Authors: Catherine Asaro
The delegates were all watching the royal parties, waiting. They were already organized into task forces, and they would later split into their groups, Skolians and Traders together, to discuss the multitude of details needed to put the treaty into effect, setting up trade relations between their empires. The main conferences, the ones that would determine how Eube and Skolia would attempt to coexist in the same galaxy, would be between Jaibriol’s people and the Pharaoh’s party in the tower conference rooms.
The dais was rising in the center of the amphitheatre, crewed by Allied personnel. A robot arm had docked at Jaibriol’s balcony, waiting for his use. It ended in a gigantic bronzed hand exactly like the one in the Amphitheatre of Providence. A similar arm was docked at the Skolian balcony, except that it ended in a Luminex console cup.
Major General Holland spoke at his side. “Your Highness, they are ready.”
Jaibriol took a breath. “Let us begin, then.”
The general spoke into his gauntlet comm. “On three.” Across the amphitheatre, Major General Yamada was also speaking into his comm.
Holland paused, then said, “Copy that. One, two, three.”
Jaibriol raised his hand in the same instant the Ruby Pharaoh raised hers. A single chime rang out in the amphitheatre as the Aristos tapped the diamond cymbals they wore on their thumbs and index fingers. Lights flashed from the Skolian consoles.
On the dais below, an Allied woman stood next to a console. She spoke in a clear voice that carried throughout the amphitheatre:
“The Summit of Delos is begun.”
Streaming blue.
Del floated through the Kyle. It swirled into curves and hollows as if he drifted through a landscape of blue fog.
Prince Del-Kurj?
That thought came from a woman.
My greetings, Panquai,
he answered.
And mine to you,
she thought.
Can you access the ISC mesh for Delos?
I don’t know. What do I look for?
Many people see it as a grid. We’re hidden by a security cloak, so other users won’t notice us, but we should be able to detect them. Their thoughts may look like sparks.
Del concentrated, striving to create a grid out of the mist. None appeared, though the landscape did become more detailed, with orb trees, blue cloud-grass, and sparkles like shimmerflies.
I see blue. Hills, sky, trees, orbs. No grid.
I mostly know how military types see it,
Panquai said.
Maybe you perceive it differently. But my sensors say we’re definitely in the military grid.
A shimmerfly drifted toward Del. It wasn’t a gauzy insect, but a winged woman.
Hey, I see you! You look like an angel, Panquai.
It reminded him of a song on his first music anthology:
Angel, be my Diamond Star, before my darkness goes too far.
Amusement came from Panquai.
I’ve never been sung to on a mission before.
Del grinned at her.
A Jagernaut angel.
My halo is crooked,
she thought.
What else can you find here? Any problems?
He drifted in a circle, surveying the blue universe.
Everything looks fine. I don’t know how I would know otherwise.
Essentially, you’re looking for yourself.
He considered the idea.
On Earth, my music is available as something called a virt. It’s a virtual reality simulation of the songs. It includes an avatar of me that acts as a host. If I go into the virt, I can meet “myself.” It’s bizarre. Even when it looks and acts just like me, I know it’s not.
That’s a good description,
Panquai thought.
If you concentrate on that idea, the forgery of your neural patterns might manifest as your virtual self.
Del closed his eyes and imagined himself in a virt. He picked the song “Rubies,” a ballad he had written about his family. The bittersweet music played around him:
Living bound by your empathy
Shelter found in your trinity
Love imprisoning hope for all days
Rubies must give their souls in all ways.
Del opened his eyes. He was standing knee-deep in the grasses of the Dalvador Plains on his home world Lyshriol. Stalks rippled around him, each tipped with an iridescent bubble. The plains stretched out to the horizon in most directions, and to the Stained Glass Forest in the west. Beyond the forest, the Backbone Mountains rose starkly into the sky. The landscape all had a blue tinge, as if he were seeing it through a diaphanous mist.
“This is beautiful,” a woman said.
Del turned with a start. Secondary Panquai was a few paces away, looking around, lean and tall in her black leathers.
