The Empress

  Orthanion spoke rapidly to me. Nervously. “This starship is called the Arbiter. It’s the only vessel in my possession that can move of its own power. My inquisitors are selecting some among their number to accompany us. As for the Hera, I mean it to follow us with more of my vicars to reinforce us. In the meantime, your ship will be safe.”

  Certainly safer than it would have been in Pasus’s hands. We floated up in a lift to reach the access plank. I found myself gazing down at the starship, which had appeared as just a curved wall from the ground. From above, it was six concentric circles braided together.

  “My immune system is out of date,” noted the Interdict.

  “Yes. We can harvest antibodies from my blood.”

  I sent Neveni and Anguish about to explore the ship, check for any visible repairs needed before we left. In the medical bay, the med bots examined my blood. I’d been exposed to a few pathogens, but not a great many.

  “Neveni would be the ideal donor, but . . .” I fell silent.

  “That girl is Luminar, is she not? I recognize the accent.”

  “She is.”

  His lips twisted. “I can understand if she’d refuse.”

  She’d more than refused. She’d informed me she’d sooner bleed out than donate a single drop of her blood to the Interdict. “We’ll find other volunteers once we leave this system. It’s a good thing you do.”

  The med bot finished isolating my immune cells, and then it was only a matter of waiting for a synthesizer to duplicate them for Orthanion’s immune system “The first thing we must do is announce my return,” said the Interdict. “I will need as visible a platform as possible. I can also command my vicars to end their stalling with regards to that scepter. . . . Though if the situation is as dire as you said, perhaps we should wait until the Emperor is freed from the hands of his foes.”

  “No need.” I unzipped my coat, drew the scepter from within. “It’s right here.”

  “May I?”

  I let him take it, turn it in his hands.

  “The last time I held this,” he mused, “the Emperor Amon had just been revived from his artificial coma. The Domitrians vary widely in their ability to command this device, and Amon was not one of the more skilled wielders, but even casual use of this makes one a threat. He was sedated his entire trip to my doorstep, and the entire process of draining and reinfusing his blood, over and over. Shocking his body, over and over. I only had a vague idea about how to loosen his power over this. Finally, we tried stopping his heart. The third artificial cardiac arrest, and this machine readied itself for his successor. His mind was terribly damaged by the entire process, but he was still aware enough to panic when he realized he could not command this any longer.” His dark brows furrowed. “It was quite pitiful truly.”

  “So much effort to defuse the threat of that machine,” I said.

  “It should never have come from Earth with us, Nemesis. It doesn’t belong here. Our ancestors abandoned a great deal of technology when they left Earth—and this should have been abandoned as well. This is a machine that can only be commanded by one who is colonized by . . . machines.”

  I looked at him sharply. “Colonized?”

  The Interdict considered me for a long moment as though weighing something in his mind. Then he seemed to come to a decision. “What I tell you must remain between us.”

  I dared not say a word. All I did was nod.

  “All of the humans we left on Earth had these internal machines. They were one of the initial steps of human and artificial hybridization. They infested an entire body from birth. They were in one’s sperm, one’s eggs, in the new embryo they formed. They adapted to the DNA of each successive child born, multiplied as that child grew, and then when numerous enough, they formed a network within that child’s body. Our ancestors strove to be rid of those internal machines, and any technology that necessitated such a network of machines to control. One man thwarted them. Domitri Orlov.”

  Domitri. Was this the ancestor of the royal line?

  “Domitri realized that in this new world, all other humans would be natural ones, so if he retained a technological edge over them, he could position himself as their king.”

  “That was surely a Domitrian.”

  “Actually, no. Domitri had no children. I am fairly certain he died in prison after he was found out. His blood was purged against his will and this device was placed in a vault. The thing was, Domitri wasn’t the only one who had that idea. Quite a few sought to keep an advantage, and soon they earned a pejorative—the Domitrians. The day came at long last when a single child was born infested with these microbots, and it was only a matter of awaiting the day she was old enough to be purged of them.”

