I will, Taqui. I’ll make it better. Guilt saturated Eldrin. His nightmare had done this. If only he could take his son’s torments into himself and free the boy. Dehya had helped; tonight was the first time in days Taquinil had relaxed. But she was gone now, and so was the effect of her medicine. Every time Eldrin fell asleep, he made it worse. He could handle the nightmares; he had mental defenses to mute their effect. Taquinil didn’t. When he shielded the boy with his mind, his son was all right, but in sleep, Eldrin lost his ability to provide that protection. He didn’t know why he was suffering these nightmares, but he feared someone he loved was in trouble, someone in his family, for they were the only ones whose minds linked strongly enough to his to affect him this way. When he slept, his barriers eased and the connection could intensify. As far as he knew, everyone in his family was fine, yet the dreams continued. Taquinil continued to tremble, his tears soaking into Eldrin’s hair, and Eldrin couldn’t bear his misery.
He knew what he had to do.
Eldrin returned to the living room and brought up Alaj’s medical report. He memorized the details he needed, then carried Taquinil through the master bedroom and into a refresher chamber beyond. Holding his son in one arm, Eldrin took Dehya’s personal air syringe out of a cabinet. Normally, someone who wasn’t a doctor couldn’t have a medical-grade pharmaceutical supply in her possession. But as pharaoh, Dehya had a full dispensary, all in a slender syringe that wasn’t even the length of her forearm.
Eldrin could have asked Alaj to help Taquinil, but it had never worked in the past, and he had lost faith that the doctors could do anything but disappoint his son. It took a Rhon psion to protect a Rhon psion, and the only Rhon in existence were Eldrin’s family. He also knew Alaj would never approve this solution. Too bad. Alaj wasn’t the one whose son was in agony.
Eldrin entered the prescription Alaj had given Dehya and was relieved to find the syringe had the components needed to prepare the medicine. He wasn’t certain about the dose he should use on himself; he was larger than his wife, but she had been in difficulty and he was fine. He settled on the same dose Alaj had given her and injected himself in the neck. He winced as the syringe hissed, not from any pain but because it reminded him of the doctors and their advice against using medicine without supervision. This would be all right. He had watched Alaj treat Dehya, read the doctor’s report, and followed it with care.
He put away the syringe and shifted Taquinil to both arms. The small boy shivered in his embrace. Eldrin paced through the royal apartments, walking his son, murmuring comfort.
So far, no effect.
He kept walking, singing now, soft and low, a verse he had written when Taquinil was two years old:
Marvelous bright boy,
Wonder of all years,
Precarious joy,
Miracle from tears.
He sang it over and over. The night took on a trance-like quality and his voice rolled like waves on a shore, the endless ocean of waves, lapping, lapping, rocking, soft and smooth.
Waves murmuring.
Waves rocking.
Rocking.
Eldrin sighed and settled Taquinil more comfortably in his arms. He could carry his son forever, his beloved son. If only he could heal the pain, if only he could make Taquinil’s life as serene as his own …
Serene?
Not likely. Many words described his life: confusing, lonely, painfully beautiful—but “serene” wasn’t one of them.
It was true, though. He felt remarkably calm.
Taquinil sighed and sagged against Eldrin. Tension drained out of his body. Immensely grateful, Eldrin closed his eyes. He wandered through the suite, less focused, aware of little more than his relief that Taquinil’s attack had passed. It surprised him that the relaxant had acted so fast; usually this soon after taking medicine, he felt only preliminary effects. He rarely needed any, though; he had top-of-the-line nanomeds in his body to maintain his health, and he almost never fell ill. He was only twenty-three and he rarely thought about growing old, but someday, when it became an issue, the meds would even delay his aging.
Taquinil began to breathe with the steady rhythm of sleep. After a few more minutes, Eldrin took him to his room and tucked him into bed. The boy settled under his covers, his face peaceful.
Joy filled Eldrin in seeing his son content. Tranquillity spread through him. He hadn’t felt this good since—well, never. No wonder Alaj had prescribed this medicine for Dehya. His wife deserved peace in her life.
