The Final Key: Part Two of Triad (Saga of the Skolian Empire) Page 4

  It had dismayed Dehya and Eldrin. They fought the Assembly—and lost. So they married. As husband and wife, they remained formal, two strangers forced into a union neither wanted. And yet … as time passed, Eldrin acknowledged his affinity for his wife. They were Rhon. Like sought like. Even with his being a psion, it had been a year before he could believe the incredible truth, that he loved his wife—and she loved him.

  He still felt out of his depth with her, a forbidden stranger in her royal apartments. He cared for their son, Taquinil, composed music, trained his voice, and gave concerts. It was a good life. He really did believe that—and if he drank too much at night when his son slept and he hadn’t seen his wife in days, well, everyone needed a release.

  A pleasant voice broke his reverie. “We have arrived, Your Majesty.” It came from a comm near his chair. The engines of the flyer were fading into silence.

  “Thank you.” Eldrin felt odd thanking a machine, but it seemed appropriate. “Release pilot.”

  “Released.” The control panels around his seat swiveled away.

  Eldrin stood up slowly. Although he weighed less here than on Lyshriol, it was more than on the Orbiter space station where he normally lived. As he crossed the cabin, he had to retime his steps and modulate how high he lifted his foot. So strange, to analyze a process he usually took for granted. It was better now than a year ago, though, when he had first come here. Although the gravity felt awkward, he could handle the difference. He did exercises every day so he wouldn’t lose his ability to handle heavier gravity. He wanted to ensure he could always go home to Lyshriol and to his family, no matter where they lived.

  He paused, disheartened. He had come here to protect Taquinil from his nightmares. Eldrin loved his son more than his own life, but he knew he and Dehya should never have had a child. Their boy, so beautiful and brilliant, might never survive on his own. Born of two people on the extreme end of empathic sensitivity, he couldn’t block emotions with his mind. He had no barriers against the onslaught. It took another Rhon psion to provide the mental shields he lacked, which meant only the Ruby Dynasty could protect him. His doctors were searching for a treatment that wouldn’t destroy the boy’s magnificent neural structures, but unless they succeeded, Taquinil could never leave the protection of his family. It wasn’t a problem for a seven-year-old boy, but that would change as he grew older. His independence could cost him his sanity.

  Eldrin was also an unusually sensitive psion. If anything powerful happened to his family, he sensed it. He had taken easily to fatherhood because of his role model, his father, the Dalvador Bard, a man he loved and admired above all others. A link as strong as theirs could extend into Kyle space and reach Eldrin light-years away. But their closeness meant Eldrin endured any intense experiences his father suffered—including the agony inflicted by Vitarex Raziquon. Although over a year had passed since it happened, the memory continued to haunt Eldrin’s dreams.

  The violence of Althor’s combat death had impacted Eldrin almost as much as his father’s suffering. Of the ten Valdoria children, Eldrin was closest in age to Althor. Although Eldrin managed his grief during the day, nightmares haunted his sleep. It should have stopped: his father had escaped Raziquon—and Althor had died. But he continued to dream horrors.

  It tore him apart to know that his dreams hurt his son. Only distance muted the effect; the greater his separation from Taquinil, the less his nightmares affected the boy. So he had left Taquinil with Dehya and come here, to Diesha.

  At least he could visit them through the webs. Buoyed by that thought, he disembarked from the flyer. Outside, the crenellations that edged the roof curved gracefully in the twilight, interspersed by small totems sculpted from balls. It was beautiful, created more for art than defense; no archers would ever hide behind these scalloped edges. Far deadlier defenses guarded this palace: EI-controlled security, mountain installations, and one of the most advanced orbital defense systems ever designed by humans.

  Eldrin jumped down into a night of dark red hues. He misjudged the gravity and didn’t bend his knees enough when he landed. The impact jarred through him, and he winced as he straightened. No one had come to greet him, which probably meant his half-brother Kurj wasn’t here. Although this palace served as the Imperator’s residence, Kurj often stayed down in HQ City, where he worked.

