From Ruins

by M. C. A. Hogarth

  "Not possible. Not possible!" The Usurper smashed his hands on the desk. "The ambush took care of him. They reported that they killed him!"

  "They were either mistaken, or lying."

  "They must be punished."

  "Yes. But punishment is immaterial to the more pressing issue, which is that he is alive, and he has taken control of some portion of the Navy. My spies report they are planning to come here, to retake the throne."

  "Of course he is," the Usurper hissed. "What else. These barbaric males are all alike. Do we know how much of the Navy he controls now?"

  "I brought the numbers." Sound of a tablet sliding over the desk. Try as he might, Jahir couldn't see the figures, but he felt the Usurper's surge of satisfaction. "As you can see they are preliminary numbers only. But many ships have abandoned him."

  "The system lords." A surge of contempt. "Off to pick at Second's leavings. I see we have acquired not a few of the remaining Naval units."

  "They don't believe he can succeed. Either that, or they are disturbed by how he succeeded." Less curiosity then, and more unease, but whatever expression the Usurper was wearing prompted his second to say, "He has learned to mimic the shapes of wingless freaks."

  The Usurper's revulsion swamped the room. "He polluted his own body?"

  "Multiple times. I have a recording if you want to see."

  "No. Even seeing it... no. Bad enough that he didn't die. That he should be worse than dead? But I shouldn't be surprised. He was always too interested in the perversities of nature. Witness his fatal interest in this alien."

  They both turned their attention to Jahir, briefly. The Usurper's disgust redoubled. His companion thought only that Jahir looked like a carcass hung for drying.

  "At least we've received warning. I trust your spies will remain embedded?"

  "Of course."

  "Then let us prepare for my predecessor's arrival. Mine the approach from Apex-East and draw the mobile offensive platforms into place. And begin building a plan." A snarl. "I will show our subordinates how successful ambushes should be conducted."

  "A decisive battle in the throneworld system will be instructive. We should broadcast the results as soon as we've destroyed their fleet."

  "Agreed. Go prepare."

  "Yes, Exalted."

  The second male's poisonous presence departed, leaving Jahir alone with the Usurper. That male lifted his gaze from the tablet to the Eldritch and his pleasure clouded the room. "Endgame soon, alien. Perhaps you will live long enough for me to strip the blindfold from your eyes. You'll see your chosen fall before you die."

  That the Usurper might address him, even knowing him incapable of hearing, felt important. Jahir didn't care, too busy nursing his own satisfaction like a pearl in the palm. The Usurper thought his second ambush would be a surprise... more's the pity.

  Imthereli, he thought. I send you a gift.

  "You're not as surprised as I thought you'd be," Tsonet told the Surgeon.

  "That the previous Emperor lives and is on his way?" The Surgeon canted his head. "What else have we been working toward if not his return?"

  "I was sure he'd die between now and then."

  The Surgeon studied his ally. "Then why did you volunteer to transmit the information? If you believed it to be a waste of time?"

  Tsonet fidgeted, tail tip twitching. "To rebel. To make things harder for the Tyrant. You don't need the Living Air's divine Breath to swoop down and make things right to make things hard enough for someone to quit. Or die by accident." A flipped hand, shrugging. "Chaos was enough of a goal for me."

  "You have succeeded in that," the Surgeon replied. "And now, rather more. This information is critical... you and the alien have done well. Have you transmitted the data? About the mines, the fortifications, the ambush?"

  "Before I came here, yes. I didn't want to wait." Tsonet's lips flared, showing teeth. "Since there's no guarantee I won't trip down the stairs and break my neck. Accidents happen."

  Among other things, the Surgeon thought. "Thank you. I will do my part now."

  "What exactly is your part, anyway?"

  The Surgeon mantled his wings, uncomfortable. "You are not the only one who is sowing dissent and disorder."

