Dirac spoke. "Sir, the three people named as your heirs live on Coba. I don't think it's legal for inhabitants of a Restricted world to inherit from a Skolian citizen."
"I'm the Imperator," Kelric grumbled. "If I say it's legal, it's legal."
"According to Imperialate law, that isn't true."
Kelric scowled at the ceiling. Unlike his officers, his EI had no qualms about contradicting him.
"Who is going to tell me no?" Kelric asked.
"That would be complicated," Dirac acknowledged. "May I ask a question?"
"Go ahead."
"Why set up Closure for yourself?" The EI sounded genuinely puzzled, as opposed to an AI, which only simulated the emotion. "You aren't the deserted spouse."
"I was unprotected, in a volatile situation." Painful memories rose within him. "I left my children on Coba so they would be safe and taken care of in case anything happened to me. If I died, I wanted to make sure they and Ixpar inherited."
"Yet nothing happened to you."
He grimaced. "I was kidnapped by Traders and sold as a slave."
"Oh." Another pause. "Are you saying you became a Trader slave after you signed this document?"
"That's right."
"But the document is only ten years old. Less, in fact."
"Yes."
"It was my understanding the Traders captured you twenty-eight years ago. Not ten."
Kelric didn't answer.
"When you die," Dirac added, "this document becomes public."
"My heirs could hardly inherit otherwise." He had wrestled with that decision, knowing it would draw attention to Coba. As long as he could shield both Coba and his family, he would do so. But if he ever had to choose, his wife and children came first. If he died, the Closure would ensure they had his name and the multitude of protections that came with it.
And yet . . . he could protect Coba now in ways he couldn't have imagined ten years ago when, as a desperate refugee, he had written that will.
Dirac suddenly said, "This Closure document gives a new twist to the Hinterland defenses."
Kelric stiffened. "I have no idea what you mean."
"The Hinterland Deployment. One of your first acts as Imperator ten years ago. The military presence you established in sector twenty-seven of the Imperialate hinterlands."
"It was vital," Kelric said. "We needed to stop Traders from using that region of space."
"No indications existed they were doing so," Dirac said.
Kelric's advisors had told him the same. He gave Dirac the same answer he had given them. "That was the problem. No one paid attention to that sector. Had the Traders set up covert operations there, we might never have known."
"This is true." Dirac waited a beat. "How interesting that the Coban star system is the most heavily guarded region of that deployment."
Damn. "Delete that from your memory."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"Deleted. You have sixty seconds to undo the deletion before it becomes permanent."
Kelric knew erasing parts of an EI's memory was ill-advised. It always lost associated data as well. Such deletions could have unexpected results. But surely erasing one small fact wouldn't cause trouble. Still . . . perhaps he should reconsider.
"If I don't cancel this Closure," Dirac added, "you are going to be destitute in one-hundred and eleven days."
A voice called from another room. "Kellie?"
"For flaming sakes," Kelric muttered. "Dirac, end session." He got up and stalked out of his office.
A woman was standing in his living room. Roca. Gold hair cascaded down her body and curled around her face. She had the same metallic gold skin and eyes as Kelric, but it looked much better on her. In Roca's youth, men had written odes to her beauty and songs lauding her grace. Hell, so had women.
He scowled at her. "My name is Kelric, Mother."
"My apologies, honey. I forget sometimes."
Honey was almost as bad. He wondered when she would notice that her "baby" had grown into a hulking monster who commanded one of the most deadly war machines ever created.
"Don't glare at me so," she added, smiling.
"I thought you were going to Selei City for the Assembly."
Her good mood faded. "That's what I came to see you about." She walked to his console and stood facing it, her palm resting on the surface, though he didn't think she was looking at anything.
He went over to her. "What's wrong?"
Roca wouldn't meet his gaze. "The Progressive Party wants to abolish the votes held by Assembly delegates with hereditary seats."