  Although many people called Kurj a military dictator. Eldrin had never seen him that way. He had known Kurj all his life, and their bond had strengthened through the years. Eldrin would have liked to see him now, but it seemed he was alone in this huge, echoing palace. Kurj preferred mechanized staff to humans. It seemed lonely to Eldrin, but he respected his brother’s wishes and brought no human personnel here. The only person he knew well enough to invite for a visit was Soz, and she had school to worry about. He didn’t want to distract her from her studies. Even if he had known other people here, they would have to pass endless security checks before they could visit the palace.

  As he crossed the roof, warm gusts ruffled his clothes. A tower rose nearby, its rounded top and spire sharp against the darkening sky. He stopped in front of its gilt-edged door, which analyzed him and opened without challenge. Inside, he descended a staircase that spiraled around the tower. He could have taken a lift, but he preferred to walk. Ruby and diamond tiles patterned the goldstone steps in geometric designs. Around and around. He submerged into a trance so he wouldn’t think about the emptiness.

  He surfaced from his daze when he reached the bottom, where an archway opened into a large hall. Rose-quartz columns filled it, row after row, tiled with mosaics that matched the tower. He crossed the hall, his tread muted. Far overhead, the columns met in graceful arches, and red crystal lamps hung from their topmost points on gold chains. The floor was inlaid with a dramatic sunburst mosaic, the insignia of the Imperialate.

  He wandered through the palace until he reached the pharaoh’s suite. In the Red Mountains on sparsely settled Diesha, they had no worries about space. Dehya’s entire apartment on the Orbiter would fit in this living room. Originally the jeweled mosaics on the walls had been abstract, but she arranged to have them redone when Eldrin came to live with her. Now they evoked the plains and spindled peaks of his home. Although he had never told her how much he missed Lyshriol, she knew. In the beginning, when it had been even harder for them to talk than now, she had showed affection with such unspoken gifts. It had taken him years to believe they were offerings of love from a pharaoh who had little ease with words.

  Eldrin roamed the suite, through alcoves shaped like flowers, bathrooms with tiled pools, and the bedroom with its tapestries and velvet-covered bed. He missed Dehya. Then again, he always missed her, even when he was on the Orbiter. She spent hours, sometimes days, working in the web. Their times together were too short, with too long between.

  His head throbbed. He needed his medicine to deal with the neurological knots that tangled his empath’s mind. Hell, a good, stiff drink would help. He paced, agitated. Although the medicine eased his discomfort, he didn’t like to depend on it. He wanted to deal with this himself.

  Finally he went to the console room. White Luminex stations glowed in the dim light. He settled into a chair within a circular console, and its exoskeleton folded around him. Prongs clicked into sockets in his ankles, wrists, lower spine, and neck. When the Assembly had first suggested putting biomech in his body, it had horrified him. They wanted him to become a telop, preparing for the day he might join the Dyad. Initially he had refused. Gradually, though, he had realized it would let him “meet” with Dehya in Kyle space. Finally he agreed. After a time, his fears that it would make him less human abated. He remained Eldrin. He hadn’t become a machine.

  A visor lowered over his eyes and darkness surrounded him. The console accessed his brain directly; the visor was only to ensure that no view of his surroundings interfered with the virtual reality created in his mind.

  A “thought” came to him from the console, routed through
his biomech web to the node in his spine. Welcome back to the palace, Your Majesty. What can I do for you this evening?

  My greetings, Etude, Eldrin answered, directing his thought to his personal EI. I would like to see my wife.

  A simple request—and it required the most advanced communications ever created by humanity. The console would access the Kyle mesh, and telops operating in the mesh would route his signal through Kyle space to the Orbiter. Eldrin needed no other protocols. His direct line to Dehya on the Orbiter would be more secure, better, and faster, than other lines. Being the Ruby Consort had advantages.

