The Final Key: Part Two of Triad (Saga of the Skolian Empire) Page 5

  Taquinil reached across the pad’s boundary, and his hand passed through Eldrin’s arm. “Look!” He laughed, a full, contagious sound Eldrin had always loved. “You’re a ghost.”

  “I hope not,” Eldrin said. He wanted to hug his son.

  “Will you go into Kyle space with Mother?”

  “I’m already there.”

  The boy paused. “I’ll go watch closer. Is that all right?”

  “Yes, go ahead.” Although Eldrin knew it unsettled Taquinil to see his mother caged by machinery, he had long ago realized his son loved technology. So Eldrin tried to adapt, learning to accept the dreams of the boy’s universe.

  Taquinil ran across the chamber, the only child allowed to visit this strategic command center of an empire. It grated on Eldrin to see his son left with a soldier while his mother was bound to a soulless mesh and his father exiled on another world. Dehya’s upward-tilted eyes were closing, the long lashes covering her exotic sunrise gaze, a film of rose and gold pastels overlaid on her pupils. The techs were running tests on her much as a ship’s crew ran preflight checks on a spacecraft. They calibrated the feeds that provided nutrients and kept her hydrated, and checked the med lines that monitored her health, making it possible for her to stay in the Chair for days, if necessary.

  Finally they stepped back, and one of them spoke into his wrist comm. With a deep hum, the robot arm rose from the floor and carried the Chair up into the holodome. Eldrin felt Dehya submerge into the Kyle web. Her mind spread out in ripples, and she became the mesh that held a universe created by human thought. She almost seemed translucent, as if part of her had transferred into the ghostly web that spanned Kyle space.

  Come, she thought.

  The Chair answered without words, only an implicit sense that it understood her request. Dehya went to work then, creating and re-creating the web. She built new nodes, made repairs, and established real-space gates into Kyle space. She tended the fluxes and flows of data and thought, tracing patterns, spanning a star-flung empire. She was always watching, always moving, the Shadow Pharaoh who went everywhere, including places no one else could access, probably some that no one else even knew existed.

  Always, as she worked, she also searched for clues about how Vitarex Raziquon had infiltrated Lyshriol and captured Eldrin’s father. They could never ask Vitarex. One of Eldrin’s younger brothers, gentle Shannon, had rescued their father. Only fourteen at the time, Shannon was the dreamer of the family, smallest and least warlike of the Valdoria sons—and yet he was the one who had murdered Vitarex to avenge their father.

  The Aristo had taken his secrets to his grave. Now Dehya’s mind flowed around the edges of secured Trader meshes, looking for anything that might unravel the knot of how Vitarex had trespassed on Lyshriol. The same thought drove her that hung like a specter over all of them; if the Traders could violate the Imperialate stronghold of Lyshriol, no place was safe.

  Eldrin felt her fatigue. She was responsible for a system that served trillions of people. Any telop could monitor the web, but her job went much deeper. She created it—and ensured it survived.

  Kurj also worked the web as a Dyad member. With it, he built the Imperialate military into a sleek, deadly machine that even the Traders, with their greater military resources, couldn’t defeat. Dehya was the Assembly Key, linking the web to the government: Kurj was the Military Key, linking it to ISC. Dehya had nuance: Kurj had blunt power. Dehya was the Mind of the Web: Kurj was its Fist. Together, they held together the meshes that made Skolia an interstellar power.

  It wasn’t enough.

  They were exhausted. Two people, no matter how driven, couldn’t keep up with the ever-changing demands of that voracious mesh, which added billions of networks per hour. Eldrin knew the truth no one admitted, that the Assembly kept quiet, that ISC buried. No one spoke it, but it terrified them all. The web was growing out of control. If the Dyad didn’t find a solution, the mesh would collapse under the sheer weight of its success—and kill the Dyad.

  3

  Bliss

  The hospital viewing room looked the same today as every other day Soz had visited. The sofa was along the wall to the right of the entrance, with an armchair beyond and another to the left of the door. The furniture was upholstered in subdued forest hues, and abstract holoart swirled on the walls. The lamps gave enough light to see by, but nothing bright or jarring. It was all very calming, but Soz didn’t feel the least bit soothed. Every time she saw what the Traders had done to her brother, she wanted to kill someone. Aristos, specifically.