Peace.
Weese.
Geese.
Fly.
Fly away.
The living room swirled in a rainbow of colors. Eldrin didn’t remember coming back here. With a satisfied grunt, he dropped onto the couch and stretched out his legs. His body seemed to float. A thought came dreamily to him: he could go outside to the balcony, jump off, and fly over the city. Except he didn’t want to move. He felt so incredibly good. He hadn’t been this happy in ages, maybe never, surely never, nothing compared to this. It was almost too much, too much, too much happiness. His mind swirled, unraveling in ecstasy, lost to the lovely, glorious night …
Wake up! Father, wake up!
The words in his mind went on, such a dear sound …
“Please.” The young voice pleaded. “Father, what’s wrong? Wake up! Please!”
Eldrin blearily opened his eyes. Taquinil was standing next to him, dressed in pajamas, his eyes wide as he anxiously shook Eldrin’s arm. As soon as Eldrin met his gaze, Taquinil made a choked sound and climbed up next to him. Confused and groggy, Eldrin put his arm around his son’s shoulders and peered around. He was sprawled on the couch, his body slumped against the white cushions. Light from the Sun Lamp streamed through a window at an angle that suggested it was early morning in the thirty-hour cycle of the space habitat’s day.
Eldrin sighed. So beautiful a day. He squeezed Taquinil’s shoulders. “Don’t be scared. I took some medicine last night, that’s all. It made me sleepy.”
Taquinil curled against his side. “I thought you were sick.”
“I’m fine. Really.” Eldrin leaned his head back and closed his eyes. The world flowed around him …
“—time to eat,” Taquinil prodded. “Come on, Hoshpa.”
Eldrin lifted his head, blinking and unfocused. Taquinil wasn’t snuggled against him anymore. In fact, the boy was standing in front of him, dressed in dark blue trousers and a lighter blue pullover. His shoes peeked out from beneath his trousers.
Eldrin tried to focus. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine, Hoshpa.” Taquinil looked much calmer.
“Good.” Eldrin rubbed his eyes. “Have you had breakfast?”
“An hour ago.” Taquinil’s forehead furrowed. “You should eat. That medicine makes you too sleepy.”
Eldrin sat up and rested his elbows on his knees. He grinned at his son. “You’re a delightful sight for your hoshpa’s eyes.”
Taquinil blushed and smiled. “Come on.” He took Eldrin’s hand. “I’ll make you breakfast.”
Eldrin wondered if other people’s six-year-olds spoke this way. He had no formal education in childhood development, but he was the oldest of ten children, and none of his siblings had been like this. Taquinil had a boy’s voice, but sometimes he sounded more like an adult than some adults. From the effusive comments of the boy’s tutors, Eldrin gathered that most children didn’t learn to read before they were two. Lyshrioli natives didn’t read at all. He didn’t know many Skolian children, and Taquinil’s handful of friends were older than him, which made it hard to judge. Besides, royal tutors always praised royal children. That had certainly been true for Eldrin, even when he didn’t deserve it. He did know that Taquinil could read and write much better than he, and that the boy understood more math than Eldrin would probably ever know. He didn’t have a good sense of how far above the norm Taquinil was, but it made him proud to have a smart son.
“My thanks, young man,” Eldrin sa
id. As he stood up, the room swirled around him. It had settled down from last night, though, and from his dreams, which had floated in a blissful fog. He let out a satisfied breath. “I feel good.”
Holding his son’s hand, he went to the kitchen. He walked by the wine cabinet with barely a thought for a drink. And if his head was beginning to ache and his pulse to stutter in odd ways as the medicine wore off, well, that would go away soon, he felt certain.
Surely he had nothing to worry about.
1
Reunion
Starship engines.
Soz considered them the sexiest subject at DMA, the Dieshan Military Academy. Full-color holos of an inversion engine rotated above the media table. She highlighted the fuel selector in purple, the cooling coils in green, and the engine column in white. Her course in Jag engineering was sheer pleasure. It almost let her forget the threat of war that loomed over her people.
