A gold ball approached him. Kurj paused, waiting within a lattice cell.
His grandfather’s thought reverberated:
Kurj.
His answer rumbled:
Grandfather.
The Assembly begins.
The gold ball spun away, into the web.
So it was time. Roca had to be hiding, waiting for this moment. He had his EI spiders on alert throughout the web, ready to stop her if she tried to attend the Assembly session through Kyle space. He also had human operatives in every starport on Parthonia, the world where the Assembly met, and he had posted agents in the session hall itself. If she came, he would catch her.
And if she didn’t come?
No, it wasn’t possible. She would be there.
As Kurj moved through the lattice, it grew rich and complex, with so many nodes he could no longer distinguish them individually. He had reached the systems that networked Parthonia, the capital world of Skolia. He thought of the Assembly session and one node swelled in size.
A large amphitheater formed around Kurj. He was attending as a simulacrum, with his body still on the Orbiter. Projecting his image into the Assembly, he appeared behind a console, what they called a “bench,” though it was actually a virtual reality workstation. With his brain linked into its system, he would experience the session as if he were actually here. He could even smell the air and brush his hand across the bench where his simulacrum formed.
People overflowed the amphitheater. The controlled pandemonium of Assembly sessions always struck Kurj as inefficient. Tier after tier of seats ringed the central area, and above the tiers, balconies held yet more people. They filled every seat, including VR benches such as where Kurj sat, high in a balcony. It all ringed a dais that could rise or descend according to where a speaker wished to address the audience. Mechanical arms on every level also made it possible for speakers to move to the center of the amphitheater to address the assembled representatives.
Kurj found no trace of Roca. If she revealed herself on the web, his people could track her signal. They would let him know immediately. To attend the Assembly in person, her ship would have to land on Parthonia. It would be prohibitively difficult for most people to evade his on-planet security, but if anyone could manage such a feat, it was Roca.
She hadn’t yet arrived.
The speeches were interminable, divided about equally between supporters and opponents of the invasion. Kurj had sent his best J-Force officers to speak, and they presented their case well. Platinum was crucial to modern technology. Although nanobots could construct Bose-Einstein platinum substitutes, the process was extraordinarily time-consuming and expensive. Mining proved easier, and the Platinum Sectors abounded with ore-rich asteroids. Skolia had long challenged Eube’s claim to that region, a dispute that had heated as the need for rarer metals grew. Skolia’s forces had to take action now to reclaim its asteroids, before the Traders strengthened their position even more.
When the speeches finally ended, the Assembly prepared for the ballot. The number of votes held by each delegate depended on the size of the population that had elected them and their status within the Assembly. The First Councilor, Skolia’s leader, had the largest bloc. The next largest went to Councilors of the Inner Circle: Stars, Intelligence, Foreign Affairs, Industry, Finance, Judiciary, Life, Planetary Development, Domestic Affairs, Nature, and Protocol. Ten years ago, Roca had won election as a delegate for Parthonia. She had risen in the ranks of the Assembly until two years ago she had attained the coveted position of Foreign Affairs Councilor.
The Ruby Dynasty and House of Majda had the only nonelected positions with significant voting blocs. They inherited their seats rather than winning them through election, a remnant of that ancient time when the dynasty ruled. Every noble House claimed votes, but only the Ruby Dynasty and Majda carried blocs large enough to affect most tallies. The Ruby Pharaoh and Imperator each held almost as many votes as members of the Inner Circle, and Roca, Kurj, and Dyhianna had smaller blocs associated with their titles. When Roca’s votes as a Ruby heir were added to those she held as the Foreign Affairs Councilor, she wielded one of the largest blocs in the entire Assembly.
She still hadn’t arrived.
Kurj leaned forward when the Councilor of Protocol called the vote. As the ballot progressed, the tally showed on a holoscreen above the podium. Kurj didn’t like the numbers. The vote against the invasion was higher than he expected, well over fifty percent. When Protocol called his aunt Dehya, his mother’s scholarly sister, she voted against the invasion, a disappointing but not unexpected development. Kurj voted for the invasion, canceling her bloc but doing nothing to shift the balance in his favor.