  I understood it. “And yet—that Domitrian instead became the first of the royal line.”

  He touched his nose. “The new colonies broke into their first proper war, and someone thought of this device and that girl who could use it—and the potential to seize control over all enemy ships at will. It so effectively ended that conflict that the girl was kept as she was, and then her child was also preserved. The entire Empire sprang of that one family line.”

  He slid his nails over the metal surface until they caught on something. A press of his fingers and it unlatched . . . Revealing its empty insides. Empty at first glance, at least . . .

  The Interdict withdrew a sliver of metal. It was as thin as a human hair and as long as a pinky finger.

  “This is a the royal scepter. A supercomputer. The outside is just decoration. I suggest you carry that casing, I carry this supercomputer, until it’s safe for us to give them both to your Tyrus.”

  I nodded. “How will you . . .”

  The Interdict poked the tiny, sharp end of that metal filament through the top layer of skin on his forearm and threaded it under his skin. That didn’t look comfortable to me, but he just pulled his sleeve down over it. “We should begin by—”

  And then it happened.

  A loud shriek of metal scraping metal drove into my ears. The Arbiter jolted around us, sending the Interdict tumbling. I hoisted him back to his feet, and said, “What’s happening?”

  “I don’t know,” he answered.

  “Where’s the command nexus?” I said.

  “This way,” he said.

  We charged into the chamber to see Neveni there, all by herself, and out the windows, we saw the rear of the ship straining against the docking clamps holding it to the Sacred City. Anguish rushed into the nexus as well and cast me a suspicious look.

  Neveni greeted our entrance with a smile. “Right in time.”

  “Neveni, what’s happening?” I demanded.

  “Looks like we’re busting out of our moorings,” she said.

  “What?” I cried.

  Then the Arbiter ripped right out of the Sacred City’s docking tethers, hurtling us into space. I hurled myself toward the navigation panel, saw that it was locked.

  Which meant someone had locked it.

  I looked at her over my shoulder. Her black eyes were fixed on the window. “Orthanion. Look closely.”

  “Pardon me?” said the Interdict.

  “Blink and you might miss it.” Neveni’s voice dripped with poison.

  The Hera veered into view, and my heart gave a spasm at the realization it had also torn out of its dock, but it was swerving itself around, hurtling back toward the Sacred City. The Arbiter glided farther and farther back as the fearsome asteroid ship accelerated toward the massive habitat of diamond.

  And then—impact.

  The Hera met the Sacred City at full speed and this was no starship to be torn through, but a celestial body of equal mass that erupted in a blinding swell of light.

  “Neveni!” My scream at her was lost in the erupting roar of the shock striking us.

  Outside: splintering diamond and graphite and fire, and about us a feeble starship bucking, straining, the wave of heat driving us into a crazed spin. The burning, shatter
ed remains of the holiest place in the Empire whirled in and out of sight, and my head smashed back into the wall. The weight of our spin pressed me to the floor, but a small, determined figure clawed across the floor toward the fallen Interdict. I shouted as another blast hit us, but my warning went unheard.

  And Neveni reached the Interdict. The blade in her hand glinted as she screamed: “How do you like watching your entire world get destroyed?” Then she plunged the blade into his chest.

  “NO!” I screamed.

  But the blade plunged again, again, into his heart, his stomach, his throat. He raised his hands, but the skin of his arms shredded to the kiss of metal. . . .

  “NO!” I heaved myself over to them, clasped her fragile body, and ripped her away from him. I paid no mind to where I’d tossed her as the ship rocked around us, and flung myself over the Interdict.

  Blood. So much blood. Too much. No med bot would save this, but I pressed my hands to his hot, seeping chest, desperate to contain all that fountained from his aorta. “Don’t die. Don’t die! DON’T DIE!” I screamed, and then I saw Anguish hauling Neveni to the navigation panel, and she grinned madly as she jerked us to a sudden halt.

  And fell into silence.

