Finally I tried to turn off my mind. But I could still hear the dying scream of that child-pilot in the Solo. Overlaid on his death were my memories of the Aristo warlords who had nearly destroyed us, their lust for my death like a dirty taste in my mouth I could never clean out, never if I tried for a thousand years, no more than I had been able to clean off the crust of that hatred from any other battle I had fought over the last quarter of a century.
About an hour after dawn I finally dozed off. My head fell back against the sofa, but I caught myself and sat up. Then I let it fall back again and closed my eyes.
“Do you want some coffee?” a voice asked.
My eyes snapped open. I knew that voice.
“Primary Valdoria? I brought some coff—”
“Taas!” I jumped to my feet.
Taas grinned and held out a plastic cup filled with that god-awful drink the Allieds had inflicted on our import shops. He was still wearing his space suit. I grabbed him a hug, followed by Helda who nearly knocked him over. His coffee splattered all over the floor.
“Hey.” His voice came out muffled against Helda’s bosom. “I can’t breathe.”
She let him go. “It is no good if you die from suffocation now, heh? Not after coming back from the dead.”
He blinked. “The dead?”
I laughed unsteadily. “I thought you were dead when you dropped out of the link.”
“I got hit by a drone,” Taas said. “It knocked me out of our link.”
I stared at him. The only way to knock him out would have been to damage Greenstar so seriously, it couldn’t access the Kyle-Mesh. “You made it back here with a crippled computer?”
“It wasn’t so bad,” Taas said. “I just had to do a few calculations in my head.”
In his head? “You must have one incredible brain.” But I had known that when I picked him for the squad. “Did you get the EI through to Tams?”
“I did the drop,” he said. “I don’t know if it helped. I haven’t heard any reports yet.”
“Soz.” Helda touched my arm.
I glanced at her, and she nodded toward the door. I turned to see a doctor approaching. He stopped in front of me. “Primary Valdoria?”
“Yes?” I asked.
“We’re done in surgery.”
“And?” Tell me he’ll live. Tell me he’ll be all right.
The doctor pushed his hand through his hair. “He had bruises, broken bones, internal bleeding. None of that was too serious.”
But? I felt it hanging in the air. “What about his legs?”
“The problem isn’t his legs,” the doctor said. “It was the psiphon socket implanted in the lumbar region of his spine. It ripped out of his body, partially transecting his descending neural fibers between the cervical and lumber enlargements.”
“Tell me so I can understand.”
“The implant cut his spinal cord.”
“You can fix it, can’t you?”
“Normally we can make even neural cells regenerate by tricking them into thinking they’re in an embryonic state.” The doctor spoke quietly. “It didn’t take with him. Then we tried three operations to link the severed portions with bio-optics. His body rejected them.”
This wasn’t what I wanted to hear. “But you can fix the damage, right? As soon as he starts responding to treatment?”
He hesitated. “Normally I would say yes. Unfortunately a biomech system as extensive as what you carry in your bodies can lead to unexpected side effects. Secondary Blackstone has had so many injuries to his nervous system already, he’s developed a toxic reaction to some of the drugs we use to promote regeneration. If we try anything more with his web, his body may reject the entire system.”
I stared at him. “What are you telling me?”
A painful compassion darkened his eyes. “Secondary Blackstone is paralyzed from the waist down. He will probably never regain function of his legs.”
“No.” It couldn’t be. They wanted me to believe Rex had been crippled the day before he resigned? No, it couldn’t be.
Helda spoke softly. “When can we see him?”
“He’s sleeping now,” the doctor said. “We’ll let you know as soon as he can have visitors.” He glanced back at me. “Primary—”
I knew what was coming. Solicitude. I couldn’t bear that. I regarded him implacably. “What?”
“I’m told your ship’s log indicates you haven’t slept in over fifty hours.” He paused. “Preliminary scans indicate you have two broken ribs, multiple bruises, and internal tissue damage from being in stasis too long. You need medical care and sleep.”