Then Protocol called Roca’s vote.
Kurj stood behind his console, knowing he appeared solid and huge. A red light on its front provided the only indication that he was present as a holographic simulacrum. His voice rumbled throughout the amphitheater, amplified by the console audio. “In her absence, Councilor Roca has authorized me to cast her votes.”
A clerk at a console on the dais spoke into her comm. “Proxy choice verified.”
Protocol addressed Kurj. “What is her vote?”
He spoke clearly. “All in support of the invasion.”
A tumult broke out, voices everywhere raised in disbelief. Roca’s preference for peaceful resolution was well known. The First Councilor was standing by the podium on the dais, a tall, lanky man with dark hair. He opened his mouth with undisguised shock, and for an instant Kurj thought he would protest. Then he closed his mouth in an angry line. No changes could be made; the vote was final.
Kurj stood, patient.
“Your vote is recorded,” Protocol said. She sounded stunned.
With a nod, Kurj resumed his seat. The balance of the tally moved solidly in favor of invasion.
“Jarac Skolia, Imperator of Skolia,” the moderator said.
Kurj’s grandfather stood, towering behind his VR bench just as Kurj had behind his. Seeing him, a giant of gold metal, gave Kurj an idea of how imposing a presence he made himself. Jarac looked around the amphitheater, his gaze sweeping the tiers as if that alone could press everyone into their seats. When it reached Kurj, Jarac stared at his grandson for a long, hard moment. It was one of the first times in Kurj’s life that Jarac had looked at him with his inner eyelids closed.
Then the Imperator spoke, his words rolling out. “I cast all votes against.”
Once again startled voices arose in the amphitheater, a wave of sound. Few people expected the Imperator to go
against
the vote when so many of his top officers—indeed, his own grandson and daughter—went in favor of invasion.
Protocol cleared her voice. “Your vote is recorded.” As Jarac took his seat, the tally moved toward a balance, though it was still slightly in favor of invasion.
Protocol turned to Lahaylia. “The Ruby Pharaoh of Skolia.”
Lahaylia rose to her feet, regal and tall, her hair piled high on her head. The amphitheater became silent. Kurj could see people leaning forward in their seats to better see and hear their legendary ruler. She spoke in a clear, resonant voice. “All in favor.”
The rumbles in the amphitheater resumed, though with less agitation this time. The tally swung solidly in favor of invasion.
Protocol called for the last voter, the First Councilor, the leader of the Assembly, the government, and all Skolia. He stepped up to the podium and turned slowly in a circle as the dais rose high in the center of the amphitheater. Looking out over the assembled representatives, he spoke in a ringing voice. “I cast all my votes against.”
Kurj inhaled sharply as the tally changed, careening back in favor of those who opposed the invasion. He didn’t breathe as the numbers changed.
Then it was finished. The tally was done.
By a mere two votes, the Assembly had voted to invade Eube.
Kurj had won.
He also knew, without doubt, that he had lost far more than he gained—for Roca had never arrived.
T
he days passed with bittersweet pleasure while Roca waited for the snow to clear. She and Eldri spent their time together. He showed her Windward, an ancient castle as cold and drafty as it was beautiful, but filled with the warmth of the people who lived there.
Eldri had no more convulsions, but several times Roca felt him blank out. He would stare into space, then come back to himself, disoriented, with no memory of what had happened. It frightened her. Had he received treatments as a young child, his condition probably could have been controlled, even cured. But the convulsions had apparently grown worse over the years as he suffered the long-term effects of repeated, severe, and at times continuous seizures.
“Come on,” he told her on the third morning. “See the Reed.”
“The Reed?” She laughed as he pulled her with him, running down a hall on the second floor of Windward. They sped around a corner—and barreled into a man whose arms were piled high with blue sheets. Laundry went flying, and Roca and Eldri jumped back while the fellow swore, his voice chiming on each cuss word.