  After Tsonet's departure, the Surgeon sent a request to Kuuvel and resumed work. He had three males in gel tanks after the latest outbreak of violence in the palace corridors, two of them poorly off enough that the tank was recycling gel seventy-five percent faster than normal. Their status was in sufficient flux that he checked on them hourly, rather than leaving them in peace for the gel to heal or reject. The tank room had five units, a generous number given most acute injuries at court were the result of duels, involving only two people at a time. The Surgeon couldn't remember a time he'd needed three. Now he found himself wondering if he'd have enough for the carnage the future promised. The Chatcaava holding the palace would not cede it to the former Emperor without blood payment.

  He would have to reserve one for the alien. The Surgeon was thumbing through his notes on the gel composition he'd used for the Ambassador when the comm request came through. He strode back to his study to take the call.

  "Ah, my very best friend returns!" Kuuvel said. "Did you miss my jokes so much? Long to hear my melodious voice? Need me to remind you of basic surgical procedure? You shouldn't leave sponges in your patients."

  "Kuuvel," the Surgeon said, quellingly, and clapped his mouth shut. Had he just used Kuuvel's name as if it mattered, after years of using it in his head as a way of dismissing a frivolous peer? "Apologies. I didn't mean to demean you."

  "I deserved it for needling you," Kuuvel said, his eyes thoughtful. "Maybe. What's got you flustered?"

  "We need to find a way to sabotage the mobile system defense platforms."

  Kuuvel choked. "You know, when I said you should leave the jokes to me I was serious."

  "Is it impossible, then? Those platforms are serviced by males Outside, aren't they?"

  The male-his friend-rubbed between his eyes with a thumb. "Yes, but the males Inside who man them are a lot more vigilant. For obvious reasons. People regularly fall asleep on sensor platforms, the work's so dull. No one thinks having a chance of shooting someone with an enormous laser is boring. But... I can ask. I know someone who knows someone."

  "Who could use news that the current Emperor does not respect Outside?"

  Kuuvel's mouth twitched down. "Yes. But it'll be cold hearsay by then. ‘A friend of a friend of mine told me that...' is not as effective as you're obviously hoping. But I'll try. And maybe... I have another person I might be able to ask. Just don't ask me about them."

  "Now I have to."

  The other male chuckled. "Fine. But don't get critical." A pause. "It's a female, one who belongs to the male in charge of the system defenses."

  "A female!" The Surgeon's mind skated to the Slave Queen. "No. I would be the last to tell you a female is incapable of resourcefulness."

  Kuuvel's brow ridges lifted. "You do surprise me."

  "So do you," the Surgeon said. "The female who warms the bed of the male in charge of the throneworld system defenses? Do you know everyone in-system?"

  "No," Kuuvel answered, grinning. "Just more of them than you do. Which you'll note isn't hard."

  "Obviously you should never have left me to my own devices."

  "Obviously," the other male said. "We'll have to fix that after all this is over, if we both survive."

  "We will survive," the Surgeon said. "You know why."

  Kuuvel crowed a laugh. "Of course! Because there's too much for us to do. And here I thought you didn't know any hoary old physician jokes."

  The Surgeon grinned. "Only the ones you told. But I have an excellent memory. Valedictorian, you recall."

  "Yes, I do. Smug old thing. All right, I'm on this newest impossible quest. I'll tell you what I learn as soon as I do."

  "Thank you."

  The fights kept Lisinthir sane. Mostly because the
Chatcaavan reaction to them was entertaining. He and the Emperor hadn't scheduled or announced themselves the first time, only walked to the base's largest training facility and stepped into one of the empty practice circles. Out of politeness-or a sense of drama-they had kept their first grapple normal: unshifted Chatcaavan male against alien freak. That had drawn some attention, mostly surreptitious.

  Then they'd faced one another and met one another's eyes, and gone at one another with the ferocity implicit in both their natures, Changer and mage. Not since the day he'd killed Third and his Hand had Lisinthir felt that frisson that came only from performing before a large and unsympathetic audience. The heightened awareness of their flinches, their gasps, their sudden outbreaks of mutters, only added to the pleasure of the battle, and that pleasure was already sublime. These people had never seen an alien win a fight against a Chatcaavan. They'd probably never seen an alien start one. But Lisinthir did, and Lisinthir won full half their fights, because as slippery as a shapechanger was, the mind talents never stopped yielding the fruits of practice.