  Gradually the darkness eased. He was standing in a graceful room with high ceilings. Holoart swirled on the walls, behind a white sofa. The tables at either end of the couch were wood, a valuable material on a space habitat. His wife sat on the sofa, her black hair cascading over her shoulders, arms, and hips, making Eldrin want to fill his hands with it. Her green eyes tilted upward, fringed with black lashes. She had the face of a waif, heart-shaped. Her slender figure appeared delicate, as if she might break, but he knew a will of steel ran through her.

  Taquinil was sitting cross-legged on the sofa, his bangs tousled over his forehead, his black hair brushing his collar. His eyes shimmered gold. He had grown since Eldrin had been home last year. People said he had Eldrin’s features, but it was hard for Eldrin to tell. It just amazed him that he had sired such an incredible young man.

  The boy’s face lit up. “Hoshpa!” He jumped to his feet, then remembered himself and spoke with impeccable manners. “My greetings, Father.”

  Dehya smiled at Eldrin, and her voice came like dusk in the Dalvador Plains. “And mine, Husband.”

  “My greetings.” A deep relief settled over him. They were a balm to his eyes. “You both look well.”

  “Come sit with us.” Taquinil flopped back on the couch.

  “I wish I could.” But he couldn’t leave the holopad that was projecting his image to the Orbiter. “What did you do today?”

  “We went to City again!” Taquinil’s gaze was radiant, as if he glowed from within. “The bridges float. They came to the ground and we got on them and they went up.”

  “I always liked that.” Eldrin’s reaction to City during his first years on the Orbiter had been much like his son’s. The airy towers and spires, the drifting paths, the ethereal colors—it all had a luminous beauty. They should have let someone other than Kurj name the place, though. His half-brother had many good qualities, but subtlety wasn’t one of them. Kurj had christened the city “City” and the valley where they lived “Valley.” Eldrin suspected that if Kurj ever sired an heir, he would name his child Son or Daughter.

  “How is your stay on Diesha going?” Dehya asked him.

  “Uneventful.” Eldrin paused. “I’ve been practicing.”

  “I miss your singing,” Taquinil said. “Every night.”

  Eldrin’s voice caught. “I miss singing to you.” Although he had continued training his voice, he was having trouble composing songs. His muse seemed to have left him, and he had lost the will to give concerts this past year.

  “We will be glad when you can come home,” Dehya murmured.

  “It won’t be long.” Gods, how he hoped that was true.

  “How are you doing?” she asked.

  “All right.” It wasn’t true, but he didn’t want to burden them with his loneliness. “I saw Althor today.”

  Her voice quieted. “How is he?”

  What could he say? He’s dead. “No change.”

  Taquinil watched him with concern. “Did your bad dreams go away, Hoshpa?”

  “They’re much better,” Eldrin assured him. In truth, he had no idea when they would stop. Medicine helped, and it had helped Taquinil during the boy’s attack, but Eldrin wasn’t certain it was good to expose his son to its effects too often, especially now that Taquinil was fine.

  “Come to the Dyad Chair with us,” Taquinil invited.

  Eldrin glanced at Dehya. “Are you going into the web?”

  She nodded. “Taquinil wanted to come. Major Faryl said he would look after him while I worked.”

  Eldrin wondered how many majors had babysitting the pharaoh’s heir as part of their job description. It bothered him a great deal, but what could he say? He wasn’t there to look after his child. “I can meet you in the Dyad Chamber.”

  “All right, love.” Her face gentled. “Ten minutes?”

  “Ten minutes, yes.” It warmed him when she called him that. He signed off and darkness cloaked him again.

  Etude, attend, he thought.

  Attending, the EI answered. Would you like me to establish a link to the Dyad Chamber in ten minutes?

  Yes. That would be good.

  While he waited, Eldrn tried to relax. It did little good. The Dyad Chamber always unsettled him, even when he was there only as a virtual simulation. It had an eerie intelligence unlike anything else he had encountered.

  After a while, Etude thought, Your transmission is open.