That didn't sound new. The Progressives considered it an abomination that the Ruby Dynasty and noble Houses held seats even though no one had elected them. As Pharaoh and Imperator, Dehya and Kelric were among the Assembly's most influential members. Roca had won election like any other delegate and become Foreign Affairs Councilor of the Inner Circle. With her hereditary votes added to that, she was also a great force. Kelric's siblings all held seats, but their blocs were smaller. The noble Houses each had two seats, mostly titular, with few votes.
Kelric smiled wryly. "One of these days, the Progressives will call for eradication of the Assembly on the grounds that EIs instead of people should run the government. The Royalists will agree we should abolish the Assembly, but only so Dehya becomes our sole ruler. The Traditionalists will insist a woman command the military and stick me in seclusion. The Technologists will blow up the Assembly with hot-air bombs. Meanwhile, the Moderates will urge everyone to please get along."
Roca laughed, her stiff posture easing. "Probably." She leaned against the console with her arms folded. "The problem is, I think the Progressives can make headway this time."
He didn't see how. "Every time they introduce one of those brain-rattled amendments, the Royalists vote them down. Usually the Traditionalists do, too. Your Moderates don't care, and they're the biggest party. Given that Dehya and I are both Technologists, I doubt they would vote to weaken our influence."
She stared across the room. "It seems the deaths in our family offer them a political opportunity."
Kelric felt as if someone had punched him in the stomach. He hated that he had gained his title through the deaths of his siblings. "It may offend them that I inherited Soz's votes when she died, and that she inherited them from Kurj, but they can't deny the law. The Imperator holds a primary Assembly seat." True, the military answered to the Assembly. But the loyalty of ISC to the Imperator was legendary. and he doubted the Assembly wanted to push the issue of who the military would obey. The last time they had faced that question, ISC had thrown its might behind the Ruby Dynasty and put Dehya back on the throne. In the end, she chose to split her rule with the Assembly because she genuinely believed it was best for the Imperialate. But few people doubted that, if put to the test, ISC would follow the Imperator.
"They won't touch your votes," Roca said. "They aren't stupid." Her voice quieted. "It's your father's bloc. No one objected to my inheriting it after he died because they knew how it would look. But it's been ten years." She sounded tired. "Before he became Web Key, we had only two Keys, the positions you and Dehya now hold. Those two Keys powered the Kyle Web. It was a fluke that your father's mind differed enough from theirs to add a third mind without killing them. Many people don't believe we can duplicate that achievement. They say those votes should cease to exist unless we find another Web Key."
Kelric swore under his breath. The Progressives had grounds for their objection. He had expected them to raise it years ago, and when they hadn't, he had grown complacent. They had bided their time until they could no longer be accused of traumatizing the widow or her grieving family. They had even waited a year after Jeejon's death, though Kelric had no direct connection with his mother's votes. Yes, they had been careful. He could see why Roca was worried. They might win.
He didn't want her to lose those votes. She was one of the Assembly's greatest moderating forces
. Many citizens felt the Imperialate subjugated its people with militaristic occupations and harsh laws. Facing the relentless threat of the Traders, Kelric understood all too well the draconian measures instituted by previous Imperators. He had enough objectivity to admit that in defending the Imperialate, he was capable of acts many would consider oppressive. They needed temperate voices. Roca offered a counterbalance. The day he rejected that balance was the day he became a tyrant.
"You have a plan?" he asked.
"I'm going early to the session," she said. "See if I can sway votes. It would help if you attended in person. Spend time softening up delegates with me."
"I couldn't soften a pod fruit."
"You're damn effective when you want to be."
He glowered at her. "Doing what? I hate public speaking."
"I'm not asking you to speak in the Assembly." She smiled with that too-reasonable expression that always meant trouble. "I just plan to give some dinners. Small, elegant, elite. People consider it a coup to be invited. They will think it even more so if the Imperator attends. We wine them, dine them, and convince them to support us."
