I sank into a molded chair. Roca sat in another at right angles to me, drinking wine from a goblet, her long legs crossed, her hair tumbling in great shining lengths over her body and the chair. Despite her subdued mood, she radiated vitality.
The difference in our ages meant I had been well into adulthood when she was born. For years I had felt more like her aunt than sister. Then one day I realized my "baby" sister had become a grown woman with her own job and family. Soon she was an interstellar celebrity, renowned for her ability as a dancer. Over the years her political work within the Assembly took on more importance, until she earned election to one of its most coveted posts, the Councilor for Foreign Affairs.
Roca and I had grown even closer during those decades, as we weathered the storms of our family and the Imperialate, through wars and the loss of loved ones, but also in joy, when good came into our lives. We didn't always agree, having our arguments like any siblings. But most of all we loved each other. After Eldrin and Taquinil, I was closer to her than anyone else. Seeing her now, safe and alive, I felt a gratitude so deep I couldn't find words to express it. If I turned sentimental on her, though, it would probably embarrass us both.
"You're pensive tonight," she said.
I slanted her a wry look. "I just overthrew the government. I'm allowed to be pensive."
A fierce pride came into her gaze. "Never doubt your choices, Dehya. The Assembly has manipulated, controlled, and condemned us for centuries. Yet despite all that, the Ruby Dynasty has risen again. It is our right. They took it from us, but we have overcome them."
I blinked at her vehemence. From past discussions, I knew generally what she thought, but we had never talked about this situation, at least not in the concrete terms we now faced. "I hadn't realized you felt that strongly about it."
"Until now, we had no choices." She swirled the wine in her goblet. "Politics, diplomacy, foreign affairs— it fascinates me. I could no more step back from it than I could stop breathing."
I spoke quietly. "Perhaps you would make a better Pharaoh."
"Why? Because I enjoy governing and you don't? The desire for power is no guarantee a person will make good use of it."
Would I?
A good use of power wasn't enough. It had to be the best possible use; otherwise the Traders would conquer us. Then all humanity would lose. If we fell, the Allieds would be next. That was probably why, in the end, they hadn't fired on the racer; we needed them and they needed us.
"Why do you doubt yourself?" Roca asked.
"I don't."
"Dehya, I know you."
I paused, knowing I couldn't put her off with platitudes. So I spoke frankly. "I'm not sure the mindset of the Ruby Dynasty is a good model for leadership."
"You want perfection." She took a swallow of wine. "Every government has flaws. I've no doubt about your fitness to rule."
I leaned forward. "I know I can do well as Pharaoh. It's the position itself I doubt. Aristocracies are outdated. Why does humanity need another?"
"Because we can do a better job than the Assembly."
"They weren't doing a bad job."
"No?" Anger edged her voice. "Skolia needs the Ruby Dynasty to survive. The Assembly was destroying us. The more desperate they became, the worse we suffered."
I thought of my son. "You know about Taquinil?"
A shadow came over her expression. "I am sorry, Dehya."
I swallowed against the lump in my throat. "He's happy. That's what matters." I doubted I could ever really accept losing him from our lives, but it did help to know he had chosen what he wanted.
"You are once again my heir," I told Roca.
She started. "I've no desire for your title."
"That isn't how you sounded a few moments ago."
"Dehya, listen." She set down her goblet. "Being Pharaoh and being the Councilor for Foreign Affairs are two very different things. If the time comes and you have no heir, I will accept the title. But I don't crave it." She spoke quietly. "You have nothing to fear from me."
It hadn't occurred to me to fear my own sister. "I know." I spoke with difficulty. "Eldrin and I don't know if we should try to have more children. Even with modern genetic medicine, the baby still has a good chance of being born with severe deformities or the extreme mental sensitivity that nearly destroyed Taquinil."
Her voice softened. "At least now the Assembly can no longer force you to have them against your will."
"Yes. No longer." I wondered if the universe was laughing at us. For in the end, when Eldrin and I discovered just how much we longed for children, we couldn't have them.
* * *
The living room was empty when I entered the suite. Someone had to be here, though, or the EI wouldn't have let me inside. An open doorway arched in the opposite wall. It was dark beyond, and at first I didn't see the woman there. But I felt the nuances of her mind: wariness, curiosity, restraint, anger, even relief.
Vazar walked through the archway. She stopped several paces away from me, a larger distance than social convention dictated. "Have you come to say your revolution is done? I already know. I saw the news holo."
I had too much respect for her to evade the central issue. "I wanted to let you know I've spoken to Naaj."
Her posture became even more guarded. "And?"
"She verified that you had authority to speak for her." I doubted I would ever know if Naaj had made that decision before or after Vazar made her claim, but whatever the truth, Naaj had backed her cousin. Vazar wouldn't face execution. That meant more to me than I knew how to express. Whatever else I thought of Naaj Majda, I would always be grateful to her for supporting Vazar, who in many ways had become like a cousin to me as well.
Vazar let out a breath. Her posture eased, almost imperceptibly, but the tension still showed. "I understand Naaj accepted you as Pharaoh."
"Yes." I paused, afraid to ask. But I had to know. "And you?"
Her throaty voice was low. "I honor the Majda oath to the Ruby Dynasty."
Relief washed over me. Her response hardly qualified as a ringing endorsement, though. I tried to decipher her mood. Conflicting loyalties tore at her. She had many misgivings about the changes I had wrought. "Vaz, I value your support. But why the doubts? The mission to Earth succeeded, better even than we expected in one respect. They had Kelric."