  Neveni looked at the bloodied man beneath me and laughed as she had seeing her face on that screen, the new greatest terrorist in the Empire. In substance, not just name now. Blood saturated her, but Anguish’s strong grip held her steady—looking more about comfort than restraint.

  My mind ground to a strange halt. The Interdict’s blood was already crusting on my hands. This man was the only salvation. I peeled back his eyes and saw the sludgy absence of life.

  It was done.

  And then Neveni whispered to the Interdict, but it might as well have been to me:

  “Where’s your Living Cosmos now?”

  37

  OUR SHIP floated listlessly away from the ravaged Sacred City. Then I turned slowly, dangerously, toward the girl responsible for ruining everything.

  “Why?” I looked at the Interdict’s blood on my hands, the dead man on the floor beneath us. “You . . . I told you . . . You knew . . . Neveni, why?”

  “How can you even ask?” she screamed. “The Grandiloquy killed my planet, so I killed their god! I destroyed their Sacred City and their glorious Living Cosmos did nothing to stop it, and I’ve never been so happy in my life.” Rage made her entire body quake. “Let them all see now that their faith is a grand joke! Let them drown in the blood of Luminars just like their Interdict.” With those triumphant, angry words, Neveni crumpled to the ground and descended into frantic tears, belying her claim to happiness.

  Numbly, I gazed down at her, thinking of the contradiction of tears I still didn’t understand. She raged with fury, and yet tears flowed. She’d murdered, and destroyed everything, and yet—tears.

  “Why do you think I wanted to help you?” she sobbed. “Why do you think?”

  Sickened, I recalled our conversation when I’d spoken of going to the Interdict. Only then—only then had she taken interest. She’d meant to murder him all along. She’d meant to wreak this destruction. That’s why she’d grown so cheerful the closer we grew to the Sacred City. Her goal was in sight.

  She never meant to help me.

  She meant to eradicate any hope Tyrus and I had left.

  • • •

  Some of the Sacred City had been propelled toward the event horizon of the black hole. Those sections I could still see as they descended into a slower and slower frame of time. I could never venture there. Not without risk of losing years I could not afford to squander.

  I moved through the ship feeling as though I’d entered a strange and surreal dream. Near a window, I came to a stop, seeing what was left. There were great chunks of the Sacred City intact, spinning about through the void . . . insides exposed to space. The pastures. The plants. Those Exalteds and the dancers and that vicar who loved the Gorgon’s Arm Wayfarers . . .

  And my Hera. That proud and beautiful starship. Obliterated.

  My gaze shifted between that terrible destruction to the dull reflection against the clear pane. For an odd moment, I did not recognize myself, this woman who was too small to be me. The one with finery that had never belonged on her, but I’d worn it to impress the Interdict. I couldn’t make out distinct features. My hand raised, touched my crooked nose. Mine. Me. This was me.

  A presence entered the room with me. Anguish.

  “Tearing out of the dock damaged the ship. We also took a hit from a part of the city itself. I don’t believe it can enter hyperspace safely.”

  I spread my hand on the window. Wouldn’t that be ironic, to go through all of this only to die from a failed hyperspace jump . . . from malignant space.

  We had to repair the ship or take that risk. Without a hyperspace drive, it would take several million years to return to the Chrysanthemum. I pressed my forehead to the cool window and closed my eyes, my head pulsing. “I’ve no technical knowledge. Unless you do, the only one of us who might be able to fix it is her.”

  “You believe an Excess could fix a hyperspace drive.”

  “I believe Neveni could fix a service bot that can fix other service bots. They’ll tend to the drive. Her mother was the Viceroy of Lumina, one who tried to restore the sciences. Neveni is . . . I am sure Neveni has more understanding than you’d expect.”

  “She is a girl of many surprises,” remarked Anguish.

  I looked at him. “Did you know she’d do that?”

  “The little girl told me nothing.”

  Little.

  Little. A strange word. Neveni was “little” only in the physical sense, and only compared to us. I couldn’t call anyone “little” who’d just altered our destinies and likely irrevocably shifted the course of galactic history.

