Jai stood up slowly. “You compare me to a provider, then ask me to bed? Such insults hardly inspire affection.”
“Affection?” She took his hands. Her smile had an edge. “Are you fond of me, sweet Jaibriol?”
He pulled away his hands. “Don’t patronize me.”
“You evade my question.”
Jai clenched her upper arms. “You madden, exasperate, and irritate the hell out of me. And yes, you arouse me.” That had to be the understatement of the century. “But that is all I feel, Tarquine. Nothing more.”
“I don’t think so,” she murmured. “Such might be true for me, but not you. Admit it, Jaibriol.”
“Admit it yourself.” He jerked her closer. “I can tell you’re lying about what you claim you don’t feel for me.”
“You think so?” Her look turned speculative. “And can you judge so well when your Joint Commanders are lying?”
Jai stiffened. If she meant what he thought, she was right; he could spy on their minds. It was more evidence that she believed him a telepath. As he had done with Corbal, and even Tarquine herself, he might discover in their thoughts what they knew about the assassination attempts. But it would work only if he lowered his barriers in their presence. Jai didn’t think he could endure making himself that vulnerable.
Regardless, he had no intention of admitting anything to Tarquine. “I wish I had some way to uncover their secrets. But of course I don’t.”
“Of course.” She put her arms around his neck, holding her thumb and forefinger together against his skin. “But you could invite them here to, oh let’s say, repair deteriorating relations between the palace and ESComm.”
Jai slid his arms around her waist. “Even if their visit led me to believe, for some reason, that they were involved in the assassination attempts, my basis for those conclusions would be circumstantial.”
“In a court of law, yes.”
Jai laid his finger over her lips. “I want only to improve relations with ESComm.”
“Of course. As do I.” She lied so smoothly.
Jai knew he had to consider her idea no matter how much he dreaded it. If she was right, that his Joint Commanders were trying to kill him, he had to know.
Jacques Ardoise huddled in the corner, ignoring the plush divans and luxurious bed of his room. The ivory walls, the tapestries, and parquet floors—nothing in this mansion reassured him. He pulled his legs closer to his chest, wrapped his arms around them, and put his head on his knees.
Tears ran down his face. He had always questioned whether his ability to empathize so well was a gift or a curse, but he had never realized he was a true empath. The Traders had tested him; he was even a marginal telepath, able to discern the rare thought from a more generalized mood, if it came strongly enough. It delighted his captors. They expected to make a lot of wealth from him. But they hadn’t yet held the auction; they had wanted to transcend themselves first.
So they had.
Jacques sat shivering against the wall, wondering how soldiers learned to resist interrogation. He would have told his tormentors anything to make them stop. But they weren’t interested in information, only transcendence. The female mercenaries also “liked” him. They took him to bed regardless of how much he fought, and they did what they pleased.
He had no idea where he was. The pirates had brought him to this mansion after they landed on some planet. It wasn’t Earth; the air was too thin and the low gravity disoriented him. The raiders had cuffed and collared him, and given him expensive new clothes, shirts and trousers, but no shoes or socks. The garments covered his body, but fit snugly, obviously designed to display his build.
A chime sounded. As Jacques lifted his head, the wall across the room faded into an open archway. A man of average height and build stood there, a stranger with brown eyes and black hair, dull black. Jacques choked with relief. No glittering Aristo hair, no red Aristo eyes. Nor did this visitor create the mental pressure Jacques dreaded. Whenever the pirates with rust-red eyes had approached, their minds threatened to crush him. They were like mental voids swallowing his mind. They used his empathic abilities to fill a hollow where their capacity for compassion should have existed.
As the stranger approached, Jacques stiffened. Four of the mercenaries came behind him, two women and two men, all in body armor, with carbines. Four unfamiliar Razers followed, their minds reaching toward Jacques, bringing horror. He pressed against the wall, prepared to fight, knowing it was useless.
The man with brown eyes knelt in front of him. “Jacques Ardoise?”
