The Ashes of Worlds

by Kevin J. Anderson

  Estarra’s grip tightened on Peter’s arm, but he didn’t take his eyes from the young man’s face. He searched for a flicker of recognition, but Rory (or whoever he was) let nothing noticeable slip. Peter searched his old memories, trying to clarify the images of his little brother, then fast-forwarding to the present.

  Yes, it was possible. It could be him. . . .

  After an awkward moment, Rory stood. “Greetings, Peter and Estarra. I am glad you could join me in my Whisper Palace.” Was that a deliberate taunt?

  Estarra responded curtly, “Our titles are King Peter and Queen Estarra.”

  Before the boy could concede anything, Basil Wenceslas entered through a side door, dapper in one of his usual business suits. His expression was cold, though he managed to summon a small smile for the imagers. “Let us not begin this meeting with petty semantics. It wouldn’t set the right tone.”

  Actually, Peter did not think the formal recognition of their titles was petty, and neither did the Chairman, but he decided not to press the issue. Peter said, “We would not want to diminish anyone’s enjoyment of this gathering. Thank you for inviting us to dinner, Rory.” He intentionally left out the word “king.”

  Beside him, the Teacher compy gave a slight nod. OX himself had taught Peter that etiquette should be guided by local practices — and King Rory himself had established that titles were unnecessary tonight. By the narrowing of Basil’s eyes, Peter could tell he had struck a nerve.

  The Confederation entourage filled the banquet hall, and they mingled with their Hansa counterparts. Sarein was sitting at the far end of the table, surrounded by (shielded by?) several ministers and minor functionaries. Estarra greeted her sister with great pleasure, but Sarein remained stiff and guarded, as if she had been allowed a strict quota of words during the event. “Welcome to the Whisper Palace, Estarra.”

  Peter guessed that Basil had placed her in a straitjacket of rules and consequences as a condition of her attendance here. Estarra looked at her sister, clearly wanting to spend time talking with her, but that was not going to happen. Deputy Cain sat at the other side of the table, but he did not speak a word.

  Leading Estarra, Peter walked directly to the head of the broad table, where Rory was seated. “Come, there is no need to be so isolated, Rory. If we move two of these chairs, there is plenty of room for the three of us to sit together, as equals.” He flashed Basil an icy smile. “In the spirit of cooperation and mutual respect.”

  Peter’s protocol ministers quickly moved to rearrange the seats, while Sarein looked away, as if to hide an embarrassed smile. Estarra and Peter sat on either side of Rory, who had to be operating under a very strict set of guidelines, just like Sarein.

  As the elaborate meal was served, one appetizer after another, colorful salads, cold and refreshing palate cleansers, a variety of meats, OX remained close to Peter. The Teacher compy carefully analyzed each course, screening it for poisons, hallucinogens, or any other dangerous chemical additives. As a matter of protocol, the servants dished the food from large communal plates, so that if one item were tainted, King Rory would receive a dose as well. Nevertheless, Peter wouldn’t have put it past the Chairman to give his patsy an antidote before the banquet or have him build up a tolerance to something deadly. On the other hand, though, Basil wouldn’t expect Peter to be fooled easily.

  Peter still wondered why the Chairman had summoned them here. Was it just so that he’d have a chance to see Rory up close? The young man certainly did look like his brother. Every chance he got, Peter glanced at the other King, studied his mannerisms, his appearance. He couldn’t be certain. . . .

  During the meal, Rory kept up a patter of shallow conversation, sidestepping any issues of substance and offering no hints about his past. He did not say a thing to try to convince Peter . . . which, in its own way, was all the more convincing. If this were a trick, Basil would have primed the imposter with a wealth of compelling little details. Peter dropped a few carefully veiled hints relating to his old family life, hoping that Rory — if he was the real Rory — would pick up on them. But the young King did not respond either way.

  Sarein did speak up to ask about baby Reynald, and Estarra was pleased to tell her sister about the little boy.

  “I hope I can see him someday,” Sarein said, then stopped talking, as if sure she had said too much.