Kelric stared at her. "You want me to attend dinner parties with the imperial court?"
"Yes, actually."
"I would rather die."
Exasperation leaked into her voice. "It's not a form of torture, you know."
"It's not?"
"Do you want to win the vote or not?"
I'm going to regret this, he thought. "Fine," he growled. "I'll do it."
"Good." Then she thought, The dinners will be fun.
Gods forbid. He had never understood how she thrived in the universe of politics and the imperial court, but it gratified him that she did it so well. Someone in his family had to deal with the politicians.
After Roca left, he returned to his office and stood gazing at the dice on his desk. He thought of his family. In standard years, his son would be twenty-six now and his daughter sixteen. Ixpar was forty-two. She wasn't the mother of either child; she had only been fourteen when Kelric met her, and twice that age when she married him. He had never met his son, and he had known his daughter only a few months after her birth. The ache of that lack in his life had never stopped, even after all this time.
Kelric often wanted to go to them. Then he would remember the devastation he had wrought on Coba, how cities had roared in flames while windriders battled in the skies. He had brought death and ruin to their world.
He would die before he let that happen again.
II
The Gold Guards
Kelric met Admiral Barzun in the War Room.
Consoles filled the amphitheater, and robot arms carried operators through the air. Far above, a command chair hung under a holodome lit with stars, so anyone who looked up saw it silhouetted against the nebulae of space. When Kelric worked here, coordinating his far-flung armies, he sat in that technological throne. It linked him into the Kyle web, which stretched across human-occupied space. Any telop, or telepathic operator, could use the Kyle web, but only Kelric and Dehya could power that vast mesh.
Chad Barzun was waiting on a dais set off from the amphitheater. Crisp in his blue Fleet uniform, Chad was a man of average height, with a square chin, a beak of a nose, and hair the color of granite. As one of Kelric's joint commanders, he headed the Imperial Fleet. Kelric liked him because Barzun spoke his mind, with respect, but he said what needed saying even if he knew Kelric might not like it.
Barzun had commanded the fleet that put Dehya back on the throne. That shock had paled, though, compared to the next, when she had returned half her power to the Assembly. Kelric had stood at her side as she announced her decision. On his own, he would never have agreed to split the power. But he understood her reasons. The time for a hereditary dynasty as sole rulers of an interstellar empire had passed. They needed the Assembly. Unlike before Dehya's coup, however, the Ruby Dynasty now had equal footing with the Assembly.
Chad saluted Kelric, extending his arms at chest level and crossing his wrists, his fists clenched.
Kelric returned the salute. "At ease, Chad."
The admiral relaxed. "My greetings, sir. Are you leaving soon?"
"Later today." Kelric grimaced. "Unfortunately."
Chad smiled slightly. "I don't envy you this vacation."
Kelric didn't envy himself, either, having to spend time with the imperial court. "I'm taking a few days alone first."
"Very good, sir." Chad's voice quieted. "Let yourself rest. Gods know, you've earned it."
Kelric managed a dry smile. "I'll try," he lied.
They spent the next hour going over the Imperator's duties, which Barzun would oversee in Kelric's absence. If necessary, Chad could reach him through the Kyle web. Given that he believed Kelric was taking a long-overdue vacation, he would make contact only in an emergency.
Later, Kelric rode the magrail to a secluded valley of the Orbiter. He walked across the gilt-vine meadows, past Dehya's house. Holopanels on her roof reflected the sky and Sun Lamp several kilometers above. The spherical Orbiter was designed for beauty rather than efficiency; half its interior was just a sky. He could see the tiny figures of people walking by the sun. If they looked up, they would see the ground with its mountains and valleys curving above them like a ceiling of the world.
