“I bet.” He flicked his long ears back. “We stopped at one of our message buoys and there were a couple of things waiting for us. One was a formal recall.”
Laniis straightened. “Back to Fleet Central?”
“For re-assignment, yes.”
“But I thought this part of the border was your permanent area of responsibility? Meryl’s, I mean.”
“It is. We’re going to come straight back... with a specialist.” Laniis felt her ears sagging, along with her jaw, and the Aera chuckled. He reached over and gently nudged her chin back up until her teeth clicked. “Yes. Your insane Ambassador wants another round in the ring with the Empire, and we’re his ride.”
“Speaker-singer!” Laniis breathed. “But I thought... I thought he came back half-dead!”
“For a half-dead man, then, he’s awfully spry.” The Aera grinned, and she found herself grinning back.
“What else, then?” she said. “Though honestly, that’s the best news I’ve heard since they let it leak that he lived through surgery.”
The Aera had very long ears. Elegant ones, they said. Far more lovely than a rabbit’s. What they weren’t, though, was subtle. Na’er’s flattened as abruptly as pricked balloons. “The other reason we’re collecting you is so we can get you to a safe place you can use a secure real-time connection.”
“A secur—what? Why?”
“Because,” the Aera said, eyes unwavering, “someone’s been using your real-time commtag... and the request is coming from somewhere in the Empire.”
After that they couldn’t reach the UAV Silhouette fast enough. Na’er did everything he could to distract her, but all she could think of was the one person in the Empire she’d given her commtag to, and the promise she’d made with it. By the time they mated the shuttle with the larger vessel she was almost dancing with impatience, standing at the airlock and shifting her weight from foot to foot while her tail swung in agitated counterbalance. Shanelle, the hold’s human technician, was waiting on the other side, and her greeting faded at the sight of them. “I see he told you?”
“He did. Is she—”
“On the bridge and waiting for you.” Shanelle grinned, all bright teeth against dark skin and wild magenta hair. “I think I’ll tag along. This should be good.”
Laniis nodded and went to greet her temporary commanding officer.
Fleet Intelligence Hold 22’s commander, and captain of the UAV Silhouette, was a woman named Meryl Osgood. Even for a Hinichi she was tall, almost as tall as Na’er and the Aera usually topped any of the other first and second generation Pelted. Meryl liked to say most of her genes had been borrowed from maned wolves, and from the reference images Laniis could see the resemblance: Meryl certainly had the rangy build and long limbs. But unlike Terran maned wolves with their striking red and black coloring, the captain was a sorrel gold-gray that was only going grayer with age. No one noticed that over the incisive green eyes, though. Laniis had the feeling nothing got past her, which was probably why the wolfine had been tapped to gather intelligence in one of the more dangerous regions in known space.
“Laniis! Sorry we stole you from your work so quickly. Na’er’s briefed you?”
From the swerving of the starfield in the viewport, they were already underway. The urgency suited Laniis, who spared a glance for Shanelle and Na’er as they moved from behind her to find their stations before she returned her attention to the captain. “He did, yes. Someone’s been calling me.”
“You have any idea who that might be?”
“There’s really only one possibility I can think of.” She squared her shoulders. “I gave the Chatcaavan Slave Queen my commtag.”
“The Slave Queen,” Meryl repeated, ears dipping. “The Emperor’s chief consort.”
The Emperor’s chief consort… as if the Slave Queen was… what? His full partner? Could she call the Chatcaavan that? The female who’d arranged for a collar for the new Seersan slave could not possibly be the same person as the female who’d willingly colluded with an alien national to free that slave and all the others in the imperial harem. And the Ambassador had remained in the Empire for several months afterwards. Could she count on that evolution continuing? Did it even matter, given the Emperor’s absolute power? “That, yes. Such as the Chatcaava have consorts.”
“Well, this is an interesting development,” Na’er drawled, and in such a good rendition of a famous 3deo star known for portraying brave, chisel-jawed Fleet soldiers in ridiculous action dramas that everyone laughed.
