Ruler of Naught (63 page)

Her mouth quirked. Her clerk Tuaan had a sly sense of humor
sometimes, but without him she’d be lost.

As if in response to her thoughts, the comm on her desk
chirped for attention.

“Yes?”

“A battlecruiser has emerged and taken position at the
Node,” came Tuaan’s voice. “They’re not entirely clear on why they’re here, but
I think they were Summoned.”

Eloatri sat up, a shock of anticipation coursing through
her. Was this what she was waiting for?

“I’ll be right there.”

When she reached the holo room, Tuaan was waiting for her,
his expression radiating humor and curiosity. He tabbed the holo alive and
stepped back out of its field of view.

The image wavered into solidity, revealing a tall, lean,
dark-complected naval officer with a short, square, salt-and-pepper beard. He
stood stiffly, not quite at attention; she could see little of the room around
him, but judged it must be his cabin. Certainly it wasn’t the bridge.

His hard eyes focused on her, then widened. He hesitated.
He
recognizes me!
she thought in amazement. She didn’t recognize him—he
matched none of the dream images that had made her nights so restless since she
left the vihara. Perhaps the hypothesis about Summoning was accurate.

“This is Captain Mandros Nukiel, of His Majesty’s
battlecruiser
Mbwa Kali
, commanding,” he said finally.

“Welcome to Desrien orbit, Captain,” she replied. “I am
Eloatri, by the Hand of Telos High Phanist of Desrien.”

The captain’s heavy eyebrows converged on the bridge of his
nose as his forehead wrinkled in perplexity and doubt.

“Tomiko was on Arthelion,” she said, hazarding a somewhat
oracular statement in the hopes of eliciting some confirmation of the rumors
that had reached Desrien. Despite her visions, and those of others on the
planet, there was still no hard news of the convulsion that was sweeping
through the Thousand Suns.

Then, as she saw the statement strike home with all the
force she could have wished, she raised her hand, displaying the weal burned
into it by the Digrammaton.

Captain Nukiel sighed, an unwilling but entirely human
reaction. “Then you did summon me.”

“I believe you were Summoned,” she said carefully. Seeing
the captain’s confusion, she continued, “But we are not talking about a link on
a planetary DataNet.” She chuckled. “You and I have some things in common,
Captain. We are both under orders—but yours are, usually, far clearer.”

A hint of impatience tightened Nukiel’s face. “Forgive me,
Numen,” he said, using the formal term of address that belongs only to the High
Phanist, “but I have hazarded my career in the midst of war to come in response
to your summons. I request you do not toy with me.”

War! Despite her visions, the visitation of Tomiko, and
everything else, the bald confirmation of her forebodings rang like a tocsin in
her mind.

“Forgive me, Captain,” she replied. “I can only tell you
this: that my mind has been much troubled of late by visions of a young man,
red-haired, with the pale skin of an atavism, who may be wearing an emerald
ring. There is also the matter of a small silver sphere, which may be related
to him.”

Nukiel’s eyebrows twitched together, then his expression
shifted and Eloatri saw the impact of the numinous on him. He swallowed and
cleared his throat. “I see what you mean about your orders,” he said. “I think
I know who and what you are referring to...”

With growing amazement, Eloatri listened to the captain’s
story, and as she did the
frisson
of the numinous settled deeply into
her bones as well.

Truly
, she thought,
we
stand at the hinge of Time.

o0o

Eloatri entered the west end of the cathedral and walked
down the long aisle through the nave. The vast interior of the church glowed
with light, prismatic splendor striking through the multitude of stained-glass
windows that pierced the heavy walls, transforming them into an impossibly
delicate tracery of stone.

She smiled. She had discovered that the vaulting geometry of
ancient Christian architecture kindled a deep response in her—it was perhaps
the facet of this faith that most helped reconcile her to being ripped away
from her old life. Like walking through the mind of Telos, all light and space
and structured beauty...

There were others in the Cathedral, of course—it was never empty—but
they all moved in their own orbits, dwarfed by the immense space, intent on
their own communion with Telos and the triune holiness of an ancient faith. She
was beginning to perceive a rhythm to this life, a dance-like structure,
wherein the faithful moved at times in solitude, and then were drawn together
in the solemn measures of the Mass and other rituals, and then apart again, but
never really separate.

