by Mike Sheriff
Beyond the aft windows, sixty more cullcraft hung in the air, arrayed in three flights of twenty for the transit. Half the size of aeroshrikes, the vessels were less streamlined, less maneuverable, less . . . everything. Angled rail cannons jutted from the upper surfaces of their gas envelopes. Smaller gun turrets protruded here and there, seemingly mounted without a thought for weight and balance. The sonic and kinetic weapons lacked the range and accuracy of those found in the Jireni arsenal, but none of that mattered for this mission.
She squinted.
Miles astern the cullcraft, a gauzy haze of silver cylinders speckled the sky. They represented the true power of the mongrel fleet.
Troopships.
“A wise Guojinian once said you must fight with the forces you have, not with the forces you wish you had.” Julinian turned and locked her gaze onto Itta. “Besides, we have another old saying in Daqin Guojin.”
“I bet you do,” Itta said, not bothering to mask her contempt or inquire further.
The inquiry fell to Massum. “What’s the saying?”
Julinian motioned to the trailing troopships. “Quantity has a quality all its own.”
“A MONGREL INCURSION?” Daoren asked. “Are you sure?”
The twin questions echoed off the nullglass walls, conducted by the outpost’s increasingly claustrophobic air. Cang and Hyro traded fretting looks as they weighed a response—as if knowing both the right and wrong answers carried dire consequences. Hyro spoke first. “It’s possible, but we can’t rule out an accident. A ruptured hydrogen cell and static discharge could bring down an aeroshrike.”
“Could it bring down three aeroshrikes at once?” Heqet asked.
“If they were traveling in close formation, yes.” Hyro chewed her lip. “Though I find it hard to believe that Pyros would allow his fleet to do so.”
Daoren considered her statement. It did seem unlikely that Pyros would risk the loss of three aeroshrikes by keeping them in close formation—especially during a reconnaissance of Havoc. “Do we have any information on the vessels’ location when they were brought down?”
“The qubits in the quantum packets are geo-tagged,” Hyro said. “They place them ten miles south of Havoc.”
The seated operator swiveled in his seat and flagged Cang’s attention. She leaned over and the pair exchanged hushed words before separating. “We’ve decrypted another segment of the air-burst transmission.” Cang thumped the operator’s shoulder. “Run the audio.”
The operator tapped the screen. Degraded audio spilled from the console’s integrated speakers in the form of a woman’s panicky voice.
“—grels don’t have such weap—”
A torrent of crackling static ebbed from the speakers, then—
“—mit the reconnaissance data . . . burst transmission! Do it—”
The audio segment terminated.
Daoren’s heartbeat thudded in his ears. The last voice sounded like Pyros’, but it was the preceding voice that tripjacked his pulse rate. He gripped the collar of the seated operator’s bianfu. “Replay the first part of the segment.”
The operator swiped the console screen, re-cueing the audio.
“—grels don’t have such weap—”
“Again,” Daoren said.
The segment replayed.
“Did she say mongrels?”
“I believe so.”
Daoren spun to the brusque voice.
Commander Slabidan al Korovich lingered across the outpost’s floor. He tugged the hem of his black tunic, straightening its creases, and puffed his chest. “My apologies for missing your arrival, Unum,” he said. “I needed to use the waste chamber.”
Daoren detected a stiffness in Slabidan’s gait as he paced closer. Sallow eyes and sagging cheeks compounded the sixty-year-old Slavv’s shell of weariness. The fatigue was understandable. He’d been among the district commanders who sided with the former Unum during the uprising. Unlike most of those commanders, he’d earned his pardon and kept his position as Nansilafu Cheng’s highest ranking Jiren by swearing an oath to protect the people. So far, he’d lived up to his word.
Slabidan halted before the group and looked each in the eye in turn. His gaze hardened as it settled on Daoren. “I think we’re seeing the opening salvo of a mongrel incursion.”
The heavy words thickened the air of foreboding. Daoren glanced at Heqet.
