From Ruins

by M. C. A. Hogarth

"Doubt it," Na'er said. "Bloodthirsty barbarians. They're going to find the war." Before Laniis could say something, guiltily, about not all Chatcaava being barbarians-because how could she not with the Knife sitting alongside her?-the Aera frowned. "Except that ship wasn't painted militia from their tactical info. That was a Navy ship."

  Meryl's head whipped toward him. "Confirm?"

  "Definitely," Shanelle agreed. "We've got some deserters. Real ones, not just the ‘hanging back while everyone else takes the punches for us' type."

  "Rhack," Na'er said. "Bet they're off to tattle to the fake Emperor."

  "This is the fake Emperor's fleet, though," Shanelle pointed out. "If we turn it, five or six ships aren't going to stop us when we go after him."

  "As long as that's the first deserter," Na'er said. "If there's been a trickle heading back to the throneworld for a while...."

  "We have to wait until the fight's over," Meryl said. "When they check their roster, see who's missing. Meantime... find me another target to investigate."

  "You sure we can't cripple one of these people leaving?" Na'er asked.

  "I'm afraid," Meryl said, voice quieter, "That even if we weren't out of our league, sparing the Alliance one ship isn't going to help much, given how big a force Second already sent forward. Let's keep our minds on what we can do. Which is what we do best. Gather intel. Understood?"

  Laniis could almost taste Na'er's frustration and fear. "Aye, ma'am."

  Maybe the Knife could too, because he set a tentative hand on her arm, startling her. When she looked up at him, he said, "We will make this right."

  "I hope so," she whispered.

  They resumed their work, dodging the larger Chatcaavan vessels and relaying their sensor data back to Uuvek on the flagship. Laniis had to believe their contributions were no better than a drop in the ocean, but they needed to feel useful, and this... this was as close as they could be, wasn't it?

  It shocked her to discover she was flinching every time one of ‘their' ships went gray with battle damage on the tactical display. Those were Chatcaava. She shouldn't be sorry they were dying. And yet.

  Lisinthir joined her and the Knife, though he didn't sit. Quietly, he said, "It's almost over."

  "Is it?" she asked, looking up at him. She didn't like the grimness on his face. It made his eyes too hard. She was glad when he flashed her a smile, even if it didn't reach all the way up.

  "The good captain has been teaching me to read a tactical situation. So, yes. I believe it is."

  "This part, that's about to happen... this is the hard part," the Knife said. "Convincing everyone. Once we do that, the Navy will be on our side, and things will be easier."

  "Convincing everyone?" Laniis asked. "I thought... they're Navy. Aren't they going to follow whomever's in charge?"

  The Knife's expression darkened as he looked at the ships waiting at the system limit. "They should have. But they haven't."

  "Have we got a count?" Meryl said, her voice carrying.

  "Not an exact one," Shanelle said. "But at least six hundred ships went missing since we started keeping track. No idea how many left before we arrived... something must have inspired the fighting before we got here."

  Meryl cursed. "Rest of the situation?"

  "Looks like they're done," Shanelle said after a moment, squinting at the movement on her display. "Few stragglers... no, that was the last one. Everyone still standing is ours... or should be."

  "Any idea what happens next?" Meryl asked Lisinthir.

  A broadcast channel lit up on Laniis's display, so powerfully that her fingers jerked to it by reflex. Her heart dropped as it began playing in her headset. "I've got something we should hear."

  "Put it up."

  She reset the broadcast so it started from the beginning and overlaid it on the bridge's main display. The Emperor: of course it was him. She shuddered at the implacable expression on his face, not because it reminded her of her time in the harem, but because... she'd seen that face suffering. Because of her. She no longer knew what to think of him.

  "To all Chatcaava of the Apex-East system: You will stand down and accept your assignments to our battle fleet, there to return to the throneworld to oust the Usurper who has betrayed the Navy's ideals and turned Chatcaava against Chatcaava. This order I deliver to you personally." The Emperor's chin lifted. "I am Kauvauc Ueneuvin, first Emperor of that name, true Emperor and true Apex-Navy. All those who challenge my authority will be answered. Follow and rise. Defy me... and I will meet you on the dueling field."

