Nova

  "My right hand. I know you have no weapons. I trust my own. We are both playing this one by ear, Lorq. Ashton Clark has set the rules."

  "Prince, what are you trying to do?"

  "Keep things as they are."

  "Stasis is death."

  "But less destructive than your insane movements."

  "I am a pirate, remember?"

  "You're fast on your way to becoming the greatest criminal of the millennium"

  "Are you about to tell me something I don't know?"

  "I sincerely hope not. For our sake here, for the sake of worlds around us ..." Then Prince laughed. "By every logical extension of argument, Lorq, I'm right as far as this battle goes. Has that occurred to you?"

  Lorq narrowed his eyes.

  "I know you want Illyrion," Prince continued. "The only reason you want it is to upset the balance of power; otherwise, it wouldn't be worth it to you. Do you know what will happen?"

  Lorq set his mouth. "I'll tell you: it will ruin the economy of the Outer Colonies. There will be a whole wave of workers to relocate. They'll swarm in. The empire will come as close to war as it's been since the suppression of Vega. When a company like Red-shift Limited reaches stasis in this culture, that's tantamount to destruction. That should kill as much work for as many people in Draco as the destruction of my companies would mean in the Pleiades. Does that begin your argument well?"

  "Lorq, you are incorrigible!"

  "Are you relieved that I've thought it through?"

  "I'm appalled."

  "Here's another argument you can use, Prince: you're fighting not only for Draco, but for the economic stability of the Outer Colonies as well. If I win, a third of the galaxy moves forward and two thirds fall behind. If you win, two thirds of the galaxy maintains its present standard and one third falls."

  Prince nodded. "Now, demolish me with your logic."

  "I must survive."

  Prince waited. He frowned. The frown parted with puzzled laughter. "That's all you can say?"

  "Why should I bother to tell you that the workers can be relocated in spite of the difficulty? That there will be no war because there are enough worlds and food for them— if it is properly distributed, Prince? That the increase in Illyrion will create enough new projects to absorb these people?"

  Prince's black brows arched. "That much Illyrion?"

  Lorq nodded. "That much."

  By the great window, Ruby picked up the ugly lumps of glass. She examined them, seeming unconscious of the conversation. But Prince held out his hand. Immediately, she placed them on his palm. She was following their words closely.

  "I wonder," Prince said, looking at the fragments, "if this will work." His fingers closed. "Do you insist on reopening this feud between us?"

  "You're a fool, Prince. The forces that have pried up the old hostilities were moving about us when we were children. Why pretend here that these parameters mark our field?"

  Prince's fist began to quiver. His hand opened. Bright crystals were shot with internal blue light. "Heptodyne quartz. Are you familiar with it? Mild pressure on impure glass will often produce— I say 'mild.' That's a geologically relative term, of course."

  "You're threatening again. Go away— now. Or you'll have to kill me."

  "You don't want me to go. We're trying to maneuver a single combat here to decide which worlds fall where." Prince hefted the crystals. "I could put one of these quite accurately through your skull." He turned his hand over; again shards fell on the floor. "I'm not a fool, Lorq. I'm a juggler. I want to keep all our worlds spinning about my ears." He bowed and stepped back. Again his foot brushed the beast.

  — Sebastian's pet yanked at its chain. Sails cracked the air, jerked its master's arm back and forth— "Down! Down, now you go ..."

  — the chain pulled from Sebastian's hand. It rose, swept back and forth beneath the ceiling. Then it dove at Ruby.

  She whirled her arms around her head. Prince dodged at her, ducked beneath the wings. His gloved hand struck up.

  It squealed, flapped back. Prince whipped his hand again at the black body. It shook in the air, collapsed.

  Tyy cried out, ran to the beast, which flapped weakly on its back, and pulled it away. Sebastian rose from his stool with knotted fists. Then he dropped to his knees to minister to his injured pet.

  Prince turned his black hand over. Wet purple blotched the nap. "That was the creature that attacked you on the Esclaros, wasn't it?"

  Ruby stood up, still silent, and pushed dark hair from her shoulder. Her dress was white, rimmed at hem, collar, and sleeve with black. She touched her satin bodice where bangles of blood had dropped.

  Prince regarded the mewing thing between Tyy and Sebastian. "That almost settles the score, Ruby?" He rubbed his hands: flesh and bloody black.