Her hands fell upon her belly, the act likely instinctive. His own thoughts went to her and their unborn son. He pushed them aside, but not without considerable effort—his thoughts had to weigh the safety of every denizen in the city-state. “Dispatch two aeroshrikes north to investigate,” he said to Cang.
“Only two aeroshrikes?” Slabidan asked. “We’ve already lost three.”
“And we can’t afford to lose many more,” Daoren said. “If the mongrels are coming south, we may need every available aeroshrike to defend Daqin Guojin.” He grasped Cang’s arm. “Think carefully about who will lead this mission.”
“I’ll lead it,” she said.
“If this is the beginning of an incursion, I’ll need my Primae Jiren here to help prepare our defenses.”
“Commander Hyro can perform that function.” Cang’s unblinking gaze never wavered. “With respect, Unum, I’m the only Jiren who can lead this mission.”
Daoren gauged the look on her face and knew she wouldn’t be swayed. She’d recommended Radan for the reconnaissance mission. Her advocacy had placed him on the aeroshrike and, judging from the corrupted air-burst transmission, cost him his life. She’d no doubt feel a burning obligation to uncover what had culled him. “Very well.”
“And what are my orders?” Slabidan asked, tone sharp with impatience.
“You’ll take your orders from Commander Hyro,” Daoren said, shifting focus to her. “We’ll proceed with caution to avoid sowing panic. The denizens tending the crops beyond the wall need to be moved inside. I want the cull zone cleared within the hour.”
“At once, Unum,” Hyro said, stiffening to attention. “I’ll also task the Jireni in every district to scan for signs of infiltration.”
“Infiltration?”
“The mongrels typically send smaller raiding parties into Daqin Guojin in advance of a major incursion. Nothing that constitutes a major threat, but they can engage in diversionary tactics to sap our resources.”
“What sort of tactics?”
“False communications, infrastructure sabotage, the planting of sonic charges to cause casualties among the population.” Hyro paused as if to gather her thoughts. “I know you loathe the idea, but I’m also going to task some Jireni to serve as your personal guard.”
He raised his hand to bat aside the suggestion.
Hyro beat him to the strike. “Only until we determine whether this threat is real. If further reconnaissance indicates no incursion is under way, then you can go back to prancing around on your own and knife-fighting with whichever denizens you like.”
“How did you know I was sparring with—”
Hyro motioned to the surrounding consoles. “We know everything.” She turned to Slabidan. “I’ll need ten of your Jireni. Ones who are good with their personal weapons and aren’t afraid of pushing the Unum and Zhenggong around.”
“We’re Slavvs,” Slabidan said. “Any of my Jireni would meet those criteria.”
Daoren left them to sort the details and pulled Heqet aside. “Once the guard’s in place, I want them to escort you back to our abode.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Just as a precaution. Until we know more about what’s coming our way.”
Heqet folded her arms across her chest and leveled an unflinching glare. “Until we know more, I’m not going anywhere without you.”
He gauged the look on her face and sighed. She wouldn’t be swayed, either. He knew Heqet wouldn’t leave his side—not unless he had her physically removed. For now, he reserved the right to exercise that option if the situation
warranted and tugged a quantum tile from his shenyi’s outer pocket.
Maybe he’d have better luck with the other woman in his life.
3
Rumination
CORDELIA STROLLED THE Librarium’s ceramic-tiled pathway. High above, the swollen sun had swept past its zenith on its relentless westward transit. The shadows cast by her two companions were growing longer by the minute.
Asla alum Pyros threw the longest shadow. The eldest daughter of Primae Jiren Pyros, Asla had inherited her father’s imposing physique, but balanced it with an inquisitive demeanor that made her a natural tutor at the tender age of twenty-five.
The second companion proved another matter. Kimye shared Commander Hyro’s diminutive stature, but lacked her mother’s brash and boisterous personality. Perhaps the fourteen-year-old would grow into both qualities in time.
Cordelia processed the reality of wandering the Librarium’s grounds with the daughters of two Jireni she might have called enemies a short while ago. She couldn’t help but marvel at how time had changed the city-state . . . and her own circumstances.
