Carnelians (22 page)

From the glyphs in his screen, Jaibriol knew Azile was receiving the same message. He brushed the
open
toggle on his cuff, then raised his wrist and spoke into his comm. “Go ahead.”

The voice of Robert Muzeson came into the room. “Your Highness, we’re receiving a priority message from the Iquar Estate.”

Jaibriol’s pulse jumped. He met Azile’s gaze the table and saw the same look of alarm.

“What is the message?” Jaibriol asked.

“There has been an accident, Sire,” Robert said.

One thought burst into Jaibriol’s mind:
Tarquine.

Even as Jaibriol drew in a breath to ask, Robert added, “The Empress is fine.”

Jaibriol exhaled. “Good.” As his pulse settled, he asked, “What kind of accident?”

“Barthol Iquar was knocked off one of the ocean piers,” Robert said. “I’m sorry to bring you such news. He’s in a coma.”

A chill walked up Jaibriol’s spine. “What happened?”

“He hit his head against the pier and fell into the water. It isn’t clear which put him in the coma, the head injury or drowning.”

“Why the hell didn’t his guards pull him out?”

“They did, Sire. They immediately gave aid, and within moments the estate staff had General Iquar in the infirmary at the main house. But his doctors can’t revive him.”

“I’ve seen that infirmary,” Jaibriol said. “It has better facilities than the hospital here.”

“They’ve spared no effort for him,” Robert said. “When the Empress learned what happened, she came down herself to oversee his treatment.”

Damn. Tarquine shouldn’t be “overseeing” anything. He didn’t want anyone to believe she had any connection to the accident. “Where was the Empress before that?”

“At the main estate,” Robert said. “She was relaxing with some friends by the sea pools. She is quite improved, Sire.” He sounded relieved to give Jaibriol better news. “The trip has been quite beneficial for her health.”

The idea of his driven wife “improving” by doing nothing but lounging beside exotic pools would have been funny if it hadn’t implied such deadly consequences.
Tarquine, be wise,
Jaibriol thought. If she had caused the accident or if she took advantage of Barthol’s condition to exact revenge, she could implicate herself in his death. It was more important to Jaibriol that his wife be well and safe than to make Barthol pay, especially given that their only evidence against the general was the obscure predictions of a dice game neither of them understood that well.

“Thank you for notifying me so promptly,” Jaibriol told Robert. “You have done well.” He regarded Azile across the table as he spoke, and the Intelligence Minister nodded lightly, accepting Jaibriol’s unspoken command that Azile look into the matter.

“I am honored by your words,” Robert said. “I wish my news had been better.”

The Carelli hymn continued in the background, its key minor, as if it were mourning the ethereal beauty of its own melody. The singer was a classically trained soprano, her voice so pure she sounded like an angel, especially when she hit the highest notes with an exquisite vibrato.

Jaibriol knew he should be dismayed by Barthol’s accident. To lose his Joint Commander in such a difficult time could turn into a disaster. He tried to remember the principles of honor he held so dear, ideas of conscience and judgment that he had respected his entire life, a moral code that would never allow him to sanction the murder of another human being. Instead, he could think only of his heir, the son he would never know, the child who had died in Tarquine’s womb.

XIV: Mesh Dreams

XIV
Mesh Dreams

“It will never work!” Admiral Chad Barzun stood his ground, his square-jawed face set in firm lines as he challenged Kelric.

All of Kelric’s advisors were standing. Given the tension, he doubted anyone would sit any time soon. They had gathered around the oval table in one of the Orbiter conference rooms, their imposing figures reflected in its gold surface. His four Joint Commanders were present, either in person or as holographic simulations. Also present was Barcala Tikal, First Councilor of the Assembly, the civilian leader of the Imperialate, a gangly man with dark hair greying at the temples. Kelric had summoned the Inner Assembly councilors as well: Stars, Nature, Industry, Judiciary, Life, Planetary Development, Finance, Domestic Affairs, Protocol, and Foreign Affairs. Protocol stood next to him, working at a table console, monitoring input from those advisors who were attending as holos, flicking menus above her screen like a maestro conducting an orchestra. Her hair was a new color today, red this time, sparkling like rubies, with mesh studs dusted over it like black glitter.