“What do you want?” His voice rasped. He spoke in French, his native language. He also knew Allope, his father’s tongue, but he doubted anyone here had heard of it. He thought some of the mercenaries had language modules in their brains, and every now and then they spoke ragged French to him. He had learned a few Highton words, but his captors didn’t really seem to care if he understood them.
The man spoke in heavily accented French. “I am Robert. I take you to palace.”
“Robert?” Jacques wasn’t sure he had heard correctly. “Are you from Earth?”
“Not me. My father.” He hesitated. “Like you.”
Jacques went cold. Like you. Would he have children born into slavery? Images of his family flooded his mind: his wife, the two girls, the baby. It had angered him when Willex Seabreak decided at the last minute that Jacques couldn’t bring them on the yacht. Jacques had wanted to cancel his job with Seabreak, but his family needed his income. As much as he wished now that he had broken the contract to play the synthesizer and sing for Seabreak’s friends during the cruise, he was more grateful than he could ever say that his wife and children had stayed on Earth.
Based on what he had learned from the Traders about his mind, he suspected his wife was also an empath, which meant their children probably were as well. The Traders would have taken his family. A tear ran down his cheek, this time from relief that the people he loved were safe from this nightmare.
Robert spoke quietly. “I am sorry.” He stood up. “Come, please.”
Please. It was the first time he had heard the word since his capture. But he didn’t rise. Instead, he laid his head on his knees and closed his eyes. What did it matter? He had lost too much: his life, home, family, everything, ripped away. Damn Corbal Xir, whoever he was.
Someone touched his arm. Jacques lifted his head to see one of the mercenaries bending over him. She smiled, her metal teeth glinting. Then she hauled him to his feet. “Come on, pretty boy.” She pulled him closer, speaking in splintered French. “We miss you, eh?”
Jacques jerked back from her. “Go to hell.”
“Let him be,” Robert said.
She immediately dropped Jacques’s arm, which surprised him, given the lack of respect she showed most people. She spoke to Robert in Highton. “Yes, sir.” Jacques understood those words; it was the first phrase his captors had taught him.
So they left the room, Jacques following Robert, accompanied by the mercenaries and Razers.
And the world exploded.
29
Ardoise
The blast threw Jacques to the floor. The mercenary dropped over him, protecting him with her armored body, holding herself up on her hands so she didn’t crush him. As the walls collapsed over them, she let loose with a river of unintelligible but vehement words that Jacques suspected were oaths.
After what felt like eons, the world grew quiet. The mercenary shifted, making debris clatter. Then she stood up, her booted feet planted on either side of his hips. The hall was in shambles. Razers and mercenaries picked themselves off the floor, brushing away dust, but no one seemed hurt. From the pattern of the collapse and the powdery debris, Jacques suspected the building had been designed simply to crumble if it were bombed, to minimize damage and injury. That precaution told him more than he wanted to know about the lifestyle of his captors.
Leaning down, the mercenary grabbed his bicep and pulled him to his feet. “You okay?
”
Jacques wondered what language file gave her “okay.” He moved stiffly, shaking powder off his clothes. “I’m all right.” His voice was even more hoarse than before, his raw throat irritated by the dust.
“Good.” The mercenary grinned. “Come here.” She was taller and heavier than him, and the boots of her armor added six inches. Jacques tried to pull away, but she locked her gauntleted hand around his arm. It didn’t hurt, at least not compared to what they had already done to him, but bile rose in his throat anyway. When she pulled him against her side, he thought she had gone nuts, pawing him after a bomb had blown up the place. Then he realized she was keeping him close in case she had to protect him again.
While the mercenaries and Razers checked the area, the man called Robert spoke into his palmtop. The collapse had trapped them in the hall, but Jacques could hear robots or people digging, presumably to rescue them. As much as he hoped no more blasts went off, a part of him wondered if it wouldn’t be better to die now than to suffer anymore.
Why someone would want to blow them up, he had no idea.
