Carnelians (50 page)

A low thunder rumbled below them in the lobby. Dust billowed through the hole in the amphitheatre floor.

“We need to get out of here,” the golden Skolian woman said.

“The supports should hold up the floor,” a melodic voice replied.

Aliana knew that voice. With a start, she turned around. She had been so shocked by seeing the emperor and the golden woman that she hadn’t realized who else was here. The Ruby Pharaoh! Two looming Jagernauts flanked her small form.

The pharaoh’s thought came like a phantom song on a lost sea.
Aliana, welcome.

Aliana was too mesmerized to answer. She felt motion from the pharaoh, yet the woman hadn’t moved. It was the pharaoh’s mind that was journeying, traveling unseen waters. Standing still, appearing to do nothing at all, Dyhianna Selei was working in ways no one else could, her mind untangling their brains from the cyberlocks.

A growl came from the engines of the robot arm, and Aliana looked up. The bronzed arm was rising higher and swinging toward a docking crane at one of the balconies.

She hoped it stayed there.

The Hand of the God Emperor. Despite its overblown name, Jaibriol had always liked the bizarre robot arm. He watched it move away from them, returning to its hangar at the balcony. Then he glanced around, instinctively checking that Tarquine was safe. She was walking toward Barthol, who was speaking in a low voice to someone on his gauntlet comm. Uneasy, Jaibriol went over to them. Corbal stayed with the Razers, still trying to deactivate the cyberlock.

Barthol looked up at Tarquine. “It seems the holocams recording today’s session were damaged in the explosion. They aren’t working.”

Jaibriol didn’t particularly care. “What I find odd,” he said, “is that the locks meant to protect our lives are working too well.”

“I doubt the Skolians find it odd,” Barthol said with a twitch of his finger than indicated disgust. “Tampering with our security seems to be one of their favorite pasttimes.”

“The Skolians,” Tarquine murmured. “You think it’s all their fault, dear Barthol?”

Above them, the growl of engines changed pitch. Looking up, Jaibriol saw that the bronzed arm had stopped trying to dock itself.

“It is amazing how people show their true selves in a crisis, don’t you think?” Barthol told the empress. “Even the most outwardly accomplished Highton might revert to less exalted speech when she is, shall we say, stressed.”

“Oh, but Barthol, you are my kin.” She activated her comm and spoke on a private channel only she and Barthol could use. “Direct speech is allowed for such.” Her voice came out of Barthol’s comm, giving an odd stereo effect, since she was standing right in front of him.

“Something is wrong with that arm,” Jaibriol said, peering at the bronzed fist. It was poised near the high balcony.

“Yes, I am your kin,” Barthol told Tarquine, his Highton inflections like ice. “Your
heir.
”

Startled, Jaibriol turned back at them.

“My blood.” Tarquine’s voice was too quiet. For some reason, she was talking on her comm, though Barthol was right here. “For that tie and that tie only, I give you honor this day instead of infamy.”

Barthol switched off his comm. “You give me nothing.”

“Look up, nephew,” she murmured. “See my gift.”

Jaibriol followed her gaze. High in the amphitheatre, the bronzed fist was jerking under the force of its great weight. Its engines grated, straining to prevent it from descending.

“What the hell?” Barthol tensed as if he intended to stride away, but he didn’t move. His comm was flashing, open to Tarquine even though he had just shut it off.

“Oh dear, I forgot to tell you something,” Tarquine said.

Barthol stared at her. “What the blazes are you talking about?”

“Tarquine, move!” Jaibriol backed up, pulling her with him. The bronzed arm was so high, it was hard to tell where it would hit if it dropped. He wanted her well away from there. But as soon as they moved, the arm followed them. When Jaibriol backed up faster, the arm increased its speed, staying with him. He stopped and the arm stopped, but its engines continued to grind, as it strained to stay in place. The entire time, Barthol remained stock still, watching them.

“Don’t worry,” Tarquine told him. “Barthol is going to be a hero.”

