The Emperor would have found the question worth discussing.
Ueneuvin. Daintiness. The most wonderful interpretation of it. Daintiness as wholesome, as breathtaking, as something to be cherished. What on all the earths did he plan to do with it?
Laniis sat on her urge to grab her ears and crumple them in frustration.
Uuvek did not have much to pack: clothes, mostly, which he rolled and stuffed into his bag. The motions were familiar, burned into muscle memory by years of traveling from ship to ship during the course of his duties. He'd never cared about those moves, having accepted long ago that what promotions he received would be few and into very similar jobs. It had never mattered because all those jobs had involved computers. So long as he had access to a console, he could keep himself interested in his work.
It surprised him, discovering that he didn't want to leave the alien ship. He liked its roominess, despite the inefficiency of the space, perhaps because of what it implied: that quality of personnel, rather than quantity, mattered. He also liked the aliens, whose perspectives gave him new ways to consider old ideas. It satisfied him that his predictions had been correct; interacting with the aliens did lead to the sort of synergies that would help save the Empire from ruin.
He wanted to be here, where they were, so he could continue observing them. But he accepted that to bring about his ideal scenarios, he would have to dedicate himself to the war. At least the Emperor made an interesting figure, with his unpredictable ideas. Associating with aliens had changed him, or he'd been strange from the start and exposure to the wingless had accelerated his growth. One day, Uuvek would ask. And one day-soon, he hoped-he would return to the Silhouette and resume his association with the aliens. And with the Knife, who was a good companion.
The last thing Uuvek wanted to pack was the data tablet the alien princess had given him on the world where they'd met the Ambassador. It was his favorite possession now, and he used it in preference to the Chatcaavan versions the Admiral-Offense had made available once they'd come into contact with the reserve fleet at the Source. The Alliance version had an elegance that inspired many questions. Was its superior design the result of its need to serve many different species? Was it the many different perspectives and mindsets that had gone into its creation? Some combination of both, and other factors he had not yet guessed?
Uuvek glanced at it, perched on the bed. He'd assumed that the alien tablet would be difficult for a taloned species to use, but he'd discovered there were aliens with talons as well. The device was a model of efficiency and beauty.
He was still studying it when a message alert began flashing, one he hadn't seen in far too long. "Maia?"
The D-per appeared as a flat image, looking haggard. "Thank the god in the stream. Uuvek. You have to help me."
"Maia, you have missed several communications checkpoints." Uuvek backed up until he could sit on the bed. "This behavior is unlike you. What happened?"
"It's all bad, very bad," Maia said. "But before I tell you, I have only one question to ask." She met his eyes, this constructed personality who existed only in the links between the computers Uuvek had spent his life learning. "I need to be able to spread myself into the Chatcaavan networks. Can you write me a shell? And how fast?"
"You need what?" Uuvek asked, frowning. "Why?"
"Sediryl's gone to the Empire," Maia said. "And I need to find her."
CHAPTER EIGHT
It took Sediryl three days to find out how Crispin had rhacked her, and when she did she spent ten minutes cursing herself in the silence of her own head, forcing her hands flat on her desk and breathing deeply.
She should have known it was going too well.
Their passage into Wellspace had been uneventful, and all the ships made the transition with her flagship. Sediryl had looked up maps of their intended destination and found them far better than she'd expected; Kamaney had sent multiple scouting missions into the surrounding territory, hunting for worlds she could conquer for her nascent empire, and there were many candidates across the Chatcaavan border. The Twelveworld Lord's worlds were cataloged in detail, down to their fortifications and typical patrols. Sediryl guessed sending the pirates on those missions had given their crews needed practice using their fancy stolen vessels.