A year ago, she was the wife of a respected member of the Cognos Populi and the mother of two prospects. Now she was a forty-three-year-old widow and the mother of the Unum. Only months earlier, she’d been adrift without purpose. Now she was a qualified Librarian. The speed of the transformations culled her breath.
Beside her, Kimye released a drawn-out sigh that smacked of similar introspection.
“A beautiful day, isn’t it?” Cordelia asked, hoping to draw the young Asianoid out of her taciturn cave.
The girl offered a pinched smile—speaking wasn’t her strongest suit—that implied agreement and warped the helicoidal stud patterns in her cheeks. Hyro had dropped Kimye off at the Librarium’s southern gate yesterday morning. For the past twenty-four hours, the girl had worn a vague expression that lay somewhere along the spectrum between bored and bothered. At this moment, plodding a meandering pathway in the naked sunlight, her expression favored bored and hot.
A pleasant northerly breeze ruffled Cordelia’s lanshan. After decades of wearing a shenyi, she’d just grown accustomed to the garment’s style and color. The Libraria’s mandated garb had its advantages—the lighter hue kept her cooler on days like this.
Since passing the vocational examinations, she’d oft wondered what Laoshi would have made of her decision to join the caste. She liked to think his surprise would be tempered by understanding. After all, he’d started down a much different path—that of a Jiren—before donning the yellow lanshan. She let the huvvatrain of thought dissolve and glanced at Kimye. “What do you think? Shall we go visit the Spires and hear the lecture?”
Asla intercepted the question. “I’d rather spend our time outside.” She raised her face to the cobalt sky. The glass implants tracing her eye sockets glowed fiery orange. “It’s so lovely out.”
Despite her familial connection to a Jiren whom Cordelia didn’t fully trust, Asla had become a close friend over the past months. She’d been assigned to ease Cordelia’s transition to a Librarian and help her prepare for the examinations. She’d also proven indispensable in navigating the Librarium’s sprawling grounds and learning the functions of its innumerable structures. Cordelia had spent more time with the Primae Jiren’s daughter during the last month than she’d spent with her own son and daughter-by-union during the last six.
The imbalance was to be expected, of course. Daoren’s duties as Unum kept him occupied most days, and Heqet’s pregnancy had nearly reached full term. Any day now, Cordelia might receive word that she’d become a grandmother.
Only one regret clouded the joyful thought—that Lucien and Mako hadn’t lived to become a grandfather and uncle. So much pain and promise had been visited on her and her family over the past year. So much of Daqin Guojin had been forever changed, including the grounds she walked upon.
Memories of her time in the Librarium as a young prospect, decades old now, couldn’t help but clash with the surroundings. Habitation complexes loomed on both sides of the pathway, their stature more diminished than she recalled. Denizens of all ages milled before them. Many reclined on crystalline benches, content to lounge away the afternoon and soak up the sun’s rays. Few wore white pienfu—the traditional garb of the prospect undercaste.
Like the social distinction between denizen and prospect, the apparel had fallen into disfavor. Shenyi and simpler pienfu of every color and quality lent kaleidoscopic overtones to the otherwise tan-colored landscape. It was a stirring sight.
“How are you finding your tutoring duties so far?” Asla asked as they rounded a curve in the pathway.
“I’m enjoying them,” she said. “It’s wonderful to have structure in my life.”
“And the students? I hope they aren’t being too hard on you.”
“Speaking from experience?”
“They can be rather cruel with new tutors.”
“It’s nothing I can’t handle.”
“As the Unum’s mother, I expect you’ve had to deal with many challenges.”
Cordelia cued a response, but her quantum tile’s vibration snared her attention. She plucked the device from her lanshan’s inner pocket and glanced at its screen. “Well, well, well. Speak of the Unum and he calls.”
Asla and Kimye snickered in unison. Cordelia tapped the screen and raised it to her mouth. “To what do I owe this honor, Unum?”
“I’m just checking in,” Daoren said. “How is your day going?”
