Carnelians (38 page)

Dehya knew she was guessing, playing mental dice games, but it made a hell of a lot more sense than the other possibilities. She watched Kelric, silently urging him to go with her comments about Del. They needed a scenario people would accept, because Dehya couldn’t tell them the truth.

Kelric met her gaze. “If what you suggest is true, then whoever implicated Del must have left a trace in Kyle space. We should concentrate on unraveling his Kyle path.”

“I can do that,” Dehya said, mentally manipulating Quis dice about Del. Her voice blew away in the wind.

“Dehya,” Kelric rumbled. “Come back.”

She saw him through the rose film of her sunrise eyes. “Back?”

Tikal had gone pale. “Why does her body phase out that way?”

Dehya wished they wouldn’t worry. She could melt into the freedom of the blue . . .

Dehya,
Kelric thought.
You’re drifting.

With a conscious effort, she snapped the world back into focus. “I need to use a Command Chair that accesses Kyle space directly.”

“Is it safe?” Roca asked. “You hardly seem like you’re here.”

“I’ll be fine.” Dehya hoped it was true, because they had to reach Jaibriol—and find a way the three of them could learn to co-exist as a Triad—before they destroyed one another.

XXII: Leto’s Children

XXII
Leto’s Children

“Delos,” Jaibriol repeated, straining to keep his annoyance in check. “The Allied planet.” He was ready to throttle Barthol.

The general walked with him, nearly as tall as Jaibriol, but not quite. Jaibriol felt how much the comparison angered Barthol, that his bulky physique, despite its power, wasn’t perfect by Aristo standards, not quite broad enough in the shoulders or narrow enough in the hips. He had genetically sculpted his body to come as close to the Highton ideal as he could manage without compromising his health or longevity. It appalled Jaibriol, the extent to which his advisors were willing to go so they would all be the same, all seeking the same uncompromising standard of Highton perfection.

Regardless of what he thought of Barthol, the general did his job well. Jaibriol had no cause to replace him as a Joint Commander and what looked like every reason to keep him. Politically, removing Barthol would be dangerous; he was well liked among the army brass, not the least because he walked the edge between expected Highton behavior and breaking the rules in ways that Jaibriol suspected many of his top officers would like to do. Barthol’s ouster would set the army at odds with the palace. Jaibriol had worked for years to build his support within ESComm, and the peace treaty had alienated a good portion of his backing. He couldn’t risk losing any more.

Admiral Erix Muze, who was walking on Jaibriol’s other side, was easier to deal with. He had Barthol’s talent for military command, but without the general’s inhuman edge. The three of them were strolling through the palace gardens, accompanied by Jaibriol’s four bodyguards, dark monoliths with metallic minds. Jaibriol hadn’t included Tide; he needed to understand the Razer better before he relied on a man who had tried to defect.

Every time he saw Tide, he felt as if he were turning upside down. Tide was Hidaka, yet he would never be Hidaka. He had the same intense loyalty that in Hidaka had become an unswerving fidelity to the emperor. How it manifested in Tide, he didn’t know, for Tide’s life had taken a different path. He had never witnessed the emperor join the Triad, never protected Jaibriol by murdering a Highton colonel who witnessed the same, never lied about what he had seen, all to protect the emperor even though he had known—from the instant Jaibriol had dragged himself out of the Lock—that Jaibriol was a Ruby psion.

Tide had never died to save Jaibriol’s life and make the peace treaty a reality.

Jaibriol didn’t know what to expect from this Razer, a man he knew so well and yet not at all. So he had created a cover: Tide had been on assignment, spying on the Skolians, and ESComm had blown his cover when they raided the embassy. That story had the added benefit of allowing Jaibriol to disapprove of the raid, which had violated the Paris Accord and damaged their relations with the Imperialate, without appearing to side with the Skolians for harboring a defector. ESComm wasn’t happy with him for “neglecting” to notify them of the operation, but such covert dealings by the palace were classic Highton intrigue and surprised no one. In fact, Jaibriol had the impression Erix Muze enjoyed thinking the Skolians had been so well taken in by a false claim of defection.

For now, he had to concentrate on convincing his Joint Commanders that Delos was a good place for the summit. If they backed him, it would garner him the support he needed from his other advisors. At the moment, though, Barthol wouldn’t even acknowledge he knew Delos existed.

