felt kin to that. It reminded him more of his degradation on Selnor, when the heavy gravity had conspired with overwork to drag him down. He remembered what it had felt like, to have his heart laboring to the point of stopping. His body felt now like his heart had then, straining at the limits of its ability to function.
Such an amulet rampant his cousin had tied around his throat. That had given him the power to help save worlds... and then shattered.
/It's me,/ he thought. /I am the amulet./
/What?/ Tsonet asked.
/Nothing,/ Jahir murmured. /It doesn't matter. I have information for you to pass outside the walls, if you can./
Tsonet leaned down to eye him.
/It will help you achieve your vengeance./
/My vengeance won't be complete until the Usurper dies,/ Tsonet said. /Keep that in mind before you think you're done./
/I understand,/ Jahir answered.
The male studied his face with too knowing a look. Oviin had been kindness, the softness of a caress, the warmth of a wrap in the cold. His brother was a knife.
Well enough. He could appreciate a knife. /Do you have Oviin's memory?/
/No,/ Tsonet said. /So keep it simple./
/Simple is all I have,/ Jahir said. /Here is what you should say./
CHAPTER THREE
"The surrounding systems adjacent to Apex-East," the Admiral-Offense said as Uuvek brought up a map. "As you can see, the Eastern quadrant is a busy one."
Lisinthir watched Meryl step forward to examine the projection. Her lips pulled back from her teeth as her gaze followed the hundreds of thin red lines criss-crossing the labeled landmarks. "God Almighty. Where doesn't traffic arrive from?"
"Space is large," the Knife offered. "There are places we can hide. But it is unavoidable that any hiding place we choose might end up under the hull of someone off-course, or taking a non-standard route."
"So what you're saying is that we need to split the fleet up," Meryl said. "That way if someone stumbles onto any one part of it, we're not completely rhacked."
"Either that, or we make certain that anyone who stumbles onto us, dies," the Admiral-Offense said.
"Which assumes we'd notice every possible intruder," Uuvek said. "We have to plan for stealthed patrols seeking trouble as well as accidental merchant convoys."
"What approach do you favor?" the Admiral-Offense asked Meryl.
The Hinichi wrinkled her nose. "It depends on how reliable our source in Apex-East is, and how quickly we can inform everyone to mobilize. We have too small a fleet to arrive piecemeal. If we're going to show up in-system, we have to show up together or we might as well call the whole show off."
"Pincer?" one of the Fleet analysts offered.
"Only works if the pincers are big enough to hurt," Na'er said. "We don't have pi
ncers here. We got, at best, foldable sewing scissors. If we go in like we've got big, manly axes, we're gonna get schooled. Badly."
"Manly axes?" Shanelle asked with an arched pink brow.
"Don't look at me, I got it from Fleet Commandos 3."
The human shook her head. "You watch too many movies."
"The wrong ones, too," Meryl said. She glanced at the Emperor and Lisinthir. "So? What's the verdict on our contact?"
"He won't fail us," Lisinthir said. "And I think if we ask our fleet second, he'll tell you that his father can arrange a way to contact us if we're hiding in different places."
"His resources are impressive," the Knife muttered.
"If they're impressive, why do you sound upset?" Meryl asked him.
"Because a system lord should not have so much power, in and out of the Navy," the Knife said. "It's... unnatural."
"At least he's on our side, along with all the other unnaturals," Na'er said.
Meryl threw him a warning look, all flattened ears and narrowed eyes. Lisinthir wondered if the Chatcaava noticed, and if they did, if they read it as weakness in her chain of command.
"So?" Meryl said to the Emperor. "What's the verdict?"
"The verdict is that we leave for Apex-East immediately," the Emperor said. "And query the Worldlord in transit. I would not be surprised if the situation changes before we arrive."
"And we make plans for both contingencies." The Admiral-Offense stared at the map, then folded his wings neatly. "As usual."
"You were always very good at this work, huntbrother," the Emperor said.
The Admiral-Offense eyed the Emperor over his shoulder. "Flattery," he said dismissively, but Lisinthir could tell it pleased him by the ease of his shoulders, and the relaxed flesh around his eyes. The Admiral-Offense remained uncomfortable when directly questioned about his beliefs, but change was growing into him, little roots of it greening. The ease with which he accepted Meryl's competence... the fact that he no longer bridled at the necessity of fighting.
"It isn't flattery if it's true," the Emperor said, and rose. "Arrange simulation training while we're en route."
"Of course, Exalted."
"Get us moving," the Emperor said, and inclined his horned head in the humanoid manner. At the door he paused and said, "Ambassador?"
"I'll take care of it."
It didn't matter that the Emperor was wearing the shape of a dragon. Lisinthir saw the relief in his eyes anyway, subtle but present. That left him in the conference room as the others began to trail from the room. He joined the Admiral-Offense at the map. "Rather an ugly piece of work."
"It is not the ground I would have chosen for the fight," the Admiral-Offense said after a long pause. "But perhaps it is the only ground that would have served."
Behind them, Meryl said, "Because your navy is based there?"
"It is the symbolism of it," the Admiral-Offense said. He was easier with Meryl than he was with Lisinthir, answering her question without gauging his words. "He came out of the Navy. He was our Emperor."
Meryl nodded and sighed. "I guess we're the ones who are going to have to figure out those ‘contingency' plans."
"Only if you care to," the Admiral-Offense said. "You are far more dangerous writing training scenarios."
The Hinichi laughed. "You noticed."
The Admiral-Offense checked the room, and finding it empty of anyone but the three of them, confessed, "the Knife was correct about your hidden claws."
"Mmm-hmm." Meryl grinned lazily before eyeing Lisinthir. "So what are you staying behind for?"
