The Kyle alleles didn’t completely vanish: Eldrin’s father had been a Rhon telepath. But he was a rare exception. That was why Eldrin’s mother, an offworld member of the Rhon, married him. She chose to live on Lyshriol because she loved its untouched beauty. Eldrin grew up in a rural community. Uninterested in the subjects taught by his tutors—physics, math, political science, literature, and so on—he spent his youth learning hunting, swordplay, and archery instead. His frustrated parents finally sent him offworld, at the age of sixteen, to attend a private Imperial school. He reacted strongly against the overreaching culture of the Imperialate, baffled and angered that it placed more importance on his undeniable physical beauty and spectacular singing voice than his prowess as a warrior.
In contrast, Althor’s mother grew up steeped in the heritage of the Ruby Empire. Imperial culture is generally well balanced now, though it is true what Althor says, that it retains vestiges of its matriarchal past. He notices it more because his mother descends from its most conservative lineage, one that traces its roots directly to the Ruby queens. Although she is a woman of the modern age, that inheritance runs strong in her veins. The differences between Althor’s parents explain a lot about him, why he is such a complex mix of machismo and a son of the Ruby Dynasty.
Eldrin already knew how Althor and I met. The Jag, rather than risking the gauntlet of intrigue surrounding Imperial Space Command, went to Lyshriol and landed on a farm belonging to. one of Eldrin’s brothers. The, brother contacted Althor’s parents, using a secured web channel designed for exactly such a crisis. It was Eldrin who gathered the military force to come to Raylicon, putting it together with his most trusted people, officers he knew were loyal to Althor, including, of course—
Damn.
I twisted around on the ruzik to face Eldrin. “We have to stop!”
He gave me a reassuring smile, apparendy believing I too felt uneasy on the animal.
“I’m not scared!” I said. “We have to stop!” I turned back and pounded the ruzik’s neck ridge. The animal didn’t even slow. I might as well have been a bug flying around its head. A few Abaj glanced over, surprise flickering around them that I panicked now after riding so well the previous night. I felt pressure on my mind, as if they were knocking at the door, too respectful to enter without permission I had no idea how to give. I felt Eldrin, too, but had no idea how to “invite” him in either.
I searched the horde; Althor was far ahead, riding like a maniac. I concentrated, but his mental doors were closed, part of the courtesy and protection trained Kyles automatically assumed among a race of Kyles. He was far enough away, too, that I »■ couldn’t gain the immediacy of contact we shared when we were closer together.
One of the riders called out. A moment later I saw it: a city of chrome spires rising out of the desert. These were no ruins. A modern metropolis grew before us, metal, ceramic, and glassplex, gleaming in the bronzed sun. We had reached Saint Parval, and the starport.
“No!” I shouted.
Eldrin leaned his forehead against the back of my head and the sense of mental pressure increased. I made a picture in my mind, showing him the marble room where the mercenaries had first taken us, Althor sitting with his hands bound behind his back, Ragnar Bloodmark standing over him, his face contorted with anger as he told Althor he would never again bow to his family.
Eldrin made a choked noise. Then he shouted in Iotic.
Every ruzik in his escort stopped. In a delayed reaction, Althor and his escort halted a few seconds later, wheeling around to look at us. Eldrin played his fingers across our mount’s neck ridge like a pianist. The animal took off again—headed back into the desert, away from Saint Parval.
The Abaj stood by their mounts like narrow statues. The red-gold sun hung above the horizon, hugely bloated, and dunes stretched out around us in giant ripples of sand. I sat with Althor and his father on a crumbling bench by a fountain where no water had flowed for centuries. A few yards away, a pyramid graced the desert, its steep sides stained red in the slanting light.
Althor’s father spoke Iotic, pausing as Althor translated. “I told Ragnar everything,” Eldrin said. “He arranged for the ISC warships. They’re outside the system now, waiting for permission to enter. Ragnar ordered me to stay on the ship.” He touched Althor’s shoulder and said something Althor didn’t translate. But I understood. He had needed to see himself that his son was safe.
“Ragnar played his part well,” Eldrin continued. “He told your mother and me that he feared betrayals in both ISC and the Abaj. He counseled us to remain silent about his involvement, lest we warn the conspirators about his work against them. That’s why I didn’t tell the Abaj he was on the ship.” He shook his head..“We believed him, Althor.”
“How could you have known?” Althor spoke first in Iotic, then in English. “By the time we learned of his part, the mercenaries had shut down the Jag. During the trip here I was unconscious and Tina was only awake for a few moments.” He shook his head. “If Tina and I had boarded his ship, Ragnar would have isolated us and arranged for an attack by the Traders. He could have been rid of us before we had a chance to reveal him.” He regarded his father. “Now that you know, he has to get rid of you too.”