Whatever the case, she had maps, and the maps gave her a target. Eleven of the twelve worlds that had given the Twelveworld Lord his title were known collectively as the Redoubt because they encircled the last world, named temptingly the Vault. The communications traffic intercepted by Kamaney's patrols indicated that the Vault was currently a pleasure planet for the very rich, who visited it occasionally to partake of its stunning vistas and hunting opportunities. Paradoxically, it was neither well-guarded nor well-garrisoned; very few ships were ever observed approaching or departing, and even fewer orbital installations circled the world. For some reason, the Chatcaava were determined to keep it pristine.
Sediryl had no idea what made the planet important, but if they'd named it after a place you stored treasure she figured she could sell her pirate fleet on attacking it. And if the Chatcaava had colonized the worlds around it specifically to englobe it, then they would have to find an attack on it disturbing. Hopefully.
After choosing her target and having Crispin communicate the course change to the fleet, Sediryl had pulled up the bios of her task force commanders again, memorizing their names and preparing herself to deal with their many, many defects. Then she'd called a conference.
"Are you sure you want to do this, Mistress?" Crispin had purred.
"I thought you liked watching things explode."
"I wouldn't want the fireworks to go off prematurely."
Sediryl bared her teeth. "Connect me. Now."
But surprisingly, that conference had gone well. The pirates had been enthusiastic about her choice of target; most of them had no love for the Chatcaava and were looking forward to killing them, and they had what Sediryl considered to be unreasonable confidence in their hardware's ability to destroy an infinite number of Chatcaavan warships. They'd been bloodthirsty and sickeningly obsessed with what delights might be awaiting them on a guarded Chatcaavan treasure planet, and had spent a large part of the meeting on that speculation. Sediryl had let them talk, since it stoked their enthusiasm for an attack she was sure would result in the destruction of their entire fleet when the Twelveworld Lord returned.
The pirate leaders were eager to continue on to the target, which eliminated the first of the two major fears Sediryl had harbored. The second, how she would survive the Twelveworld Lord's vengeance, she figured she could handle when it became pressing. That she had Liolesa's ship in the hold helped calm her knotted stomach. Somewhat.
That first day in transit, she'd considered a success, one that lulled her into thinking she had everything under control. When she'd woken up to find Crispin staring at her in the dark of her bedchamber, the sense of betrayal had compounded with her fears so abruptly it felt like she'd been slammed by a tsunami... and what had come out of her had not been terror, but rage. She'd lunged from her bed and all she'd cared about was killing him. He'd laughed, the bastard, and made himself insubstantial. She fell on the deck behind him, scraping her cheek and nose on the carpeting. Her fingers dug into the short pile until its fibers pierced under her nails.
"I scared you," Crispin taunted.
"I'm not scared, I'm angry!" Sediryl said-shouted. "Get the hell out of my room!"
"It's only your room until I decide to replace you."
"Rhack you!" Sediryl hissed. "Get out!"
He'd gone, but it had taken her almost an hour to fall back asleep, and her stomach had tensed into a ball so hard it had cramped her middle.
The following day she'd resumed researching her fleet and her target, and when she could no longer concentrate, delved into as much of Kamaney's data on the pirate base as she could find. None of it would help her now, but if she escaped she would return to free the slaves, and any inf
ormation she could hand to Fleet to help them track the sales might recover some of the ones who'd already been offloaded. She didn't allow herself to think of Daize, but the specter of the Faulfenzair clung to her anyway.
It didn't help that Qora insisted on continuing her dance lessons.
"This is a distraction," she'd said.
"Exactly. Your body needs one, or it will vibrate into uselessness."
Fighting him took more energy than complying, so she'd let him demonstrate several more Faulfenzair prayers, and despite herself she'd found them mesmerizing. More than that; she'd latched onto them as something alien to not only her life before this, but the life she was living now.
After that, she'd spent some time sitting alongside the Queen, holding her limp hand and watching her face. It was hard not to feel that she'd killed the woman with her suggestion to Kamaney about the shapes. Don't die, she begged the Chatcaavan silently. Don't die because of me, like so many other people are going to, or already have.
"She'll be all right," Vasiht'h said, sitting beside her.