Robert stood in Jai’s sitting room, his face drawn, his usually impeccable clothes rumpled. He continued his report, his voice weary. “If any evidence existed in the mansion of who hired the mercenaries, the blast destroyed the records. We found nothing.”
Jai motioned him to another wing chair at the octagonal table where he sat. As Robert sat down, Jai said, “The frigates that attacked the Skolian yacht must have records.”
Robert pushed back his tousled hair. “We haven’t been able to track down the ships.”
“What happened to their crews?” Supposedly, they had worked for Corbal, though the Xir lord claimed otherwise. The irony was that Jai thought Corbal was telling the truth. Of course no one believed it; Hightons always denied knowledge of the pirates that worked for them.
“They disappeared after the blast,” Robert said. “The mercenaries can’t tell us who hired them. They test out with lie detectors.”
Damn. After Azile Xir’s intelligence people had put so much effort into tracking down the pirates, it was frustrating to have them escape. “Who set the blast?”
“Supposedly an enemy of Lord Xir.”
“Does that mansion really belong to Corbal?”
“Apparently so.” Robert checked his palmtop. “One of his taskmaker descendants lives there for part of the year. She claims it was supposed to be empty right now.”
A sense of defeat rolled over Jai. He had held out too much hope that they could confiscate records of the attack on Seabreak’s ship, snatching them from the mercenaries who had helped in the raid. If any other records existed, he had no idea where to find them.
“What about the man they kidnapped?” Jai asked. “What was his name? Ardoise?”
“Yes. Jacques Ardoise. He is shaken, but safe. We brought him to Glory.”
Jai thought of the Intelligence reports he had skimmed. “Is he a Skolian or Allied citizen?” It could make a difference in how they dealt with the situation.
Robert flicked several holicons floating above his palmtop, then read from the screen. “He lives on Earth, but he is a Skolian citizen. His wife is an Allied citizen, a physicist at a place called CERN. She and their children have dual citizenship.”
Jai nodded, appreciating how Robert judged so well what he needed to know and had the information ready. “Good work.”
Robert had an odd look. “Thank you, Your Highness.”
Puzzled by Robert’s expression, Jai eased his barriers. He picked up an image from his aide of Ur Qox and Viquara Iquar, Jai’s grandparents. Robert had served both. Jai didn’t catch details, but he could fill them in with what he already knew; had Robert brought such disappointing news to Jai’s predecessors, they would have put him in isolation, deprived him of sleep, inflicted pain, or demoted him. Supposedly the fear of such punishment drove aides to make sure they didn’t fail. Jai thought it was a stupid philosophy. It just led to cover-ups worse than the original problem, as demoralized aides scrambled to save their own backsides at the expense of anyone else they could blame.
Robert’s palmtop chimed. He flicked the comm holicon. “Yes?”
A voice came out of the comm. “The provider is here, sir.”
Robert glanced at Jai. When Jai nodded, Robert said, “Bring him in.”
An archway across the room shimmered open. Two Razers escorted in a young man with blond hair and vivid blue eyes. He wore a white shirt and blue pants made from gilter-velvet. A sapphire collar circled his neck, and sapphire cuffs flashed on his wrists and below the hem of his pants. Jai had never been a good judge of what women found attractive, but even he could tell Jacques Ardoise was unusually good-looking. The musician also looked terrified.
The Razers bowed to Jai, and Ardoise went down on one knee, lowering his head. He may have lived on Earth, where people no longer knelt to leaders, but he had learned Highton customs well, probably as a survival mechanism.
“Please rise.” Although Jai was becoming more used to the kneeling, it still disconcerted him.
Ardoise stood slowly. He kept his expression guarded, but nothing could hide the hatred in his mind. After being so long among Eubians with no empathic ability, Jai was startled by how strongly Ardoise’s emotions hit him.
Jai indicated a chair across the table. One of the Razers pulled out the chair for Ardoise, and the musician sat down. Although Ardoise tried to act calm, his agitation beat against Jai’s mind.