Almost.
“Look at you,” Soz crooned. “Beautiful engine.”
A laugh rumbled nearby. “Maybe if you treated your dates that way, you’d have more success with men.”
She looked up with a jerk. Jazar Orand was leaning against a console with his muscular arms crossed and his dark hair sleek against his head. At nineteen, he was a year older than Soz. Last year they had entered the Dieshan Military Academy together, but since then she had skipped more than a year ahead. With him giving her such a cocky look, she was tempted to tell him that he had to salute her now that she was an upper-class cadet. But, of course, they were in the library. The DMA powers-that-be had ruled the library exempt from that regulation because it interfered with the ability of the younger students to study.
“My dates aren’t as sexy as this engine,” Soz said. Or as sexy as Jazar, but she was trying not to think about that. At the academy, fraternization was grounds for expulsion.
Jazar laughed amiably. “You know, I’ve always wondered why someone as good-looking and well-connected as you has so much trouble with men. It’s no wonder, if you go around telling your dates they aren’t as desirable as a bunch of machinery.”
She crossed her arms. “Did you come here to analyze my love life?”
His grin flashed. “No, but it wouldn’t take long.”
“Jaz, I swear—”
He held out his hands in surrender. “Don’t attack.”
Soz glared at him.
“You have a visitor,” he added. “A girl.”
She couldn’t think of any girls who would visit her. “Where?”
“In one of the common rooms. I asked around. People said she came to see you. I offered to let you know.”
She considered him warily. “Jazar Orand, I am sensing ulterior motives here.”
“Well—” He scratched his ear. “I was hoping you would introduce me.”
“Whatever for?”
“Oh for flaming sakes, Soz, you really are dense sometimes.”
“Yes, well, I’m densely not going to introduce you to my visitor.” Apparently this “girl” was older than she had thought. She told herself she wasn’t bothered by his interest. At least arguing with Jazar was better than dwelling on the bigger reason for her loneliness, the unwanted isolation she had endured since her father had disowned her. In such a close-knit family, it was like having a part of herself cut away. She feared she would never again see her home or the members of her family that lived there.
“Come on,” he coaxed. “Tell her I’m your great friend.”
“Why? Who is this person?”
“I’ve no idea. She’s star-jazzing gorgeous, though.”
“Oh, well, that tells me a lot.” Soz had never been a judge of beauty in women. Men were another matter. A frustrating matter, but that had nothing to do with Jazar’s request, which was annoying her far more than it should. So what if he thought this woman was gorgeous. Pah.
“She’s gold,” he added. “Hair. Eyes. Everything.”
That got her attention. Could it be who she thought? Her hope surged. To cover it, she grinned at Jazar. “You want me to introduce you? Why, Jaz? Going to ask her out?”
He squinted. “Why is that funny?”
Soz just shook her head. She couldn’t be certain who had come to see her. She feared to hope too much. So she just went with him out of the library.
Cadets were everywhere on the pathways outside, mostly quiet. A subdued atmosphere had settled over the academy since the attack on Onyx Platform, a military base that supported millions of people in a cluster of space stations. Soz’s brother, Althor, had flown one of the Jag starfighters that rebuffed the attackers. His bravery had saved uncounted people at Onyx—and cost him his life. Although his ship had resuscitated him, his brain activity had stopped by that time. He lay in a hospital now, brain dead. Even if some technological miracle could have healed his cortex, the result wouldn’t be her brother. His personality, his intellect, his memories: all were gone. Now the Imperialate teetered on the edge of war, and every cadet here knew they could end up in combat within a few years.
Lower-class cadets saluted Soz as they approached, extending their arms straight out at chest height, fists clenched, wrists crossed. They always passed on her left, as per regulations. Soz returned the salutes, but she didn’t stop or greet anyone. She had spamoozala duty later today, cleaning AI sewers full of the interminable flood of junk holomail that swamped the meshes.
Soz grimaced. She was going to be in spamoozala hell for the rest of her life. She had achieved two distinctions at DMA: she was going through her studies faster than any other student, and she had more demerits than anyone else at the academy. She might be one of the smartest cadets at DMA, but she was also, apparently, the worst behaved.