Mortified, Roca lunged for the sheets. Eldri went for them at the same time and they banged their heads. The man was laughing now, the lines around his eyes crinkling. Eldri glared at him, but as a youth would scowl at an elder who found him amusing rather than as a sovereign to one of his subjects.
After Eldri and Roca untangled themselves, they helped the man pick up the laundry. He and Eldri chatted, their voices rising and falling in musical cadences, their emotions trickling past Roca’s barriers. Eldri enjoyed the fellow’s company, having known him since childhood. The older man was glad to see him, gratified even, though Roca couldn’t tell why.
Eventually she and Eldri continued on their way, at a more sedate pace. Roca took his hand. “You surprised him.”
He intertwined his fingers with hers. “I suppose it is odd for people to see me dash about. Usually I stay in seclusion.”
“Because of the convulsions?”
He nodded, his face pensive. Then, suddenly, he grinned. “Look, Roca!” He pulled her into a recessed stone archway. The door within it opened into a circular chamber only a few paces wide.
Roca walked inside. The stone room contained nothing, and its unadorned walls were unnaturally smooth. “What is it?”
“A temple for Jaliece Quar.” Eldri came up next to her. “Goddess of the Reeds.”
“Ah, I see.” She craned back her head. “It is a reed.” The chamber rose through many levels of the castle, up into the west tower. “Actually, I think it is a transport tube.”
“Transport?”
She turned to him. “You know that cylinder in your room where you store your clothes?” When he nodded, she said, “Haven’t you ever thought it inconvenient?”
He blinked. “Well, no.”
“It would be easier to hang clothes from a pole.”
“Whatever for?”
“You don’t have to take everything out to reach the garments on the bottom.”
“The tube opens halfway down,” he reminded her. “You only have to take half the clothes out to reach the bottom.”
“But then the ones on top fall down.” She indicated the temple. “The people of the Ruby Empire used tubes like this to suspend things. The design of the cylinder in your room probably derives from that same principle. But it lacks the technology to float garments or move them up and down, just as this can no longer move people up and down.”
Eldri hesitated. “You speak as if you know the builders of this castle.”
“They were my ancestors.”
He touched a tendril of hair curling around her face. “So it is true. You descend from the makers of this place.”
“Well, yes.” For some reason, she felt as if she had given him the wrong answer, though it was true.
His face paled. “I thought so.”
“You did?”
“From now on,” he vowed, “I will observe the rituals. You have my oath.”
“Rituals?”
“For the goddesses and gods of the sun, wind, and reeds.” He paused with his hand near her cheek, as if he wished to touch her but was unsure she would allow it. “Are you a sister or daughter?”
“Of who?”
“Valdor and Aldan, the sun gods.”
“Ah, no. Eldri, no.” She put her hand on his arm, letting him feel her solidity. “I’m a person, just like you. Nothing more. People built this castle. Not deities.”
“Even so.” He held up his fingers. “Every ten days, I will make a flame in a reed as thanks.”
She peered at his hands. “That is eight. Not ten.”
“Eight?” He glared, apparently already forgetting his intent to be deferential. “Whatever could ‘eight’ mean?” He sounded far more irate than puzzled, and she suspected he knew perfectly well what it meant.
“Your fingers.” She counted them. “Eight.”
Glowering, Eldri made two fists and uncurled each finger as he counted it. “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, ten.”
“Of course!” Roca beamed at him. “You count in base eight. It makes perfect sense. Eight fingers, base eight.”
“You sound like Brad,” he grumbled. “And you make no more sense than him. Ten is ten. Not twelve.” He took her hands and indicated her ten fingers, including her thumbs. “Twelve.”
“We call that ten.”
“It
isn’t
ten.” Eldri crossed his arms. “You are as bad as those resort planners. They never listen, either.”
