"So?" The Emperor rested a finger against his mouth. "Is it that you want your lands back?"
"Yes," Lisinthir said. "But no." He chuckled a little. "I want what was mine because it burns that it was lost through incompetence. It shames me that my father and his family allowed themselves to be robbed of their birthright by their own ineptitude. But if I were to take up the title again-if I petitioned the Eldritch Queen to give it back to me-then I would be expected to hold that land. And I do not wish to live on my homeworld anymore, my Beloved. Not while my life is twined with yours and the Queen's."
"Would she grant it to you?" The Emperor sat up, resting his weight on Lisinthir's hips. What little of it there was; he made a very delicate Eldritch. "It was annexed by some other political group?"
"Oh, I have the feeling she would, yes." Lisinthir folded his arms behind his head. "Imthereli was consumed by one of her enemies, so it is in her best interests to pry it loose again. And I have given her an excellent excuse to do so, since I will come home having accomplished a great deal for us."
"And you would rather take back this name your father debased, rather than create a new one? Are such names created?"
"Sometimes, yes," Lisinthir said. "When the situation is appropriate. And then they are given a seal. That's the animal you see on the ring. They are usually animals... on occasion, other symbols: suns, mountains, natural objects. But... I think I would like to reclaim my name. I am suited to the House of the striking drake. I am no Chatcaavan, Exalted, nor ever will be. But I am more like you than most of my people."
"When you take it back, then," the Emperor said, leaning toward him. "Make sure you put wings on the seal."
Lisinthir drew his arms up his lover's sides. "I will make a note of it."
"This Queen," the Emperor asked, brushing his nose against Lisinthir's. "Her name came down to her through one of these lineages?"
"That's right. The oldest," Lisinthir answered. "The very first Eldritch, Jerisa, was a Galare. And she was also the first Queen. When she took up the crown she began the Galare dynasty and, thus far, that dynasty has not fallen from power."
"A dynasty," the Emperor murmured.
"And we call her simply Liolesa Galare." Lisinthir smiled, stroking the length of his lover's nose. "Power that wears a crown transcends family, it seems."
"Is it thus with all your cultures?" The Emperor kissed his fingertip. "No, let me guess. All of you are different."
"Inevitably. As much as Chatcaava appear to be from one another, from world to world and culture to culture."
"We make our own meaning," the Emperor said, quiet. "And so we choose."
"As always."
Lisinthir wondered, during that kiss and what followed, what the Exalted Emperor was about, with all the churn in his mind, glinting gold and red and blue like shards of colored glass.
Crosby was awaiting him in the gym later, standing in front of one of the mirrors with his eyes closed and his arms folded. The Emperor's entrance caused him to open his eyes, then lift a brow.
"It was the last shape I used," the Emperor said of his Eldritch body.
"And doesn't that bring up an interesting ethical question." At the Emperor's quizzical look, Crosby chuckled. "The Alliance/Eldritch treaty forbids medical personnel from examining Eldritch physiology, or subjecting them to medical testing, or recording any observations about them."
"What happens if one falls ill?" the Emperor asked, fascinated.
"We're allowed to treat them with their consent. But the moment we're done, all the medical data vanishes." Crosby padded to him, stopping a few feet away. "They've got some kind of censor sweep going, no doubt."
"And without consent?"
"Then technically we're supposed to let them die," Crosby said. "Which is why the wise ones log their consent in advance, if they're going to be anywhere for long, and on paper where the bug can't erase it. In Universal-the treaty also constrains who can learn Eldritch. Lieutenant Baker's the only person I've met who was on the allowed list for that, and she'll probably continue to be the only person I know on that list until I die." He put his hands on his hips. "So the question is... are you biologically an Eldritch? And if so, will examining you put me in violation of the treaty?"
The Emperor shook his head. "I did not expect the shapechange to have legal implications as well as physical ones. I should have, though."
"Yes, you should have. Bodies are unavoidably political, associated as they are with culture."