  Laniis's heart gave an enormous lurch, and her hand flew to it as if she could press it back into place. Wildly, she glanced across the bridge at Lisinthir, who looked as if he'd been punched.

  "You didn't know," she whispered.

  "You... you told him?" Lisinthir asked.

  "He asked...!"

  "And you told him," Lisinthir said. And started laughing.

  "What's up with him?" Na'er asked her, ears splaying as he frowned at the Eldritch.

  "And what's up with that?" Shanelle added, pointing at the frozen form of the Emperor. "I thought they didn't do names."

  "They don't," Laniis said, breathless. You will be the one who will explain it to the others, because you will know. "Until now."

  "That didn't sound like a Chatcaavan word to me," Meryl said.

  "Because it wasn't, no more than it is Chatcaavan to take a family name and declare a dynasty," Lisinthir said. When she looked to him, he said, "Do you doubt us now?"

  "But what does it mean?" Shanelle asked.

  "It means," Laniis said for Lisinthir, "that the Emperor is never going to forget why he Changed."

  The Emperor ignored the Worldlord's son's incredulous look, this reaction probably being the kindest of the many he would suffer in response to his declaration. It failed to distress him. The Chatcaava thought names were weakness. They would learn otherwise. He would be their guide. "Contact the head of the Naval base," he said. "Tell them we will need their auditorium."

  "Will we?" the Worldlord's son dared to ask, eyes still wide.

  The Emperor chuckled. "Do you doubt it?"

  "Just be honest," the Admiral-Offense said as he joined them. He sounded more affectionate than exasperated, though. It made the Emperor wonder what he would be like in the post of Second. Having a more conservative voice at his side would be useful. "He values candor."

  "I... think there may be issues," the Worldlord's son said at last. Uncomfortably. But he rallied, pensive. "Fewer perhaps than we think? The discontent in the Navy has been rampant. I would not have been able to bring such a large percentage of the reserve otherwise."

  "Now you must convince them you are not mad," the Admiral-Offense said. "Or weak."

  "Easily done."

  Both of them eyed him at that, the Worldlord's son uneasy, the Admiral-Offense skeptical. The Emperor smiled. Let them wonder. "Make the call, Reserve-East."

  "Yes, Exalted."

  "And send for your father and Deputy-East as well. They will serve as witnesses to the contests to come."

  "Sir?" one of the comm-techs said. "We have a message incoming. From Admiral-East-Prime."

  "That was quick," the Admiral-Offense said sourly.

  "Better that than timidity."

  "Put it up," the Worldlord's son said.

  The Chatcaavan wearing the title of Admiral-East-Prime was in charge of the sector's fighting ships, reporting to Command-East whose responsibilities included not just the ships but the administration of the entire military presence in the Eastern quadrant. The Emperor had known the male that had previously held that post-but someone had replaced him: a formidable individual with a prow face, powerful and blunt. His gaze was direct, uncompromising without being challenging. A political creature as well as a warrior.

  "This is Admiral-East-Prime," said that male. "In command of the vessels at heliopause."

  Someone had already circled one of the vessels on the tactical display as the
origin of the stream; at the forefront of that distant force, at least, not hidden in its center like a coward.

  "Do I address..." A pause. "The Emperor?"

  "You do," the Emperor said. "And you are in violation of your orders."

  "We were told you died," the male said, and the Emperor almost pitied him for how carefully he was speaking, as if knowing he was about to fly into a thunderstorm and attempting to find the best approach.

  "Shall I appear before you to prove otherwise?"

  The male lifted his chin. "You were betrayed. Deposed. Now you return and claim the rights of your throne, after proof that you could not hold it. Do you expect us to accept you?"

  "No," the Emperor said. "I expect what you require. This is why I am engaging the auditorium on the base. You-and every other male who doubts me-may meet me there in two hours. I will fight however many of you wish to challenge my claim."

  "Two hours?" the male said, wide-eyed. "But... the battle... surely tomorrow would be better?"