Jai waited, as Hightons usually did when meeting a stranger. He didn’t do it for long, though; the intent, as far as he could tell, was to make the other person uncomfortable, which wasn’t his goal. After a few moments, he spoke in the French he had studied on Earth. “Are you recovered well from the explosion?”
Ardoise jerked, then sat up straighter. He answered in French. “Yes, Your Highness.”
“We regret you were caught in that problem.”
“Thank you.” The loathing in Ardoise’s mind belied his courteous words.
Jai was at a loss. He didn’t know what to do with Ardoise. The musician had no political connections Jai could use to justify sending him home. Had he been an Allied citizen, it might have worked, but freeing a Skolian was a touchier proposition. Jai would have done it anyway if he could have managed it without further eroding his support among the Hightons. But he could take no risks that might scuttle the peace talks. Unfortunately, if he didn’t release Ardoise, that could also wreck the talks. Eube had violated the unspoken truce; now Jai had to appease the Skolians. No matter what choice he made, it would anger someone.
He glanced at the captain of his Razers. “You and your men may leave. I will talk to our guest in private.” It was, in fact, the truth, though Jai knew no one believed it. The Razers were disappointed; they wanted to stay and transcend while Jai interrogated his new provider. It made Jai sick. Ardoise looked as if he wanted to die—or else kill Eube’s emperor.
Jai glanced at Robert. “You may return to your office. Please tell my wife I would like her to attend me.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
Robert wouldn’t look at him. At first Jai thought his aide had made the same assumption as the Razers. When Jai concentrated, though, he realized Robert didn’t believe he would torture a provider, which by Highton standards made Jai aberrant. Yet despite his many years among Aristos, Robert approved of Jai’s behavior. His loyalty went beyond the expected fealty; he genuinely believed Jai had the makings of a great leader.
Even after everyone had gone, leaving Jai alone with Ardoise, Jai wasn’t certain they were safe from monitors. His people had scanned this room, but he wasn’t ready to trust the results. So he settled in his wing chair and motioned to Ardoise. “Please. Be comfortable.” He hated knowing what Ardoise thought about him.
The musician inched back in his chair, but stayed stiff with tension, his fist clenched on his knees.
“So.” Jai didn’t know what to say. “Yo
u live in France?”
Ardoise answered in a low voice. “Yes.”
After another silence, Jai tried again. “Are you thirsty?” He indicated the decanter and goblets on the table. “Would you care for some wine?”
“Wine . . .? Y-yes.” Then, remembering himself, Ardoise said, “Thank you, Your Highness.”
“It is my pleasure.” Jai poured two glasses of wine and gave him one.
Ardoise hesitated. “Do you want me to drink first?” His face had paled.
Remembering Corbal’s “lesson” with the bird, Jai said, “No. It has been tested.” He tried his drink. The bioguards in his body verified it was an excellent vintage—free of poison—and let him swallow the wine.
Ardoise sipped his drink, paused, then closed his eyes and downed the rest in one swallow. Opening his eyes, he regarded Jai with a despair he had quit trying to hide. As much as Jai wanted to offer reassurances, he could say nothing until he was certain of privacy. He set his goblet on the table, having lost his taste for the wine.
A chime broke the silence, and the entrance to the room shimmered open. Tarquine stood within the archway like a sleek, svelte weapon. Jai sat up as straight as Ardoise.
“Greetings, Husband.” She walked into the room, long and sensuous, and the entrance solidified behind her, leaving the Razers outside.
Jai rose to his feet, and Ardoise jumped up as well so he wouldn’t be sitting while the emperor stood. Tarquine stopped at the table and looked over the musician, her gaze appraising.
Jai spoke in Highton. “This is Jacques Ardoise.”
“He is a beauty, Husband. But an unusual gift.”
Jai scowled. “He isn’t for you.”
“For you, then? I didn’t know you liked—”
“No!” Jai reddened. “I don’t.”
She gave Jai a sultry smile. “Pity. It might be fun, the three of us.”
“Tarquine, cut it out.” His face flamed.
Ardoise was watching them with a horrified fascination. Jai could tell he understood none of their Highton words.