  She went to the window that filled the top half of the wall opposite the door. In the room beyond, Althor lay on his back, on a floater, a bed with a rudimentary intelligence. It could react to tension in his body, ease muscle strain, massage him, anything.

  None of it helped.

  He was a huge man, over two meters tall, seven-foot-seven, with a muscular physique and metallic gold skin. He had been a force to reckon with, a powerhouse. Now he lay unmoving, his body gaunt and wasted, his face sallow. She had spent hours watching the rise and fall of his chest. It killed her to know he would never awake. Surely someone could discover a new technology that could return his life, his brain, his memories.

  Soz thought of her brother Kelric, nine years old. He looked so much like Althor, and he, too, longed to become a pilot. How many brothers would the war take from her? She thought of her sisters, Chaniece and Aniece, her closest friends, though they constantly challenged her view of the universe. They had never fathomed her fascination with all things military. And what of Kurj? Fighting the Traders all his life had hardened him beyond healing. How many people she loved would have their lives demolished by the Aristos, the arrogant sadists who never suffered themselves?

  The door hummed behind her. Soz jumped and turned around as a man entered. He was Althor’s age, in his early twenties. Well-tended blond hair brushed his shoulders. He had blue eyes and chiseled features, extraordinarily handsome. Soz always felt like a mess in his presence, drab in her cadet’s jumpsuit, with her hair curling haphazardly around her face.

  He hesitated when he saw her. Then he came to the window and bowed. “My greetings, Your Highness.”

  Soz inclined her head stiffly. “Chad.” She hesitated. “Call me Soz, please.” She had little desire to offer him that familiarity, but she didn’t want anyone treating her like royalty. At the academy, she was a cadet like everyone else.

  Surprise sparked in his mind, strong enough that she felt it despite his carefully constructed mental barriers. He nodded formally. “Soz.”

  They stood together at the window watching Althor. After a moment Chad said, “He’s always the same. Every day I come.”

  She couldn’t hide her bitterness. “Maybe if you had come back to him sooner, you could have seen him alive.”

  Chad exhaled, and Soz immediately regretted the words, but it was too late to take them back. Her anger at Chad still simmered.

  So they stood, neither speaking.

  Finally Chad turned to her. “We should talk.”

  Soz faced him and crossed her arms. “Why?”

  “We’re both grieving for him. We shouldn’t hurt each other, too.”

  Soz wished she could let her anger go. But if she weakened, if she let down her defenses even a bit, the grief would overwhelm her. “You gave up my brother for drugs. How can I forgive you for that?”

  He stared at her. “Do you have any idea how addictive phorine is for an empath?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Yes, she knew. Addictive was a massive understatement. The stronger the psion, the worse the dependence. They called it node-bliss. She sensed Chad’s mind even through his mental shields; he was a powerful empath, probably also a telepath, able to pick up unusually intense thoughts from another psion when neither of them was guarding his mind. Soz knew Chad couldn’t have quit on his own, but her emotions rejected that logic. Althor had given Chad an ultimatum—him or phorine—and Chad had ch
osen the drug.

  Her brother had never taken bliss. The doctors had checked him thoroughly. It wasn’t because of Chad’s addiction; they hadn’t known Chad existed. The hospital had tested Althor for a wide range of drugs to ensure they would encounter no problems with any medicines they gave him. Soz would have known even without that, though. Althor would never touch phorine. He just wasn’t the type. The DMA honor code and his sense of duty as a cadet meant too much to him. It was a good thing, because if he had tried phorine, based on what she knew about the drug, he wouldn’t have survived. He was a Rhon psion, brutally susceptible to any dose. The withdrawal could kill even a man as strong as Althor.

  “Couldn’t you get help?” Soz asked Chad.

  “I thought I could quit on my own.” Strain flattened his usually rich voice. “I couldn’t. But when Althor turned me in, it felt like a betrayal.” His voice quieted. “I’m grateful now. If the bliss hadn’t killed me, I would probably be rotting in some hellhole. At the time, though, I couldn’t handle it.”

  “Have you ever wanted it again?”

  He regarded her steadily. “Every day. But I won’t take it. I hate it even more than I crave it.”