"Let us start with a less fraught shape, then." The Emperor began to reach for the Seersan shape and paused. "I will Change now, if you wish to record anything."
"Go ahead," Crosby said. "The gym's got cameras. I've set it to follow you."
The Emperor slipped into his coat of fur and shook himself, wobbling. "This is the only Pelted shape I have, thus far."
"Fortunately it's the one I'm most familiar with." Crosby circled him again. "How have you been practicing its use?"
Would the medic find this... disappointing? "I fight in it."
"Good choice," was the absent reply. "That'll force you to utilize it fully."
Surprised, the Emperor said, "I expected disapproval."
"That doesn't strike me as a very Chatcaavan attitude? Do you mind if I touch?"
"You may." The Emperor felt the Seersa's fingers on his back, pressing against the edges of his shoulderblade, tapping along his spine. "It isn't a Chatcaavan attitude. I am attempting to extrapolate your beliefs based on my observations. Healers among your kind dislike violence, because it creates injury. Yes?"
"Of course. But I'm not just a healer, alet. I'm a Fleet medic. Before I joined, I was the healer lead of an emergency response team on a colony with economic problems. We had a lot of fighting." Crosby circled around again. "There are fights that accomplish nothing but waste. There are fights that prevent greater waste."
"Like this war," the Emperor murmured. "You will fight it to prevent your deaths."
"It's regrettable that we live in a universe that requires self-defense," Crosby said. "But we never won't, so avoiding violence will only take you so far. Sometimes, the wolf comes knocking." Standing back, the Seersa nodded. "So. Show me."
"Show you..."
"How you fight," the Seersa said. "Come at me."
The Emperor felt his foreign ears flatten. "I don't want to fight you. You are my ally."
"This is sparring," Crosby said. "Training. You have the concept, yes? You must, or none of you would survive to get any good."
"Alet..."
Crosby shook his head and stepped into the Emperor, a long stride that took advantage of his stronger legs, took his arm, and threw him.
Landing on his back was nowhere near as painful as it was with wings. It still knocked the breath out of him. The Emperor lifted his head just enough to stare, wide-eyed, at the medic.
"Come on," Crosby said. "Your turn."
The Emperor gained his feet carefully. "May I try that in my true body?"
"Go ahead."
Donning scales and wings gave him an entirely different perspective on Crosby. The Emperor had no idea if this was because he was facing a real opponent, rather than a simulated one, but he could sense this body's advantages, contrasted against the ones of the body he'd just left. Speed. Sharp edges. Lightness.
His next exchange with Crosby, he won, but not as easily as he'd anticipated.
"What are you doing?"
"Using your strengths against you," Crosby said. "You have so many of them that I have a lot of choices."
"Teach me?" the Emperor said.
"All right. But in the Seersa shape. Might as well see how you handle it."
"It is as I thought," the Emperor said as he shifted. "These bodies have ways of fighting specific to them."
Crosby considered that as he watched. "It's more accurate to say, maybe, that our diversity has given us the opportunity to develop many different ways of maximizing our abilities. We have m
any cultures, many body types, many ways of assessing situations, and all of us allow for development of warriors or soldiers. If I read your society right, only certain people fight."
"Mostly."
Crosby nodded. "In the Alliance, a small girl child might be better at fighting than a strong grown male. Because she might have decided to learn, and he might not have wanted to." He cocked his head. "Does it bother you, to learn the techniques of smaller and weaker people?"
The Emperor laughed, surprising himself by finding his amusement sincere. "If these techniques can throw me? Not at all."
Crosby grinned. "Good attitude. Let's get started."
CHAPTER FOUR
The setting sun spilled gold and orange light over the tops of distant gray clouds, tinting their shadows lavender. Somewhere under those clouds, it was storming: past the forest border, where the green fields streaked up the flanks of the mountains. Bad weather for flying there, now, unless one liked death-chasing. Perhaps younger Chatcaava might have found flirting with lightning exhilarating, but it was no sport for their elders.