Sleep? I was too agitated even to sit down. “I’m fine.”
“Ma’am, you aren’t fine. You’re about to collapse.” When I started to object, he held up his hand. “We can give you a bed here.”
I scowled. “I don’t want a bed.”
“It would be in your best interest.”
A vivid picture from his mind intruded into my thoughts, an image of how I looked to him, like an injured rockdeer, a wild, beautiful animal growling while he tried to coax her to come near enough so he could heal her wounds. The image was so startling I just stood blinking at him. As the Allieds would say, it took the proverbial wind out of my proverbial sails, which was a dumb metaphor given that he saw me as a rockdeer and not a ship.
Maybe I was more exhausted than I thought, too tired even to form coherent thoughts.
“All right,” I said. “I’ll rest. For a little bit.”
#
The curtains cut out the harsh Dieshan sun, letting in just enough light to keep the room dimly lit. I lay in the pleasing warmth, rising out of sleep, wondering why I felt so sore.
Then I remembered.
It was a bonecrusher. When I slept, my mind relaxed its barriers, sometimes enough to let me pick up things that I blocked when I was awake. At times my dreams even sampled possible futures, the closest I ever came to precognition. The more intense the feelings of the people involved—and the closer I was to them—the more vivid the dream. But all too often intense feelings accompanied misfortune. I hated those dreams. Instead of waking up refreshed, I opened my eyes into misery, knowing that I or someone I loved was now or soon to be hurt. I called the dreams bonecrushers because it felt like they crushed me. Today I was waking up into one.
As my mind focused, I realized someone was in the room, a presence like an iron blanket on my mind. I turned over to look.
He stood by the bed, a giant man over two meters tall with musculature too heavy to have evolved on a standard gravity world. He looked more metal than human. His skin glinted as if it were gold. Although his eyes were open, inner lids covered them like gold shields, opaque to the world. I knew he could see through them, but to everyone else his eyes were blank spaces. His face would have been handsome if it hadn’t been so hard, but nothing softened that visage. He wore a plain uniform, beige trousers and a pullover with no markings, nothing to indicate his identity—except for a gold band on each upper arm wider even than the one that denoted my rank of Primary.
The Imperator had come to see me.
I sat up, wincing as pain shot through my torso. Then I saluted, clenching my hands into fists and crossing them at the wrists, right over left, as I raised them to him.
Kurj inclined his head. Even after so many years, I found it hard to believe we were related. Although we had the same mother, we bore little resemblance to each other; Kurj looked like our grandfather and I like our grandmother. His coloring came from genetic adaptations our grandfather’s ancestors had made when they colonized a world with a too-bright sun. The metallic sheen of his skin and hair reflected sunlight, and the inner lids protected his eyes. He was as much machine as human, with biomech even more extensive than mine. His appearance had become a symbol, the Fist of Skolia, the case-hardened emperor with no mortal softness the Traders could exploit.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
“All right.??
? I rubbed the restrainer that held my ribs. I had no recollection of anyone putting it there. I had been so keyed up, the doctors had knocked me out with some potion in an air syringe.
Beyond Kurj, the rainbows of a cyberlock rippled on the walls, ceiling, and floor, isolating us within its field. Their colors were more intense than those I had seen around Jaibriol’s mansion on Delos. These gave a different warning: Kurj’s lock was set to kill.
“The doctors told me about Rex Blackstone,” he said.
My attention snapped back to him. “Have you seen him?”
“He’s still asleep.”
I wanted to ask what else he knew, but I couldn’t. Faced with Kurj’s impassive metal face, my words dried up and blew away.
So instead I said, “Did Taas’s EI drop help?”
“Yes.” That one simple word said so much. “By the time our backup units arrived, Qox’s flags had flooded the planet. We couldn’t get anyone else out alive. But we were able to protect the refugee ships that had escaped and were fleeing the system.”
I dreaded the words he hadn’t said. “How many died?”
His words dropped like stones. “Two thirds of the population.”
