Kingdom of Stars (The Young Ancients: Timon Book Three) (16 page)

"Ah. I don't have Rhetistics. From what I hear that
will probably shorten my potential lifespan, since most that don't have them
eventually kill themselves. I can sort of see that already." It wasn't the
kind of thing he wanted spread around, but it was still the truth. He hadn't
really considered it yet, since the time he cut his legs off, but that moment
had been telling, hadn't it? If things got bad enough, he
would
end his
own life, and there was no doubt about it in his head at all.

Eventually things would be that bad again, wouldn't they? If
he lived long enough.

Monroe nodded.

"That seems to be the pattern. My guess is that I
managed it too, eventually. I have five hundred years of memories, but I'm
missing big parts of them. My guess is that in the end I was so miserable that
the programing broke, after a fashion. There are always loopholes, if you know
where to look."

That got Tim to think about what was really going on. The
lab was interesting in a quiet way, being filled with large metal cabinets that
seemed to be working away at something almost silently. He could feel the
movement inside them, as subtle as it was. He'd spent two days focusing on
micro-plasma, and it was still resonating with him, even without trying.

It probably would for a few hours more too.

"All right, so, without this being an order, why don't
you share with me what you think should be done next?"

The man smiled again, but this time leaned back against a
high counter. There was no chair in the room, since that would be in the way.
It had a four by ten space to walk in with equipment of different kinds on
either side. Personal comfort didn't seem to be the Ancient's main concern.

"Well, if it were up to me I'd put in a satellite
network that the others didn't have access to. We could do that I think. Use a
combination of your spacecraft and the communicators you Noramites use. It
would be good to have visuals on them. Can you do that? The other thing we
could try would be to use existing tech for that part, but Gray and Cordes have
tech people that can break into things like that. If you personally do the
work, and make it something new, could that keep Torrance Purple from being
able to take it over?" Now the gaze was direct and there was no blinking at
all.

"I... Maybe. Tor is good. Better at magic than I am,
and that's
not
just me being humble. He invented the communications
devices we use and literally built them himself. All of them so far. He made
the spacecraft too. I could do that I think, maybe, copying his designs and
changing them only a little, but I don't know that anyone can ever make
something from magic that he couldn't eventually take over. What I might be
able to do is hide it from him well enough that he won't bother. That or
distract him somehow." That would be hard though, wouldn't it?

Monroe seemed to be thinking, so Timon just stood there for
a while until he was ready. There was a strange hesitation to the words that
came then. At first Timon thought the man might want to suggest that they kill
Tor, since he really was one of the biggest threats to them, but he didn't. His
words were actually a lot different than that all together.

"We have to stop them. Even if it means losing."

Timon felt a shock of surprise, but understood the idea.
They could win, by killing all of the clones and Gray along with them. That was
obvious to anyone. They could lose by having too many innocent people die, but
Monroe was suggesting that, if it came down to it, they needed to let that
happen, to make sure they stopped the others.

"I... understand. I don't disagree. We should try to
make sure we don't lose anyway. No one deserves that sort of thing. Especially
the innocents. These giant bombs and death fire, plagues and who knows what
else they might throw at us. They won't fight us honorably however. That sort
never does. Worse, they aren't even cowards, just far too smart for that sort
of losing strategy. We have to outthink them. The only problem there is that
they're as intelligent as we are and have thousands of years more
practice."

Monroe smiled, and it still looked as happy and ridiculous
as always.

"Heh. Yes. We might not be able to. If that happens,
the hard orders will have to come from one of you command types. I can't do it,
and neither can Green or Brown. You can order it done.
You
can burn the
hut down, with the villagers inside, if you have to. I don't want that, not at
all, but if it comes to it, make sure it happens. I-" The stop was hard
and he looked away then walked to the door, which was closed, and tapped the
sigil that caused it to vanish instantly, showing a medium sized man standing
there with an up-raised fist, like he'd been planning to knock. It wouldn't
have worked, the door not really being physically there, but old habits died
hard.

He had a tray with two focus stone mugs of coffee on it.

"Gentlemen, compliments of Captain Bering."

The tray was held out, and even before Timon could take it
he realized it wasn't there at all, but was, instead, part of the ship. That
got him to blink. Tor had even remembered to put in trays and cups? It was so
complete that it boggled the mind. How was he supposed to beat that? By being
careful, no doubt.

"Thanks. This is most welcome." There wasn't a lot
else to say, he didn't think, and the man didn't bow, just turning and walking
away. They did that in Austra, he knew. Bowing wasn't the custom there at all.

The fellow was so clearly from the southern portion of the
continent that it didn't even bear asking about. He'd had the look about him,
but was older than most of the others on the ship, by about thirty or forty
years. He seemed efficient though and didn't mind bringing things like drinks
to the strange people enough for it to show externally. Given the apparent age
difference that was probably saying something about the man and his desire to
be there.

Sipping at his cup of strong brown liquid, Tim shook his
head just a little. It would be easy to just sit back and let other people do
all the work, he thought. For anyone else, that would even make sense. He
should be in school, or helping in one of the family businesses, until he went
off to Lairdgren in a couple of years. If he were a normal boy, that's what
would have happened. Even if he were only a commoner, his life would be about
gearing up for a career by that point, since he didn't need early school
anymore.

Here he was though, in outer space, talking to a copy of a
thousand year old man that may, or may not, be on his side, hiding from an
assassin that was so hard to beat that everyone around him just assumed he was
going to die. It was probably true even, which was why Tim wasn't planning to
have Trice come to visit. His only job as her husband was to see her provided
for, and protected, until they had children.