  He frowned at his smeared fingers. "Lorq, you asked me a question: when am I going to make good my threats? Some time within the next sixty seconds. But we have a sun to settle between us. Those rumors you mentioned to Ruby have reached us. The protective gauze the Great White Bitch of the North, your Aunt Cyana, drapes about herself, is most effective. It fell the moment you left her office. But we've listened at other keyholes; and we heard news of a sun, about to go nova. It, or suns like it, have apparently been the center of your interest for some time." His blue eyes rose from his stained palm. "Illyrion. I don't see the connection. No matter. Aaron's men are working on it."

  Tension rode like pain between Lorq's hips and in the small of his back. "You are preparing for something. Go on. Do it."

  "I must figure out how. With my bare hand, I think— no." His brows arched; he held up his dark fist. "No, this one. I respect your attempt to justify yourself to me. But how do you justify yourself to them?" With bloody fingers he gestured at the crew.

  "Ashton Clark would side with you, Prince. So would justice. I'm not here because I willed a situation. I'm only struggling to solve it. The reason I must fight you is I think I can win. There's only that one. You're for stasis. I'm for movement. Things move. There's no ethic there." Lorq looked at the twins. "Lynceos? Idas?"

  The black face looked up; the white, down.

  "Do you know what you risk in this contest?"

  One looking at him, one looking away, they nodded.

  "Do you want to sign off the Roc?"

  "No, Captain, we— "

  "— I mean, even if it all— "

  "— all changes, on Tubman— "

  "— in the Outer Colonies, maybe— "

  "— maybe Tobias will leave there— "

  "— and join us here."

  Lorq laughed. "I think Prince would take you with him— if you wanted."

  "Tarred and feathered," Prince said. "Etiolated and denigrated. You've lived out your own myths. Damn you, Lorq."

  Ruby stepped forward. "You!" she said to the twins. Both looked at her. "Do you really know what happens if you help Captain Von Ray and he succeeds?"

  "He may win— " Lynceos finally looked away, silver lashes quivering.

  Idas moved closer to shield his brother. "— or he may not."

  "What do they say about our cultural solidarity?" from Lorq. "It's not the world you thought it was, Prince."

  Ruby turned sharply. "Does the evidence say it's yours?" Without waiting for answer, she turned to Gold. "Look at it, Lorq."

  "I'm looking. What do you see, Ruby?"

  "You— you and Prince— want to control the internal flames that run worlds against the night. There, the fire has broken out. It's scarred this world, this city, the way Prince scarred you."

  "To bear such a scar," Prince (Lorq felt his jaw stiffen; muscles bunched at temple and forehead) said slowly, "you may have to be greater than I."

  "To bear it I have to hate you."

  Prince smiled.

  The Mouse, Lorq saw from the corner of his eye, had backed against the doorjamb, both hands behind him. Slack lips had fallen from white teeth; white encircled both pupils.

>   "Hate is a habit. We have hated each other a long time, Lorq. I think I'll finish it now." Prince's fingers flexed. "Do you remember how it started?"

  "On Sao Orini? I remember you were as spoiled and vicious then as you— "

  "Us?" Prince's eyebrows arched again. "Vicious? Ah, but you were blatantly cruel. And I've never forgiven you for it."

  "For making fun of your hand— "

  "Did you? Odd, I don't remember. Insults of that nature I rarely forget. But no. I'm talking about that barbaric exhibition you took us to in the jungle. Beasts; and we couldn't even see the ones in the pit. All of them, hanging over the edge, sweating, shouting, drunk, and— bestial. And Aaron was one of them. I remember him to this day, his forehead glistening, his hair straggling, face contorted in a grisly shout, shaking his fist." Prince closed his velvet fingers. "Yes, his fist. That was the first time I saw my father like that. It terrified me. We've seen him like that many times since, haven't we, Ruby?" He glanced at his sister. "There was the De Targo merger when he came out of the board room that evening.., or the Anti-Flamina' scandal seven years ago ... Aaron is a charming, cultured, and utterly vicious man. You were the first person to show me that viciousness naked in his face. I could never forgive you for that, Lorq. This scheme of yours, whatever it is, with this ridiculous sun: I have to stop it. I have to stop the Von Ray madness." Prince stepped forward. "If the Pleiades Federation crashes when you crash, it is only so that Draco live— "

  Sebastian rushed him.