“Asla, Kimye, and I are deciding whether to go to the Spires or remain outside and enjoy the sunshine.”
“What’s at the Spires?”
“Besides millions of scrolls? There’s a lecture on Mother China’s imperial past starting in twenty minutes.”
A prolonged groan ebbed through the tile, loud enough for Asla and Kimye to overhear. Both girls covered their mouths and snickered anew.
“Your favorite subject, as I recall,” Cordelia said.
“Hardly.”
“Now, now. As Unum you have to support our curriculum, regardless of your personal taste. Besides, this is one of the Laoshi Lectures.”
Daoren didn’t respond. Cordelia knew the Primae Librarian’s death inside the Great Pyramid still weighed on her son’s conscience. The Laoshi Lectures had been launched two months ago—in part to honor the man’s memory, but mainly to popularize his once radical viewpoints on social and political reforms. Each topic drew from the old Librarian’s most controversial scrolls, covering subjects that would have been grounds for detainment under the old regime. The lectures regularly drew enough interest to fill the Spire’s largest amphitheater to bursting.
“Then that’s a lecture worth attending,” Daoren said. “But before you get there, I wanted to ask you something. Is there . . .”
Cordelia waited for him to resume speaking. After a moment, she elected to prompt him. “Is there what?”
“I wanted to make sure there was nothing . . . odd happening at the Librarium.”
Cordelia traded a puzzled look with Asla. “What do you mean?”
“Have you seen anything that looks out of the ordinary?”
She scanned the surroundings. Except for the lack of white pienfu, nothing appeared—
A gathering of Asianoids caught her eye. They stood apart from the younger denizens fronting the nearest habitation complex. Several wore purple sashes on their shenyi’s sleeves; the gleamglass strips cinched the billowy material tight to their upper arms. Their expressions seemed especially distant and dour—as though they were brooding over a vexing issue. Another group of Asianoids, about fifty in total, lingered well back from the pathway. They, too, bore looks of consternation and the occasional purple armsash.
A hundred innocuous reasons might explain the gloomy expressions and armsashes. Perhaps they’d lost family members to the former Unum’s cull order. Perhaps their family fortunes had been erased by the loss of grooll as a barter currency. Perhaps
they—
“Are you still there?”
Daoren’s voice brought her focus back to the tile. “Is something in particular troubling you?”
“No,” he said. “Why do you ask?”
“Twenty years of being your mother.”
“It’s probably nothing, but contact me if you see anything, will you?”
“Of course.” She lifted the tile closer to her mouth. “I love you.”
“Momma . . .”
“I know, I know—you can’t say it back because you have to maintain your regal bearing. But don’t forget, I used to change your soiled diapers.”
A pained grunt escaped the tile’s speaker. “Thanks for reminding me.”
“A pleasure you’ll soon experience with little Mako,” she said. “Thank you for calling, Unum.”
She ended the call before he could reply. Asla and Kimye doubled over in full-throated rasplaughter. “Regal bearing,” Kimye said. “That’s funny!”
Cordelia left the girls to their mirth and surveyed the Asianoids again. A second look stirred up a vague sense of unease; there was something different about them. She motioned to Asla and nodded at the crowds. “Have you seen these groups of Asianoids before?”
Asla glanced at them. “No, but your son’s edicts have drawn so many new groups into the Librarium. Jireni, elders, members of the Assembly, and so many new prospects.”
“Prospects no longer exist.”
“Oh . . . right. I keep forgetting.”
“Sireen?”
Cordelia turned to Kimye. “No need to call me sireen, child. I’m not a Jiren. Just call me Cordelia.”
The girl’s cheeks flushed. She averted her gaze.
“Or call me whatever you want,” Cordelia said, hoping to mollify the girl’s embarrassment. “Yellow Mother. Tutor Lady.” She lowered and bloated her voice, adopting an officious tone. “She-Who-Changed-The-Unum’s-Diapers.”
Kimye giggled. “I think I’d like to go to the lecture,” she said, voice barely audible over a whistling gust.