"I have a message to write," Lisinthir said, and in the spirit of earning the Admiral-Offense's trust, said, "to the Worldlord. The Emperor prefers not to speak to him."
He waited, after divulging this, watching the Admiral-Offense's expression and wishing briefly for Jahir's ability to read thoughts without touching. It would have confirmed what his sense of Chatcaavan body language suggested, which was that the Admiral-Offense was disturbed, but not upset. He was thinking past his reactions. "Because he was scarred by his time in the Worldlord's possession."
"Too simple a reason by far, Admiral-Offense. You should know better."
Meryl, watching them, frowned. "What am I missing? I would think it's obvious, that talking to him might be awkward. For both of them."
"That is not how we do things," the Admiral-Offense said to her. "One should assert dominion, particularly over those who have offended you."
"So he's being too passive?" Meryl asked. "Cowardly?"
Lisinthir canted his head and stared at the Admiral-Offense, waiting. That male grimaced and twitched his head. "No. The Ambassador is correct. That would be too easy an explanation for a male I found overly complex even when he was still a Naval officer aiming for the throne. But that doesn't mean I understand him now any better than I did then." He looked at Lisinthir. "Why won't he talk to the Worldlord?"
"Because," Lisinthir said, "that discussion must happen in the flesh."
The Admiral-Offense's eyes widened.
Lisinthir nodded.
Meryl ran a hand through her hair and sighed. "Should I bother asking."
"All significant acts in relationships must be done in the flesh," the Admiral-Offense said.
"He is telling the Worldlord that their relationship is important enough that any interaction that happens next between them-whether that's apology, punishment, or discussion-must be done face to face," Lisinthir said.
"It's a political act," Meryl said.
"Also, they feel awkward, and would prefer not to talk much." Lisinthir grinned at her.
Meryl rolled her eyes. "That sass will get you in trouble one day, Lord Nase Galare."
"That sass already has," Lisinthir answered. "You don't mind if I use this room to compose my message? Access to the map would help."
"Would access to a second opinion on your draft also help?" she said.
"Possibly. Particularly a military one. From both sides of the border." Lisinthir glanced at the Admiral-Offense.
"You may begin it," the Admiral-Offense said. "I will return when I have passed the deployment orders."
"Very good." Lisinthir watched him leave and settled back into a chair by the projection.
"So, that going well?" Meryl asked, wry.
He chuckled. "Which part?"
"The politicking part?" She smiled a little. "Don't pretend you're not making sure of him for the Chatcaavan Emperor."
"We all know what I'm doing," Lisinthir said. "That won't change that it'll work."
"You're doing it to me, too, I notice."
He chuckled. "I don't have to do it to you, alet. The Chatcaavan brass is charming you without my help."
She looked away, ears sagging. And then reluctantly laughed. "I guess they are. So are you going to dictate this one live?"
"That would defeat the purpose of the exercise."
"I thought the purpose of the exercise was to enlist the Worldlord's aid?"
Lisinthir looked up. "Very well. The other purpose of the exercise."
"Which is to rope us into helping you, which makes us all work together, which makes us all more comfortable working together," Meryl said.
"I find having one act serve multiple uses saves a great deal of time, don't you?"
"You really are a smart mouth, you know."
Lisinthir's lips twitched. "I do." As he brought up a clean projection and began the salutation, he sensed Meryl's mirth fading.
"You really think he's going to successfully court the Worldlord? That thing on the planet... that's some serious history to overcome."
Eyes on the words as they appeared, Lisinthir said, "It is nothing to the history he already has."
Despite the evidence that suggested the results would be unremarkable, the Emperor was dreading his follow-up examination: he knew it was unlikely the physician would find anything, but the thought of physical relapse distressed him, nor did he want to discuss his
emotional state. The Emperor presented himself to the Seersan medic in the clinic and sat on the bed as directed. To focus his thoughts productively, he watched Dellen Crosby moving, with special attention on how he placed each footfall, and how his tail moved to balance the legs. The medic's pace was more deliberate than Laniis's. Perhaps age? Personality? Different training? He wondered if he could ask.
"You're looking good," Crosby said, studying the read-outs as Andrea waited on the other side of the bed. "How do you feel? Headaches? Dizziness? Any strange spells?"
"None," the Emperor replied.
Crosby nodded. "How's your mental health? Need me to set you up with Dominika?"
"I... am managing. For now."
"There's no shame in asking for help," Crosby said. "I won't belabor the point, but I don't want you to stumble through your recovery alone out of some sense of misplaced pride."
The Emperor exhaled, lowering his head. Bow it. Bow it, unworthy thing. "Pride is not a problem."
"Shame, then," Crosby said, a glint in his eye as he glanced at the Emperor, who grimaced. "I've been doing this a while, alet. There isn't a reason in the book I haven't heard."
"I'm keeping an eye on him," Andrea offered.
"Oh are you." The healer snorted. "I believe it. Well, you look fine for now. You have any questions?"
Would now be the time? What better time would there be? "Are Seersan legs stronger than human ones?"
The data tablet in Crosby's hand sagged. Behind the Emperor, Andrea laughed. "I think that's the first time I've seen you at a loss, alet."
"Yes, well, it's the first time I've been asked the question by someone who might be able to evaluate the difference first-hand." Crosby eyed him. "I assume you know both shapes?"
"I do, yes. The leg configuration on your body type strikes me as... peculiar."
"It strikes us as peculiar, too." Crosby set aside the data tablet and folded his arms. "Can you show me?"
"Us," Andrea said. "I'm here too. But I can leave, Survivor, if you'd rather I did."
She did that, sometimes. Calling him by whatever name or title seemed appropriate to her at the time. Never his name, though. Maybe she sensed names for Chatcaava were fraught.
From Ruins Page 4