  It came that suddenly, surprised all equally.

  Prince dropped to one knee. His hand fell on the quartz lumps; they shattered with blue fire. As Sebastian struck at him, Prince whipped one of the fragments through the air: thwik. It sank in the cyborg stud's hairy arm. Sebastian roared, staggered backward. Prince's hand swept again over the bright, broken crystals.

  ...thwik, thwik, and thwik.

  Blood dribbled from two spots on Sebastian's stomach, one on his thigh. Lynceos lunged from the pool edge. "Hey, you can't— "

  "— yes he can!" Idas grappled his brother; white fingers tried and failed to tear the black bar from his chest. Sebastian fell.

  Thwik ...

  Tyy shrieked and dropped to his side, grabbing his bleeding face and rocking above him.

  ...thwik, thwik.

  He arched his back, gasping. The wounds on his thigh and cheek, and two on his chest flickered.

  Prince stood. "Now, I'm going to kill you." He stepped over Sebastian's feet as the stud's heels gouged the carpet. "Does that answer your question?"

  It came up from somewhere deep below Lorq's gut, moored among yesterdays. Bliss made his awareness of its shape and outline precise and luminous. Something inside him shook. From the hammock of his pelvis it clawed into his belly, vaulted his chest and wove wildly, erupted from his face; Lorq bellowed. In the sharp peripheral awareness of the drug, he saw the Mouse's syrynx where it had been left on the stage. He snatched it up—

  "No, Captain!"

  — as Prince lunged. Lorq ducked with the instrument against his chest. He twisted the intensity knob.

  The edge of Prince's hand shattered the doorjamb (where a moment before the Mouse had leaned). Splinters split four and five feet up the shaft.

  "Captain, that's my ...!"

  The Mouse leaped, and Lorq struck him with his flat hand. The Mouse staggered backward and fell in the sand-pool.

  Lorq dodged sideways and whirled to face the door as Prince, still smiling, stepped away.

  Then Lorq struck the tuning haft.

  A flash.

  It was reflection from Prince's vest; the beam was tight. Prince flung his hand up to his eyes. Then he shook his head, blinking.

  Lorq struck the syrynx again.

  Prince clutched his eyes, stepped back, and screeched.

  Lorq's fingers tore at the sound-projection strings. Though the beam was directional, the echo roared about the room, drowning the scream. Lorq's head jarred under the sound. But he beat the sounding board again. And again. With each sweep of his hand, Prince reeled back. He tripped on Sebastian's feet, but did not fall. And again. Lorq's own head ached. That part of his mind still aloof from the rage thought: his middle ear must have ruptured. ... Then the rage climbed higher in his brain. There was no part of him separate from it.

  And again.

  Prince's arms flailed about his head. His ungloved hand struck one of the suspended shelves. The statuette fell.

  Furious, Lorq smashed at the olfactory plate.

  An acrid stench burned his own nostrils, seared the roof of his nasal cavity so that his eyes teared.

  Prince screamed, staggered; his gloved fist hit the plate glass. It cracked from floor to ceiling.

  With blurred and burning eyes, Lorq stalked him.

  Now Prince struck both fists against the glass; glass exploded. Fragments rang on the floor and the rock.

  "No!" from Ruby. Her hands were over her face.

  Prince lurched outside.

  Heat slapped at Lorq's face. But he followed.

  Prince wove and stumbled down toward the glow of Gold. Lorq crab-walked the jagged slope.

  And struck.

  Light whipped Prince. He must have regained some of his vision, because he clawed at his eyes again. He went down on one knee.

  Lorq staggered. His shoulder scraped hot rock. He was already slicked with sweat. It trickled his forehead, banked in his eyebrows, poured through at the scar. He took six steps. With each he struck light brighter than Gold, sound louder than the lava's roar, odor sharper than the sulfur fumes that rasped his throat. His rage was real and red and brighter than Gold. "Vermin ... Devil ... Dirt!"

  Prince fell just as Lorq reached him. His bare hand leaped about the scalding stone. His head came up. His arms and face had been cut by falling glass. His mouth was opening and closing like a fish. His blind eyes blinked and wrinkled and opened again.

  Lorq swung his foot back, smashed at the gasping face. ...

  And it was spent.

