Born in Darkness

by Thomas Farmer

  She was also aware that she stopped listening to anything her people were saying. Her bowl of half-eaten food sat forgotten on the floor in front of her. Victoria sat across from her, Eleni to her left, and Photeos directly to her right. Stavros sat between him and Victoria, none of them with more than a centimeter on either side of their knees.

  She looked back up as Victoria turned a questioning glance at Stavros.

  Photeos laughed.

  “Theory?” Victoria asked.

  “Part of what we discovered on Kipos is that they seem to have some sort of hive mind.”

  Victoria nodded as a thoughtful look crossed her face. “When I fought the fonias by themselves, they jumped at random, trying to rip and tear and cut. They hurt me, but they hurt themselves just as badly. The ones this morning...”

  She trailed into silence for a moment, and Eleni finished. “Worked as a team.”

  “I'd buy a hive mind, but I don't think it's only the sophonts,” Photeos argued. “Their skills increase by number even without one nearby.”

  “That doesn't rule out the sophont's purpose,” Stavros argued. “There are plenty of colonial organisms that can cooperate like that. Victoria, when you killed the sophont, were there any others around?”

  She shook her head, gesturing widely with her hands now that she had eaten. “No, just the one. It seemed... lonely.”

  “Impossible,” Photeos snarled. “Mastigas don't feel.”

  “What about that inscription in the elite's room?” Stavros asked, then grew demanding. “What about the fact that it kept a 'room' at all?”

  Eleni cleared her throat. “It's well documented that lone mastigas are not intelligent. They don't 'get smarter' when there's more of them. They're just programmed to follow the sophont's orders. Alone they only know two things: kill and eat.”

  “They're sentient, even alone,” Stavros said. “We've seen them manipulate simple tools.”

  “Weapons especially,” Victoria said. One hand automatically went to her side.

  Eleni held firm. “I'm not saying they're not sentient, only that they're not sapient.”

  “What we need is more data,” Stavros said.

  “Look,” Photeos's tone changed, assuming the sound of a commander for the moment. “Standard doctrine is to kill the sophonts first. If you don't, you die. The mastigas coordinate too well. Without a sophont,” he made an explosion gesture with his hands, “their ranks fall away.”

  Stavros frowned. “I think we should just burn it all.”

  Photeos laughed, something which quickly spread around the circle.

  “Victoria,” came the sing-song voice from before. It drifted on the air currents, echoing through the halls. Everyone around her perked up while Pallasophia's brain dumped adrenaline into her system.

  One thought hit her above all others: it was close enough to talk to them. She opened her mouth to speak, but Victoria was faster.

  The tone of Victoria's voice sounded more like the way she gave orders than the way Photeos phrased things, and Pallasophia wondered exactly how much Victoria had been studying them—her in particular—since their initial meeting.

  “Stavros, check the hallway.”

  He hesitated just long enough for Pallasophia to bark confirmation of that order. “Now!”

  He nodded, shot to his feet and grabbed his helmet with one hand and a weapon with the other. In moments, he was out of sight. Nothing indicated his presence but the bouncing of his weapon light as he swept the hallway.

  No one spoke until he returned, though they each reached for their weapons. Pallasophia found herself watching the ceiling more than the door.

  “Nothing out there, Lochagos,” he reported.

  Pallasophia frowned. “Good. Thank you for checking, Dekaneas.”

  He remained standing, watching the door. “All part of the job.”

  “Good, then you and Eleni have first watch. Four hours, then wake Photeos and me.”

  He nodded toward Victoria. “And her?”

  Pallasophia turned toward Victoria, who watched the byplay with analytic interest. The brain that allowed her to survive while surrounded by mastigas was at work now. “Will you be able to sleep?”

  Victoria frowned. “I will try.”

  She turned to Eleni next. “Do everything you can to pinpoint the mastigas' location while we rest.”

  Eleni nodded. “Understood, Lochagos.”

  “Victoria, is there anything you would like to add?”