“For a name like Delos, I imagine some sort of germ,” Barthol was saying. “It might give one hives.”

Erix smiled, far more amused than Jaibriol by Barthol’s professed lack of knowledge. The admiral said, “I have heard that in the mythology of Earth’s ancient Greeks, the island of Delos is a sanctuary. They have a work called
The Homeric Hymns,
including passages about Apollo, a god in their pantheon. This quote is from his mother Leto:

“Delos, if you would be willing to be the abode of my son Phoebus Apollo and make him a rich temple—; for no other will touch you, as you will find: and I think you will never be rich in oxen and sheep, nor bear vintage nor yet produce plants abundantly. But if you have the temple of far-shooting Apollo, all men will bring you hecatombs and gather here, and incessant savour of rich sacrifice will always arise, and you will feed those who dwell in you from the hand of strangers; for truly your own soil is not rich.”

If Jaibriol hadn’t learned so well to control his expressions, he would have gaped at the admiral. He hadn’t expected poetry, of all things, from his literal minded military commander. As a statement supporting the choice of Delos for the summit, not only was Erix’s response unexpectedly eloquent, but the admiral had clearly taken some time looking into the world and its background. As much as Jaibriol often chafed at Highton discourse, at its best, it could be a thing of subtle beauty.

“Your knowledge of Earth poets is appreciated,” Jaibriol told him.

Barthol snorted. “It sounds to me like this Zeus fellow fucked the girl Leto, and she dropped his provider son on a barren island where nothing grows.”

And then, Jaibriol thought, there are other forms of Highton discourse.

Technically, Barthol hadn’t violated Highton principles, since he hadn’t directly addressed the topic of the summit, but he left no doubts as to his opinion of the Allieds and their worlds. Jaibriol was tired of sparring with him, particularly since Barthol obviously knew far more about Delos than he claimed. He just said, “Where would you have expected her to give birth?” If Barthol had a better idea where to put the summit, he sure as blazes hadn’t suggested it yet.

Barthol waved his hand as if to encompass the palace and all of Glory. “Mount Olympus.”

“I’m sure Zeus’s wife would have appreciated that,” Erix said dryly.

Security protocols activated,
Jaibriol’s spinal node thought. It controlled his response, hiding his reaction, but nothing could stop his burst of fury. Tarquine had lost her child here in the place that Barthol—who might have been the assassin—so blithely titled Mt. Olympus, land of the Highton gods.

Stay calm,
Jaibriol told himself. He wouldn’t play the twisted game of brutal discourse Barthol invited. If he let the general push him into responding with anger, he risked revealing too much. The moment he found proof that Barthol had murdered his son, the general would pay. All that stayed his hand now was the lack of evidence and Tarquine’s puzzling silence on the topic.

Jaibriol’s voice came out with a detachment far different from what he felt. “In the Greek tales, it profited Zeus that the woman Leto gave birth on Delos. It exalted that king of the gods to have the humans in his life positioned so he could control them without their knowledge.” Let Barthol figure that one out. He might even like what Jaibriol implied.

The idea had come to him after he decoded the last message from the Ruby Pharaoh. Verbally, she had said no more than a bland agreement that they should meet somewhere neutral. She and Kelric had disguised the Quis patterns in a detailed border that framed the Skolian insignia. An unusual touch for ISC, to put artwork in a communiqué, but exactly what Hightons expected.

Beautifully complex patterns saturated the Quis they had sent him. The message was clear:
Pick a neutral place away from Earth and set it up so your people have an apparent advantage in security, maybe utilizing a secret they think we don’t know, say perhaps the use of Kyle space by ESComm. Make your advisors think it is a trick to dominate us. But leave a back door in Kyle space that we can use to ensure our safety. You—and only you among the Aristos—can do that. Give us that back door and we will accept your terms.

It didn’t surprise Jaibriol that they had figured out ESComm was using providers in Kyle space. As far as he knew, ESComm had accomplished little with their fledgling telops, but he suspected Barthol had attempted more in secret. Although Jaibriol had no evidence that the general had released “Carnelians Finale,” his instincts pointed to Barthol rather than Prince Del-Kurj as the culprit.