Meryl said, “Yes. A very interesting development. I take it you’re not averse to answering this call? From the logs, this person’s been trying to reach you every two days for a week now. If we haul tail, we can make it to a secure comm station before they try again.”
“I’m willing,” Laniis said. “More than willing.”
“Then let’s see what the lady—if it really is your Slave Queen—has in mind.”
“All ahead full!” Na’er added, mouth curled into an exaggerated grimace. “Man action stations! Beat to quarters!”
“That was three different movies!” Shanelle complained from the engineering station.
“Could have fooled me,” Meryl said, amused. “They all sound alike after a while. Lieutenant Baker, feel free to check into your quarters. I’m sure you want a shower and a nap after the ride here.”
“I’ll do that. Thank you, sir.”
After spending weeks in the company of the FIA hold, Laniis had become accustomed enough to their deliberate, covert movements that Meryl’s idea of hauling tail struck her as alarmingly precipitous. They were deep in the lawless space unclaimed by anyone when they departed Akana Ris; within two days they were back on the border, gliding into hailing distance of a secure outpost manned by Fleet personnel and serviced by Well repeaters leading back into the Core and out again, toward the colonies in the border.
She’d asked if she could take her call alone. She’d also asked them to monitor it, because if it wasn’t the Slave Queen… if instead it was someone threatening her, or someone in trouble… then they needed to hear it. But Laniis knew it wouldn’t be, in her heart where the Speaker-Singer whispered songs again after months of silence in the imperial harem. When the comm chimed its request and she sat in front of the emitter to take the call, the sight that awaited her when the encrypted stream completed its handshakes rang in her like the chime that had summoned her, like the bells of a forgotten religion. And that was before she looked into those alien orange eyes and saw just how much they’d changed. Chatcaavan body language was different enough from Pelted that someone else might have been fooled, but Khaska the slave had been bodyservant to this woman for months. The transformation might have been subtle to others, but it was a banner to Laniis.
“Oh, Mistress!” she whispered in Chatcaavan, awed and helplessly glad.
…and in Universal, the Slave Queen said, “Laniis. You answered.”
“I said I would, and I have. I am so sorry I wasn’t here to take your first calls. Please tell me it wasn’t urgent!”
“It isn’t, no.” A hesitation. “Yet.”
Laniis’s heart skipped several beats. “If there’s something I can do….”
The Slave Queen… nodded. The motion was so natural anyone else might not have realized that Chatcaava didn’t nod. Even the Queen’s wings dipped slightly when she did it, as if the species had evolved tipping their heads on the ends of their long necks. In that one gesture, Laniis read months of the Ambassador’s influence. “I may ask more than you can give me, I am afraid.”
“Tell me.”
“This… this may sound strange.” The Chatcaavan’s tone was bemused. “But I have been having a discussion with my new chief of harem security—” She paused because Laniis had started laughing, and ducked her head with a sheepish expression. “I know how it sounds, but he… the Emperor. The Emperor gave me one to ensure my safety.”
“He did what?” Laniis asked c
arefully.
“He’s not what he was,” the Queen said. “And that is a discussion for another day. My Knife tells me I dare not stay long on these channels even though they are folded in layers of obfuscation. Laniis, we may need to send the children and the females away from the palace. I may need to flee with them. The Ambassador arranged the flight of the slaves. Is that avenue still open? Is there some way?”
“Is something likely to happen, Mistress?” Laniis asked, ears sagging.
“The Emperor is not what he was,” the Slave Queen said again, meeting her eyes directly.
So much in those words. In that look. If the Emperor was not what he was...
“Can it be done?” the Slave Queen asked. “The Knife says security has increased in our solar system. We might be able to escape the palace, but... from there... we need help. We would need it, if you can give it.”
“How much time do I have to find out what we can do for you, Mistress?”
“I don’t know that either,” the Chatcaavan confessed. “But sooner is better, I think. Can I call you again?”