  Pallasophia watched as a grin flashed across Victoria's face, wild and gleeful. It barely lasted a moment, and in fact was little more than a single muscle twitch, but it left one thought burning in her mind. Victoria was not afraid of the mastigas. No, the hell she and Tritogenes put her through actually made her look forward to the fight tomorrow.

  And that, Pallasophia thought, scared her.

  Victoria's sharp intake of breath roused her from her thoughts. Her face set itself into a hard mask again, and Pallasophia was struck by the realization that this was likely the expression on her face, normally obscured by her mask, while she fought.

  “Fight,” she said, “or die.”

  Chapter 15

  The Katarraktean sunlight slanting in through the bedroom window produced two thoughts in First Lord Tritogenes's brain. First among them was the realization that it was, in fact, morning. Second was a vague sense that he had only gotten into that bed a scant few hours before. The former thought brought resentment, while the latter brought a grudging acceptance of the state of things.

  His skull pounded a slow, aching rhythm of hammer blows as his heart pumped blood back into his brain. He was not sure how much he could blame the sun for that particular pain—it certainly was not making things better, at any rate—but Tritogenes knew the majority of the blame could be placed firmly on the second of his two morning thoughts.

  After their meeting in Enyalios's quarters the evening before, the two Hexarchs finally met up with First Lord Eurybia. Despite Enyalios's story the night before, she spoke and acted with utmost politeness toward both of them. Enyalios himself took some time to warm up to her, but he finally admitted that his rancor had been fueled by a combination of her unexpected visit and the reports reaching from from his own underlings.

  Eurybia, for her part, apologized for setting Enyalios off, explaining only that she meant no offense. Tritogenes remembered telling her not to worry, that Enyalios was “just being his usual self,” and the three of them could talk politics in the morning.

  To his complete lack of surprise, Eurybia and Enyalios both agreed, and the rest of the night was a wash of color, music, and drink after drink from Enyalios's personal storehouse.

  The pounding in his head and the sour feeling in his stomach combined to inform Tritogenes exactly how bad of an idea trying to match drinks with Enyalios had been. Still, he retained the contents of his stomach that night and continued to do so as he shuffled around the suite for a glass of water.

  By this point, Enyalios's staff certainly knew he was awake. Motion sensors in the suite would have alerted them the moment he actually got out of bed, but they would not come to his room unless summoned. Dressing was something best done alone. Indeed to be seen in anything other than his purple robe by anyone other than family or those otherwise very close to him would be an embarrassing breach of protocol.

  Fortunately, that in effect, gave Tritogenes as much time to get ready as he wanted. Skipping breakfast might have been unfortunate, but unless he had an actual invitation, it was not a slight to his host.

  Additionally, Tritogenes thought with an inward smile, Enyalios was likely much worse off than he was at that moment. Despite his original plan to match his fellow Hexarch drink for drink, he quickly abandoned that plan as Enyalios quickly outpaced him. When Tritogenes finally gave up and switched to less inebriating substances, Enyalios's pace barely slowed compared to the start of the evening.

  He took a few minutes to compose a se
ries of messages. His sleep clothes had no pockets to put his computer in, and so he set the tablet-sized device on a nearby table. The display registered the tabletop and initially projected itself directly above that flat surface, but Tritogenes had no real desire to sit. He took hold of the massless hologram and pulled it upwards, placing the display at eye level.

  The first message was short and succinct. He asked Pallasophia for an update on her progress and inquired after “their guest's” health. He concluded by asking her to meet with him when she arrived at Prosgeiosi, and promised to have a suite set aside for, again he used the euphemism because he did not yet know her name, “their guest.”

  That message would take several hours to reach Aphelion and even longer to pass through the encoding and decoding algorithms on either end. Truthfully, he did not expect a reply at all, but he felt it was his duty to at least ask.

  Second, he send a message to Pteryga with just as much encryption as the first one. This one contained no sensitive information, he simply wanted to ensure as few people as possible could read it. In it he asked to meet with Hyperion when the latter made it to the capital as well, indicating that Enyalios might accompany him. The subject matter was fairly innocuous, but it was the informal tone he used with his former mentor that Tritogenes did not want just any random eyes to see.