  The second time they walked into the facility, most of the people in it ceased their own activities to crowd around their circle.

  "Do you suppose they're betting on the outcomes?" Lisinthir asked the Emperor in Universal.

  "If they aren't yet, they will be."

  The Emperor asked Andrea to attend their third fight, as an interested observer, and to deliver first aid if it became necessary. She'd cocked her head and said, "You just want them to see that not all of us are petrified by violence."

  "That also."

  She'd laughed and said, "You should invite Dellen, too."

  So the Emperor had, and to Lisinthir's intense amusement, the Seersa began delivering critiques in absolutely atrocious Chatcaavan. The Seersa also demonstrated the proper procedure for the moves they failed to perform to his satisfaction, and that sent all the watchers into the hallways talking.

  "It's working," Lisinthir observed to the Emperor after they'd repaired to a private room to work off their energy in more intimate ways.

  "We are speaking the language they understand." A pause. "Mostly. I'm not certain what Crosby thinks he's speaking."

  Lisinthir laughed.

  The fourth time they fought, someone stepped forward at the end of their bout. "I would fight the alien."

  Toweling himself off, the Emperor said, "Would you?"

  "I would." The male glanced at Lisinthir.

  "Then you will have to ask the alien if he would honor you with that fight." When the male hesitated, the Emperor said, "If he is good enough to inspire your desire to test yourself against him, then he is good enough to be addressed."

  The male approached cautiously, as he might have a wild creature. A youngish male, from the smoothness of the thin flesh around his scarlet eyes, but scarred enough to attest to many victories. Stopping before Lisinthir, the male said, "Alien-"

  "Ambassador," Lisinthir interrupted, tone urbane.

  The male twitched, but rallied. "Ambassador. I am the Captain of East-Scout-Twelve Ninety. I would request that we step into the circle."

  "Captain East-Scout-Twelve Ninety," Lisinthir replied. "I accept. And I will be gentle with you."

  The watching Chatcaava hissed at that, some derisive, others offended. The only Chatcaavan who mattered to Lisinthir smiled, brow ridges lifting. They both knew how poorly prepared any normal Chatcaavan was for someone of Lisinthir's abilities. But obligingly, Lisinthir followed this new male to a different circle, and the throng drifted after, reforming around them.

  The Emperor waited until they were in position, then said, "Go."

  It was over a handful of heartbeats later. The Captain of East-Scout-Twelve Ninety was face down on the deck, eyes wide and hands twisted behind his back, under his wings. Lisinthir had a knee on his lower spine, just over the tail.

  "Again?" Lisinthir asked politely.

  The male said, "What did you do!"

  "I fought you, as my people fight." True enough, though in this case the circle of those people numbered in the handful, counting the historical precedent. "As... wingless freaks... might. Shall we go again?"

  The male thought about that before saying, "Yes."

  Lisinthir gave the male credit for grit; he came back an additional three times, despite Lisinthir taking him down faster and faster each time. A male this callow didn't need much of his mind-magery; after fighting a male good enough to win the throne, a male good enough to win the captaincy of one of thousands of scout ships in one sector of the Empire wasn't a fair fight. But it was clear from the gawking of the crowd that no one else had believed, not really. The Emperor losing they could write off to any number of causes: perhaps the Emperor enjoyed losing. Perhaps taking Patterns had corrupted the Emperor's body to the point where he could lose against freaks. Perhaps the Emperor indulged his favored pet by letting him win, now and then. But one of their own? With no excuse to throw the bout?

  That evening, the Emperor ran a finger along Lisinthir's hair, tracing it back to his ear. "The Admiral-Offense tells me that our fights are being shared throughout the fleet."

  Lisinthir laughed, leaning down to brush his nose along the cheekbone of his lover, who was wearing his human form. It was rare that the Emperor took any shape but his birthform or Eldritch while they were in bed, but now and then, when he was feeling vulnerable and comfortable displaying that vulnerability, he chose to wear Dainty's body. Touching him, Lisinthir could sense Dainty becoming Ueneuvin, the ideal of delicacy informed by the strength of a male intent on dynasty, and revolution, and peace. "What you planned, was it not?"