"Aye, it worked. And it is good to have your family back." She came closer. "But are you certain about the rest? Is this really what you believe best for Skolia?"
"I have no doubt I can rule in the best interest of Skolia." I knew it was an evasive answer. I glanced back at the shadowed archway, aware now of someone else beyond it listening to us. "Your son is a Ruby Dynasty heir. He has a right to his full heritage."
She turned her head slightly, toward the archway. Then she returned her gaze to me. "Does that mean the Ruby Dynasty will acknowledge him?" Her tension almost crackled in the air.
I spoke quietly. "Yes."
She closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again the chill had left her gaze. "I thank you." With an edge, she added, "Majda has disowned him."
Alhtough it shouldn't have surprised me, I had hoped that for Ryder she might be willing to bend. But Naaj could be hard. "Majda has been known to re-evaluate."
Vazar snorted. "Right. And the Traders would love to make peace with us."
I managed a smile. "We can always hope." In both cases. "But regardless, your son will be recognized by the House of Skolia in a formal ceremony when we return to the Imperial court." Let Naaj chew on that.
If Vazar realized I had evaded her original question, she gave no indication of it in either word or thought. Was I certain that absolute rule by the Ruby Dynasty was the best choice now? Ironic that a Majda warrior, of all people, should ask me that. If I intended to keep the confidence of Skolia, I could never give her my true answer.
No. I wasn't certain it was the best choice.
* * *
Chad Barzun was in the Tactics Room. Its luminous walls had depth, as if you could walk into them, on and on, until the deep, viscous light swallowed you up. Today the sphere had absorbed all furniture and ledges, so only one break showed in its smoothness— this hatchway, where I had entered on the sphere's equator. The air felt cool on my face, without character or scent. It offered a metaphor for life on ships that made me long to run in open fields under an open sky.
Chad was in the bottom of the sphere, down a slope of many meters from where I stood. He called up to me. "Would you like to join me, Your Highness?" Despite his distance, the good acoustics in the chamber made it sound as if he were right next to me.
"Yes, thank you," I said.
Tactics molded a staircase for me. I went down and joined Chad at the bottom.
Enthusiasm warmed his voice. "Wait until you see this." Raising his voice, he said, "Tactics, run number six."
The sphere plunged into blackness. When it lightened, we were again standing on the Dalvador Plains of Eldrin's home on Lyshriol. Strange, how the Tactics Room that symbolized for me a sterile life on the ship could also offer the open sky and fields I craved.
The Lyshrioli people were still camped out at the starport. Their tent nation stretched around us in every direction. An exuberant hum of life filled the air: voices murmuring, livestock snorting, all the clicks, thumps, rattles, and rumbles that such a large assembly made. We weren't far from the port. Someone had erected a stage there, and my nephew Vyrl stood on it with his wife and siblings. A globe floated above his head, twirling with iridescent colors as it transmitted his voice to thousands of other spheres floating over the encampment. His words flowed over us, resonant, deep, musical.
Chad raised his hand, indicating the scene as if he were offering me a gift. At first I didn't understand. It didn't matter; the sheer beauty of Vyrl's voice thrilled me. He spoke in Trillian, the harmonious tongue of his people. I had libraries for it in my neural nodes, along with translation programs. As my mind processed his speech, I began to understand. Yet even then, it took time to absorb. I heard him, yet I feared to hope.
Over the past months, the outcry against the Allied occupation of Lyshriol had risen in intensity. It came from all over settled space, not only from Skolians, but from the Allieds and even the Traders. The criticism against Earth for holding the Ruby Dynasty prisoner had turned excoriating, especially after it became public knowledge that Eldrinson had died in Allied custody. Then Eldrin and I made our plea for the release of our family and peace among our peoples. The war of public censure had heated into a star-spanning verbal conflagration.
The Allieds had finally had enough. They pulled out of Lyshriol.
"Saints above." I gave a startled laugh. "We
won.
"
Chad inhaled deeply, filling his virtual lungs with the oxygen-rich air of Lyshriol. "That we did, Your Highness. May your reign continue with even greater successes than those you have already achieved."
His positive take on my new position should have gratified me. "Do you really think what we've done with the Assembly is such a success?"
"Of course."
"Why?"
"Because you are the Pharaoh." He regarded me evenly. "We have always been the Ruby Empire, even if for a few hundred years we called ourselves something else."
I understood what he meant; our identity was linked inextricably to our history. Skolia had started as the Ruby Empire. We had
no
other history, nothing more than legends of a place called Earth. No one had even believed those stories anymore, at least not until our siblings from Earth actually showed up.
"What you say is true," I answered. "But I find myself questioning whether or not what we've always done is the best choice now."
He indicated the tent nation around us. "What happened here is unlike anything we've done before. War has been our way for so long. It is auspicious that we found a peaceful alternative."
"And if the Allieds had been as warlike in their recent history as we still are?" I shook my head. "Peace has to come from two sides. This would never have worked with the Traders."
He spoke dryly. "Perhaps someday they will change."
I could tell he didn't believe it would ever happen. Even if Jaibriol III genuinely wanted to improve our relations, one person couldn't change the ingrained traditions of millennia, not without years of work. Decades. Centuries.
Suddenly I thought:
half a century. Fifty years.
For some reason I recalled the racer that Jinn Opsister had taken to Earth:
Lightning.
Yet when I thought of it, I didn't envision a racer. I saw a Jag starfighter. Then I thought of Viquara Iquar, or maybe not Viquara, but another Iquar.