“You’re quiet tonight,” Jazar said.
Soz tried to smile. “Just tired.”
“I’m not surprised.” He hesitated. “Is it true what I heard, that you’ve got a tour of duty on a Fleet battle cruiser?”
Soz squinted at him. “Where did you hear that?”
“It’s all over.”
“How? I only told my roommates.”
Jaz cocked an eyebrow at her. “Guess your new ones aren’t as discreet as your old ones.”
“Guess not.” She and Jazar had roomed together their first year, along with Grell, another female cadet, and Obsidian, the top cadet in the second-year class now that Soz had moved up. Although Soz had known male and female cadets might be in the same quarters, it had flustered her back then. In combat, Jagernauts worked in squadrons of four. They lived, fought, and survived together, and they had to get used to it now, when their lives didn’t depend on whether or not they could deal with the situation.
Soz wondered what her father would do if he knew she had bunked in the same room as two men. Probably have heart failure. He wouldn’t believe the truth, that they had neither the time nor the energy to look cross-eyed at one another, let alone misbehave. Sure, some cadets had liaisons, but it was a lot rarer than most outsiders believed. Soz tried not to think of her father. He had disowned her when she came here after he forbade it. It had been over a year since she had seen him. He hadn’t written, answered her letters, or even acknowledged her existence.
That wasn’t the worst of it. Eubian Space Command, the Trader military, had breached the supposedly impregnable defenses of her home world, and an Aristo called Lord Vitarex Raziquon had captured her father. They had rescued him, but not before he nearly died from the torture. The monster Raziquon had left him blind and crippled. Although the doctors saved her father’s life, his body couldn’t incorporate the new eyes or legs they gave him. He would never walk or see again.
After that, he refused to see anyone. Soz knew he turned away from his family because he didn’t want the people he loved to see him in such a condition. She even knew why he had disowned her: he couldn’t bear to think of her going to war and suffering at the hands of someone like Raziquon. Instead, the Traders had caught him, and now he thought he had nothing left
to give his family. He was wrong, so very wrong, and she missed him more than she could say.
Eventually she and Jazar reached the dormitory. They entered through dichromesh-glass doors polarized to mute the sunlight and through a lobby that displayed historical objects such as Jumbler guns used by early starfighter pilots. The common room beyond had blue couches and white walls with holomurals of the Dieshan sky, sometimes pale blue, sometimes hazy red. Soz’s visitor was standing across the room, gazing out a window, a rose-hued dress clinging to her dancer’s body.
Soz’s pulse leapt. She hadn’t been wrong. It truly was who she had hoped.
Jazar elbowed her. “Introduce me.”
Soz slanted him a look. “You want to get to know her, eh?”
“That’s right.”
“She’s already spoken for.”
His disappointment showed. “She’s married?”
“To my father.”
His mouth fell open. “That’s your mother?”
“Yep.”
Red flushed his cheeks. “Oh.”
She smiled. “It’s all right, Jaz. You aren’t the first to react that way.” Her mother, Roca Skolia, looked as if she were barely in her twenties, her youth preserved by nanomeds within her body, but she had actually lived for more than eight decades.
“Uh, hmmm.”Jazar cleared his throat.
Roca turned around and her face lit up. “Soz!”
At that moment Soz forgot her probation, her appalling social life, and this odd business about a tour on a battle cruiser. Suddenly she was home in rural Dalvador on the world Lyshriol. Her mother brought memories of suns and warmth, laughter and love. Soz wished she were small again and could run to her for comfort. She couldn’t, but seeing Roca meant more than she knew how to say.
“My greetings, Mother.” Soz heard how formal she sounded, as if she were thirteen again, that year she had hardly spoken to her parents, using grunts or one-word sentences—not for rudeness, but because she had needed to stop depending on them when she felt so uncertain about her life. She went forward—and then she and Roca were hugging. She hadn’t realized until this moment that she had questioned whether she would see her mother again.