Nadick Steil, the exec, glanced back from time to time with an odd expression. From her mind he picked up that she had expected him to be clumsier. For some reason his natural ease offended her, though he had no idea why. Larra Anatakala was much friendlier. She grinned at him every now and then as they sailed along. They didn’t try to talk, not only because they didn’t know one another but also because it would have been awkward at the fast clip they were moving.
They passed many doors, white ovals with silver trim. Finally Steil stopped at one and entered a combination on the security panel to its left. With a hiss of compressed air, the door slid aside.
Steil went through the doorway without a glance back at Kelric. Larra Anatakala moved aside, though, observing an antiquated custom that required she let the man enter first. It startled him. Prior to Coba, he had spent his entire adult life in the military, and being here put him back in that mindset. ISC had evolved from its original matriarchal roots to a mixed force with over 45 percent male personnel. Regulations now forbade treatment based on a person’s sex. Although most proscribed actions were concerned with discrimination, the list also included well-meant but preferential courtesies such as the one Anatakala had just offered him.
Even so, he knew she meant it as a gesture of respect. He smiled at her as he entered his new quarters. The cubicle had a bunk on the left, sleek metal cabinets on the walls, and a few square meters of floor space. A console slumbered in one corner and radiance bars in the ceiling provided light.
Steil turned to him, almost floating in the low gravity. She indicated a door in one wall. “Disposal unit.” Tapping a cabinet, she added, “You’ve two jumpsuits and a pair of boots, officer’s issue. The personal gear you brought up from Edgewhirl is also stowed here.” Her voice was cool. “Any questions about what we’ve showed you so far? The ship? Procedures? Now is the time to ask.”
Kelric shook his head. “It all looks straightforward.” He had easily absorbed the tour they had given him. The basics of a ship and an officer’s routine hadn’t changed much from what he remembered.
“You’re sure?” Steil’s puzzlement leaked out from her mind. He didn’t know what she expected, but he supposed most people would have asked more questions.
“Yes,” he said. “I’m sure.”
“All right.” She shrugged. “We’ll see you on the bridge at sixteen hundred hours.”
After Steil took her leave, Anatakala gave Kelric a pleasant smile. It transformed her long face, softening the lines around her eyes and mouth. “I wanted to welcome you to the ship. From what the captain said, this has happened rather fast for you, yes?”
“A bit,” he admitted. She was standing just inside the hatch, close enough for him to absorb her mood. Her friendly curiosity trickled over him. A flicker of attraction stirred her thoughts about him, but she kept it submerged. Her interest didn’t feel intrusive, as it had with Cargo Master Zeld on Edgewhirl.
Zeld had surprised him, though, when he told her about his plans to go with Maccar. As much as she grumbled about his leaving her shorthanded, her mind projected other emotions. She was worried about his safety in Trader space. And she would miss him. She liked him. He wasn’t sure what disconcerted him more, having been ogled for so long by his employer or realizing she had developed genuine affection for him.
“We’ve an hour before our duty shift comes up,” Anatakala was saying. “Would you like to go down to the mess, get some coffee, talk about the ship?”
Coffee? He had never figured out how Earth convinced the rest of humanity to drink that godawful liquid. Some of his own siblings guzzled it. While mighty Imperial Skolia and the colossal Trader empire blasted each other with millions of ships and world-slagging energies, the Allied Worlds were quietly taking over the galaxy by making everyone think they needed Earth imports. Someday the entire Milky Way would be one big Allied shopping mall crammed with coffee, cybernetic pets that beeped at you, and holovids that spawned endless adventure games. While Earth got rich, the rest of humanity would be left trying to figure out what had happened when they weren’t looking.
“Kelric?” Anatakala asked. “Are you there?”
He flushed, realizing he had just been staring at her. “Sorry,” he said. “Maybe another time.”
She started to answer, hesitated, then asked, “Is anything wrong?”