Two thirds. Of six hundred million. I wondered what Jaibriol thought of his father now.
“I’ve also read your report on the Aristo,” Kurj said.
That was all. I’ve read your report. So he knew the truth. Ur Qox had an heir. The devil had reproduced himself.
No wonder the Emperor had never divorced his wife. She had to know her “son” was another woman’s child. She probably thought Qox had a Highton mistress. Had he secluded his wife and then shown up with the baby? If she denied Jaibriol, it would have put the Highton Heir under a scrutiny Qox had to avoid. I was surprised he hadn’t murdered the Empress. Was Taas right, that Qox actually loved his wife? Or did he just doubt he could get away with killing her? He must have made a devil’s bargain with her: keep her silence and she kept her title.
In the past, I had tried to convince myself that the among Aristos, the women were their gentle side. They disdained the military, which meant we rarely had contact with them. But my three weeks on Tarque’s Estate had cured me of my notions. The Aristos had no gentle side. The women were as brutal as the men. Nothing, not size, shape, sex, or anything else made a whit of difference.
Kurj was watching me. “The Delos authorities sent us a report about your activities in the Highton’s mansion.” He raised his eyebrow at me. “Your methods weren’t exactly subtle.”
“Is that a reprimand, sir?”
“No.”
That was no surprise. Kurj had never had much use for subtlety.
“I’ve arranged for Blackstar squad to receive commendations,” Kurj said. “We will broadcast it on the news holos.”
So. Make us heroes. I supposed it made sense. It gave ISC a better image. I felt about as heroic as a slug.
Unbidden, Kurj’s thought entered my mind. Every time you fly a mission, you risk your lives. You know that. Your squad knows. Blackstone knows.
Yes, sir. I kept the rest of my thoughts hidden. What else could I say? Knowing Rex was aware of the dangers didn’t help.
“Soz.” Kurj’s voice gentled. “You deserve the commendations.”
A light glowed one of his wrist gauntlets, which covered his lower arm and part of his hand. When he touched the pager, a man’s voice came into the room. “A medwoman is here to see you, sir. Her codes cleared security.”
“Send her in,” Kurj said.
The cyberlock field dimmed, leaving an opening across the room. The wall separated into an oval that stretched from floor to ceiling. Two of Kurj’s bodyguards stepped through, both of them Jagernauts. A woman appeared next, a girl really. She walked behind them, her face flushed as she stared at the floor. She was a beauty, with a silky mane of gold hair to her waist. Curls floated around her breathtaking face, which was soft and sweet, golden. She looked like a delicate, younger version of my mother. She didn’t have my mother’s vibrant quality, though, that glowing self-confidence that drew people like pale moths seeking a night lamp. This girl was more fragile.
Kurj nodded to his guards. “You may go.”
After the Jagernauts left, the wall closed and the cyberlock rippled into place, trapping the girl with us. Fear closed around me like glass enclosing an insect. I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe—
Block, I thought, and the fear receded. The girl stayed riveted in place, staring at the floor. She couldn’t even acknowledge Kurj, an omission that made her a criminal, punishable by prison. Hell, Kurj could give her any sentence he wanted, including execution. No one was going to argue with him. But I had a feeling that wasn’t what he had in mind for her at all.
He regarded the girl. “Come here.”
At first she didn’t move. Then she took a breath and walked forward. She stopped in front of him and knelt, first on one knee, and when he didn’t give her permission to rise, on both knees. Her shoulders trembled, making the lace neckline of her white dress slip forward so that her breasts were visible to anyone above the level of her shoulders.
For a while Kurj stood looking at her. Finally he said, “You’re the girl I saw tending children in the nursery?”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“What is your name?”
“Charissa Deirdre.”
“You have a message for me?”
“Yes, sir.” Her voice was soft.
“What is it?”
“Your guard—the biggest one. He said you gave orders. That—I was to inform y-you when—” She took a breath. “When the broadcast you wanted to watch was ready to begin.”
“Is it?” Kurj asked.