  Peter turned coolly to the Chairman. “So, Basil, is it true that you have relocated your main office from the Hansa HQ to an underground bunker somewhere? Are you really hiding under a rock during Earth’s greatest crisis?”

  Basil’s expression tightened. “You are reading too much into the matter. I found it prudent to activate a more secure secondary command center. In the meantime, King Rory stays here in the Whisper Palace and is available for public appearances anytime he is needed.”

  “So you consider the Whisper Palace to be perfectly safe, then?” Peter started to make a gesture with one hand to indicate the palace around them, but his sleeve brushed over a piece of the ornate silverware and knocked it off the table. Peter tried to catch it, but it fell to the floor, and the blunder diminished the seriousness of his question. OX bent to retrieve the offending implement.

  Basil smiled at the clatter. “Are you nervous, Peter?”

  “Just clumsy.” He made sure the imagers captured his self-deprecating smile; then he surprised the Chairman with a serious question. “I’d like to take this opportunity to officially request the release of Patrick Fitzpatrick and his wife. They are Confederation citizens.”

  Basil looked as if he had swallowed something sticky and unpleasant. “They are accused of sedition, a very serious crime, especially during such an extreme emergency. The Hansa is not inclined to be lenient.”

  “Yes, we saw how you dealt with former Chairman Maureen Fitzpatrick,” Estarra said.

  Basil called for the music to begin.

  When the main meal was over and coffees and sweet liqueurs were served, Peter sipped his coffee — ironically flavored with cardamom, Basil’s signature drink. The Chairman himself had accepted only ice water with a slice of lemon to drink.

  At the opposite end of the table, Deputy Cain read a statement of gratitude for all the volunteer ships that had come to the aid of Earth. Cain so rarely spoke in public that Peter couldn’t understand why he, and not King Rory, had been chosen for such a duty. Then he saw that Basil wanted the audience to be distracted so that he could speak quietly with Peter. “And what exactly is your game? Bringing all your Confederation ships here — what are you really after, Peter? I’m keeping all EDF vessels on high alert in case you try something.”

  Estarra made a disbelieving sound. “We came here to help, whether you choose to believe it or not.”

  “Earth has suffered incalculable disaster, Basil,” Peter said. “Or hadn’t you noticed?”

  “What I’ve noticed is a full-fledged military fleet on my doorstep and a former King who has made it plain that he wants to remove me. It’s time for this nonsense to stop, for the good of the human race.”

  “Nonsense?” Estarra asked in a low voice. “We have only offered assistance, while you have raided Roamer skymines, shipyards, and fuel depots. Are you trying to provoke us to war?”

  He glared at the Queen like a teacher warning a difficult child. He glanced over to make sure that none of the imagers were close enough to pick up his words, then looked coldly at Peter. “Enough of your delusions of grandeur. Surrender your crown and dissolve your silly Confederation. The Hansa has guided humanity for three centuries. Now that we face the Klikiss and the faeros, and who knows what else, we must not be divided. I am the one most fit to guide us through this.”

  “By what measure?” Peter was surprised the man could even say such a thing.

  The Chairman’s expression darkened, predictably, when the conversation did not go his way. “Let me be perfectly clear. I have been a respected leader since well before you were born. It will be best for all concerned i
f you simply do as I say. If you force me to use my leverage, I will not hesitate — ”

  Peter let out a bitter chuckle. “Leverage? Like your inept ploy with this young man? It’s a gesture of total desperation, and you know it.” He shook his head sadly and looked at the boy King. “I know who the Chairman wants me to think you are, Rory — or whatever your name is. You do bear a close resemblance to my little brother, but tonight you’ve said nothing to convince me that you’re really him.”

  “I’ve made no claims of that whatsoever.” Rory lowered his gaze and looked away. “I’m not allowed to.”

  The comment told Peter a great deal. Again, he studied the young man’s profile, his eyes, the shape of his nose, wondering if the features had been changed or enhanced . . . or if they were natural.

  Basil’s eyes looked like twin thunderstorms, and Peter could see he was ready to explode. Down the table, Sarein was watching the exchange, and though she couldn’t hear their words, she looked extremely alarmed.