Kelric exhaled. Had his life on Coba made him incapable of talking with a woman? In the Calanya, he had been among the elite male dice players on Coba. He had spoken to no one except the other men in the Calanya and the woman who ruled the city-state. Technically a Calanya was no longer a warrior queen’s harem: most of the fifteen or so men in it weren’t her husbands. However, any other woman who married a Calanya Quis player could never live with him; such unions were by visitation only and depended on the queen’s goodwill. As a result, the Calanya still had sexual quality, one steeped in Coban history.
For Kelric, the mere act of speaking to a woman had become sexual, an effect magnified by his status as a queen’s favored husband. He had lived in six different city-states and been married to the rulers of five, usually against his will. Although he had left that culture behind, talking to women still made him uncomfortable, even now, when Anatakala had done nothing more than offer friendship.
The navigator shifted her weight. “I’m sorry if I caused offense.” She turned toward the hatch.
“Larra, wait,” he said. “You didn’t.”
She turned back, her posture revealing the same uncertainty that flowed from her mind. Her awareness of him intensified. As an empath he not only picked up emotions, he also projected his own if he wasn’t careful. With his Kyle centers damaged, he had lost some ability to barrier his mind. Without intending to, and without Anatakala realizing it, he had sent her his perception of sexuality in their interaction. It stirred her in exactly the way he wanted to avoid, bringing her desire for him to the surface.
Kelric flushed. He picked up her pleasure in him, her appreciation for his long-legged muscular build, for the way his gold-tinted curls fell down his neck and tousled around his face. Her desire was sweeter than Zeld’s lust, shaded with affection, as if she was incapable of wanting a man without also liking him. It created a feedback loop, arousing him as well. He felt a surge of loneliness, one fueled by his response to her desire. He wanted to hold her, stroke her, kiss her, push her down onto his bunk—
Ah, no. Mortified, he took a breath. It had been too long since he had interacted with strangers, particularly women. He had lost his mental defenses. He tried to barrier his mind, but pain sparked in his temples.
“I should go,” Anatakala said. She projected chagrin now, a disbelief that she, a happily married woman, had let herself be so affected by a fellow officer.
“I could use a rest,” he admitted. As soon as he said it, he wanted to kick himself. He should have chosen an excuse that didn’t involve lying in bed.
“Yes. Of course.” Flushing, she pushed off the bulkhead and flew out the hatchway.
He went over and closed the hatch. Then he leaned his forehead against it, angry at himself. What had just happened would make serving with Anatakala awkward. But damn it all, he couldn’t turn off his empathic ability. It was part of him. Nor could he help the way he looked. What was he supposed to do, make himself ugly?
He had done nothing wrong. Neither had Anatakala. It had just happened. He still felt embarrassed, though, as if he had propositioned her.
At times like this he missed Ixpar so much he could almost feel her in his arms. As with most telepaths, the bonds he made went deep. So did his loyalty. Ixpar was the one he wanted. He couldn’t have her. He would probably never see her again. Which left him what? A lifetime of loneliness? He knew himself. Some people could live alone, but he wasn’t one of them.
For Ixpar’s sake, he knew he should hope she remarried and found happiness with someone else. He hated the thought. He didn’t want her happy with another man. He supposed it w
asn’t the most noble sentiment. But he couldn’t stand the idea of her loving someone else.
She probably thought he had died. The estate wing where he had been separated from his bodyguards had burned to the ground. No matter how hard they searched, they weren’t going to find him. What other choice would they have but to assume his death?
He had to face the truth. Eventually Ixpar would remarry.
On Coba she wouldn’t break any laws if she took another husband without realizing Kelric still lived. Imperial law was less forgiving. It probably wouldn’t have mattered if he had been a normal citizen. Who would condemn her when she faced such wrenching evidence of his death? Nor would it matter if Coba remained forgotten by the Imperialate. But he wasn’t a normal citizen and no guarantees existed that Coba would keep its anonymity.
Although the Ruby Dynasty and Imperial noble houses no longer had the same power they had wielded during the Ruby Empire, their wealth and influence remained strong. That handful of ancient families lived in their own universe, one where old customs and laws held sway. If Ixpar took a second husband, she would be committing adultery. By the ancient laws that still governed the Imperial court—where heredity and succession meant everything—adultery carried the death penalty.