  My eyes met their ghostly reflection in the glass, which rendered them hollow, empty-looking black pits.

  The Interdict could not fix this. That meant someone had to.

  Someone always did. It would have to be me.

  “We need to see what’s left of the Sacred City. I’m going to steer us closer. Can you see if there are any space-sheaths we can use?” My voice sounded cold. Granite firm.

  “I will check.”

  Minutes later I’d navigated us closer to the largest chunk that remained of the habitat, and Anguish wordlessly returned with the space-sheaths. None would fit his broad, muscular body, but I could don mine.

  “Lumina’s atmosphere will be long clear of the Resolvent Mist,” noted Anguish. “I suggest we see about going there. . . .”

  “No.” I shook my head. “We have to go back.”

  “Back?”

  “To Tyrus.”

  “You wish to return to the Chrysanthemum?”

  “We are returning.”

  “Are you mad?” said Anguish. “We will be killed on sight.”

  “We are Diabolics,” I said to him coldly. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid.”

  “If I ever return to the Chrysanthemum,” said Anguish, “it will be to execute your young Emperor. I will not risk the little girl.”

  “I will,” I snarled. “Her welfare stopped being my concern when she ruined everything.”

  “You believe,” he said contemptuously, “that she will fix this ship for you when that’s your plan?”

  “I believe she must fix the ship. If you wish to be the slightest bit useful, you will make her fix it while I’m gone.”

  His eyes snapped with warning. “If you are hinting at me torturing her into obedience—”

  “Hinting? No. I am telling you to do it. Or I will.”

  “No pain we could inflict upon her will exceed her grief.”

  “That remains to be seen.” I moved to jam my helmet over my head, but Anguish’s large palm swiped out, sent it careening into the far wall, and my heart felt as though an electric prong had spiked through it.

  I rushed over to it, my throat clenched, and examined the p
recious helmet. No cracks. Good. Oh, I could destroy him. I could murder him. . . . He leaned toward me, eyes afire with rage of his own.

  “If you lay a finger on her, Nemesis dan Impyrean, I will return the pain to you fivefold.”

  The words, the words . . . The challenge, the hostility in them stirred some long-buried chord deep in my being, and the surge of beautiful malice that swept over me propelled me toward him one step, another.

  “Is that so?” My lips pulled into a smile, baring my teeth.

  “It is,” he promised, and there was a dangerous light in his eyes that told me his instincts were being stoked with the promise of violence just as mine were.

  It didn’t matter, then, that he significantly overpowered and outweighed me. How glorious it would feel to hurt him, to see him bleed, and from the way his great muscles shifted and he began prowling about me, as I circled him, I knew the sentiment was mutual.

  “She,” I said to him, my voice trembling with fury, “has doomed us all.”

  “She has doomed your young Emperor, you mean.”

  “And you despise him. How pleasurable you must find this.”

  His smile taunted me. “Yes.”

  That was it. I threw myself at him with a scream of rage, and he absorbed my weight, twisting me about to crash to the floor beneath him, his body crushing me. I raised my head and bit the nearest thing to me—sinking my teeth into his shoulder, blood welling up like copper in my mouth. The move surprised him long enough for me to raise my leg and drive my knee into that weakness of male Diabolics. At the same time his fist slammed my side hard enough to send acid boiling up my throat. . . .

  “STOP!”

  Icy cold water splashed us, drenching us, and Anguish stumbled up to his feet, and I shoved my way up to mine, my garb plastered to me, hair soaked, and Neveni stood there, the upended basin in her hands spattering a few last drops on the floor of the ship.

  “Stop,” she repeated, her voice a croak. “I am going to repair the ship.”

  Neveni dropped the empty basin with a clang. She held herself like every bone, every cell in her body hurt her, impossibly fragile and breakable.

  “I don’t want to be stranded here until we die,” she said. “So I’ll do what I can. If that’s what you’re fighting over, don’t bother. You two just stay away from each other. I mean it.”