Her smile faded. “When I return home, I will see what can be done about them.” The Assembly had to dispute Earth’s claim here, lest it set a precedent of giving Skolian territory to the Allieds.
“Stay, Roca.” He lowered his arms. “Don’t leave.”
She swallowed. “Please don’t ask me that.”
He didn’t answer, only took her hand and walked with her out of the Reed. The day’s light seemed to dim around them.
On their fifth day, Eldri took Roca up to the battlements atop the highest tower. Bundled in heavy jackets and trousers, they stood in the wind under a vivid lavender sky with no trace of clouds. Valdor, the large sun, was a huge golden coin hiding Aldan, his smaller brother. The mountains spread around them, spectacular in their jagged, dangerous beauty.
Far below, young people were clearing snow off the bridge that arched to the castle. Beyond it was the plain of windswept stone that visitors to Windward had to cross to reach the castle. Cliffs bordered both sides of the plain, rising higher as they came closer to Windward, until on its east and west sides, they towered straight up from the chasm, making it impossible to reach the back of the castle from this side.
Across the plain, Roca could see the end of the path that led up here from Dalvador. Two great statues bracketed it, each carved in the shape of a winged beast with curved horns. From a strategic point of view, she could see why Eldri’s ancestors had put a fortress here; it was almost inaccessible. But she didn’t understand
what
it protected. Windward had no city, no farms, no population of any kind except its staff.
“Eldri, look.” She pointed toward the path. “Do you see?”
Squinting against the sun, he shaded his eyes. “Riders!” He grinned at her. “We have visitors.”
“That means we can leave here, yes?”
“I think so.” Jubilant, he heaved open the glasswood door to the tower. They ran down the steps inside.
At the ground floor, many of Eldri’s men joined them. They all jogged across the courtyard, through the melting snow, and out under the portcullis. Garlin was already on the bridge, surrounded by soldiers from the castle, all in disk mail and leather armor dyed a dark purple. As Eldri came up to Garlin, the older man handed him a belt with a finely tooled scabbard. The sword it held had a crystalline pommel made from the same prismatic material as lyrine hooves.
“Saints above.” Roca gaped as Eldri took the weapon. “You aren’t really going to use that thing, are you?”
He glanced at her as a man helped him into his armor. “You must go inside the castle.”
“You can’t think we’re in danger from those few people.” She knew nothing about combat here, but surely some principles were universal. They wouldn’t all be standing out here if Eldri genuinely believed they were about to be attacked.
“We do not know who they are.” He paused as his man finished outfitting him. “Probably friends, but they could be enemies. We will see.” He strapped the sword belt around his hips.
It astonished Roca that he wore the weapon so easily. It had to weigh a great deal, with its great length and wide blade. “Eldri, that thing is dangerous.”
Garlin spoke dryly. “That is the idea, Lady Roca.”
Looking around, she realized all the soldiers on the bridge were similarly armed, many with daggers as well, and a few with weapons that resembled curved axes. She frowned at Garlin. “And if those people coming here are friends?”
He shrugged. “Then we will invite them inside.”
Eldri drew her aside and indicated the castle. “Look.”
Gazing up, she saw archers lined up along the battlements atop the castle wall, partially hidden behind merlons, between the crenellations. She arched an eyebrow at Eldri. “Are you always this friendly to visitors?”
He adjusted the belt around his hips. “Rumors say Lord Avaril plans to attack.”
She hesitated. “Isn’t it dangerous for you to fight?”
“I cannot live my life hiding.”
“You could die.”
His lips quirked upward. “I promise not to.”
“Eldri! It’s not a joke.”
“I know.” After a moment he added, “I had a seizure during a battle once.”
She couldn’t believe he said it so calmly. “How did you survive?”
“My opponent ran away. He thought I was possessed.”
Roca heard the pain under his attempt to sound amused. Before she could respond, Garlin came over. “Lady Roca, you must return to the fortress now.”
