by Jo Zebedee
CHAPTER SIX
The walls of the quarry towered around Phelps, giving some protection from the vicious dust storm on the plain above. To all intents, the quarry was disused, one of many Varnon had closed in an attempt to erase the Belaudii he’d been imprisoned under. That some of the older quarries lay deep in the tribal lands, where his troop patrols couldn’t reach easily, had been either short-sighted or unavoidable. Either way, it was to Phelps’ advantage: the port the quarry concealed had never been discovered. The single ship housed in it wasn’t elegant by any means, and barely fit for the Empress, but its very plainness was a disguise in itself.
The sound of voices echoed to him, from one of the tunnels drilled under the desert, and Phelps found the skin on the back of his hand itching in recognition. Taluthna, the sadistic little monster, no doubt coming to inspect Phelps’ work for the tribes. In the absence of their goddess, the Elders felt the torturous little git, her tribal brother, was the nearest they had to her.
Phelps strode to the centre of the quarry. Taluthna would find nothing lacking in his plans. It had been painfully slow, the years crawling by, shaped by his need for the Empress, a hunger he faced each day and had no respite from.
The only hope through those years had been Baelan, stolen from the ruins of the Empress’ defeat, the last of the embryos created from Varnon’s sperm: the one designed to be as close to Varnon’s DNA as was possible. So close, the Empress had declined to have him implanted. She wanted no replica of her hated son. But Phelps had known, when the city fell, that he needed one child under his control. The other foetuses were of no use to him – their mothers had been selected by the Empress for their loyalty; they would never do his bidding. That Baelan might now be the key to freeing her would vindicate Phelps’ choice and prove his loyalty. Surely, when the Empress was free, she’d touch him again with her blessing.
He put his head back, imagining it, and tried to ignore the little voice that warned him to be careful. He’d surrendered both Abendau and Varnon’s girl-child, so carefully taken from the ruins of the Banned base, the knowledge of her death planted so that what remained of the Banned would never know to look for her. Cold fear clawed; the Empress may not see the work he was putting into freeing her as a sufficient atonement.
“Are you prepared?” Taluthna stepped out from the corridor, his stooped form twisting as he exited. His voice, as ever, sat on just the wrong side of excitement, as if hoping Phelps would fail in some way and be handed to him.
“Soon,” Phelps said.
Baelan followed Taluthna from the corridor, craning his neck to take in the quarry’s dimensions. Even within the tribes, this desert-port was known to few. Phelps stepped over to the boy, his feet crunching on the loose stones. “Ready for your first off-planet trip?”
The boy nodded, but didn’t look sure. Being removed from the mother who’d always protected him seemed to have cowed the boy.
The pilot came out of the hatch, wiping her hands on an oil-stained rag.
“She’ll do?” she checked. “Modified as per your specs, enhanced to take us out of Interceptor range.”
“Good.” Phelps nodded, looking down the length of the ship. The Interceptors would be a problem on their approach to the satellite housing the Empress’ prison. He narrowed his eyes, thinking about his timing – thirty minutes in and out was tight, even if the boy could do what was needed.
There were no other valid options. A release carried out from inside the tower would risk the Empress. Once her cell was opened without authorisation, the planetary back-up forces would be sent in and the tower security-sealed until they arrived. He could, and would, disable the internal alarm systems and take out the warden-team from the inside – he’d had an agent planted for months for that purpose – but opening the cell had to be carried out by his specialist squad.
The sound of scoots rumbling into the port made him turn. Six of them, well camouflaged for the desert conditions. His face sparked into a smile as the riders dismounted. Even with the tribal dress on – no ankhars, though, the tribes hadn’t allowed that – his squad’s eyes were hard and practised. One of the men stepped forwards, lean and honed as a Star-ops soldier should be, and saluted smartly.
“Sir,” he said. “Reporting for duty.”
Phelps smiled. He saw his plans in front of him, like pieces on tick-flick board, and it felt good.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Kare put his data pad down and ticked his fingers through the proposed agenda for the final night. “Quite the event. A warm-up by the president.” Sonly nodded, and he turned to Sam. “Then the doctor who saved the day. Finale by me. Live. Not recorded as we’d agreed. When was it changed?”
“Yesterday.” Sonly met his eyes, unflinching. “At the Senate meeting.”
“If I refuse?”
Lichio, sitting beside Sonly, shrugged. “Technically, it’s up to you. But think what they might propose instead, oh Great One.”
Kare smiled, glad of Lichio’s ability to send it up. “Why the palace? I made it clear I didn’t want anything there on that day; it’s too linked to my mother in the minds of some.” His more than any.
He got up and crossed to the window overlooking the central courtyard of the compound. Sam’s eyes burned into him. For that matter, Sonly and Lichio were watching him. They must know he was strung out, but neither had mentioned it. They, like him, had little option but to hope he held together through the coming week.
Three security drones worked their way around the courtyard’s perimeter in advance of that night’s dinner. Gods, he wished he could stop everything and have done with it. His mouth moistened at the thought of saying the two words: I quit. Maybe a few more, a short explanation….