  Abruptly, Peter stood and turned to Estarra, taking the protocol attendees by surprise. He was finished playing Basil’s game. He raised his voice. “Mr. Chairman, thank you for coming up into the light of day to allow us this fine meal. Rory, please allow me to reciprocate and invite you to my Confederation flagship so that I can demonstrate our goodwill and hospitality — shall we say in two days? Of course, you are most welcome to bring the Chairman with you.” He lowered his voice and quietly growled to Basil, “I’ll have an answer for you then about reuniting the human race.”

  At a slight nod from the agitated Chairman, King Rory brightly accepted the invitation as all the imagers captured the moment.

  Basil seemed to be trying to figure out how to have the last word even as Peter and the rest of his retinue took leave of the Whisper Palace and followed their escorts back toward the spaceport. Estarra cast one last glance back at Sarein, who seemed unsuccessfully to be trying to communicate something.

  Peter transmitted to Admiral Willis that they had been released unharmed and would be returning to the Jupiter shortly. He wasn’t certain exactly what the Chairman had meant to accomplish with this meeting, but Peter had achieved his own aims. “We’re done here, Admiral. It was quite a successful evening.”

  Willis acknowledged. Estarra was disturbed and preoccupied as they boarded the diplomatic shuttle that would take them back up to the Confederation ships patrolling beyond the lunar orbit.

  In his former life, as the streetwise kid named Raymond, Peter had learned how to pick pockets. Though he was now King, he had never forgotten important skills. Now, as the shuttle lifted off and flew away from the Palace District, Peter carefully held on to the piece of silverware he had discreetly slipped up his sleeve. While OX had made a show of picking up a dropped spoon, Peter had palmed the fork from Rory’s plate. A fork with his DNA.

  123

  Sarein

  Sarein withdrew to her quarters after being released from her rigidly defined duties at the banquet — “Keep talking to a minimum,” Basil had said. “You’re there to remind Estarra that you are with me. That’s all.”

  He had returned to his private shelter deep underground, leaving her up here. Basil hadn’t spoken a word to her after the banquet, though she supposed he was still watching her every move.

  As she lay back on a settee in her quarters, trying to remember every word her sister had spoken during dinner, an evacuation alarm shattered her concentration. The obnoxious racket demanded her full attention. Because of the imminent threat of meteor bombardment, everyone knew how to find the closest evacuation shelters. The thick-walled rooms would supposedly provide protection in the event of a complete building collapse, although if a large enough fragment of the Moon smashed into the Palace District, everything would be vaporized for kilometers around.

  In response to the alarm, Sarein ran from her rooms, taking nothing with her. All of her favorite possessions had been removed anyway when Basil had ordered the remodeling of her quarters. She hurried down the hall, dropped down a level, and raced into the nearest VIP shelter. With the evacuation alert still sounding, she ducked into the small room — and saw that someone had arrived ahead of her: Deputy Eldred Cain.

  He sealed the door and turned to her with a cold smile. “This will give us a few moments to talk in private. I wish I didn’t need to cause such disruption, but I couldn’t think of any other way. We don’t have much time.”

  The bomb shelter wasted no space on comforts or decoration. The steel-reinforced walls were made of thick beige-painted blocks. A metal cabinet held food supplies and water; in the corner a polymer curtain surrounded a small chemical toilet, adjacent to which was a water recycler and sanitizer sink. The phosphorescent tiles in the ceiling would illuminate the chamber indefinitely.

  Although Cain had secured the chamber, Sarein could still hear the throbbing alarm out in the corridors. The deputy kept his voice low. “It is more urgent than ever that we remove the Chairman. You know this, Sarein.”

  “Of course I know it! But the first assassination attempt failed, and look what happened to McCammon — and eighteen innocent scapegoats.”

