Hidden Empire (39 page)
Kori’nh said, “I hope my forces impress you today, Prime Designate.”
“And I hope my son impresses you, Adar.”
Within the past months, the Solar Navy had increased its number of ships, focusing on military maneuvers and practicing space
combat. Kori’nh had submitted regular reports, some of which Jora’h had read.
“Tell me truly, Adar, are you stepping up military practice missions because you are concerned about an alien threat? I’ve
seen reports from the Terran Hanseatic League of how strange ships destroyed their moons at Oncier.”
Kori’nh grunted. “I don’t know about that, Prime Designate. Still, many of us were … uneasy at the humans’ blatant demonstration
of power. Igniting a planet to turn it into a star? Was that truly necessary? What if the Hanseatic League turns that weapon
against us?”
Jora’h frowned, trying to understand him. “Are you suggesting we Ildirans had something to do with the attack on the Oncier
moons? In retaliation?”
“Not at all, Prime Designate.” Kori’nh seemed embarrassed. “I am stating that if an … incident was provoked against an alien
race, the humans should take responsibility for it.”
Jora’h frowned. “Adar, you seem to know more about this than I do. Has my father given you information? Do we have some knowledge
of this alien threat after all?”
“No, Prime Designate.”
The crowd suddenly cheered in the stands as a septa of streamers raced across the sky, fast arrowhead-shaped vessels roaring
in a tight triangle. As they passed above the observers, the streamers split away from each other and performed wild and complex
acrobatics, swirling upward and back, creating a flower of colored smoke in the sky. Then their seven parent escorts charged
into the sky, performing larger and slower moves.
“That is going to be your son’s new maniple, Prime Designate,” Adar Kori’nh said, gesturing to the sky. “He has done admirably
well in command.”
Jora’h’s smoky topaz eyes glinted, reflecting bright highlights from the suns overhead. “I am proud that he was promoted to
Septar so early in his career.”
The sky ballet continued with warships moving in precise formation, carefully choreographed to look like an aerodynamic mating
dance, leaving trails of smoke that etched a web across the sky. Finally, as a grand finale to the display, they dumped gouts
of multicolored smoke from their exhaust tubes, tracing brilliant lines in the air overhead.
Jora’h applauded along with the spectators, cheering and shouting as the streamers rejoined their escorts, which then moved
back toward their parent warliner. Within a few moments, a small transport pod detached itself from the lead warliner, looking
like nothing more than a speck when compared to the gigantic battleship. The transport pod landed in front of the viewing
stand and Jora’h’s son, Septar Zan’nh, emerged wearing a formal Solar Navy uniform. He marched up, proud and competent before
his Adar and his father.
Jora’h’s heart swelled with love. “You have done extremely well, my son,” he said, though it was not part of the ceremony.
Kori’nh stepped back, waiting for the Prime Designate to finish. After a brief pause, Jora’h looked self-consciously at the
Adar. “That was all.”
Kori’nh moved forward, holding up a sparkling new rank insignia. “Septar Zan’nh, until today you have had command of seven
ships and you have proven yourself to be a quickwitted and brilliant tactician. It is my great pleasure to promote you to
the rank of Qul. Henceforth, you will be in charge of a full maniple. You will guide forty-nine ships, seven complete septas.
Do you accept this new responsibility?”
“With pleasure, Adar Kori’nh.” The young man could not hide his grin; then he looked up at Jora’h. “With pleasure, Father.”
Jora’h took the badge of rank from the Adar’s hands and pinned it on his son’s collar himself. “I have always known you would
serve the Ildiran Empire well. You have made me very glad.”
Jora’h’s tiny golden braids of hair crackled and moved, living threads of static electricity around his head. Even though
Zan’nh’s mixed heritage prevented him from being the next Prime Designate, Jora’h knew the young man had a great future ahead
of him. Beaming, he stepped away before he could embarrass Zan’nh, though he could barely control his overwhelming pride in
his firstborn son.
A
lready broken-hearted after the funeral, Jess knelt beside his old father, who lay gray and frail, as if his lifeline had
been frayed to a single thread. He squeezed the old man’s hand, attempting to impart all of his strength.
“He’s just grief-struck,” Jess whispered to Cesca. “He’ll never admit it to himself, and he can’t forgive his own stubbornness,
either. He drove his son away and never saw him again because of his pride. Now he’s punishing himself even further.”
That night, the old man suffered a severe stroke. A deep medical diagnostic revealed substantial damage to his brain, and
blood clots that continued to put him at risk. Inside his private dwelling, Bram was covered with thermal blankets, but he
still shivered, barely able to open his eyes. When he did, he seemed not to see anything.
“Oh, Jess,” Cesca said, unable to articulate anything else as she brought tea. Jess waved the warm liquid under the old man’s
nose, imagining that he saw a faint flicker of a smile on his father’s lips. “He’ll recover,” Cesca said as she stroked Jess’s
arm. “The Guiding Star will show him the path.”
Jess shook his head. “Let us never lie to each other, Cesca. You saw the analysis. We know what’s wrong with him. It’ll only
be a matter of hours. He doesn’t have the strength to fight.” Frustrated, Jess sagged into his chair. “Where is Tasia? She
should be here.” After the stroke, he had sent two water workers to search for his sister, but no one had seen her since the
last argument with her father. Jess knew Tasia had her own hiding places out on the ice, boltholes for when she needed to
get away from stubborn Bram and his demands. “We’d better find her soon.”