“
No.
” Barthol sounded as if he were clenching his teeth, forcing out the word. He stared at Tarquine, his face contorted. If Jaibriol hadn’t known him so well, he would have thought Barthol was worried for her safety. But he felt the general’s mind; Barthol was trying
not
to run. His body strained as if he were fighting a compulsion to make him move. He suddenly broke into a sprint, running in the direction opposite of Jaibriol and Tarquine. The robot hand immediately swung toward the general, barely holding its altitude as its engines fought its erratic motions.

Tarquine spoke into her comm on the secured channel that only her nephew could receive. “Did you know, Barthol, that the surgery to implant a node in a person’s brain is a complex and delicate process, even if that node has only one purpose, to control a person’s movements at a crucial time—like making him run when he doesn’t want to.” Softly she added, “Of course, if the patient is in a coma, that offers the surgeon plenty of time to do the work.”

Jaibriol spoke in a low voice. “My God, Tarquine, what did you do?” It suddenly made sense, why he had picked up Barthol’s thoughts more strongly than usual. The general hadn’t implanted any neural tech in his brain,
Tarquine
had done it, nothing too complex, just enough for her to control his movements this one time. It was unlikely anything she had done could be permanent or stable. It would probably soon disintegrate. But she hadn’t needed it to last for long, just until an opportunity presented itself for her to use.

Tarquine watched her nephew, her red gaze cold. He ran as if he were deliberately drawing the broken fist away from them. Its engines ground with the shriek of breaking composites—and suddenly the arm was in free fall, dropping like a gigantic hammer straight at Barthol. As Jaibriol watched in disbelief, the general looked back at them, his face contorted in fury.

Tarquine spoke one last time into her comm, her voice rough with a bitter anger. “When you tried to kill me, Barthol, I was pregnant. You murdered my son.”

The fist finished its fall then, smashing into the ground with the force of its immense weight. Debris leapt into the air and the walls of the amphitheatre shook. The tiers in one section crumbled as the vibrations from the blow spread throughout the hall. The floor under the robot sagged, and cracks shot out in many directions, like lightning running through the stone.

With it, the fist took a man who would be lauded as the hero of the Delos Summit, the general who sacrificed his life to save his emperor and empress.

XXIX: Triad

XXIX
Triad

Kelric felt Barthol die. It exploded in his mind, that shattering moment that ended in abrupt darkness. Kelric’s mind reeled and for an instant he could see nothing, only blackness.

The amphitheatre reappeared and Kelric gulped in a ragged breath.

“Gods almighty,” Roca whispered next to him.

“Imperator Skolia, are you all right?”

Kelric turned to see the captain of their bodyguards coming toward him. All four Jagernauts were pale. They would have also felt the general die, not with the force it would hit a Ruby psion, but still strong. If Barthol had been a psion, it would have hit them even harder, but any death was a shock, including that of an Aristo, even when it came with a release from the pressure of Barthol’s Highton mind. They had all felt it. Looking at the Jagernauts—all telepaths—Kelric knew what he had to do. He couldn’t operate with them here.

“I’m all right,” Kelric said. He brushed a panel on his gauntlet that deactivated his links to his security teams. “I need for you to go down to the lobby. The people below us can’t get out of the cyberlock field, either. They need your help.”

The captain spoke. “With respect, sir, we’re needed here, with your family.”

“You have my orders,” Kelric said. “Go.”

Kelric, for flaming sake, what are you doing?
Roca thought.

Dehya’s voice came into their link.
Roca, trust him.

Roca glanced at Dehya, her forehead furrowed, but she said nothing more. The Jagernauts saluted Kelric, stiff with their misgivings, and took off, jogging toward the broken portion of the floor. As they disappeared over its edge, climbing down to the lobby, their minds receded.

Now,
Kelric thought to Dehya.

Taking a breath, he headed across the amphitheatre. Dehya joined him, and he slowed his pace, moderating his speed, though his instincts urged him to run, for he knew they had only moments before the cyberlocks released. Right now, no one could reach them. They were isolated. The holocams weren’t working. They would probably never have a chance like this again.

Kelric kept walking.