Kelric didn’t believe for one instant that every member of every noble house lived as a paragon of faithful virtue. They were, however, paragons of discretion. In their ever-shifting intrigues and passions, reserve remained the unwritten code. Ixpar’s situation simmered with the potential for disaster. Although she was mother to neither of his children, she had custody of both. Their DNA contained indisputable proof of their heredity. They were Ruby Dynasty heirs, in line to the Ruby Throne. His daughter was also a Rhon psion, giving her the right to a place in the three Triad lines of succession.
Although the Skolian Imperialate bore the name of his family—the Skolias—the Assembly ruled now, a civilian body formed by elections, appointments, and merit, overseen by both human and EI brains. They, rather than an ancient dynastic family, commanded the halls of power. Yet despite everything, the Ruby Dynasty remained strong. They had become symbols to the populace, the stuff of legends, bigger than life, the icons of dreams and myths. By itself, that would have only established them as a cultural force, not a political one. It was the Triad that gave them power.
Without the Triad, the psiberweb couldn’t exist. Without the psiberweb, the Assembly lost a fundamental building block in its power base. It wasn’t only the military potential. The ease of communications offered by the web tied interstellar civilization together much in the way that, centuries ago, the first world webs had made planetwide civilizations possible.
Only Rhon psions—the Ruby Dynasty—could survive the Triad powerlink, with its huge fluxes of power and the everyday demands of maintaining an interstellar web. So an uneasy alliance existed; the Assembly sought to use and control Kelric’s family while his family fought to keep their freedom and influence. They played a never-ending dance of power, with an interstellar empire as the stakes.
He wanted his children protected from Imperial politics, at least until they were adults, fortified to deal with their heritage. They were safe on Coba. But if they were discovered? As their guardian, Ixpar would find herself facing a morass of star-spanning intrigue and deception. What if he wasn’t there to help? For all her brilliance as a leader, she was unprepared to face a colossus like the Imperialate. But her association with him would give her great power, far more than she knew—power that could threaten both the Assembly and the noble houses. They wouldn’t dare eliminate his consort, current or former—unless she gave them cause. A charge of adultery was the perfect answer. They would waste no time executing her.
Kelric went to the console and opened his computer account. Then he sat, thinking over his options. On Edgewhirl his choices had been limited. That star system had always been isolated. Given the current breakdown in communications and Edgewhirl’s remote character, little chance had existed that any provision he set up there for Ixpar and his children would make it off-planet and into the major databases that defined Skolia.
Now he faced a better situation. Without the web, how did one send messages across the stars? By starship, of course. He had an entire flotilla at his disposal. They were headed into Trader space, so he had no intention of leaving data about his family on any of the ships. However, they all carried tau missiles, miniature starships with warheads. As weapons officer, he had access to all of them. He needed the armed taus ready for combat, but each ship also stocked a few without warheads. Empty shells. Such spares usually served as replacements if the casing for an active missile failed. However, they could also ferry data. They made good spy couriers.
Being cautious, he could spare three. By launching them to different locations, he tripled the chance that one would reach a major site. He would encrypt and hide the data so that only someone who knew the correct protocols could retrieve it. The files would also come to light on notification of his death or in response to certain inquiries about Ixpar or his children.
One question remained: What would he send?
He toggled into the Corona’s Legal mod and searched the database until he found the document he needed. Closure.
The closure statement had been developed to replace the process of declaring a spouse legally dead; as such, it required ten years of separation before it became irreversible. It differed in three ways from divorce: closure dissolved a marriage because of a permanent separation neither party desired; either party could reverse the closure; and the person making the declaration had to grant full inheritance to his or her spouse and any heirs, born or adopted into the union.
Filling out the inheritance section took Kelric a long time. Since he had “died” eighteen years ago without known heirs, his estate would have gone to his parents. The closure document, backed with the DNA analysis he provided, would reestablish his claim. Knowing his parents, they had probably done nothing with his estate, too stunned at outliving their youngest child to take any steps that acknowledged the finality of his death.