"You don't know that."
"No. But I thought I'd say it anyway."
Sediryl grimaced. "I don't like comforting lies."
The Glaseah had glanced at her. "Is that what you think I'm doing? Lying to you to make you feel better?"
"What choice do you have? I need to keep it together, and you can't afford to let me come apart. You think I must be about to, being a therapist."
Vasiht'h tilted his head.
"Yes?" Sediryl looked at him.
"No," Vasiht'h said. "I'm telling you she'll be all right because I believe in a Goddess who makes thoughts manifest. If I concentrate on negative thoughts, She won't have much to work with."
"Religion," Sediryl muttered.
"I thought you had it?" Vasiht'h said. "The God and Lady?"
"Goddess and Lord," Sediryl corrected, reflexive. Then, curious, "You know about our religion?"
"Jahir believes," Vasiht'h said, his eyes returning to the Chatcaavan Queen's face. "When we've talked about these things before... I don't think the tenets of his beliefs conflict much with mine. Unless you follow a different religion? I guess you might have more than one, like some of our cultures."
"No, it's the same religion," she said. "Different facets. There are two deities, male and female. The Lord and Lady are the Mysteries. The Goddess and God are the intimate faces. So women know the Goddess, and our mystery is the Lord. It's reverse for men." She smiled a little. "Since the sexes patently don't understand each other."
Vasiht'h chuckled. "I can see how that would work, yes. But you don't believe?"
"I... I don't know," she said. "It was a ritual that was part of my life. I took it for granted. But I never really thought about what it meant to me. Or if it was true." Stating it aloud saddened her, and she couldn't articulate why. It felt like a waste, maybe. Or naïve.
Vasiht'h patted her hand. "It's all right. You'll have time to figure these things out. But you should eat and rest."
"I couldn't possibly eat."
He eyed her. "Are you going to be like Jahir? One of you losing your appetite when you're stressed is bad enough. Two of you is going to be crazy-making."
She managed a halting laugh. "I don't usually go off my feed like this, I promise. I like food. And exercise." She thought of her abandoned farm on Alpha, and Nuera on her homeworld, ignored the pang of longing and loss, concentrated instead on the revelation. "He doesn't eat well?"
"He eats very well," Vasiht'h said firmly. "Because I make him. You should rest, if you can't eat."
The idea of returning to the bedchamber so Crispin could enjoy playing monster under her bed was not appealing. "Maybe I can sit on that chair?"
Vasiht'h looked at her, frowned. Then nodded. "That sounds fine. I can keep an eye on both of you that way."
"Great." She strode into the bedchamber, gathered up a blanket, and returned to settle down. "I'd like to be able to watch her myself."
"Of course you would," Vasiht'h said, as if she wasn't hiding from her bed. Did he know? She wouldn't put it past him. "We'll both stand the watch."
So it went for another day. On the third, she decided she should at least walk through her flagship so people would see her and... fear her? She certainly didn't want the respect of a pirate crew. But if they didn't see her prowling the halls, how would they know not to cross her? Except when she stepped outside and commanded her bodyguard to follow her, he'd hesitated. When she'd questioned him, he'd said, carefully, "I'm not sure that's a good idea, ma'am. Your crew... they're not safe."
"I'm not either," she snapped.
Holding up his hands, he said, "No, ma'am! I know you're not! But I've heard things in the mess. Someone's stirring the pot. If you understand what I mean. I wouldn't go out there unless you were sure that shield around you was going to work."
Her desire to prove herself the master of this situation was so strong she almost left anyway. But Maia would have certainly counseled her against brazening her way through another situation likely to get her killed. So instead she'd said, "I see. I'll go arrange it," and left him at her door.
It took her another two hours of hunting, but she finally discovered Crispin's joke. Her task force commanders were all on her side... but her own first officer was agitating against her, and Crispin had hidden the information about his predilections deep in the personnel database. She sat back in the chair in her bedchamber, hands loose on the desk. How many people had the man won to his side? How could she find out?