  It was the third message that he considered to be the most important. This one he directed at Limani and recorded a full video transmission rather than a simple text.

  The recipient was one of the few people Tritogenes allowed to see him without his Hexarch's robe. As such, Philip resided on a very select list containing Hyperion, Pallasophia, and perhaps Enyalios. Despite that, he drew himself up a little taller and tugged at the fabric of his sleep shirt, smoothing it.

  The indicator next to the holographic interface lit after a moment and he began.

  “Philip, I regret that we can't have this conversation face to face. I know how much you prefer that to electronic communication, but I will not have time to return to Limani before departing for Prosgeiosi. You were right, and I should have made time to meet before I left the planet.

  “I need you to do me another favor. In addition to the data you're compiling on the Titans—which, by the way, how is that going?—I need you to see what you can dig up on a group calling themselves the Ouroboros Society. I overheard some of the musicians talking last night and not even Enyalios knew about them. Apparently, it's a new group. I'm not too concerned, but it would be good to have some information ahead of time in case the Council brings it up.

  “Additionally, can you forward me the numbers for last season's performances at the Golden Hawk? I need something to gloat about over breakfast.

  “Thank you, Philip. Go with the suns.”

  Tritogenes ended the recording. That one would reach Limani in a matter of minutes. He gave it an hour at most before he had a reply. Philip always surprised him with the speed he answered messages. Information, of course, took time to gather, but simple answers often returned long before most people would have gotten around to them.

  Before he could shut down the holo, someone knocked at his suite's door. Tritogenes frowned, wondering if the sound was a recording. It would be like Enyalios to program the suite's door to play a sound like that rather than a simple chime.

  The knocking came again, and Tritogenes dismissed his holo with a wave. No, he realized, that sound was genuine. Someone outside his door was actually knocking with their hand.

  While that was puzzling enough, the fact that he had a visitor at all was stranger still. No one should have been bothering him, especially not so early in the morning.

  “Yes, yes. What is it?” He found his headache returning and his tone came out angrier than he meant it to.

  “First Lord Tritogenes, Hexarch Limani.” He did not recognize the voice that replied, but the use of not only his full, but also his official, title jumpstarted his brain. In moments the cobwebs from the night before were gone, replaced with steel-edged awareness. The sudden adrenaline dump that came with it was not welcome, however.

  The voice continued. “First Lord Eurybia, Hexarch Kokkinos has requested your presence at your earliest convenience.”

  If his brain was not already running in high gear, that announcement would have sent it speeding. “Did First Lord Eurybia supply you with a purpose for her invitation?”

  “Breakfast, First Lord.”

  Tritogenes frowned, confused. “Break—?” he mouthed. Aloud, to the unnamed messenger on the other side of the door, he said, “inform First Lord Eurybia that I will gladly meet her for breakfast and thank her for the invitation.”

  “Yes, First Lord.”

  “Where am I to meet her?”

  “The Hawk and Arrow, First Lord.”

  Tritogenes nodded, thinking. At least Eurybia had good taste in food. That made it almost worth having his morning disrupted. “And when?”

  “First Lord Eurybia did not give a time, sir.”

  Leaving it up to him, of course, he thought with a frown. That meant it was his problem if breakfast was too early or too late. He gave a chuckle too quiet to be heard through the door. Perhaps there was some truth to what Enyalios told him last night, because now it was Tritogenes's responsibility to finalize breakfast plans.

  On the other hand, that might work in his favor. On the surface, forcing him to choose a time meant that if he picked a time that Eurybia, or any other guests she might have invited, found less than ideal, the blame would fall on him. He would have failed to accommodate “his” guests, despite the original plan being Eurybia's.

  He had to admit, it was a fairly well-thought piece of the social game the Hexarchs played with one another.

  Fortunately for him, Tritogenes did not particularly care about any potential loss in standing be might incur from something like that. He especially did not care so early in the morning. Even on the best of days, he was not an early riser.