He had major holdings on three planets. On his home world of Lyshriol he owned a farm of several hundred acres in an outlying province of the Dalvador Plains. Lord Rillia had granted the farm to Kelric’s father for his service to the Rillian army, and his father later gave it to Kelric as a betrothal present. When Kelric reached his majority at twenty-five, his mother gave him one of the Ruby Dynasty holdings, a mansion and many acres of land on the planet Metropoli. As Corey Majda’s husband, he had his widower’s home, the Majda palace on Raylicon where he and Corey had gone for their honeymoon.
His other assets included his savings and retirement accounts from his years as an ISC officer; his widower’s stipend from the House of Majda; his stipend as a Ruby prince; his income from the farm, which was run by a local family; his income from a shipping business Corey gave him as a wedding present; and his income from a trust fund his parents set up at his birth. Although he also stood to inherit a portion of his parents’ phenomenal wealth, he had trouble making himself complete that section. After everyone else he had lost, he hated having to acknowledge that they, too, could die.
Giving the identity and location of his wife and children also troubled him. For all that he could encrypt, lock, and hide the files, it made him uneasy. Codes could be broken and privacy violated. The risk, however, was better than the alternatives.
He had to enter his full identity, including his interminable list of titles: Prince Kelricson Garlin Valdoria Kya Skolia, Imperator Presumptive, Im’Rhon to the Rhon of the Skolias, Jagernaut Tertiary, Tenth Heir to the throne of the Ruby Dynasty, once removed from the line of Pharaoh, born of the Rhon, Eighth Heir to the Web Key, Tenth Heir to the Assembly Key, descended from the Valdor’s line, Fifth in the line of the Dalvador Bard, and Widower Dowager to the House of Majda.
Untangling the convoluted lines of succession gave him a headache. Until he knew for certain tha
t the Ruby Pharaoh and her son had died, he assumed the Pharaoh’s line existed. If they truly were gone, he would no longer be “once removed,” he would be in the direct line to the Ruby Throne.
In the past, the Ruby succession had always gone through the female line. The idea of including sons had stirred immense controversy. Ignoring it all, his aunt Dehya designated her son and only child as her heir. Soon after, Kelric’s parents added their sons to the Ruby succession, which already included their daughters. His mother, Roca, was the next heir to the Ruby Throne and would become Pharaoh if the deaths of her sister and nephew were confirmed. She also stood first in line for Dehya’s Triad title of Assembly Key; Dehya’s death would make Roca a presumptive Triad member like Kelric, one also kept from assuming her title by the political situation.
As Roca’s consort, Kelric’s father had no claim to the Ruby Throne. However, as Web Key he held one of the three Triad titles. He chose his Triad heirs according to who he, and the Assembly, thought best suited to become Web Key. Kelric stood high in the succession for the Military Key, or Imperator, so he was far down in the Triad lines for the Web and Assembly Keys. The deaths of Kurj, Althor, and Soz had been verified, so he left them out when he figured his place in the various successions. It made their loss hurt even more, like another translucent layer of grief.
His father also bore a hereditary title on his native world of Lyshriol. Literally, Valdoria translated into Skolian as “Dalvador Bard,” but most Skolian citizens called him the King of Skyfall, a romantic but woefully inaccurate translation. The title passed through the male line, which included Kelric.
Kelric’s oldest brother, Eldrin, had been the Pharaoh’s consort, forced by the ruling Assembly into the marriage because they wanted the Ruby Dynasty to make more Rhon psions, even if it meant interbreeding. As her consort, Eldrin had no claim to her throne. However, as his mother’s firstborn, he was next in line to the Ruby Throne after Roca, unless he stepped aside for one of his sisters. He was also their father’s first heir, both as Web Key and Dalvador Bard. When Kelric worked out his place in the various lines, he assumed Eldrin still lived; without confirmation, he found himself unable to accept his brother’s death.