Eloatri desired solitude, to meditate upon the words of
Captain Nukiel, now waiting impatiently in orbit above Desrien. And on what her
advisers had told her. The xenologist had been especially insistent.
That
ship is almost certainly their hive now. Without it, they very likely will not
survive Desrien.

She slipped into the sanctuary and genuflected deeply before
the altar. She stood quietly, looking up at the carven agony of the crucifix.
She still found it deeply disturbing, almost repulsive.

You did not think you drank this for yourself?
The
words of Tomiko in the vision came back to her, almost a rebuke, and she forced
herself to look at the man on the cross as others might see him—those others,
for instance, who waited in orbit, each with their own pain to bear, past and
future. Even though, as High Phanist, she was the defender of all the faiths of
Desrien, this one had been chosen for her to live, now, but not for her alone.

The image’s eyes were calm beneath the crown of thorns.
He
is all of us, as a thousand years of peace dissolve in agony.
And the words
of an ancient warrior of Lost Earth resounded in her inner ear:
It is
humanity, hanging on a cross of iron.
Then, looking around for a moment
longer, she settled into the lotus position and breathed out slowly.

Clearing her mind, she entered into her own communion.

o0o

Some time later, Nukiel stared at the holo of the High
Phanist, almost unable to believe what he had heard. “You want me to what?”

Eloatri sighed. “Put them on their ship—all of them,
including the Aerenarch and the other two Douloi, the Eya’a, and the animals—and
send them to me.”

Nukiel looked over at Efriq, out of view of the High
Phanist. Efriq shrugged and spread his hands.

“I’m sorry, Numen,” Nukiel said finally. “That would be an
abrogation of my oath and my responsibilities. You are welcome to interrogate
them here, but I cannot release them.”

“I don’t wish to interrogate them, Captain,” she replied, a
hint of irritation sharpening her words. That was enough to bring back the
image of her head crowned in a flaring corona as Ferenzi disintegrated around
him. “In fact, it is not for my benefit at all that I make this request,
although I must admit to more than a little curiosity about their adventures,
after what you have told me.”

She paused, considering. Then her face hardened into a
greater severity. “Captain, I assume you have a console there in your cabin.”

Nukiel blinked, taken off guard. “Of course.”

“Good. I hereby invoke the Gabrieline Protocol and command
you to do as I have requested. You will find the protocol under code Aleph-Null
in Fleet Standing Orders.”

Nukiel snorted, convinced he was dealing with a madwoman.
“There is no code Aleph-Null in the Standing Orders, and no such protocol.” He
heard Efriq tapping at the console as he glared at the gray-haired woman in the
holo, wondering if he would be allowed to take the
Mbwa Kali
out of
orbit after defying her. Efriq’s story, funny in the telling, was now assuming
a different, altogether unfunny dimension.

There was a sudden inhalation of disbelief from his first
officer and Nukiel wheeled about to face him. Efriq looked up at him with no
trace of his customary insouciance. He swiveled the data console around to face
Nukiel. There, glowing under the Sun and Phoenix, was a protocol he’d never
seen before.

He looked at Efriq. “It’s authentic,” said the first officer.
“Countersign matches.”

Nukiel read quickly—the Gabrieline Protocol was short and
succinct—and then turned back to the High Phanist. She watched him calmly, a
hint of sympathy in her expression.

“It seems I have no choice,” he said.

Then Efriq spoke in the tones of a quotation, although
Nukiel had never heard the words before: “This has been willed where what is
willed must be.”

To his astonishment, the High Phanist gave a delighted
cackle. Efriq’s demeanor was expressive of rueful amusement as he stepped into
the view of the holo imager.

“You have a classicist on board, I see.” Eloatri laughed
again. “Well said, ah—” She peered more closely at Efriq. “—Commander. But some
would say that applies to the Mandala, as well as Desrien. Certainly I make no
claims to omnipotence.”

“You might as well,” Nukiel said grumpily, motioning at the
console, “for all the choice that leaves us.”

“No choice, but I do not expect you to leave your ass
swinging past the radiants.”