He turned back to the table where the others sat, silent, waiting for his attention. Quitting wasn’t an option, not yet. He needed more support for change, less of the empire resting on his shoulders, before it would happen.
“Well?” he asked. “What is the reason for the change?”
“The Senate don’t want you absent on the anniversary itself,” said Sonly, her face calm and impossible to read. Lichio started to examine the cuffs of his uniform jacket as if they held the answer.
Kare crossed his arms and leaned against the cool, tiled wall. Why hadn’t the Senate insisted when it had first been discussed? “Tell me what’s going on.”
Lichio groaned and looked up. “Why can’t you just say yes? It’d make things easier.”
“Easy isn’t in your job remit. Or mine.” He tensed at the knowledge Lichio was involved; whatever was happening, it went beyond simple politics.
“There is an event in opposition to you.” Lichio’s voice was drawled, but his fingers were tap-tapping on the desk. “The Senate think you need to take attention from it, and be very visible in doing so. A recording won’t be enough.” His lip curled. “They want banners and cheering crowds. I want you somewhere I can safeguard. Which means the palace.”
“Who is behind the opposition?”
“The Church of Ankshara.”
Of course. He should have known the tribal church would be involved – it had become more militant since his reforms had threatened its hold on the poor. He thought of the drones working their way through the compound; the crowds who would gather at the palace. That someone, somewhere, might be intent on killing him wasn’t news.
“You think the church will move openly?” he asked.
Lichio shrugged. “What better night for it?” He grinned. “All the lovely symbolism of ten years – they’d use it as scripture.”
When did they get so casual about it? At what point had being a target became the everyday reality? It went so far back, he couldn’t remember. “And if we police the church’s protest and keep it small?”
“Then it will look like you’re controlling people’s right to protest.” Sonly cleared her throat. “The Senate are right. You need to be seen.”
&nb
sp; “Of course you agree.” His voice was too sharp; he knew it. “You are the Senate.”
She ignored the jibe. “You need to show a firm hand.”
Firm, yes, but even-handed as his mother had never been. He could have banned the church. He’d had plenty of reasons to, over the years. Except that was his mother’s way – forcing people to her will. His way had to be different. Democracy, it seemed, was overrated.
He ran a hand through his hair. It felt, as it always had since it had gone white, too thick and wiry. He went back to his seat and picked up the data pad. The room fell into silence, waiting.
He set the pad down. “To do this, I’d have to stay in the palace for two nights. I sleep even less there. An Emperor passing out from exhaustion isn’t motivational.” He paused, thinking about that, and found himself half-smiling. “Memorable, perhaps…”
“What are you offering?” Lichio asked.
“I’ll appear first and fly back to the compound as soon as I’m done. You can lock the compound down once I’m here. Sonly will make a better finale, anyway.” That was true; the people of Abendau idolised her, especially those from the slums, whom she’d done so much for. “Tell the Senate it’s that or nothing.” He got up. “I trust everything’s in order for this evening?”
“Of course.” Lichio stretched. “I have my final checks to do and a last update of the guest list.”
“Changes?” asked Kare.
“One. The Peirets are sending Jake in lieu of his father.”
“I see.” He looked at Sonly, who was fiddling with her data pad, her cheeks flame-red. The rumours were true then. He tapped the table and she looked up at him.
“Did you know he’d be coming?” he asked.
“No.” Her voice was so low, he strained to hear. “But he has a right to attend. He’s heir to the Peiret family and a captain in our army, after all.”
“My army. It’s the empire’s, not the Senate’s. I haven’t ceded you that much power.” Nor did he intend to; he might not want the great families to hold the balance of power, but he didn’t want the Senate to, either. He’d never create his republic with that sort of imbalance.
“Your army,” she agreed. “It’s still appropriate that he attends.”
He leaned forwards and lowered his voice. “Make sure it stays off the news.”
She bit her lip and gave a sharp nod. An embarrassed silence stretched. Neither Lichio nor Sam were prepared to interrupt, it seemed. He walked out, into one of the long, sparse corridors of the compound. Perhaps he should have softened the look, used carpet instead of hard tiling. Tapestries to silence his echoing footsteps. Except, when he left Belaudii, he wanted to leave nothing of himself behind. Let the historians look at this bleak building, its lack of character, and learn anything about him. His guards fell into place a discreet distance behind.
A door closed, and footsteps sounded. “Kare! Wait up!” said Sam.
He paused, cursing under his breath. He didn’t need Sam, who knew too much and saw too much. He’d burrow under Kare’s defences – only Sonly was better at it, and it was a long time since she’d tried.
“I take it things are no better?” said Sam.
Kare kept the pace brisk. “In what way?”
“Start with Sonly.”
Start? He had no idea where to start. He shrugged, feigning a casualness he could never have. “It appears she’s having an affair with Jake Peiret.”
“So I gather. Have you spoken to her about it? In private.”
“No. Provided she’s discreet, it’s none of my business.” He kept his voice steady, but pain lanced through him, sharp, driven from somewhere so deep he couldn’t have stopped it.
“You’re her husband; of course it’s your business.”