  Soz hesitated. “I guess I don’t understand why you never tried to contact Althor after you got out of treatment.”

  Chad spoke tightly. “He left me.”

  “He loved you.”

  He made an incredulous noise. “Do you honestly think he wanted to see me again after what I did?”

  She could understand why he would feel that way, but he didn’t know her brother as well as he thought. She saw no use in stirring rancor, though. “I am glad you came to see him.” It was true. He had helped her understand Althor better.

  They turned back to the window, and stood vigil for the pilot who would never greet them again.

  Twilight was deepening across the academy grounds as Soz headed to the engineering labs. Cadets were walking along the pathways, some in conversation, others working on their mesh gloves, with tiny holos floating around their hands, menus for mesh-mail, schedules, or schoolwork. A primed tension pervaded the scene, everyone aware of who surrounded them, saluting where required, passing upperclass cadets on the right, following the stratified protocols of the academy.

  Jazar Orand came up alongside her and saluted. “Orand, ma’am!”

  Soz returned the salute. “At ease, Cadet.”

  He lowered his arms and grinned wickedly. “Heya, Soz.”

  She had to smile. Really, he ought to get demerits for being so distracting. “Heya, Jaz.”

  His hair clung damply to his forehead. She remembered how he used the cleanser unit in the evening before he went to study. She missed rooming with him, Grell, and Obsidian. Although they had come in with her as first-year students, they were second-year now and she had advanced to senior level. She already had the biomech in her body that enhanced her strength and speed, as well as a node that augmented her brain. She had been assigned to a room with similarly augmented seniors. Her new roommates were fine, but she missed her friends.

  “Where you headed?” Jazar asked.

  Soz glared at him.

  He laughed softly. “Demerit duty, right? Is it maintenance? Engineering? I know. Mesh Sciences, to work in the spam gutters.”

  “Pah.”

  “I swear, Soz, you get in more trouble than the rest of the cadets combined.”

  “I do not.” Then she relented and added, “I have droid duty.” She didn’t know why they called it that; she would be cleaning mechbots, not droids. No matter what its name, the job was vile.

  “What did you do this time?” Jazar asked. “Tell one of your instructors your idea was better than hers? Talk during formation? Come late? Misplace a book in the museum?”

  “I do not misplace books,” Soz said with dignity. “I was showing it to Grell. She had never seen one with paper pages. I was going to put it back where it belonged.”

  He smirked. “All right. You borrow any more books?”

  “No.” She paused, suddenly tired. “I went to Commandant Blackmoor’s office and confessed to cracking the field mesh so I could learn the new patterns on the Echo obstacle course.”

  His smile faded. “Cracking meshes is a serious offense.”

  “Yes.” It had been her way of dealing with the grief, to push herself through the obstacle course at breakneck speed so she could finish her training sooner and avenge her brother’s death. “Commandant Blackmoor asked why he shouldn’t expel me.”

  “Gods,” Jazar said under his breath.

  “Yeah.” She exhaled. “He didn’t, but they took me off the honor roll and put me on probation. It’ll take me a year to work off all those demerits.”

  Jazar drew her to a stop, an unusual act for a cadet, not quite breaking regulations, but close because he touched her. In the growing darkness, his eyes were hardly more than shadows. “Are you all right?”

  She knew he was asking about Althor. “I’m okay.” She wasn’t, she was dying inside, but she couldn’t say that.

  He reached for her hand, then stopped. She knew why; someone could all too easily report their touching as inappropriate.

  “If you need to talk,” he said, “I’m here.”

  “Thanks.” Then she remembered. “But I won’t be here! The brass is sending me for that tour on the Fleet cruiser. If I’m going to command ISC someday, I have to get experience in all four branches.” She and Althor had been the Imperator’s two heirs, both expected to prove themselves over the years. Then suddenly it had changed. Now Kurj had one heir. Her. She would have gladly given up the title to have Althor back again.

  Jazar blanched, less relaxed with her now even than when he had to salute. “Sometimes I forget who you are.”

  “Jaz, don’t.” Soz didn’t think she could bear it if he put that distance between them. So many people felt it with her. “It’s just me.”

  His grin reasserted itself. “Soz, condemned to rule the universe. Come on, Your Majesticioso Empress. I’ll walk you to Engineering.”