Jaibriol watched them approach, his face impossible to read, his mind saturated with shock. The bitter, astringent smell of broken composite permeated the air. Sounds were muted except for the tread of Kelric’s boots on the floor. He and Dehya kept walking, and he was aware of Roca, Aliana, and the boy following, their thoughts uncertain, puzzled.

Jaibriol headed toward him.

The four Razers immediately fell into step with the emperor, their hands dropping to the guns holstered on their hips. Tarquine frowned at her husband, but she walked at his side, and Corbal Xir accompanied them as well.

Kelirc.
Roca’s thought came into his mind.
They outnumber us. Why did you send away our guards?

Mother, I want you to wait on the other side of the amphitheatre. Take Aliana and the boy with you.

No. 
She continued on with him.

Go. Take them.

No.

Dehya glanced at Kelric. When he gave her a questioning look, asking what she wanted to do, she nodded.

So they continued their walk.

They met Jaibriol in the center of the amphitheatre. Their two groups stood there, no one making any move, however slight, that might be interpreted as threatening. Kelric set his mental shields to cut out Roca and the two children. Whether or not he could block a psion as experienced as his mother when she was so close, he didn’t know, but he doubted anyone else could pick them up.

It was time. This was the moment.

Kelric thought,
Jaibriol.

Dehya’s thought came like clear water.
Jaibriol.

The emperor didn’t move. He showed no response.

This may be our only chance ever,
Kelric thought to him.

Jaibriol stared at them, his face perfectly composed, no trace of acknowledgement in his manner, and Kelric feared the emperor could never break free of his mental prison.

Then a thought came to Kelric, one like nothing he had ever before felt, vibrant and alive, luminous and deep and full of resonant power. Jaibriol Qox thought,
The Carnelian Throne acknowledges the Mind and the Fist of the Web.

Dehya exhaled as if she had just heard a singer hit an exquisitely high note.
The Ruby Throne acknowledges the Heart of the Web.

No. 
Roca’s stunned protest whispered in their minds.
No, it cannot be.

Roca, you must not react,
Dehya said.
Aliana and Red, if you can hear this, the same is true for you. Even with the holocams off, systems may record us. You must show NO sign that anything is going on beyond what people see. You cannot reveal what you hear, not now, not ever.

Tarquine and Corbal were watching them, Corbal’s white hair glittering. The Razers towered in their severe uniforms. One of them, the man who looked exactly like Hidaka, glanced beyond Kelric as if searching for someone. Kelric felt an oddly metallic sense from the Razer. Something he saw in their group moved him greatly. Something—or someone.

Tarquine’s gaze flicked from Dehya to Jaibriol. Then she discreetly cleared her throat.

Jaibriol took a breath. “Pharaoh Dyhianna, our summit appears to have a glitch.”

Dehya spoke wryly. “It would seem so, Your Highness.” Quietly she added, “Our sympathies for your loss.”

Jaibriol’s voice was so perfect, it sounded ready to break. “Thank you.”

Jaibriol,
Kelric thought.
We need to ask you a question.

The emperor regarded him.
Go ahead.

Did something happen to you on this date?
Kelric projected an image of the date when he and Dehya had suffered the attack in Kyle space.

Jaibriol’s posture tightened.
Yes.

Can you tell us what?
Dehya asked.

Jaibriol spoke aloud. “We extend our regrets for the deaths of your people in this crisis.”

Dehya inclined her head. “We thank you, Your Highness.” She thought,
Please, Jaibriol. We need to know.

What do you believe happened on that date?
he asked.

Kelric’s thought rumbled.
Someone tried to assassinate you.

Jaibriol showed no outward response—and that composure was an immense tribute to his control, for inside of his mind, his pain swept through their link.
They failed to kill myself or my wife
. Bitterly he added,
My son was less fortunate.

Tarquine’s black diamond tunic rustled as she shifted her weight. Kelric was too focused on Jaibriol to pick up the minds of anyone outside their loop, but he suspected Corbal and Tarquine had a good idea what was happening. The Razers were impossible to read, other than their readiness to defend the emperor.

Aloud, Dehya said, “Emperor Jaibriol, we hope you have suffered no ill effects as a result of this attack.” In her mind, she thought,
My sorrow for your son. We mourn the passing of our kin.