The Councilor for Foreign Affairs—also known as Roca Skolia—was on Protocol’s other side, watching Kelric with a wariness that deeply troubled him from his mother. He hid his response; he couldn’t let them see how weary he felt, how isolated.

A solitary woman stood in the head of the table, her delicate frame a dramatic contrast to the others in the room, most of whom towered over her. She was Dehya, the Ruby Pharaoh. Her melodic voice filled in the gold-walled chamber. “When Imperator Skolia came to me with this idea of a face-to-face meeting at the peace summit, I reacted similarly to all of you.” She looked them over. “I have since changed my mind. I support the Imperator’s proposal.”

Good gods.
Kelric hadn’t expected that. This meeting had suddenly become less hopeless.

Naaj Majda, General of the Pharaoh’s Army, stood across from Kelric. At six-foot-five, in her dark green uniform with a general’s braid on the shoulders, she was a formidable presence. Dark hair streaked with iron framed her ascetically elegant face. “Your Highness,” she said to Dehya. “It would be difficult for security to ensure your safety or that of your family in such a meeting.”

“We would have to coordinate security with ESComm,” Dehya acknowledged.

Naaj gave her a sour look. “ESComm will never coordinate anything with us.”

“Ah but, General,” Dehya said. “You would have the chance to meet face to face with your ESComm counterpart. Surely he would value his own safety enough to coordinate.”

Naaj snorted. “What safety? My supposedly esteemed counterpart, Barthol Iquar, is brain dead.”

The Councilor for Life, a vibrant fellow who oversaw health, human services, and education, made a choked sound, as if he didn’t know whether to be shocked by her statement or groan. Roca gave Naaj an exasperated look. The Councilor for Finance started to smile, then stopped himself.

Barcala Tikal scowled at Naaj. “General Iquar is in a coma. Not dead.”

Naaj waved her hand in dismissal. “Regardless of which ESComm commanders come to the summit, they will still deceive, plot against, and betray everyone and her sister’s uncle’s brother.”

Kelric stood listening. Hearing his advisors argue told him a great deal more than they realized. Although they never forgot his presence, they spoke to one another more freely than to him. Naaj, however, was always guarded. Since his decision to execute the commandos who had attacked the Trader merchants, as soon as he discovered their identities, she had barely been civil. She treated him with the respect due one’s commanding officer, but that was it. He wanted to believe ESComm had masterminded the attack in an effort to stall the peace process, but he couldn’t be sure. He hated suspecting Naaj, because if she had any role in it she had committed treason. But he couldn’t deny the possibility.

General Dayamar Stone stood across the table. As Commandant of the Advance Services Corps, the scouts for planetary expeditions, he served as another of Kelric’s Joint Commanders. His dark red uniform and knee boots accented his thin frame, but his greying hair was full and unusually thick for a man nearly a century old. Neither her nor Naaj were actually in the room; both were projecting as holos, Dayamar from HQ City on the planet Diesha, and Naaj from the world Raylicon, home to the Majda dynasty.

The only commander who hadn’t weighed in on Kelric’s suggestion was Brant Tapperhaven, head of the Jagernaut Forces. He was here in person, lounging against a wall across the room like a shadow in the radiant chamber. With his black leather jacket, black knee boots and black pullover, he looked more like a thug than a Joint Commander. He listened intently, his dark eyes traveling from person to person, his telepath’s mind shielded. Kelric understood Brant; they had a lot in common, both of them Jagernauts, both taciturn, both empaths who had endured the crucible of warfare and the toll it exacted on soldiers who could feel the deaths of their foes in their own minds.

Today Kelric had to speak, however. “Conducting the treaty negotiations in the usual manner won’t work. It leaves too many possibilities for dishonesty. For treachery.” He didn’t look at Naaj, but if that last word applied to her, she would take his meaning.

General Stone spoke in his gravelly voice. “Putting so many valuable leaders in one place is too dangerous.” He motioned around the room, his gesture including everyone. “As you well know.”

Kelric took his point; one reason so many of his advisors were here as holos was because Kelric wouldn’t risk putting all of his top people together in one room.

“Any more assassination attempts,” Chad Barzun said, “and the treaty is dead. Our success in keeping the attempts against you and Pharaoh Dyhianna out of the news is the only reason this treaty has any support.”