“Hey,” Del said. “Welcome to my world.”
She smiled. “Is that you singing?”
“Yeah, that’s me.” It was hard to say more; the song “Rubies” held a lot of pain.
“It’s lovely,” she said. “It sounds almost classical. I had thought you sang rock.”
“Mostly. I like all kinds of music, though.”
“You have an incredible voice.”
Feeling awkward, he said, “Thanks.” He could see past her, in the distance, to where a figure was approaching them. “Panquai, look. Do you see that?”
Turning, she peered across the field. “A man, I think. It’s not you, though.”
“Come on.” Del headed for the figure. In one of the surreal jumps common in a virt, he and Panquai were suddenly only meters away from the figure. It was a man, a huge one, built like Kelric, but with violet eyes instead of gold. He wore Jagernaut blacks like Panquai.
Startled, Del stopped. “Althor?” Vertigo swept over him; his brother Althor was
dead.
“My greetings, Del,” Althor said, smiling.
Del just frowned. The Traders dishonored his brother’s memory with this forgery.
Panquai studied the avatar. “Are you Secondary Althor Valdoria Skolia?”
“A virtual simulation of him, yes,” Althor said.
“No, you aren’t,” Del said. “You’re a fake. We’re going to erase you.” He gave the forgery a hard mental shove, letting his anger push it away. To Panquai, he said, “The Traders have Althor’s neural signature, too, from when he was a prisoner of war.”
Althor faded, his body becoming translucent, like blue mist.
Del, wait, I’m not a forgerrrry. . . .
The words dissipated as he disappeared.
“We should let Kelric know,” Del said. What bothered him wasn’t that the forgery existed, but that it seemed so
real.
If he hadn’t known Althor was dead, he would have believed it was actually his brother in Kyle space.
Panquai worked on her gauntlet. “I’m notifying the telops. They’ll take care of it.”
“Why forge Althor? We know he’s dead.”
“It could be an echo from something else ESComm is doing. They’re so raw with all this. I doubt they realize we can find their neural forgeries.”
The sunlight no longer streamed so fully. In fact, the day was turning dark.
“Something is wrong,” Del said.
“What do you see?” Panquai asked.
“It’s getting dark! Can’t you tell?”
She shook her head, the motion difficult to discern in the dusk. “It looks the same to me.”
Concentrate,
Del told himself.
Center yourself with songs.
He thought of “Sapphire Clouds,” a song he had written about the loss of childhood innocence:
Running through the sphere-tipped reeds
The suns like gold and amber beads
Jumpin’ over blue-winged bees
Don’t catch me please
Running, running, running.
The dark became complete and he lost all sense of mooring; only the song kept him anchored. He needed to orient on something definite. Kelric had sent him in here to check for problems with security, which had started with a rip in the Kyle mesh.
Show me the rip,
he thought.
A voice answered, deep and inhuman.
SPECIFICATION INCOMPLETE.
Del froze.
What the hell?
Gods almighty!
That came from the usually unflappable Panquai.
Del, you just accessed Comtrace. That’s impossible. No way do you have clearance for that.
QUANTIFY “RIP,”
the inhuman voice said.
I don’t understand,
Del said.
What is Comtrace?
It’s one of our most highly secured intelligence nodes. You shouldn’t be able to do this. I certainly can’t.
Should I say anything?
he asked.
Wait—I’m getting authorization. Brant Tapperhaven is monitoring security for your brother.
Then she thought,
All right. Tell it what you mean.
Del marshaled his thoughts.
Comtrace, take me to the place in the web where ISC security was compromised, the hole ESComm used to infiltrate our mesh and make it look as if I released “Carnelians Finale.”
DONE,
Comtrace answered.
Del was suddenly in a deep grotto. Water swirled around him, green-blue, and gold fronds waved around the ruins of a submerged building with a cracked roof. Brightly colored fish, gold and blue, swam through the broken windows. He floated to the structure and peered inside. Old equipment lay scattered about in there, most of it pitted and corroding past recognition.