“Zeus didn’t go to Delos in this little tale of gods,” Barthol said.

It startled Jaibriol to realize how much had gone through his mind in the moments between his last comment and Barthol’s response. Since he had updated spinal nodes, his thoughts often jumped into an accelerated mode without his realizing it. He wondered who Barthol was comparing to Zeus: Jaibriol or himself?

“True,” Jaibriol said. “But then, Zeus didn’t have the advantage of Highton intelligence.”

Erix smiled slightly. “It’s amusing to think what he might have accomplished with the help of ESComm.”

Barthol gave a snort of laughter. “Greek God Space Command. How entertaining. Wouldn’t have worked, though. Zeus was too busy begetting whelps.”

Well, weren’t his Joint Commanders in a good mood today. Jaibriol eased his barriers. Through the painful haze of their Highton minds, he felt Barthol’s contempt. The Zeus jokes were stabs at Jaibriol for having no heir. The general loathed him even more now, since Jaibriol had interfered in his punishment of the taskmaker whose children Barthol had intended to sell. Jaibriol gritted his teeth and probed further, but if Barthol was responsible for the assassination attempt against him, it wasn’t in the general’s surface thoughts.

Jaibriol picked up more from Erix, perhaps because the admiral’s mind didn’t exert as much pressure. Erix was satisfied with the discussion about Delos and considered Jaibriol’s idea creative. He found Barthol amusing, edgy for a Highton, with an appreciated wit. It stuck in Jaibriol’s craw that people would find someone as morally bankrupt as Barthol entertaining, but at least he had Erix’s support on Delos.

He caught another thought from the admiral. Erix was grateful to him for dealing with the provider, saving the boy from execution. Gods. The seeds of a conscience were in there. Perhaps in a few decades, if Erix survived until his eighties, he would develop a moral code that Jaibriol understood, as had Tarquine and Corbal. How many more decades would it take to reach a stage where they might like each other? For that, he wanted to weep, that if he endured long enough, he might someday, in his second century of life, have a few friends. If he was even the same person by then. Surrounded by the Hightons every day of his life for so many years, he sometimes felt as if the universe had turned upside down, that he was the aberrant one and they the norm.

Pain spiked in Jaibriol’s temples and his vision blurred. To probe their minds more deeply would send him to the hospital. He pulled back, raising his barriers. He had to hold true to his ideals. He couldn’t lose sight of what his parents had taught him in the first fourteen years of his life, in that lost and dreamlike time before he had become Jaibriol the Third, emperor of Eube.

“Greek mythology has its intriguing side,” Jaibriol said. “I would like to discuss this more, what the gods might have done to remake Delos according to their wishes.”

“Indeed,” Erix said.

“Oh well, of course, Your Glorious Highness.” Barthol sounded bored.

Jaibriol gritted his teeth. Steeling himself, he lowered his shields and took one last look at Barthol’s mind. It was excruciating, made worse by his realization that the general was transcending from his discomfort. He found nothing new; Barthol loathed the entire concept of the summit and didn’t give a damn where it took place—

And then Jaibriol hit a secret worth more than a platinum mine.

Prince Del-Kurj.

The Kyle streamed past Dehya, a blue mist with sparks for the thoughts of people using the web. Kelric was working in tandem with her, using the Command Chair in the War Room while she used the one in the Triad Chamber. Eldrin had also joined them in Kyle space, accessing it as a telop rather than a Triad member, helping to serve as an anchor for Dehya. She knew what they feared, that she would otherwise fade away into Kyle space forever.

Now that she knew what to look for, the signs of Del’s supposed actions with “Carnelians Finale” were easier to find. She submerged into the deep grotto where Taquinil had discovered the security breach. She showed Kelric and Eldrin the rip in the mesh.
They were able to hide this from our security because it’s been so long since ISC used this part of the mesh.

I didn’t even know this sector was still here,
Kelric thought.
I thought we had cleaned up all these old files.

The ISC network has evolved for centuries,
Dehya thought.
This section was deactivated a century ago, but it ended up buried under newer systems and was never fully dismantled.

Frustration tinged his usually stoic thoughts.
It’s impossible to track it all, trillions of nodes, always changing. And that’s just the active mesh sections.