“What are you talking about?” Tikal demanded. “It has immense support. No one wants more war.”

“And no one believes the Traders want peace,” Naaj said. “This treaty is a trick. We still don’t know how they managed the attack on either Pharaoh Dyhianna or Imperator Skolia, but they almost succeeded. We
cannot
risk putting our leaders and theirs in the same place.”

“We don’t know that the attack came from the Traders,” Dehya said.

“Of course it was the Traders,” Naaj said.

“Where the blazes else would it come from?” asked Finance, the councilor who monitored the economic health of the empire. He was all sharp angles, from his gaunt frame to his intellect to his mechanical left arm, which was packed with implants.

Tikal considered Dehya. “It’s a good question.”

Dehya met his gaze. “It would have to be someone with a high enough authorization to access our most protected mesh nodes.”

Silence settled as everyone absorbed her implication. Kelric didn’t need to absorb squat. He already knew. The assassin could be one of their own. But who?

He would never forget that flash of hatred from Admiral Ragnar Bloodmark when the Assembly ratified the treaty. Kelric had given them the only justification they would accept to clear him of treason for meeting in secret with the Trader emperor. Peace. Because of the treaty, he had gone free rather than face execution. In that instant, Ragnar’s mask of neutrality had slipped and the admiral’s fury had blazed. Why? Ragnar held the second highest position in the Fleet, after Chad Barzun; he might be able to compromise security at a high enough level to reach Kelric and Dehya.

And Naaj. Her attention appeared to be on Tikal right now, but she was present only as a simulation. In reality, she was undoubtedly watching them all. She could project whatever she wanted, even have her systems analyze their behavior and respond to her benefit. Kelric couldn’t probe her mind when she was on another planet. Even if she had been here, she knew how to guard against telepaths. To break her mental shields, he would have to attack her with the full force of his mind, which would be tantamount to shooting a gun at his Joint Commander.

Kelric broke the uncomfortable silence. “Having us meet face-to-face has its dangers, I agree. We’ll have to work a lot harder on security. I’m willing to accept that challenge.”

“As am I,” Dehya said.

“Yes, well, you may both be willing,” Tikal said. “But the rest of us aren’t, not for you two. If either of you dies, it cripples the Imperialate.”

“I could die on a routine space flight,” Kelric said.

“Which brings up another problem,” Stars said in her melodious voice. A slender woman with silver hair and luminous eyes, she was the councilor concerned with transportation throughout the Imperialate. “Everyone must travel to wherever we put this summit. Space flight is yet another danger. If we instead meet by holographic simulation, we diminish those risks.”

“We can’t hide in a cocoon,” Dehya said.

Judiciary considered them. She was tall woman with greying hair swept back from her high forehead, the senior member of the Inner Assembly. “I don’t believe Imperial law allows the only surviving members of the Triad to be in the same physical space as the Qox Dynasty.”

Kelric regarded her with exasperation. “What, we have a law that says, ‘opposing royals may not occupy the same physical space’?”

“It’s a matter of interpretation,” Judiciary told him.

“We also must consider the economic effect,” Finance said in his sharp, quick voice. “As much as we may resist admitting it, our economic health is intricately tied up with the economies of Eube and the Allied Worlds of Earth. You can’t untangle them.”

Life crossed his brawny arms and glared at Finance. “I fail to see how an in-person summit could risk the economies of three empires.”

Finance arched an eyebrow. “Then yes, young man, you do fail.”

“As hard as you may all find it to believe,” Life said, “human leaders have met in person for ninety-nine point nine nine percent of human history. And somehow their economies survived.”

“Life has a point,” Nature said, adjusting his spectacles. Formerly a physics professor at Parthonia University, he now served as the Councilor of science and technology.

Finance scowled at him. “And economics is your expertise?”

“It isn’t mine, either,” Domestic Affairs said, her rich voice a soothing contrast to the others, a trait that served her well as the councilor who oversaw relations among the peoples of the Imperialate. “But I agree with you. This is an emotional issue, and ultimately it is people and their emotions that determine what happens in the interstellar markets. If the summit turns into a disaster, it could spiral into economic crisis.”