She wanted to stay, but she knew they would insist, just like her bodyguards. Annoyed, she stepped back toward the castle, still gazing out over the windswept plain. Across the open area, about a kilometer from where she stood, a group of riders were exiting the mountain path, riding between the towering statues.
“I only see ten lyrine,” Roca said as the group came out onto the plain. “They don’t look dangerous.” Certainly not compared to all Eldri’s men bristling with their weapons.
Eldri squinted at them. “I can’t tell if those are my men.”
Magnify,
Roca thought. Her node accessed her optic nerves, and the riders seemed to jump in size. “Well, I’ll take a launch off a lily pad!” She took off running across the bridge, unmindful of the slush that splashed on her boots and trousers. Her response startled Eldri’s men enough that by the time anyone grabbed for her, she had already passed.
It took her only minutes to cross the kilometer-wide plain. The riders were dressed like Eldri’s men, but without armor, and they carried no weapons. A man reined in his lyrine and jumped down while the other animals milled around him. As Roca dodged among the lyrine, the fellow wove his way to her.
“Brad!” She was so glad to see the port administrator, she threw her arms around his neck as soon as she reached him. He hugged her back, laughing, with no attempt to restrain his relief.
Suddenly a hand grasped Roca’s arm and yanked her away from Brad. Startled, she swung around to find Eldri gripping her so hard, the veins in his hand stood out. He stared at Brad with no hint of a smile. Roca sighed. Apparently male territoriality was the same in all cultures.
Eldri’s men had no such reservations about their visitors. Still in full armor, but with their weapons sheathed, they gathered around the newcomers, boisterous and laughing as the riders jumped down from their lyrine. Everyone mixed together, calling out names and slapping each other on the back.
Eldri spoke to Brad with chill formality. “You have ridden a long way.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner.” Brad gave Roca a look of apology. “I tried to fix the flyer, but I don’t have the parts. And I couldn’t raise you on my comm equipment.”
Roca winced. “I didn’t have any with me.” Before he could ask why not, she said, “Can you get parts for the flyer?”
“I sent an order with the supply ship.” He started to say more, then stopped, the vertical lines between his eyes deepening.
“What is it?” Roca asked.
“It will be a year before another ship comes.”
“A year?” Her stomach seemed to drop. “No ship puts in here for another
year?
”
“I’m sorry.” Brad blew out a gust of air. “The pilot of this one waited several hours, but he couldn’t delay any longer.”
“Gods almighty.” This was even worse than she had feared. “Pray they can find me.”
“Who?” Brad asked.
Garlin was glancing around at the milling people. “Perhaps we should continue this inside.”
Brad smiled at him. “Hello, Garlin. You look as annoyed as always.”
Unexpectedly, at least to Roca, Garlin laughed. “And you,” he told Brad, “will soon lose more chess games.”
Brad chuckled as they all headed for Windward. His breath made blue puffs in the air. “We had quite a ride here. It took most of the day to bridge that collapsed section of the path.”
Roca couldn’t hold back her shudder. “We jumped it.”
“Good Lord, why?” Brad asked.
Garlin answered. “It was too late in the day to go back.” He walked at Brad’s side with ease, seeming far more pleased than Eldri to see the Allied man.
Roca felt Eldri’s confusion. His natural inclination to like Brad was marred by the image, vivid in his mind, of Roca hugging him. Roca wanted to assure Eldri he had no reason to worry, but she knew an open acknowledgment of his discomfort would hurt his pride.
Eldri spoke quietly. “We lost Jacquilar at the break.”
Brad’s smile vanished. “Eldrinson, I’m terribly sorry.”
After a respectful silence Garlin said, “Brad, can you stay long?”
“Not too long. I can keep in touch with the port from here, but I should get back. I don’t like to leave it automated.” He glanced at Roca. “I had to make sure you were all right. Your message said you would only be gone a day. When you didn’t return—and given the way you left—” He cleared his throat, avoiding Eldri’s gaze. “I thought I had better check.”