The Worldlord preferred to stack the odds. He had spent his entire life in that endeavor, preparing against the inevitable day when he would need to move the Empire in order to protect what was his. It did not surprise him that the day had come-what did, and pleasantly, was that it had arrived when he was still young enough to welcome the challenge. Standing on his balcony, he stared at the massed clouds, drawing in the air through flared nostrils and testing it for moisture, for the subtle scents that revealed the direction of the breeze. Dry for now, but he could smell the piney scent of sap and mountain trees. The wind would be pushing those storms toward him.
His steward rapped knuckles on the interior door, calling, "Worldlord? Deputy-East has arrived."
The Worldlord went for the decanter to pour two glasses. "Show him in."
The weeks following the huntparty had changed Deputy-East. The male who entered his suite carried himself with a focus and sobriety the Worldlord found more admirable than his prior behavior. Not that he'd ever disliked Deputy-East, but the male had been a Chatcaavan in search of a destiny, agitated, flighty, far too intelligent to be mewed into the role he'd accepted. Had Deputy-East been one of his sons, the Worldlord would have long ago forced him to find some better outlet for his talents. That he might have found that outlet by accident, here, in their own back garden, struck the Worldlord as suspiciously serendipitous. The Worldlord did not believe in such neat-winged coincidences.
He handed Deputy-East a glass. "For your nerves."
Deputy-East accepted it and had a long lap of it, twitched. "Stronger than you usually bring out of your cellars, huntbrother."
"You'll need it."
Deputy-East sighed. "Somehow I knew you would say something like that."
"Sit."
When the younger male had settled on the divan, the Worldlord said, "We have a task."
"One more strenuous than spying?" Deputy-East said. "Dying Air preserve me."
"The Twelveworld Lord's forces are still here."
Deputy-East eyed him, eyes narrowed. "Yes? Why, are they not supposed to be?"
"Not for long," the Worldlord said. "If my intelligence is correct, the Twelveworld Lord is on his way here to collect them and return to his fiefdom."
"What?" Deputy-East exclaimed. "That makes no sense? Why would he do that?"
"His excuse is that the pirates he's employed on our behalf are planning to betray him and attack his territory," the Worldlord said. "In reality, he is pulling his forces back in order to weaken the Usurper."
"So that he can take over. As Emperor." Deputy-East frowned, staring at his glass without seeing it. "If the previous Emperor had died as planned, I might have preferred the Lord of the Twelvelord for a master."
"And you don't, if your choice is between him and the Emperor on his way?" the Worldlord asked.
Deputy-East looked up. "What? No. Of course not. How could you even ask? Even if the old Emperor had died, we'd still be looking at civil war. And the aliens no longer trust us. They'd have to be fools to ignore what their intelligence agents are surely reporting even now. Seeing us turn on one another, they'd have to attack us. It would be the best chance to destroy us before we destroy them." His wings twitched. "No. Our best chance now is a leader who will make peace with them."
"You think the aliens could beat us," the Worldlord murmured.
"I don't know if the aliens could beat us," Deputy-East said. "But that would be the issue, wouldn't it? Before I was certain. Now... I wonder what I don't know. I wonder if the Sword was right about them. Maybe it would be like poking a water-burrower. They're small and sleepy but if you alarm them they explode and all their ends are full of pointy things and even dead their jaws don't unlock."
The Worldlord chuffed a laugh under his breath. "Ever the pragmatist."
"I'm not much good to anyone dead."
Which in itself was a fascinating sentiment, for the Worldlord was certain Deputy-East would never have voiced it before. He'd once considered his own survival sufficient end. Applying himself to anything beyond that hadn't occurred to him.
For this alone, the Worldlord felt he should watch the Emperor carefully. A male who could inspire such transformations was notable.
Deputy-East had lapped again from his drink, still frowning. "The Twelveworld Lord brought a big force. Big enough almost to replace what Second took with him on his scouting missions."
"Exactly."
Deputy-East looked up, then straightened. "The Emperor and his fleet. They're coming here."
