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In honor of family:
To my siblings, in order of age
Frank Nicolo Asaro
Antonina Marie Smith (née Asaro)
Marianne Francis Lee (née Asaro)
and always to our parents
Lucille and Frank Asaro
with love
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Acknowledgments
1 - Edgewhirl
2 - Come the Dawn
3 - Cargo Man
4 - The Corona’s Circle
5 - Chrysalis Emergence
6 - Key of the Heart
7 - Phase Shift
8 - Cooling Coil
9 - Warlord
10 - Yacht
11 - Auction
12 - Trade
13 - Revelation
14 - Diamond Banquet
15 - Transition Metal
16 - Right-Angle Turn
17 - Sphinx Sector Rim
18 - Rim-Walker
19 - Machine Mind
20 - Ruby Legacy
21 - Lord of Otherwhere
22 - Rising Sun
23 - Jeejon
24 - Spikedown
25 - The Last Day
26 - Green Hills
27 - Heritage
Epilogue
Tor Books by Catherine Asaro
PRAISE FOR CATHERINE ASARO
Time Line
About the Author
Copyright Page
Acknowledgments
I would like to thank the following readers for their much-appreciated input. Their comments have made this a better book. Any mistakes that remain are my own.
To my uncle, Jack Scudder, for giving me the benefit of his naval background; to Mary Jo Putney for her excellent insights; to my rocket scientist brother-in-law, Louis Cannizzo, for lending me his smarts on structural materials; to Alan Smale of NASA’s Goddard Space Flight Center, for his careful reading; to all the folks on Laurie Gold’s AAR listserv for blurb brainstorming; to Frances and Norm Miller, Leslie Haig, Martha Midgetter, and the rest of the Washington Independent Writers; and to Aly’s Workshop: Aly Parsons, Simcha Kuritzky, Connie Warner, Al Carroll, Paula Jordon, Michael La Violette, George Williams, and J. G. Huckenpöhler.
Special thanks to my editors, Jim Minz and David Hartwell, my publisher, Tom Doherty, the folks in production for their excellent work on my books, to Moshe Feder, and the many other fine people at Tor and St. Martin’s Press who made this book possible; to my agent, Eleanor Wood, for her work and sharp insights; and to Nancy Berland and her associates for their enthusiasm and work on my behalf.
A heartfelt thanks to the shining lights in my life: my husband, John Cannizzo, and my daughter, Cathy, for their love and support.
1
Edgewhirl
Eighteen years after Kelric died, he came home.
The Holly Rotor, his star schooner, limped into port near the city of Porthaven, an isolated metropolis on the planet Edgewhirl. Kelric felt both tired and jubilant. His fatigue came from more than the days he had spent on board this starship with minimal supplies. Although he looked healthy, within his body he bore the effects of eighteen years on a planet that wasn’t his own. His internal systems had long ago begun a slow breakdown.
Right now even that didn’t matter. He was coming home. Home. His life would be his again. He would resume his position among his people. Most important, he would see his parents and siblings, the family he loved.
Deep in his pilot’s seat, with its frayed exoskeleton folded around his body, he guided the groaning schooner into its berth. His comm crackled again, but he still couldn’t make out the words buried in the static. Amber warning lights glowed on the panels arrayed around his seat. When docking clamps gripped the schooner, its hull shook.
A line of 3-D hieroglyphs formed above the speckled screen in front of him. The height and width of the glyphs conveyed a message from the Port Authority: Docking complete. Sending fee schedule. Their third dimension added nuances: the PA wanted payment now.
Their attitude troubled Kelric. Why the rush? And why didn’t they ask for his ID? They hadn’t even requested a government code for the ship. It didn’t bode well; in his time, it was unheard-of for a PA to be so lax.
He sent access codes for the Holly’s credit line. Eighteen years ago it would easily have rented this cheap berth and bought some repairs. The schooner had been on Coba even longer than Kelric, sitting in an abandoned port. Despite some automated upkeep, its condition was worn. Repair costs had probably increased, but the credit line had a good cushion built into it.
The fee schedule appeared.
Kelric stared at the screen. He didn’t even have enough to land, let alone rent a berth. Repairs were out of the question.
The console beeped. Funds insufficient. Please transmit an alternate access code.
Neither the audio nor visual system on the schooner worked. So he typed at the antiquated keyboard: I don’t have an alternate code.
How do you plan to pay your bill? the PA inquired.
This vessel is in military use. ISC will cover the fees.
That option is no longer available. The PA shaded its glyphs with impatience.
Kelric blinked. Imperial Space Command no longer covered its officers? He found that hard to believe. Contact ISC.
They have no representative available to contact about financial matters associated with this port.
Why not?
Unknown.
How could it be unknown? ISC was—or had been—the single most powerful force in Skolian life. Now he couldn’t get enough credit to dock one old schooner? He had taken this ship from the planet Coba, where he had been imprisoned these past eighteen years while the rest of humanity believed him dead. As an ISC officer, he had the right to commandeer government property during an emergency. The schooner had made it possible for him to escape a war. Now, though, he wondered if he was landing in an even worse situation. He began to question the wisdom of revealing anything about himself.