  Deputy Cain withdrew a ceremonial dagger from his inner jacket pocket. Its ornate sheath was inscribed with the initials RRM: the ceremonial knife that McCammon had always worn as part of his royal guard uniform. “I recovered this from the Captain’s body before his possessions were disposed of. I cleaned off the bloodstains.” When he looked at her, the expression on Cain’s face and the way he held the knife in his hand frightened her. “I intended to give it to his family. I thought they’d want it as a token of his years of honorable service. But I found no one. Apparently, our Captain McCammon was alone in the world. He had no family to miss him.”

  “We’ll miss him,” Sarein said, her voice catching in her throat. “We know what really happened.”

  Cain tapped the pointed end of the sheathed dagger against his palm. “Ironically, the Captain’s death, coupled with the faeros attack on the Moon, may have bought us a little time. The Chairman no doubt believes that we have been frightened back into our places. He’s moved on to the next problem, and I’m sure he thinks we’ll behave ourselves.”

  “He showed me surveillance images! He’s got proof against me.”

  Cain shrugged. “And he quite probably has proof against me, as well. The question is, will we act before he does?”

  Remembering Basil’s cold touch, Sarein shuddered and wondered if he would come to see her again. She could not let that happen. “We have to.”

  He smiled. “Agreed. And we have no choice but to act precipitously. You may have noticed that an opportunity arose at the banquet. Peter extended an invitation that the Chairman cannot afford to decline. I doubt he’ll take King Rory with him, since that would put him at a tactical disadvantage, but he will go to the Confederation flagship. Behind closed doors, he will hammer Peter with his ultimatum and back it up with significant threats.”

  She lowered her voice, not convinced — even during a disaster alarm — that Basil wasn’t eavesdropping. “What kind of threats?”

  “Now that King Peter has seen Rory in person, the Chairman is ready for the coup de grâce. He’ll threaten to kill Rory . . . and I’m quite certain he means it. Under the circumstances, the Chairman is absolutely convinced Peter will back down, rather than let any harm come to his brother.”

  “Is Rory his brother?”

  “I have no idea. And neither does Peter.”

  “Basil thought the Mage-Imperator would bow to his demands, too,” Sarein pointed out.

  “We won’t give Peter the opportunity, either way. There’s too much at stake. While the Chairman is gone, Freedom’s Sword is perfectly positioned and ready to move.” Cain slowly drew the knife out of its sheath and looked down at the sharp silver blade. His meaning was clear.

  “While the cat’s away?” she said.

  “It has to be quick, and a surprise. As soon as he leaves, we make
our move. I need your help.”

  The very thought sent a chill down her spine, but not as cold as the thought of how much harm Basil could do — to her, and to the human race. “You still intend to kill him?”

  Outside the room, the alarms fell abruptly silent.

  “Better than that. We’ll deprive him of his power.” The blade made a whispery metallic sound as he pushed it back into the sheath. He returned it to his jacket pocket, then spoke in an implacable voice. “While he is gone, you’ll slip away from Earth. Fly to orbit, lie in wait, and as soon as the Chairman leaves the flagship, request asylum among the Confederation ships. Queen Estarra will welcome you. Tell King Peter that there’s a revolution just waiting to happen on Earth, and it’s time for him to take the Hansa back. But he needs to move quickly before the Chairman can recover from the surprise I’m preparing. We’re at the Rubicon, and we’re going to cross it.”

  “Peter and Estarra won’t abandon us.” The plan made her heart leap. At last, a real chance to leave here. “And how will I get up to the Confederation ships?”

  “Ask Captain Kett.” He smiled at her shocked expression. “Yes, she and Captain Roberts returned here several days after the destruction of the Moon. They seem to think the Chairman has forgotten about the arrest order for both of them. Fortunately, I deleted all records before their ship could be noticed by any scouts. I’m sure she would be happy to hear from you.”

  Sarein could not conceal her surprise. She felt giddy at the thought of slipping away from Earth, possibly even returning to Theroc. “I know how to contact her.”

  Cain nodded. “Make sure King Peter knows that the whole population has turned against the Chairman, but they need an alternative in place. If he returns to the Whisper Palace, the people will be on his side.”

  She got up from the hard bench, listening to the movement of people out in the corridors again. “And while I’m on my way up to take sanctuary among the Confederation, what will you be doing? Can’t you come with me?”