Nukiel choked and Efriq smiled as Eloatri laughed again.
“I’m sorry, Captain,” she said. “But you need to know we’re not all folded
hands and stained glass down here. My father was a career Navy man—chief petty
officer on the
Sword of Asoka
. So I take your responsibilities
seriously. You may assign two Marines to accompany them as guards, and to take
whatever other precautions you deem necessary.” Her face sobered. “But mark
this well: no one else of your crew is to leave the ship.”

Again the image of the Goddess amidst the destruction of
Sync Ferenzi possessed his mind. “But I thought... I was summoned.”

And then the woman’s face, formerly soft and almost
grandmotherly, settled into an expression of almost inhuman pity. Nukiel
couldn’t say why, but a thrill of terror spiked into his vitals—and as she spoke,
the reality of Desrien reached out and grasped him in a grip that he knew would
never be relaxed.

“I’m sorry, Captain, but the Goddess has given us no message
for you. Your time is not yet come.”

The image dwindled away like a flame and vanished.

o0o

Artorus Vahn stood against the wall of the Captain’s dining
room, thinking about the grilling he and the steward would get later from
shipmates about what they’d seen and heard, even though they knew they’d get
nothing from either of them. But this meeting had been so long deferred that
their exigent curiosity would be excusable.

The dinner itself was done, the steward efficiently laying
out the after-course and silently vanishing, but not before a glance passed
between her and Nukiel when Commander Efriq raised an eyebrow at the Pnahian
offering among the cheeses, safely restrained under a bell jar. Thankfully, no
one decided to sample it. Vahn couldn’t imagine which of the rare liqueurs and
wines would go with it.

Laughter interrupted his thoughts. The Krysarch Brandon—now
Aerenarch—dropped his napkin back in his lap and reached to move some of the
silver about on the table as he illustrated his story.

“So then the Kug jumped the Draco at this intersection, and
while they enthusiastically tried to quarry each other’s innards, we fell into
an access hatch here—and into the waiting arms of a gang of feud-bent Yim, who
were hoping we’d be Draco...”

The Aerenarch was describing his run through Rifthaven
before he and the Rifters lifted off in the Columbiad. He made it vivid, and
funny, and Nukiel and Efriq seemed to be enjoying it. The tone of hilarity
also, Vahn noted, appeared to inspire a joking answer to the occasional direct
question from captain or commander. There was certainly nothing overtly evasive
in the Aerenarch’s manner, and he readily described in detail certain things
they asked for.

My younger brother is the smartest of us
, Krysarch
Galen ban-Arkad had said once. He’d added thoughtfully,
I hope he discovers
it before anyone else does
.

The ‘anyone else’ had to refer to Semion, then Aerenarch,
who had posted Vahn to Talgarth with orders to report every conversation he
overheard. For security reasons, he’d been told.
The ban-Arkad’s mind is
always on music and he wouldn’t know if an assassin or a spy was among the
loyal.
It had taken almost half a year before Vahn could see past the
distorted lens of the training he’d received on Narbon, to appreciate Galen’s
freedom of thought and speech not as weakness but as something quite different.
And he also had realized that the only people permitted around Galen for any
length of time were Semion’s spies—and that the older brother was the only
inimical thing in Galen’s life.

Though that turned out not to be true, Vahn thought, as the
men before him refilled their glasses and toasted the Panarch yet again before
drinking. The news passed on by
Grozniy
ate at him sometimes, at night:
could he have saved Galen if he hadn’t transferred away from Talgarth?

“... so these Rifters have no allies, as far as you are
aware, Your Highness?” Commander Efriq asked after a pause. The dapper man’s
finicky manner hid a very acute mind.

“Their allies were killed when one of Eusabian’s Rifters
found their base,” the Aerenarch answered. “I don’t suppose you’ve ever heard
of Hreem the Faithless?”

The captain shook his head, and Commander Efriq murmured,
“Would we find the name on the bonus chips?”

“Safe bet,” the Aerenarch replied.

“The vids the
Grozniy
captured at Treymontaigne,”
Nukiel said. “They make it look like the Rifters armed by Dol’jhar have embarked
on a sacking spree that Eusabian has done little to control.”