  "I had hoped." The Emperor rested his fingers on Lisinthir's chin. "But there was no guarantee. We could have inspired resentment rather than what we have."

  "Which is..."

  "What do you think?" A smile. "I value your perspective, Ambassador."

  "Then," Lisinthir answered, nipping along the edge of the Emperor's jaw, "I think they are confused. And intrigued. And resentful. And amazed. And angry. But beguiled. A foment. The best possible outcome."

  "Is it? I would have thought acceptance was the best possible outcome."

  Lisinthir leaned back. "But an unrealistic one. Few people change so quickly, and even fewer welcome it. No, Exalted. Better uncertainty and fascination. We stay longer with the things that confound us. Confusion leaves us without a clear escape."

  "A minor existential crisis," the Emperor said.

  "There is no such thing," Lisinthir answered, and kissed him.

  The next time they walked into the facility, three males challenged Lisinthir following his fight with the Emperor, and he bested them all before returning to the Emperor's circle and fighting him again.

  "Got something to prove?" Crosby drawled.

  "Yes, as a matter of fact," Lisinthir answered. "Which I have, you'll note."

  The Seersa chuckled.

  The week was three-quarters sped when a peculiar message from Uuvek landed on the Emperor's display amid the fleet readiness reports, requesting a conference on the flagship ‘concerning logistics.'

  "It's unlike Uuvek to be coy," the Ambassador said when the Emperor read him the message.

  "Exactly." The Emperor rose. "Shall we?"

  Uuvek was awaiting their arrival in a briefing room off the bridge. The Admiral-Offense was already present, and the Worldlord's son. When they entered, Uuvek said, "We have new data."

  The Emperor rested a hand on the back of the chair facing the shorter male. "Go on."

  "Our last package from our source on the throneworld included an encrypted key," Uuvek said. "Which, when I applied it, gave us this." He brought up a display, and on it was a map of the throneworld system, dotted with too, too many ships. All moving.

  "Is that a realtime display?" the Ambassador asked, and for once the Emperor heard astonishment in his voice.

  "It is," Uuvek confirmed. "From the sensor platforms in-system. We also have numbers on th
e males occupying the palace."

  "Tell him the important part," the Admiral-Offense said, voice hard.

  "And warnings that we have spies," Uuvek finished. "Which have reported your survival and your victory here, and your plan to return to the throneworld."

  "They have mined the fastest approach from Apex-East," the Worldlord's son said.

  "But they don't know when we'll arrive," the Ambassador whispered.

  "No," Uuvek confirmed. Glancing at the Emperor, he said, firm, "Yet. This realtime stream is a significant vulnerability. The longer it remains up, the less likely it is that it will be available when we need it."

  "Which is when we're about to arrive," the Admiral-Offense said.

  The Emperor watched the numbers update, the red dots swarming on the display. "We'll leave tomorrow."

  "We're not ready," the Worldlord's son said. "Exalted... the edges on all our formations are rough. To go into a fight with near equal parity...."

  "We have no choice," the Emperor said. "We've run out of time. Inform the fleet that we're leaving." He traced the system primary on the display, tapped it with a talon. "We'll come around the sun. This plan I divulge only to you in this room-tell no one else until we are about to reach the system. So that our spies report we are heading straight into the trap."

  "Very good, Exalted," the Admiral-Offense said. "Captain?"

  The Worldlord's son bowed, wings opening. "Exalted."

  The two departed, leaving Uuvek. To him, the Emperor said, "Leave that channel closed. We'll check it when we're closer to our destination." Uuvek gave him a look that made the Emperor chuckle. "What, am I telling a hunter how to dive now?"

  Uuvek ignored him, shutting down the feed.

  "If we are still receiving, there must be someone to transmit," the Emperor said to the Ambassador. "Your cousin must be alive."

  "Actually," Uuvek said, "the information about the disposition of the forces in the palace is coming from the Surgeon."

  The Emperor and the Ambassador turned in tandem to the other male. "What?" the Ambassador said.