  The Emperor grinned, all teeth. "I am not tired. Are you, after watching your comrades take your wounds for you?"

  Admiral-East-Prime bristled. "We do not fight for those who would destroy us."

  "And I am not here to destroy you. I have come to prove it, as the Navy has always proven itself: in open, honorable combat." The Emperor smiled. "Two hours, Admiral-East-Prime. Bring everyone who would fight me, and all those who would witness. Apex-Navy, out."

  "Two hours?" the Admiral-Offense murmured to him after he'd turned from the display.

  "It must be done swiftly," the Emperor answered. "Not least because we must find the missing ships."

  "This won't be a formality," the Admiral-Offense said. "More than one of them may want a piece of you."

  The Emperor chuckled, turning to listen to the Worldlord's son as he arranged the venue, spoke to his father. "Let them try for it, huntfriend."

  Arriving early would have been gauche, as well as inconvenient; the Emperor knew better than his subordinates how large a crowd would be attending the event. Duels of accession were common enough in the Navy that every ship had a space for them, and every naval base as well-and sector bases, which offered Chatcaava a chance at the highest ranks in the Navy outside its supreme commander, had auditoriums large enough to hold thousands of watchers. They were also wired to broadcast fights in highest fidelity to those who couldn't fit in the stadium, or afford to leave their posts.

  The Emperor gave them two hours to fill those seats, and another half an hour for stragglers to arrive. He spent those hours in the quarters the Worldlord's son had assigned him. Not relaxed. But not worried either. Sitting in the shape of a human, the shape that had given him the chance to survive the Worldlord's harem, he rested his sensitive palms on his knees and stared out a window he left blank of any data save what he could see with these eyes. Could he call them natural eyes when he hadn't been born with them? And yet, they were his.

  The Chatcaava awaiting him in the arena had no idea what they were about to face. That seemed fair, as he hadn't either, when the Ambassador had arrived to the court, so dangerous beneath that façade of elegance and fragility.

  Soon enough, he rose, shedding the human body for his birth shape to present himself to the Worldlord's son, who had asked for the honor of escorting him to the base. The Admiral-Offense had declined to attend. "Someone must watch your fleet for you in your absence." The male had grinned. "Also, the view is better on the broadcast, unless you have a very good seat."

  "You'll enjoy it," the Emperor promised. "Let everyone watch."

  "I doubt I could command anyone to any other activity anyway."

  "As it should be," the Emperor said. "When will they ever see the like of this again?"

  The Admiral-Offense huffed. "Never, I hope. In our lifetimes anyway."

  The Emperor rested a hand on his shoulder, and then followed his retinue to the shuttle.

  The auditorium was just as he recalled it, and just as full as he'd expected. He paused at the threshold to sweep his gaze over all the Chatcaava filling the benches, packed so tightly together they could hardly part their wings. Beside him, the Worldlord's son gasped in a breath.

  "Did you expect otherwise?" the Emperor asked him.

  "They defy your right to rule," the male answered, head lowering with his voice. "Do you not revile them for it?"

  "They have the right to choose their own," the Emperor said. "They will make that choice again, today." He continued forth, and found the base's administrator awaiting him, alongside... Deputy-East, and the Worldlord. The latter's expression was inscrutable, but the Emperor knew he was being examined for weakness. Let him look.

  Deputy-East was fidgeting. It was strange, seeing him as an uncertain male in the presence of a more powerful one, rather than as an abusive master with the right to do anything to his slaves. But he had performed well for the Sword, and responded to every request, and his warning had drawn them here in time to join the fight.

  "Exalted," the base's administrator said, stepping forward. "Everything is prepared for the challenge. You need only walk onto the field, and we will begin the broadcast."

  "Thank you," the Emperor said. "You have done well." Meeting Deputy-East's eyes, and the Worldlord's. "All of you. We will speak again, when I have won."