  She grimaced. “Majesticioso? Was that a word or noise from your eating too many beans?”

  Jazar laughed. “Ah, Soz, you are unique.”

  She walked with him, glad of his friendship.

  Eldrin paced the bedroom of the royal suite, unable to stay still. It was beautiful here, the mosaics sparkling and tall vases standing in the comers. Diamond chandeliers hung from the ceiling. But he felt suffocated. The heavy drapes closed in on him, and his head ached. He loathed the thought of calling a doctor. Leaving Taquinil and Dehya because his mind endangered his son was torment enough; having to seek help for his extreme empathic sensitivity would be humiliating.

  Gods, his head hurt. He strode to the cabinet against one wall and clicked open the crystal doors. The bottles inside were gorgeous, especially the carafe shaped like a flying dragon with wings spread. The deep blue glass and iridescent highlights pleased his sense of aesthetics, at least as much as he could feel pleasure when he was so uncomfortable.

  His hand shook as he pulled out the decanter. Red wine sloshed within the bottle, too loud, grating on his nerves. He shook his head, trying to clear it, then winced as pain stabbed his temples. He grabbed a crystal tumbler, a smaller version of the dragon, and poured a drink. Too agitated to put away the wine, he set the decanter on the counter and paced away, across the room, to a wing chair upholstered in dark red brocade. When he sat down, the cushions shifted, trying to ease his rigid posture. He had only meant to sip his drink, to savor its quality, but he finished it so fast he barely tasted the wine.

  He set his glass on a table by the chair and thought of getting more. Then he steeled himself. He wouldn’t drink tonight. None of his medicine, either. Nor would he call for help. He was a fighter and a bard. He would get through this.

  Eldrin closed his eyes, trying to ease the ache behind them. It had spread throughout his head. Sleep. He needed sleep. His augmentations could help. They includ
ed nanomeds that patrolled his body, repaired his cells, tended his health, and delayed his aging. The tiny molecular laboratories could release chemicals that would help him rest. He concentrated, using biofeedback techniques to enhance the response of the meds much in the way an empath could use biofeedback to heal himself, or others, if he turned his empathic abilities outward. Gradually he nodded off, dozing in fits and starts …

  “Make it stop, Hoshpa.” Tears ran down Taquinil’s face, and his eyes were swollen from crying …

  Eldrin jerked awake. His headache raged and sweat soaked his clothes. He would have lost his dinner, except he hadn’t eaten. He rose out of his chair, but then he fell, landing on his hands and knees, unbalanced by the Dieshan gravity. Diesha. He wasn’t at home, caring for Taquinil. That had all happened over a year ago.

  He remembered little of that first night after he had taken Dehya’s medicine. The relaxant had drenched his mind. He had collapsed on the couch, and he hadn’t come back to consciousness until the next morning, when he awoke to find Taquinil shaking his arm. Eldrin had spent the day in a haze of tranquillity, but the effects had faded over the next few days. Headaches had plagued him, and his hands had shaken so much he had trouble holding a glass. His condition affected Taquinil, not as much as Eldrin’s horrendous dreams, but enough that the boy felt his distress. Then Eldrin’s nightmares had started up again, for that had been during the time Vitarex Raziquon had been torturing his father.

  Finally he had given in, unable to bear the headaches or the dreams. He had taken Dehya’s medicine again, cutting the dose by 80 percent That solved his problems, replacing his pain with serenity. With the dosage so much lower, he didn’t lose touch with the world, either. It had still been too much. He had trouble caring for Taquinil when he so easily became distracted, but when he didn’t take the medicine, his distress made it impossible for him to function and his nightmares tormented his son.

  If Dehya had spent more time with him, he could have injured her, too. She had noticed his erratic moods, and she had bothered him about what she called “his drinking.” If she had realized the extent of his nightmares, she probably would have pressured him to see a specialist. He couldn’t bear the thought of a therapist poking into his private life, and he feared Dehya would turn from him if she knew the truth, that he was sick, using her syringe without her permission. He had known then he had to leave before he hurt his son and ruined his marriage. He hated being away from his family, but at least they were safe from him. When he recovered from these humiliating problems, he could go home.