"They want us to warn them once the Twelveworld Lord has departed so they can attack."
"Oh," the younger male said, hushed. "It's really going to happen. It's going to happen here. Right over our heads..."
"As we feared," the Worldlord said. "Didn't we."
"We did. But... this is also an opportunity, isn't it?" Deputy-East set his glass aside, resting his palms on his knees as he leaned forward. "Being this involved. We can help them succeed. And then...?"
"And then what?" the Worldlord wanted to know, curious.
"And then we can be part of what comes next!" Deputy-East smiled wryly. "To the extent we can be, given how we met him."
"I think we might be surprised how much a part of it we already are."
"Maybe," Deputy-East murmured. More clearly, "I'm guessing our task is to send messengers. Or messages. What do they prefer? Have they said?"
"We are to give them suggestions, based on what we know about the present situation. They also would not mind hearing where we would hide their fleet while they wait for the signal, either en masse or separated."
Deputy-East tapped his talons on the arm of the couch. "Hmm. Did they say how many ships they were talking about?"
"Roughly seven thousand."
Deputy-East looked up, stunned. "Seven thousand? I thought they were hoping for a few hundred?"
The Worldlord grinned. "Someone sent them the Eastern reserve."
"The what?"
"You asked me to help."
Deputy-East said, "I knew you had power, but Dying Air!"
The Worldlord settled on a chair. "Don't ascribe more to me than I have, Deputy-East. I have some influence through the two sons I have in the Navy... but had the Usurper and his new Second not attacked their own power base, there would have been far fewer Chatcaava willing to betray them. My second son might have the command of the reserve, but he can only bring the crews that want to follow him into revolt."
"They should have known better," Deputy-East muttered.
"Yes," the Worldlord said. "Which makes me wonder if they did. But their reasoning is immaterial. We must seize this opportunity."
"Even some of the Eastern reserve could be immense!" Deputy-East said, wide-eyed. "Hiding and coordinating that many ships is going to be more of a challenge than a palmful. When did they say they were coming?"
"They're on their way."
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Deputy-East blinked slowly, several times. Then he reached for his glass. "I see now why you brought out the hard liquor."
The Worldlord grinned. "So. A map?"
"Would help." As the Worldlord stood, Deputy-East mused, "I wonder why the Usurper made that mistake? Assuming it wasn't just a stupid mistake."
"Perhaps we'll live long enough to find out."
"Apex-Fleet? I have brought the readiness reports."
Second looked up from his displays at the newcomer. "Excellent. Come in, please."
The male stepped fully into his stateroom, waiting until the door slid shut before advancing to attention in front of the desk. An exemplary officer, this male, who had achieved the rank of Staff-Prime not just by dueling but by planning his rise through the ranks with a meticulousness reflected in the rest of his work. He was old enough to be seasoned and young enough to have most of his career in front of him... providing they succeeded.
Second fully intended to succeed.
"What more?" he asked. "Sit."
"The forward scouts have returned from their reconnaissance," Staff-Prime said. "Your command officers will bring you their favored attack plans by the end of the shift."
"Do you know which they prefer?"
The male nodded. "All three possible targets are good choices, Apex-Fleet, but there is a clear winner."
"The mood among our people?"
"Good," the male said promptly. "They look forward to the operation, and to what is to come afterward. The most popular feed on our fleet's screens is our destination. The mess hall has it up and there are gatherings whenever one of the long range scouts returns with refinements to the map data."
"Very good," Second said.
"If I may ask, Apex-Fleet?" the male added. "About your future title?"
"I'm still considering options," Second said. He cocked his head. "Is there discussion about it?"
"No," Staff-Prime answered. "Only speculation, and a great deal of it."
Second chuckled. "Let them wonder. It will amuse them."
Taking his tone for dismissal, Staff-Prime rose and bowed. Second liked that about him-he didn't have to belabor a point with Staff-Prime. A good male... he would have to have a position in the new government, once Second established it. Anything else would be a waste.
From Ruins Page 6