Trying to collect his thoughts, Timon took another sip and
then just let himself feel old for a while. Ancient, and like his bones were
tired. It wasn't a physical thing, but part of the weight he carried now, since
the torture. It was always with him, but he didn't normally let it show. Now he
did. It wasn't the same as guilt or feeling like Monroe was dumping too much on
him, but the man took it that way, and grinned. Sadly. When you only had one
expression of note you had to learn to work with it carefully, it seemed.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't be laying this on you. None of
us should, but there isn't anyone else, is there? We have to have someone in
charge that we can trust, and the fact is that most of the others have too much
history for this to come out well, if it's left to them. Years, centuries, of
old hatreds and loves, disdain and apathy, comingled with friendship and old
promises that no one could have kept. It's a mess, and it means that no one
wants to do the hard things. I certainly want to find a way to save everyone,
but that isn't what will work, in the end, is it? The fools will destroy the
world, in their madness." Brushing at his short jet black hair, the man
cringed a bit, smiling happily enough while doing it, no matter what he was
saying. It made him seem suddenly a lot more creepy than anything else. Not
that it was his fault, Tim knew. "See? I mean the
others
, the new
clones, Gray, Cordes, and anyone helping them. Not everyone. I wasn't even
thinking about the regular people. And that's coming from
me
. I'm
younger than the rest, being brought back like I have been. I imagine that
effect would only become stronger over another few thousand years. That's a
longer time than it seems like."

Timon nodded, but didn't say anything about that part
directly. He'd been changed after all, so the idea of killing all those people
made him feel uneasy. That was probably what Cordes had meant for it to do. A
year before, even six months, and he would have simply been working on some way
to reset the micro-plasma so that it would attack their enemies when they
released it, taking care of the problem. Now he hesitated, even as an idea that
might work came to him. Mentioning it wasn't going to help him do it either, so
he held his tongue.

"If I can survive long enough. Remy... Do you think
that Gray ordered him to kill me? She's probably very afraid of me. Her
Rhetistics are supposed to keep her from having a male offspring, and my mother
is her, biologically, so..." He was about to go into the whole thing, when
Monroe bolted his coffee in two or three quick swallows and then moved to look
at the read-out panels and displays on all the machinery. The dark being didn't
put the cup down at all, just holding it in his left hand.

He finally snorted though, softly. His body language was a
little strange, but it was clear he was tense, and it made his movements
slightly choppier than normal.

"I don't think so. Gray may be command line, after a
fashion, but Remy has never taken orders well. Not even from the creators. If
one of them felt like breaking a rule at the moment, it happened, and they
never cared what anyone else thought about it. You
can
convince one to
do something, if you know what it wants at the moment and have a way to help
them get it done, but no, Gray didn't order it to come after you. Cordes or any
of the others either. You were chosen for some reason."

The man shut-up so suddenly, it was as if he feared that
Timon would hit him for saying that much. It was useful information though. He
had so little to go on that anything would help, wouldn't it? Knowing Remy
Seventeen's favorite color might make a difference, down the line. Knowing if
the creature
had
a favorite color, or even if it
could
, might
help.

Timon didn't want to press Monroe, since he was clearly
feeling a little stressed by the conversation, but he had to have that data
held in the other man's Ancient skull. Technically he could have ordered him to
tell all he knew, but that wasn't going to go over well, he didn't think. The
man was fresh from the grave and already sick of being ordered around, forced
to smile about it all, happily, the whole time. It was so clear it practically
poured off of him, along with his sense of self. That was strong and healthy,
but a lot angrier than the outside ever showed.

For a reason too.

Still, he had to get at the data somehow.

"I wonder why?" Tim decided to try and come at
things conversationally. It meant reading the man to make certain he was
telling the truth, so he dropped into a deep enough state to have a good shot
at it, and focused on the other man, while trying not to stare. "Why would
Remy Seventeen want to kill
me
in particular? I'm just a kid, and other
than the thing with Gray, no one else should have that big of an issue with me.
Not that Remy knows of at least."

There were a few people that might be holding a grudge, but
Tim had made pretty certain that none of them would be in a good position to
hurt him later. They were either dead or so damaged that they couldn't do
anything at all. Count Rodriguez would be holding a grudge, but he was the only
one left alive that really would. That needed to be ended soon too, but he was
being kept by the King, as a trophy, to show the other Counts and Countesses
that they weren't above justice.

It was foolish of him, but the man was locked up, which
would at least slow his counter attack. Then, when it came, it wouldn't be
using Remy for it. Most hadn't even known any of them still existed. It was
doubtful that Count Rodriguez would. The man wasn't bright after all. He
probably still thought the Ancients were just a story too.

Monroe went silent for a long time, working at first, then
pretending to for about half an hour. Timon nearly left, figuring that the conversation
was done for the time being, until the man sighed loudly and turned to him,
spreading his hands. They both still held their empty cups.

"If my projections are correct, and there is a
twenty-three percent chance they aren't, then Remy Seventeen selected you,
because it wants to die." It came out sounding almost sweet, in a matter
of fact way.

Timon very nearly scoffed at the idea, since he was a boy,
and not all that capable of fighting, but then he sort of saw the idea behind
it.

The other man read that on his face, it seemed and nodded.

"Exactly. You're intelligent. I
might
be more
so, but that isn't certain and at least in part a function of skill learned
over time, not biology. That means that you're one of the two or three most
intelligent people on the planet at this time. It's a power, in the right hands.
I can kill, if ordered to, but no one would and Remy
can't
have itself
killed directly. It isn't the same as Rhetistics either, but the net effect is
the same. That means it has to choose its target carefully for something like
this. At this point in time you don't present a vast threat to an unknown being
such as that. This has to have been factored in. But you have magic, which is a
new technology, only a few thousand years old and only recently as useful as
this." He tapped the high counter with his right hand firmly. "Which
is nothing short of amazing. I still have problems wrapping my head around the
idea of a virtual particle based system like this."