What work options are available? he asked.
Unemployment in Porthaven is at 58 percent, the PA answered. Nor is a work contract likely to provide sufficient revenue to meet your obligation. Its nuances said he had less chance than an ice cube in hell of finding a job that would pay off his debt.
What about a loan?
We are willing to take your ship in lieu of payment Do you consent?
Scowling, he almost refused. But what else could he offer? At least if he signed the ship over to the Edgewhirl PA, they would be responsible for its repairs. He debated options with himself, but in the end he answered, simply: Yes.
Dazed and tired, Kelric walked along the starport concourse with everything he owned—his clothes. His suede trousers and white silk shirt were hand-tailored, of the highest quality, but wrinkles creased the fabric and scorch marks darkened his sleeves. His slight limp had been with him for eighteen years. He walked in bare feet. He had nothing else to his name.
Except his gold and gems.
Heavy gold guards circled his wrists and ankles, the metal engraved in a language no one spoke any
more. The guards were old. Ancient. So were the gold bands under his shirt, on his biceps, six on one arm, five on the other. Eighteen years ago the guards and bands would have summoned a fortune, more for their archaeological value than for the gold.
The innocuous pouch hanging from his belt contained dice. But no ordinary dice. Diamonds, rubies, emeralds, sapphires, opals, more: it held a glittering rainbow of wealth. Their worth didn’t lie so much in rarity; perfect gems could easily be made, using molecular assemblers to place atoms in crystal lattices. The value of these came from their authenticity. They had been formed by eons of geological processes, rather than in a lab, and they were almost flawless. It gave them a worth well beyond their mundane synthetic counterparts.
He had no idea of the current value for his riches, but it made no difference. He never intended to sell them. They were his only link to the wife and children he had been forced to leave on Coba, the family he would never again see.
So he continued along the wide, vaulted concourse. People thronged the area, a bustling, shoving, humming crowd. For the first time in eighteen years, he walked free. No guards watched him. No one tried to stop him. No political powers controlled his actions. Despite his towering height, massive build, bare feet, scorched clothes, and gold metallic coloring, no one spared him a second glance
He soon saw why.
Edgewhirl was a small, backwater planet, yet citizens from all over the Skolian Imperialate crammed its port. Within that vast, varied throng, he simply didn’t stand out.
Then he saw them: a group of young people wearing overalls with the insignia of the Allied Worlds of Earth on their shoulders. Stunned, he looked around, trying to clear his mind and concentrate. Now that he paid more attention, he saw them everywhere, citizens from the Allied Worlds freely mixing with his people, the Skolians.
In his time, the visas and permissions required for Allied citizens to visit Skolian worlds had been so extensive, they kept most of them out. Now Allieds were everywhere, not only civilians, but military personnel as well. What power shifts had taken place? His unease increased. His family exerted—or had exerted—a great deal of influence within the hierarchy of Skolian power. If the political situation had changed, what did that bode for him?
He became aware of someone behind him. A hand was closing around his pouch. Before his mind fully registered what was happening, his body toggled into combat mode. He whirled around with enhanced reflexes and punched the chest of the man trying to rob him. No, not man. Youth. Lanky and ragged, the boy was about nineteen, with straggly brown hair.
It didn’t matter that Kelric’s internal biomech systems were damaged. His hydraulics still had enough control over his body to respond to commands from the computer node implanted in his spine. Even with his enhancements at diminished power, he had twice the normal human strength and reflex speed.
Fortunately his node worked well enough to moderate his response so it fit the situation. He only knocked the thief away, into a group of startled tourists. The boy stumbled backward, scattering people, and thudded into a column. He slid down the column until he was sitting on the ground. The young man stared up at Kelric, his face turning as pale as a trapped snow-ferret.
Kelric stopped, dismayed. He waited to make sure the youth was all right. Then he left, letting the thief go. A ring of onlookers had formed, but they jumped out of his path now. He stalked away, angry at himself for causing the scene. Had he been in better condition, he wouldn’t have struck the boy. Just turning around fast would have been enough. The youth had no idea how lucky he had been. If Kelric’s node hadn’t controlled his reflexes, that boy would be dead.
As Kelric’s adrenaline surge eased, his body switched out of combat mode. He once more became aware of the low-level nausea that was almost always with him now. His fatigue had grown worse. Using his enhanced systems for such a brief time shouldn’t have drained him this way. His physical resources were far too diminished.
The concourse opened into a huge rotunda, the open space in its center circled by five levels of balconies. Kelric found himself on the third level. He glanced across the rotunda—and stopped.
Taskmakers. Three of them. They were threading their way through the crowds down on the second level.
Taskmakers. Trader slaves.