The emitter was now floating a tag over the corner of the transmission; it read: ARRANGE CALLBACK IN FIVE DAYS –MERYL
“In five days, Mistress,” Laniis said. “I’ll have an answer.”
“Then I’ll go,” the Slave Queen said. “Before we’re noticed.” A hesitation. “Laniis. I… I am glad to see you so well.”
“Oh Mistress,” Laniis said, feeling the prick of tears in her eyes. “You are too, aren’t you.”
“More than I could tell you now. Fair winds, alet.”
The termination of the transmission left her shaking. She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes and choked on her sob. She was overcome, yes. But not by the memory of trauma. The sight of the Slave Queen with her forthright gaze and lifted chin, with her alien gestures so smoothly integrated with her native ones… it was irrevocable proof that things had changed. That her past was truly the past, because even the place that had enslaved her was showing signs of transformation.
The pressure under her breast, the heat that was making her eyes well… it was elation. Elation. The Empire had seemed so implacable a foe, so impregnable a fortress. While its prisoner she’d been unable to conceive of fighting it and winning. But she’d been wrong, and not only that, she had helped, in some measure, to catalyze its downfall.
Na’er poked his head in the room, and his voice was his own, and subdued. “Hey, arii. You all right?”
“Better than all right.” Laniis wiped her eyes and rose, and if her smile was watery she meant it with all her fiber. “So Meryl thinks I’ll have something to tell the Slave Queen in five days?”
“She does, yeah. But if we’re going to do that, we need to get back on the ship and haul some more tail.”
Padding out of the room to join him, Laniis said, “More? We’re not going to have a tail left at the rate we’re burning it.”
Na’er chuckled. “It’ll be worth it. You think you’ve seen everything! If we’re going where I think we’re going…”
She waited for him to finish. When he didn’t, she scowled at him. “Yes?”
“…we’re going to be late reporting back for duty,” Na’er finished, and swayed away from the elbow jab that should have landed if he’d held still for it as he so justly deserved.
For months, Laniis had been struggling to find a way for refugees to flee the Empire. If the Slave Queen and her new security captain were willing to help them from the inside…
“Let’s not keep the captain waiting,” Laniis said.
CHAPTER 6
Writing his query to the Night Admiral took all of a handful of minutes. His cousin’s to the Queen and his mother needed somewhat longer, and Lisinthir made use of the delay to shower. Much as he would have liked to drag Jahir into the water with him, he needed the time to think—without the distraction of his cousin’s blushes—more. He was not worried about Amber Seni Galare; if Jahir’s brother had gone missing, the Queen would have reported him on the list Lisinthir had received prior to his dispatch to the Empire. And it wouldn’t surprise him at all to hear that Liolesa Galare had decided that having more than one iron in the fire wouldn’t go amiss, particularly in the war with the dragons.
No, Lisinthir was more wondering what Jahir’s brother was working on, and whether it would be useful to him. The situation in the Empire was an untenable one for both the Emperor and his challengers, but it was far more fraught for the Emperor. While those who opposed him had the unpalatable task of holding together factions far more likely to view one another as rivals than as allies, their only goal was the assassination of the Emperor. Once he died, the throne would go to the strongest killer, and since all of them believed themselves to be that killer, they were all eager for the easy solution.
The Emperor, on the other hand, had to find some way of asserting control over not only those who’d always hated him, but those who’d now betrayed him. And not all those traitors would be easily identified. So how was he going about it? Lisinthir leaned against the shower wall, letting the warm water slide down his skin, and lifted his head into the spray. Some might question whether the vision he’d had while on the Chatcaavan vessel had been a true sending… but even if it wasn’t, the Emperor’s advice was good. While he was sorting his allies from his enemies, he didn’t need the de-stabilizing influence of the Eldritch who’d fomented the war, in part because some of the Chatcaava who hated Lisinthir’s effects on the Empire could still be convinced to ally with the Emperor against some of the more troublesome traitors. The Emperor would use them only long enough to destroy someone else before disposing of them, almost certainly—if they couldn’t adapt to the new Empire, they would have to die. But they were too useful to be discarded before time.