  Thank you. Eldrin opened his eyes. He stood within a forest of gleaming struts. They supported a geodesic chamber that shone with synthetic starlight from a holodome far overhead. He had never understood why struts circled this chamber and propped up the walls. Simpler means of support existed. He doubted anyone knew the reason. Imperial Space Command had found the Orbiter derelict in space, a giant sphere that had been adrift for five thousand years. They had yet to fully understand what they had found, but they had learned to use it. This room’s ancient apparatus waited in the center of the chamber.

  The Dyad Chair.

  Information meshes networked the Imperialate. Some were tiny; many were of moderate size; some encompassed billions of users. Anyone could access the meshes, even with just a chip in their jewelry. For more involved work, they could find a console. Control chairs were more advanced consoles and allowed a person to act as an operator in the mesh. They were the goal coveted by those who desired influence within whatever hierarchies of power defined their lives. Command chairs were even rarer, and only the most highly placed operators had access to them. Such chairs allowed their user to command vital resources, such as a battle cruiser or Assembly communications. They offered great power.

  They were nothing compared to the Dyad Chairs.

  The Dyad Chairs came from the Ruby Empire. Only seven had survived, all built with ancient technology that modem scientists had yet to reproduce. They dwarfed even the massive command chairs such as the one where Kurj sat in the War Room. To use them required a mental power greater than most humans possessed. Only a Rhon psion could operate one, and in practice, only the Dyad could survive the immense force of its mind.

  Dehya had already settled into the technological throne. Robot arms and conduits surrounded her, and panels enclosed her in a maze of chrome and composites. The exoskeleton sheathed her body with a silvery mesh. As techs fastened her into it all, the equipment adjusted around her body. The Chair was the terminus of a robot arm that could carry it anywhere within the chamber. The holodome glowed above them with holostars: sapphire and topaz, ruby and diamond. It produced the only light, and cast pale luminance over Dehya and the techs.

  Whenever Eldrin entered this room, he sensed its banked power, which extended into Kyle space as well as the real universe. Fear made him edgy when he saw Dehya in the Chair. She seemed fragile, her face dominated by large green eyes, her body caught in a machine with a mind too strange to comprehend. It responded only in this chamber, when it was lifted up to the holodome, though why, no one knew. Nor did anyone know why the Chairs allowed the Dyad members to operate their functions. Every time Dehya sat in one, Eldrin feared she risked igniting its unfathomable mind. His apprehension was all the more intense because he couldn’t imagine what it might do to her. Chairs were too different, their intelligence too alien. They had almost no intersection with human thought.

  Taquinil stood near the Chair, watching with concern while the techs strapped his
mother in. Eldrin felt a pang, seeing his son, so bright and vibrant, but also so vulnerable. He stood with a lanky man in the uniform of the Pharaoh’s Army. Major Faryl. Eldrin gritted his teeth.

  Dehya smiled at Taquinil and lifted her hand. He waved at her with a small child’s trust that all would be well. As Eldrin thought of his wife, she looked across the room. When she saw him, her smile took on a sultry hint of what waited when he came home. He flushed, hoping no one else noticed the change.

  My greetings, husband. Her thought came into his mind like dusk and wine. You look handsome there.

  Eldrin smiled. Dehya, behave.

  Her lips curved. Never.

  Seeing her focus shift, several techs glanced in his direction. As soon as Taquinil caught sight of him, his face filled with relief. Eldrin knew how much it unsettled the boy to see his mother in that mammoth Chair, even if he had a child’s naïve belief that his parents actually knew what they were doing.

  Taquinil ran across the room. “My greetings, Hoshpa.” He stopped at the holopad and motioned excitedly at the Chair. “Can you feel? It is alive! It talks to us.”

  “Yes. It does.” Eldrin doubted anyone in the room besides Dehya and Taquinil could feel the intelligence of the Chair. To most people it was just a big piece of equipment. He stretched his arm out to his son, but they couldn’t touch. He was no more than a projection of light. As his hand went beyond the boundary of the holopad, it vanished. He drew it back, making it reappear, and Taquinil laughed. The boy’s smile was strained, though. Eldrin felt the same way. He had been away from his family for too long. It hurt like hell. He needed them.