  He checked the clock on the wall, finding it just past midmorning.

  “Inform First Lord Eurybia that I will meet her in ninety minutes.”

  “Of course, First Lord.”

  Tritogenes waited several minutes to make sure the messenger was gone before reactivating his holo. He sent Enyalios a short text message, dictating it as he removed his sleep clothes and unfolded the day's robe.

  “Eurybia invited me to breakfast without settling on a time. I told her an hour and a half. Meet us at the Hawk and Arrow.”

  Several minutes passed and a message indicator flashed on the holo, a reply from Enyalios. “Will do.” Another came in a minute later. “Also, which god lit the suns again? I have a personal grudge for them.”

  Tritogenes laughed and dictated a reply. “You and me both.”

  ***

  An hour and a half later, Tritogenes stepped onto the outdoor patio of the Hawk and Arrow. The suns hung high already, burning most of the morning's fog and mist away. Of course, with the rivers and waterfalls coursing through the multi-layered city, even the hottest summer day could only banish the ever-present mist for a short time. He had to admit, at least to himself, that the array of sunbeams streaking through the planet's clouds were rather beautiful and the warm, wet air did wonders for both his skin and his lungs.

  A table waited, already reserved, which only surprised Tritogenes for a few moments. When he realized the other Hexarchs were already waiting for him, that feeling went away rather quickly. Eurybia arriving early was no surprise, but he was somewhat impressed to see Enyalios up and moving. The tone of the messages they exchanged over the prior hour had not given him much faith that Katarraktes's Hexarch had even gotten dressed yet.

  Not only had Enyalios gotten dressed, but his animated movements and expressions gave no hint of the tired, haggard man who had messaged Tritogenes an hour before to complain about his own alcohol-fueled headache. His “secret” was not exactly secret, but his preference for stimulants over getting a good night's sle
ep never interfered with his ability to do the job of a planetary Hexarch.

  Sharing the same space as Enyalios made Tritogenes's more relaxed robe seem even more plain—not that he particularly cared. Enyalios had, as always, meticulously done his hair and makeup for maximum effect. Even for an informal, if late, breakfast, he looked ready to stride into the Council chambers. Of course, when that time came, Enyalios would likely aim to be even fancier.

  Eurybia, as the ostensible host of their impromptu get-together, rose to greet him. She wore a much newer robe than either of the other Hexarchs, stiff satin dyed in the bright purple of current fashions. It shimmered with a rainbow of embroidery that, when she moved, managed to outshine even Enyalios's garment. She wore it well, however, without the ostentatious air that a less self-assured person would have given off in such bright clothing.

  Like Tritogenes, Enyalios wore an older style robe, dark purple with bronze-colored designs that created a rather somber, reserved look. His attention that morning had been on the choice of jewelry and the complex designs in his hair.

  Tritogenes's robe was of a simpler fabric than either of theirs, but had been covered in much brighter embroidery than Enyalios's. His was also a mere four years old, much newer than the one Enyalios wore. Tritogenes knew Enyalios's robe had to be at least twenty years old, and he suspected some of his jewelry was even older.

  He also left his hair plain, tying it back at the nape of his neck with a simple velvet ribbon. Let Eurybia make of that what she would, he thought.

  She turned a broad, bright smile on Tritogenes as he approached the table. An inhabitant of Old Earth might have guessed Eurybia's age at thirty-six or thirty-seven, but she was in fact well over ninety years of age, three decades older than Tritogenes himself. Unlike First Lord Enyalios, whose decadent lifestyle and additional decade of life had brought some wear to the edges of his eyes and mouth, and peppered his once-black hair with gray, she still looked to be in her prime.

  Her waist-length hair had been carefully braided into a pattern that depicted the double-helix of DNA. From a distance, he thought she had foregone more complicated makeup that morning, but up close he found the opposite to be true. Complex geometric shapes adorned her cheeks in a shade just barely darker than her own skin, emphasizing her thin face.