Which meant Lisinthir had to stay on the fringes. How to contribute to the effort? Other than staying close enough to mobilize when called? He sighed and rubbed his nose, closed his eyes. He didn’t have enough information, even to improvise. He would have to evaluate the situation for himself once the Fleet ship picked him up.
He was toweling off his hair when Jahir stepped into the bathroom with a small bag, and the slump of his cousin’s shoulders told him everything he needed to know about the other man’s state of mind… if Lisinthir hadn’t been able to guess already. Had Jahir been born a worrier or had he picked up the habit from his beloved? Lisinthir wrapped the towel around his waist and wondered. “Don’t fret so, cousin. I don’t doubt that we are about to find that your brother is at work on some special project for the Alliance and the Queen.”
“Do you think?” Jahir asked.
“It is the only solution that makes sense. Have you sent your queries?”
Jahir nodded. “I suppose we’ll see shortly.”
“So we shall. You’ll want the shower before we eat, I imagine?”
“Yes. And your help afterwards.”
Lisinthir tilted his head. “Shall I tarry, then?”
Jahir paused. “You can stay. So long as you aren’t in the shower with me.”
Had his cousin not welcomed banter as a distraction from his fears earlier, he would not have thought to tease... but since he had... “Or we’ll never make our supper?”
That hesitation as Jahir began to strip was accompanied by as beautiful a blush as he’d seen yet, and he had all his cousin’s exposed skin to see it on. Jahir sighed—a mock sigh, exaggerated for his benefit—and stepped into the cube.
In keeping with the suite, the bathroom was well large enough for company; Lisinthir pulled the bench from beneath the vanity and, as the Alliance had kindly provided him with a good angle on the shower, settled there to watch with pleasure. He hadn’t expected Jahir’s fitness, even though he should have known better. To live among the Pelted was hardship for those who hailed from light gravity worlds, and the Eldritch were not the only ones to require medical intervention to tarry in the Alliance Standard Gravity used aboard all sh
ips, bases, and outposts. Elena and Kazimir had told him about the other species who routinely underwent the regimen… and also that, of all those species, the Eldritch had the most trouble with the adaptation. Not necessarily because their world was lighter either—Phoenix-Nest was, after all, light enough for the Phoenix to fly in—but because something about their bodies rejected what Kazimir had called ‘meddling.’
It had interested Lisinthir that this information had been released to the medical team serving him, not only because it required special dispensation to overturn the laws restricting sharing data, particularly medical data, on the Eldritch, but because it suggested that someone on their own world was keeping such statistics to release at need.
That his cousin had a body worth petting—and one that required non-trivial effort to wrestle into submission—was a delightful lagniappe. But the fact that most Eldritch responded badly to the regimen had stayed with him, as had the fact that the Alliance had been unable to clone his own blood to save him during surgery. It had been his cousin’s donations that had kept him alive.
Lisinthir was no healer to understand why those things seemed part of a gestalt. But his cousin was. And perhaps they would find another piece of the puzzle shortly. In the mean, it was no hardship to watch steam shroud a body so gorgeously sculpted by the lessons of water. And wasn’t that also leading? When Lisinthir had been shaped by the lessons of blood?
“You have a look on you,” Jahir observed, exiting the cube.
“Do I, now?”
“As if you want to eat me.” Jahir pulled down a towel and started drying his face.
“Now there,” Lisinthir said with relish, “is a fine idea. If you agree you might come here and I’ll demonstrate.”
Jahir peeked up over the edge of the towel. “That is the most brazen I’ve heard you yet.”
“Too vulgar?”
Jahir snorted. “Too easy. It makes me wonder what you’re actually thinking. Will you tell me?”
“The perils of wooing a psychologist,” Lisinthir observed, mournful. “The workings of my mind are appallingly obvious.”
Amulet Rampant Page 15