"Crispin," she growled under her breath.
"At your service, Mistress," he said into her ear.
Whirling, she said, "How long are you going to let this farce continue?"
"Which one?" he said, interested.
She pointed at the floating record. "Watching while a mutiny forms under my feet? Are you helping them?"
"No, just staying out of their way," Crispin answered, smiling. "The rest of this fleet is off to wreak havoc on the Chatcaava, with or without you. So this is just... extra entertainment. Honestly, I didn't expect you to find it so quickly." He clapped delicately, fingertips against palm. "Bravo, Mistress."
"Sadly for you, I did find out about it," she said. "So sorry to have spoiled your fun."
"Oh, you haven't at all!" He grinned, an unnaturally symmetrical smile with too-white teeth. "Nolan's consolidated three-quarters of the crew by now. I don't see how you can stop him from taking over. How do you plan to do that, by the way?"
Pirate Queen, how many people are you going to kill? "Where is he now?"
Crispin leaned toward her. "On the bridge, which is where he's been since you arrived. Is it any wonder he's got most of the crew working for him? He's the one they see leading."
Sediryl rose. What was she going to do? What could she do? "I don't suppose you're going to shield me the way you did Kamaney."
"Kamaney was an excellent killer. I enjoyed facilitating the swath of destruction she was leaving in her wake. All those vessels she stole from Fleet, and the crews she killed or sold... the slaves-so many slaves, do you recall? So much suffering! I was impressed. And then these pirates... she let them go on raids, you know. They enjoyed killing people. I have logs of their exploits if you'd like to watch what they did to the crews of the ships they crippled and looted? It would be educational."
"Are you going to shield me or not?" Sediryl asked.
"You are my mistress," Crispin said.
"Answer the question."
Crispin smiled, eyes empty. "I should give you a chance before I let you die. You might be even more of a menace than Kamaney."
Sediryl suppressed a shudder and hid what remained of her reaction by finding the train of her ridiculous outfit and hooking it back onto her waist. Her reasonable clothing was still on the Visionary...the only thing she had here was the outfit she'd killed Kamaney in. Was that a good omen or a horrible one? Did it matter when it was all she had?
When she left the bedchamber both Vasiht'h and Qora looked up. "I have business," she said, ignoring the look the two exchanged.
"I'll come," Qora said.
"I don't know if I'll be able to protect you."
"Then I will die here," Qora said. "But I don't think I will die here." He smiled. "The Eyes of the God are tough."
Sediryl sighed. "Fine. Crispin. Lead the way to the bridge."
"Yes, Mistress."
As she followed him outside, Sediryl considered her options. She doubted this Nolan would be willing to share power, or he would have tried already. She would have to show him she would brook no competition. That... probably would involve killing him. But then who would she replace him with? She stepped into the lift after Crispin and turned, found herself face to face with Qora as he entered behind her. Seeing him, she realized she had been thinking calmly about murdering a stranger. That would be the second person she killed in less than a week. No. She'd killed the guards too. How many of them had she shot? Why couldn't she remember?
The lift shivered beneath her boots as it rose.
And then there were all the Chatcaava she was about to kill. Many of whom would be militia, certainly, but some number of which would be innocents who didn't even know their leaders had started a war.
"Stop lift."
Those were her words. She stood very straight on her abnormal heels, her spine perfectly upright, her arms loose at her sides and head high. She knew on the outside she looked cold, still. A model of posture and breeding. But inside the cage of her corseted bodice her heart hammered so hard it nauseated her.
Could she go up to the bridge and shoot someone again?
In the head? Heads exploded. She seemed to recall that. Her throat tightened.
"Problem, Mistress?" Crispin asked, his tone vicious and civilized. She could sense his scrutiny, the glee in it palpable. He was searching her for vulnerabilities. He would certainly find them.
From Ruins Page 12