His uncles had come to take turns on the nighttime vigil, some of them good friends to Jess when he was younger, some of them
distant strangers. They would all have to work more closely together, tie the clan threads into unbreakable knots.
Jess reached out to clasp his father’s hand. He felt a flicker of muscles in Bram’s fingers, an answering signal, though he
didn’t know exactly what his father was trying to say. Jess felt unsettled and lost with all the events crashing around him.
But he would do what was necessary, somehow.
After Ross had left home years ago, Bram had placed more and more duties on his second son, hammering a sense of obligation
into him.
Never waver, never flinch
. Jess knew the role he must play, the responsibilities he had to handle, the inflexible path laid out for him—and he had
grown harder, developing a personality perhaps too similar to his father’s. When he’d promised old Bram, “I’ll never let you
down,” it had seemed like a sacred oath to him.
But Jess forced himself to be more flexible. Unlike his rigid father, he could roll with adverse circumstances and wait for
events to change.
Now the Plumas water-mining operations would belong to his uncles, if he didn’t run them himself. Though he had trained hard
for exactly this situation, Jess felt overwhelmed. He had clung to a hope that Ross and his father would eventually end their
feud and reconcile. Now that would never happen.
With the old man sleeping restlessly, Jess treasured Cesca’s quiet companionship. He had always longed to spend time with
her… but not like this. Sensing his thoughts, she reached over to take his hand. Her fingers were soft in his, and warm. He
clasped back, but did not look at her, denying his hopes and thoughts. This was the one opportunity that they had never dared
pray for—which made it all the more heart-wrenching.
“You know I love you, Cesca,” he said quietly. “You know I want you more than any other woman in the Spiral Arm, but… it can’t
be now. I won’t be an opportunist and say that we can be together now because my brother was murdered. How can I live with
that? How can our love grow the way it should with this cloud over us, and my father dying in front of me?”
His lips trembled, but he drew a deep breath before she could respond. “Where is Tasia? We’ve got to bring her here.”
Tears welled in Cesca’s eyes, making them look larger and darker. “Our time will come, Jess. We’ve got our own Guiding Star.
You know it. We’ll get through this. I’ll help you with my support and my love, but we can’t bring a shadow on your clan,
or on the memory of Ross. We can’t let any of the Roamers think ill of us or bring scandal upon the Tamblyn family.”
Jess looked quickly at her. “Or upon you, Cesca. You’ll be the next Speaker for all the clans. Neither you nor Jhy Okiah can
suffer any political harm. It would weaken your ability to lead us. We don’t dare think of ourselves right now. We can’t be
selfish.”
Cesca closed her eyes, as if she didn’t want to admit it. “You and I can wait. We know that we are destined to be with each
other, Jess—if not now, then sometime soon.”
Cesca Peroni was her father’s only child, though he had two brothers and one sister, all of whom had several children each,
so the Peroni clan line was strong. Cesca herself was simply a solitary twig on the uppermost branch of the family tree.
Cesca had studied history and knew about the different clans and how they interrelated, which feuds had simmered for decades,
which bloodlines were strongest. Jhy Okiah had made her learn all of these details. More than any other kind of politics or
bureaucracy, understanding Roamer family connections was a Speaker’s greatest political necessity.
Now Jess fell silent, and a long pause hung on their bittersweet conversation as they gazed at the frail form on the bed.
Both he and Cesca would endure their separation for however long they felt was necessary. Jess would have enough grief to
occupy him for a long time.
For the near future, Jess knew that he and Cesca would be wise to avoid each other. He couldn’t bear to think that because
of the death of Ross he was now free to love her. And now, with the loss of Bram, Jess would be the Tamblyn clan leader, a
perfectly acceptable husband for the future Speaker.
Yes, perfect… as if they had planned it all.
But winning Cesca in such a way was not acceptable to either of them. The cultural rules of Roamer society were complex, and
if he and Cesca pursued their love too openly, too soon, in the face of such tragedy, they might find themselves ostracized.
An hour later, Bram Tamblyn started up in bed and opened his eyes. He coughed twice, shuddered, then fell back onto his pillow—and
died, so quickly and quietly that Jess could not believe what had just happened. Jess grabbed his father’s arm, trying to
feel a twitch of life, but he felt no sign of blood flow, no pulse on the skeletal wrist.
Cesca hugged him, both of them leaning over the bedside. Jess shouted, and finally someone entered from outside, wearing a
thick parka. He couldn’t see who the man was through his own burning eyes. “Tasia! Where’s my sister? Our father is dead.”
His uncle Caleb shrugged back his hood, looking unusually flustered. Jess raised his voice. “Did you find her? I need you
to bring her here.” Jess shook his head. “How many places can there be to hide on Plumas?”
“I’ve just come from the surface, Jess. One of the Tamblyn ships is gone, a small scout vessel. Tasia’s quarters are empty.
It looks like she took some items with her… and also her compy EA.”
Cesca looked over at Jess as the realization grew in his heart. “She must have run off to join the Eddies after all! Dammit,
why couldn’t she control her temper?” He sagged, dropping his head in his hands. His sister was just like his father in many
ways.
Heartbroken and surrendering to grief, knowing what Bram must have felt like in his last hours, Jess remained by the deathbed.
He held the brittle hand of his difficult and demanding father, and felt the weight of the universe on his shoulders.