He hiked up the slope to his own house. Inside, his duffle was where he had left it, on the desk in his office. He took his dice pouch out of the desk and tied it to his belt. Then he went to a black lacquered stand in the corner. Resting his hand on its top, he slid his thumb over its design, the Imperialate insignia, a ruby triangle inscribed within an amber circle. The gold silhouette of an exploding sun burst past the confines of the triangle. The symbol of an empire. His empire. The Imperialate claimed it was civilized, but a heart of barbarism beat close beneath their cultured exterior.
His spinal node thought, Kelric.
He roused himself. Yes?
According to your schedule, you depart from docking bay six in twelve minutes.
Kelric pushed his hand across his close-cropped hair. With a deep breath, he tapped out a code on the sunburst insignia. A hum vibrated within the stand, and a drawer slid out.
His Coban wrist guards lay inside.
He picked up one of the guards. Crafted from gold, its ancient engravings showed a giant hawk soaring over mountains, the symbol of Karn, largest and oldest city-estate on Coba. He snapped open the guard. Its hinge worked well, even though he had left it untouched for a decade.
Kelric brushed his thumb over the massive gauntlet he wore on his right forearm, a marvel of conduits, alloys, and mesh engineering. He had its twin on his left arm. He had found the gauntlets in the Lock chamber, the place where Kyle space penetrated the real universe. The Lock was a singularity in spacetime. By stepping into it, he had joined the powerlink that created the Kyle web. In that moment, he had become a Key.
Thousands of years ago, after the fall of the Ruby Empire, his ancestors had lost the technology to create Locks. Although modern science had yet to rediscover the theories, they could use the ancient machines they found derelict in space or on planets, such as the Locks. Or these gauntlets. They provided him a mesh node, a comm, and a means to link with other systems. But they were more. They had intelligence. He felt certain they connected to Kyle space in ways beyond his ability, perhaps even his understanding. He had worn them for a decade, yet he still didn't know how they had survived for five thousand years or why they let him use them.
He clicked open a switch on his gauntlet—and it snapped closed. He pried at the switch, but this time it didn't move at all. Trying to open the entire wrist section didn't work, either. Odd. The gauntlet looked normal. Small lights glowed on it, silver threads gleamed, and the comm mesh glinted.
Come off, he thought. He didn't want to damage it; the gauntlets could never be replaced. Destroying them might even be murder.
If you won't open, he added, I can't put on my wris
t guards.
Both gauntlets snapped open.
Kelric blinked, puzzled. Apparently they liked his wrist guards.
A socket gleamed in his left wrist. Normally the gauntlet jacked into the socket and linked to his internal biomech system. Handling his Coban guard with care, he clicked it around his wrist, lining up a hole in the gold with his wrist socket. Before he could do anything else, his gauntlet snapped around his arm and fitted into the guard as if they had always been joined. Filaments wisped out from the gauntlet, protecting the soft Coban gold.
"Huh." Kelric squinted at his arm. He took his second guard and snapped it onto his other wrist. That gauntlet immediately closed, repeating the same procedure as the first.
Bolt, Kelric thought.
Attending.
Why did my gauntlets do that?
I don't know. Bolt projected a sense of apology.
Do you know why they wouldn't come off before?
Based on past incidents, I would say they believed it would endanger you to remove them.
What, by my standing in my perilous office, with its four thousand safeguards? That was an exaggeration, but not much. I might stub my toe.
It does seem far-fetched.
He touched the wrist guard. Its gold seemed warm compared to his silver and black gauntlet. Can you find out why they did that?
If you mean can I talk to them, the answer is no. But we exchange information all the time. I sometimes read patterns in their data. If I direct our exchange, with your wrist guards as the subject, I may glean some insights.
See what you can find out.
I will let you know.
He returned his attention to the nightstand. His armbands still lay in the drawer. They indicated a Calani's Level, the number of Estates where he had lived in a Calanya. Most Calani were First Levels. Attaining a higher Level was a matter of great negotiation, for what better way for one Manager to gain advantage over another than to obtain one of her Calani? His Quis held immense knowledge of her Estate, strategies, plans, everything.
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