“Yes. It—it is.”
What was the bloody blazes Kurj doing? If he wanted to watch some news program, all he had to do was set my room console to activate when it was about to start. Why order a girl who worked in the nursery to tell him? No, stupid question. I knew why. Some men asked women who interested them to dinner. Kurj had other methods.
“Get up,” Kurj said. His voice was even gentle. But it was still a command.
The girl stood, her eyes averted. She was young enough to be his great-granddaughter. Although he looked a fit and muscled forty, he was ninety. He towered over her; the top of her head barely reached the center of his massive chest.
“Look at me,” he said.
She raised her large eyes, brown flecked with gold. Bright spots of color showed on her cheeks. Kurj cupped his hand under her chin, stroking her cheek with his thumb. His grip was so large that his fingers covered her right ear lobe and his thumb brushed her left lobe. With his other hand, he touched the comm mesh on his wrist gauntlet.
The voice of his guard came out of the mesh. “Ko, here.”
“The girl is ready to leave,” Kurj said.
The cyberlock opened and the two Jagernauts reappeared. Kurj ignored them, his gaze on Charissa. She stared at him like a shyback gazelle mesmerized by a hunter’s light. Bending his head, he held her chin and kissed her, a long kiss, taking his time. Then he straightened up and glanced at the Jagernauts. “Have her taken to the palace.”
“Yes, sir,” the larger guard said.
Charissa went with them quietly, looking at neither. When she was gone, I sat on the bed with my fists clenched under the blanket.
Kurj turned back to me. After a moment he said, “You disapprove?”
“You’re an empath. You must have felt how scared she was.”
He shrugged. “Perhaps.”
Perhaps? How could he have stood there, submerged in her fear, and not react?
And who the hell was I to judge him? I had killed a terrified pilot who was barely more than a child, purposely blocking off my emotional responses so I could destroy his ship.
“If you hadn’t killed him,” Kurj said, “he would have killed you.”
I thought of the Aristos. “So we become what we fight.”
&nbs
p; “No. We survive.”
My voice snapped out. “And survival means raping whoever catches your fancy?”
Kurj’s jaw stiffened. “You overstep yourself.”
That one. Tarque’s image seared my mind. He had made me kneel in front of him and praise him with every noxious title he could think of, promising respite from the pain if I did what he wanted.
Watching me, Kurj raked his hand over his short hair. Then he went to the window and pulled aside the curtains, letting painfully bright sunlight into the room. He stood in its swath, glinting in the glassy sunlight, while he stared out at the casecrete and chrome grounds of the ISC hospital.
Then he said, “You compare me to a Highton?”
I just shook my head. I couldn’t talk to him about Tarque.
He turned around. “Did it ever occur to you that I need companionship?”
I stared at him. I didn’t know what surprised me more, his admission of loneliness or his method of alleviating it. What kind of companion would Charissa make if she was so traumatized she could barely breathe when she was in the same room with him?
“You want me to court her,” Kurj said. “‘Woo’ her. Coax her.” His voice hardened. “I bow to no one. Not Ur Qox, not the Allied President, and not any woman.”
Is that how you see love? I thought. As a loss of control? Or are you punishing her for looking like the one woman you most want, the one you can’t have? But I didn’t let those thoughts out where he could find them. It might be true that I spoke more openly to Kurj than almost anyone else alive. Even so, limits existed on what I could say—or think—in his presence.
Even after all the years I had known him, Kurj remained an enigma to me. He had plenty of good within him. Even kindness. He was a brilliant war leader who inspired fierce loyalty from his officers. But decades of battling the Traders had hardened him, until he could no longer express affection even to a gentle girl like Charissa. I had never found a way to resolve the darker side of this man I called brother.
Across the room, the VR-wall activated, speckled patterns swirling on its surface. A holo formed in front of it, a sleek black puma with red eyes. Its lips drew into a snarl, and its fangs glistened like daggers. Music swelled into the haunting melody of the Trader anthem.