THIS SITE WAS CLOSED ONE HUNDRED AND SEVEN YEARS AGO,
Comtrace told him.
ITS AGED SYSTEMS WERE IMPROPERLY SECURED. WE HAVE REPAIRED IT.
Comtrace, why are you telling me this?
Del asked.
YOU ARE CLEARED THROUGH IMPERATOR SKOLIA.
I don’t think he intended that,
Del thought.
ACCESS IS REQUIRED TO COMPLETE YOUR MISSION.
Primary Tapperhaven says you weren’t cleared,
Panquai thought.
He thinks you reached Comtrace because of your close relationship to the Imperator and the job he asked you to do here.
But our relationship isn’t close,
Del answered.
Kelric and I argue all the time.
Wryly he added,
Maybe his forgery gets along with mine, but in real life—
Del froze.
Panquai, I know what’s going on!
He kicked hard, arrowing for the surface.
We have to warn Kelric!
Telop station fourteen,
Panquai shouted into her gauntlet.
Bring us out of the mesh now!
Vertigo swept over Del as he was dragged upward. His clothes, boots, everything pulled at him, weighing him down, as if the Kyle itself were refusing to let him go. He fought through the darkening waters, aware of Panquai at his side.
He had found the forgery. But it wasn’t him.
It was Comtrace.
XXVII: Gods of Chaos
XXVII
Gods of Chaos
When the doorway unexpectedly appeared in Aliana’s suite, she hoped it was Tide. She should have known better; even before the archway finished opening, she felt the pressure of a Highton mind. A man stalked into her living room without asking permission, a powerful figure with a squarer face than most. Instead of black diamond clothes, he had on a uniform with no trace of anything that might be mistaken for ornamentation except red braid on the shoulders and cuffs. The lack of decoration made him no less imposing; if anything, its severity underscored the force of his presence.
Aliana recognized him, she wasn’t certain from where, but she knew he was high even among Hightons. She dropped to one knee and stared at the floor, hoping she hadn’t done anything stupid. She and Red were so
close
to freedom, less than an hour away from the exchange. She could no longer deny what she felt, that she would rather be with Skolians than her own people.
The man walked forward with a measured tread. The toes of his black boots came within her field of view. He walked around her, his boots going out of sight on one side and coming back into sight on the other. She wanted to ask why he had come, but she kept her mouth shut. His mind was even more suffocating than what she had felt from Admiral Muze.
“So you’re the other slave,” the Highton said. “You’re nowhere near as unattractive as they claimed. You might bring a good price. I can’t feel crap from your mind, though.”
Aliana gritted her teeth. She knew Aristos talked to slaves differently than to each other, but still. He sounded more like Harindor than a Highton.
“Get up,” he said.
She rose to her feet and looked up at him. No, not “up”; she must have grown again, because she was as tall as this Highton commander.
The moment her gaze met his, he swore and slapped her across the face. Aliana reeled backward, stumbling, but she caught her balance before she fell; all those training sessions with Tide had paid off. Then she just stood, staring at the Highton. Why the blazes had he hit her?
“I didn’t give you permission to look at me,” he said.
Aliana dropped her gaze. “I’m sorry, Your Glory,” she lied. She had no idea what she was supposed to call him, but that seemed safer than,
Tough, you bastard.
“You should be.” He continued walking around her. “Put you in something better than this silly jumpsuit and you might look half decent. Maybe bring in a good price as a pleasure girl.”
Aliana froze.
No.
He couldn’t do that!
He came around in front of her again. “You a virgin, girl?”
Aliana was smoldering. He wasn’t asking because he actually thought he could sell her. It aroused him to talk to her that way, just like it excited him to hit her.
She raised her gaze and met his squarely. “It’s none of your damn business.”
He showed almost no reaction, just the barest raising of one eyebrow. But the explosion of rage within him was so violent, it hit Aliana even through her mental fortress. She tensed for another blow, but instead he spoke in a deceptively mild tone. “You do realize, you’ll be held accountable for everything you say here.” His voice hardened. “I will see to it.”