  He sucked hot gas. His eyes raged with heat. He turned, arms slipping against his sides. The ground tilted suddenly. The black crust opened and heat struck him back. He staggered up between the pitted crags. The lights of Taafite quivered behind shaking veils. He shook his head. His thoughts reeled about the burning cage of bone. He was coughing; the sound was a distant bellow. And he had dropped the syrynx ...

  ...she cleared between the jagged edges.

  Cool touched his face, seeped into his lungs. Lorq pulled himself erect. She stared at him. Her lips fluttered before no word. Lorq stepped toward her.

  She raised her hand (he thought she was going to strike him. And he did not care) and touched his corded neck.

  Her throat quivered.

  Lorq looked over her face, her hair, twisted about a silver comb. In the flicker of Gold her skin was the color of a velvet nut-hull; her eyes were kohled wide over prominent cheekbones. But her magnificence was in the slight tilt of her chin, the expression on her copper mouth, caught between a terrifying smile and resignation to something ineffably sad; in the curve of her fingers against her throat.

  Her face loomed against his. Warm lips struck his own, became moist. On the back of his neck, still the warmth of her fingers, the cool of her ring. Her hand slid.

  Then, behind them, Prince screamed.

  Ruby jerked away, snarling. Her nails raked his shoulder. She fled past him down the rock.

  Lorq did not even watch her. Exhaustion held him in the flow. He stalked through the fragments of glass. He glared about at the crew. "Come on, God damn it! Get out of here!"

  Beneath the knotted cable of flesh, the muscles rode like chains. Red hair jerked up and down over his gleaming belly with each breath.

  "Go on now!"'

  "Captain, what happened to my ...

  But Lorq had started toward the door.

  The Mouse looked wildly from the captain to flaming Gold. He dashed across the room and ducked out
the broken glass.

  In the garden, Lorq was about to close the gate when the Mouse slipped through behind the twins, syrynx clutched under one arm, sack under the other.

  "Back to the Roc," Lorq was saying. "We get off this world!"

  Tyy supported the injured pet on one shoulder and Sebastian on the other. Katin tried to help her, but Sebastian was too short for Katin really to assist the weak, glittering stud. At last Katin stuck his hands under his belt.

  Mist twisted beneath the streetlights as they hurried along the cobbles through the City of Dreadful Night.

  Pleiades Federation/Outer Colonies (Roc transit) 3172

  "Page of Cups."

  "Queen of Cups."

  "The Chariot. My trick is. Nine of Wands."

  "Knight of Wands."

  "Ace of Wands. The trick to the dummy-hand goes." Take-off had gone smoothly. Now Lorq and Idas flew the ship; the rest of the crew sat around the commons.

  From the ramp Katin watched Tyy and Sebastian play a two-handed game of cards. "Parsifal— the pitied fool— having forsaken the Minor Arcana, must work his way through the remaining twenty-one cards of the Major. He is shown at the edge of a cliff. A white cat tears the seat of his pants. One is unable to tell if he will fall or fly away. But later in the series, we have an indication in the card called the Hermit: an old man with a staff and a lantern on that same cliff looks sadly down the rocks— "

  "What the hell are you talking about?" the Mouse asked. He kept running his finger over a scar on the polished rosewood. "Don't tell me. Those damned Tarot cards— "

  "I'm talking about quests, Mouse. I'm beginning to think my novel might be some sort of quest story." He raised his recorder again. "Consider the archetype of the Grail. Oddly unsettling that no writer who has attacked the Grail legend in its naked entirety has lived to complete the work. Mallory, Tennyson, and Wagner, responsible for the most popular versions, distorted the basic material so greatly that the mythical structure of their versions is either unrecognizable or useless— perhaps the reason they escaped the jinx. But all true Grail tellings, Chretien de Troyes' Conte del Graal in the twelfth century, Robert de Boron's Grail cycle in the thirteenth century, Wolfram von Eschenbach's Parzival, or Spenser's Faerie Queene in the sixteenth, were all incomplete at their authors' deaths. In the late nineteenth century I believe an American, Richard Hovey, began a cycle of eleven Grail plays and died before number five was finished. Similarly, Lewis Carroll's friend George MacDonald left incomplete his Origins of the Legend of the Holy Grail. The same with Charles William's cycle of poems Taliesin through Logres. And a century later— "