“You know better than that.” Bitterness seeped into his voice and he tried to push it away, but it made no difference. “It’s not like she doesn’t have grounds.” He swallowed, and his throat was hard and tight. How could it still hurt so much, after all this time? Hadn’t he come to terms with how things were by now? “I can’t have an affair of my own, can I?”
Silence fell, broken only by their steps and the steady beat of the soldiers’ behind.
“Give it time,” said Sam, eventually. “No one gets over what happened to you easily, Kare.”
“I’ve given it ten years, Sam.” Ten years of hoping he’d be able to reach for his wife and let her know he loved her. Ten years of wishing for his old life back, of regrets and what-ifs. His throat tightened but he pulled the control he carried all the time, never daring to let it slip, to the fore, and steadied his voice. “It hasn’t made any difference.”
Sam cleared his throat. “And the rest?”
Kare tried to laugh, but it was harsh. “You ask too many questions, Sam, you know that? What rest?”
“How do you feel about the anniversary?”
“The celebrations are a farce I could do without.” It was easier, talking about business. “Actually, that’s not quite true. I think it’s best that we arrange something I can tolerate than let it spiral out of control. Or be hijacked. Sonly’s right about that – I can’t afford to let factions take this over. And Abendau does factions like nowhere else–”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Damn Sam, he was never easy to divert.
“I meant, how do you feel about the anniversary being so openly celebrated? It’s bound to bring back memories.”
It did. Memories of the Abendau he’d spent ten years trying to erase. Of Omendegon, long flooded and gone, but alive in his mind. Sharp pain in his right hand made him look down, and he saw he’d clenched his fist so hard the bones were aching. He opened it and took a deep breath.
“It’s another anniversary, that’s all. One I’d hoped not to face. But I cannot force through changes, not without more support, and there are no grounds to replace me: the Pettinas – and the families and Senate count me as one, even though the name makes me sick – have the legitimate claim. If I go, they’ll have to deal with a power struggle that could last years. The anniversary merely seals that status quo.”
They rounded the corner. A few more steps and he’d be at his suite and able to avoid Sam’s questions for the rest of the day.
“Kare?” Sam put his hand on Kare’s arm. “Are you okay? There’s a lot of pressure…”
His eyes were kind. Worse, they understood, as they always did. The practiced words – that he was fine, just busy – fell away. He pulled his arm free and strode away.
“Kare.” Sam kept up with him, almost scampering. “Stop. You can talk to me; you know it doesn’t go any further.”
Sam had never told anyone, not even Sonly, the things he’d witnessed. He’d never told her of the hours he’d spent, that first year after Kare had won his empire, talking to Kare, trying to get him to confide in someone else, someone more distant who could help with the memories. He reached the door to his suite, and stopped; looked down and away from those eyes. “Sam, I … can’t.”
“Kare, today must be hellish for you.” Hellish, there was a word. It didn’t get close – he’d woken in a cold sweat, fighting memories coming from every angle that had continued all day. To keep going, to put one foot in front of the other, to talk, to think, had all happened behind a wall of fear. And yet to stop wouldn’t have been any better. He’d tried that before, and all it did was open another door, and another, until the memories became more than the now. And that meant he’d win – Beck, the invisible monster who walked with Kare, every day.
“You don’t have to face it alone,” said Sam, his voice rising. He must know he was losing Kare. He, of all people, must know nothing he said could make a difference.
Kare laid his palm against the key-pad until the light buzzed green. He had to get away. The door opened and he fell against it. He pushed into his apartment, ignoring Sam as he tried to speak. The door slammed behind him. His breath raced, t
oo sharp. The date, the one thing he’d tried to deny all day, crowded into his mind.
He went to his bedroom and took off his jumper, tracing the laser scar which ran from the centre of his chest to his abdomen. They – Beck and the Great Master – had taken days to do it, laughing when he’d sobbed for mercy. He looked over his shoulder – he looked deformed, misshapen, his skin thick and rippled after so many lashes. He realised, with a shock, he was crying.
The door to his apartment opened, followed by the buzz of the food unit: Kerra. He heard the familiar click-clack of high heels. Sonly.
“Kare, I need to confirm this evening’s schedule with you,” she said.
He sank onto the edge of the bed, head down, not able to face her.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Sonly took in Kare on the edge of his bed, and something turned over inside her, a wrench of sorrow that made her breath catch. She closed the bedroom door and forced a smile at Kerra.
“Sam’s little boy – would you go and find him?” She was careful to keep her voice steady and her emotions under control – Kerra might not be anywhere near the Empath Kare had once been, but she’d pick up any overt distress. “He might like to go down to the games room.”
Kerra looked at the door to her dad’s bedroom for a long moment, her face uncertain, and Sonly was sure she’d refuse. Instead, she shrugged her shoulders, in the new way that seemed to say whilst she wasn’t a teen, she wasn’t a child, either. “Sure.”
She left, and Sonly locked the outside apartment door after her. Slowly, she walked back to Kare’s bedroom. What should she say to him? Once, she’d known him better than anyone; she wouldn’t have had to think about it. She’d have been at his side, listening, talking, giving comfort. Now, it was possible he’d prefer her to ignore him. She hesitated to put her hand on the door handle.