  He walked, then, onto the packed earth, still fresh enough beneath his feet to smell fragrantly of clay and organic things. Some team would have brought out a bounding circle and set it up on the deck after his announcement, and then filled it in. That same team would vacuum it out, and with it the blood and sweat and viscera that would taint it. The Emperor was not planning to kill on this field today, but his opponents might have other ideas. He knew there would be more than one. His whole body was singing with eagerness... not for the violence, but for the revelation he hid beneath his skin, the one he would be transmitting throughout the entire system with this broadcast. That Change had come, inexorable as the tide, as a spinning world, as the knowledge that had transformed him at the Source.

  He stood in the center of that vast circle, stretched his wings. When he spoke, the broadcast equipment amplified his voice so that it lapped to the bulkheads behind the risers. "The Emperor and Apex-Navy has arrived to answer his challengers. Who shall be the first?"

  "I shall."

  Admiral-East-Prime walked into the ring from amid a group of males waiting on the opposite side of the auditorium. He had stripped to his pants, leaving his scarred and powerful body bare, and his manner was resolute. Coming to a halt across from the Emperor, he declared, "If you were betrayed, you are too weak to lead us. If you aren't too weak to lead us, then you abandoned us to the male who abused our trust. Either way... I cannot fight beneath your banner without surety."

  "I honor your convictions," the Emperor said, to the startled rustle of those watching. "And accept your challenge. You shall have your proof, Admiral-East-Prime. And then... you will hunt for me."

  "We shall see," the male replied, flexing his fingers. "I call upon the referee."

  Unlike the duels in the court, all Naval fights were overseen by a third party. The base's administrator joined them in the center of the circle. "I have come. At my signal, you will fight until yielding, or death. Do you agree to these terms?"

  "I do," Admiral-East-Prime said.

  "Yes," the Emperor replied.

  "At the signal, then," the administrator said, and departed the field.

  Facing him, the Admiral-East-Prime was frowning, mouth tense and wings tight. The Emperor smiled at him.

  The Knife had insisted on the largest display on the vessel for the broadcast, which once again put them all on the bridge: all of them this time, and Andrea had accompanied Crosby. Lisinthir stood behind the Fleet personnel as the Knife conferred with Laniis over the comm panel, and while his face remained impassive his spirit effervesced like the most perfect champagne.

  The Emperor had chosen a name. An Eldritch name. And such
a name! Had Laniis understood the prefix she'd hooked onto it? Had the Emperor? It was enough that he'd selected the word he had, but if he'd understood the nuance of it...!

  Perhaps Lisinthir was misinterpreting the symbol, and yet he couldn't believe it. That name was nothing less than a declaration of principle, and a love gift to boot. He couldn't wait to join the Emperor again, to ask and be answered. To make pledges and accept explanations. To laugh over it: tenderly, but still. What a strange and beautiful universe it was, that had such sudden, poignant moments of delight in it.

  "Here we are," Shanelle murmured. "Looking good."

  The bridge display was capable of projecting itself a third of the way around the room, and was doing so to good effect: as if they were present at this... arena? He could call it nothing else, surrounded by it and all the Chatcaava occupying its risers.

  "God Almighty," Meryl said. "How many people is that? And they've all come... what? To see them fight?"

  "That is more than a fight," Lisinthir said. "That is the Emperor proving his right to rule to those who will win him back his throne."

  The Knife nodded, his head bobbing on the long Chatcaavan neck. "Yes."

  "He'll win, won't he?" Meryl asked. "He's good at this?"

  "You have no idea how good," Lisinthir said, mirth tangling with aggression in his voice like lovers.

  The siren shrilled through the auditorium, and the Emperor leapt through his skin, into fur and claws.

  "Jesus Christ preserve us!" Meryl whispered. "How the hell-did he just..."

  The Knife rose from beside Laniis, drawn to the display by his widened eyes. One hand rose, slightly. Wonder, Lisinthir thought. The Knife had not seen the Emperor fight. Had never, not even before, when he'd been good enough to win the Thorn Throne. Now he was good enough to fight gods-or monsters. Lisinthir smiled, remembering their crazed battles in the gym. Crosby was smiling too, he saw.

  "Is he even one thing anymore?" Laniis asked, incredulous.

  "He is Chatcaavan," Lisinthir said. "Chatcaava Change."