Three interstellar powers vied for control in settled space: the Skolian Imperialate of Kelric’s people, the Allied Worlds of Earth, and the Traders. The Traders called themselves the Eubian Concord, a euphemism Kelric found the ultimate in double-talk. Their citizens had no choice but to be in “concord” with their conquerors.
Taskmakers made up the bulk of the Trader population, over a trillion strong. Providers, the valued pleasure slaves, were rare and had far less freedom. Taskmakers lived fairly normal lives. Some were well off in their own right and exerted a degree of authority among other taskmakers. For all that, they were still slaves. But no one owned these taskmakers anymore. Under Skolian law, any slave entering Skolian territory became free. How had these three escaped to Edgewhirl?
Except it wasn’t only three.
Now that Kelric looked, he saw other taskmakers among the crowds. He recognized them by the high-tech collars around their necks and the guards on their wrists and ankles. They must have just arrived on Edgewhirl. He didn’t doubt they would soon have those signs of their former bondage removed. Maybe that was why no one paid him any heed; they probably mistook his wrist and ankle guards for slave restraints.
What the blazes had happened? Great shifts in power must have taken place, if large numbers of Trader slaves were escaping to Skolian worlds.
Kelric started to walk again. He had to find information, an open computer room where he could log in to one of the public webs. But every console room he passed was closed. That disquieted him as much as all the Allied and Trader citizens. Public console rooms never closed. The webs tied civilization together.
He walked under a giant arch into another concourse—and this time he froze.
Aristos.
Two of them. A man and woman. They were unmistakable, with glittering black hair, ruby eyes, and snow-marble skin. Although bodyguards surrounded them, they made no attempt to hide their identities as members of the caste that ruled the Trader Empire. Eighteen years ago they would have been insane to come here. If they hadn’t been mobbed first, they would have been arrested as war criminals. Yet here they walked like anyone else, at liberty on a Skolian world, the land of their enemies.
Their presence hit Kelric like ice. His body toggled into combat mode, but this time his fight routines didn’t activate. With trained mental reflexes, he manipulated the neural firings in his brain to buffer his mental activity, creating a sort of mental camouflage. I am not here.
The Aristo woman glanced idly in his direction. Then she stiffened and focused on him. As her attention intensified, he became aware of a shift in his neural firing patterns. His mind interpreted the effect as a mental abyss forming just beyond barriers he had created to protect himself. If his mental shield weakened, his mind would plunge into that void.
Two taskmakers strode by him, deep in conversation. They and the Aristos saw one another in the same instant. The taskmakers stopped, staring at these representatives of their former owners. The Aristos also halted, watching the taskmakers with obvious disdain, and also anger, that former slaves should share the concourse with them as equals.
Then the taskmakers resumed walking. They went on, free, without challenge, past the two symbols of a life that no longer had hold on them. The Aristos also went their way then, the woman having forgotten Kelric.
It took Kelric a moment to regain his equilibrium. He knew now, without doubt, that his universe had changed beyond recognition. If Trader Aristos could walk with impunity on a Skolian World, surrounded by Skolian and Allied military forces, what safe place remained for him? One thing was certain: until he better understood his situation, he would be a fool to reveal his identity.
He
began to walk again, in numb silence. No one else noticed him. In all that astonishing, incredible crowd, no one dreamed that the long lost Imperial Heir of Skolia was walking among them.
Edgewhirl made Kelric dizzy, with its oxygen-rich air and gravity only 70 percent of the human standard. He felt light and light-headed. The sky arched in a glazed aqua bowl. Whirligig, the sun, hung low in the west, molten gold, flattened like a huge squashed coin. The Allieds called it Clement’s Star, named for one of Earth’s renowned literary giants from its Golden Age. Sunshine streamed everywhere, filling Porthaven with golden light, as if the city were an ancient bronzed photograph from centuries past.
He searched for a console room, but he couldn’t find an open one anywhere. His nausea gradually increased. He hoped not too much chlorine remained in the air; his damaged respiratory system probably couldn’t handle it. Decades ago chlorine had saturated Edgewhirl. The Advance Services Corps had cleaned out most of it when they biosculpted this planet, though the seas remained thick with magnesium and sodium salts.
He walked through the city, his bare feet silent on the sandy streets, his limp becoming more pronounced as his exhaustion increased. Every now and then it occurred to him that he was in shock. Most of time he just walked, searching for information but wary of revealing himself with questions.
Porthaven glowed in hues of yellow. Buildings, streets, plazas: all were made with yellow clay bricks or quartz. No wood. Fires started easily in this oxygen-rich air. It hadn’t mattered before humans came; Edgewhirl had no animal life of its own, flammable or otherwise. The ASC team introduced biodesigned vines that used chlorine in their chemistry and helped remove it from the air. Vines spilled everywhere now, climbing walls, hanging over balconies, draping roofs, and spiraling up light posts, all the way to the top, where they curled around amberglass lamps shaped like onion bulbs. The leaves and stems were almost black in the bronzed sunlight, but their flowers rioted in vivid red, bronze, and gold hues. Their scent sweetened the air.