A vivid flux of emotion came from Eldrin, born of a fifty-year-old memory, one worn by time but still vivid: fear, anger, loathing. I remembered what Ming had told me, that Althor’s father had been captured by the Traders in the last war.
All Eldrin said was, “Ragnar can do nothing. Too many know we are here. Perhaps that one ship is crewed by his people, but certainly not the entire force we brought. Perhaps not even that one ship.”
“That’s all the more reason to fear him,” Althor said. “He’s desperate.”
“He can do nothing,” Eldrin said.
“No?” Although Althor spoke sharply, he translated his words as, “Father, you are a brilliant bard. Military strategy is my expertise.” Eldrin stiffened, though, and I caught the sense of what Althor really said: Father, what does a folksinger know about modern military strategy? Absolutely nothing.
That was my first experience with the grating side of Althor’s attitude toward his father. I’ve since realized his lack of respect for Eldrin’s intelligence was a legacy planted and nourished by Ragnar Bloodmark. The wounds have gradually healed, as they’ve come to understand how Bloodmark used Althor, driving a wedge between parents and son. It is a testament to the strength of Althor’s family that their love survived even after so many years of manipulation by their close “friend.”
“A hundred ways exist for him to arrange our recapture by the Traders,” Althor said.
“That wouldn’t be enough,” Eldrin said. “The Abaj also know his guilt.”
Althor grimaced. “If the Traders break the system defenses and fire on the planet, no witnesses will survive to tell the story.”
“They can’t break through,” Eldrin said. “And they would be fools to destroy Raylicon. I can’t think of a more inflammatory act of war.”
“Without help, no, there’s probably no way they could do it. But they have help. An ISC admiral. And, Father, the act of war has been committed by Raylicon. It’s the Abaj who refuse to give us to ISC.”
Listening to them, I wondered what would have happened had we never escaped Iquar. Once he realized I was Rhon, he would have forced Althor to reveal how we met. He would have learned about my Earth, alone and vulnerable, like a succulent fruit ready to pluck. For the first time it hit me how severe the consequences could be for my universe if the Traders ever recaptured us.
Althor and Eldrin had fallen silent, both watching me. Belatedly I realized I was probably broadcasting my emotions.
Eldrin spoke gently, with Althor translating. “I’ve also been with the Traders, Tina. I understand your fear.”
I spoke. “But they let you go.”.
“They agreed to an exchange of prisoners,” Eldrin said. “Me for an Aristo youth. The boy was Jaibriol Q
ox III, now Emperor of Eube. I still don’t understand why he arranged the trade.” His comment surprised me. Why wouldn’t the Eubians want the trade? They had the better of it. Although Eldrin was a member of the Rhon, he wasn’t the same rank as an emperor. Of course, that was before they discovered one of their military units had captured a Lock.
Eldrin was watching me. “No one knew Jaibriol II had a son. He was hidden on Earth, going to high school, for gods’ sakes. After his father’s death, he went to Delos, an Allied planet with both Skolian and Eube embassies. He simply walked into the Eube embassy and offered himself for trade. They verified his identity with genetic tests and had me brought to Delos within a day.” He spread his hands. “Why a trade? He was a free man. Why not just claim his birthright?”
Althor shrugged. “Of course they traded. The Allieds wouldn’t give up Qox for nothing.”
Eldrin frowned. “I was there, Althor. That trade wasn’t orchestrated by the Allieds. The boy did it himself.”
“The Allieds say otherwise.”
“The officer in charge was protecting himself.” Eldrin snorted. “You think he would admit such an exchange took place under his nose without his knowledge? Of course he claimed credit.” Behind Althor, in the direction of Izu Yaxlan, a spurt of dust showed in the desert. “Someone is coming,” I said.
The red plume neared, resolving into a rider. He reached the ranks of Abaj and jumped off his mount. As several Abaj led him to the fountain, the three of us stood up. The messenger knelt before Althor’s father. When Eldrin touched his shoulder, the man rose and spoke with deep respect, the regard Althor should have been giving his father. Eldrin nodded, then tilted his head in my direction.
The Abaj knelt before me. When I touched his shoulder, copying Eldrin’s gesture, he stood and spoke to me. I glanced at Althor.
“They’ve finished the genetic tests,” Althor said. “This man has the results.”
My pulse leapt. “What does he say?”
As Althor spoke with the Abaj, Eldrin’s incredulity spread out in a glittering mist. Finally Althor took my hands. “You are Raylican. The pure strain. Your father must also have been Maya. Your ancestors were the original seed.” He stopped. “Or not yours, but Maya from a time-shifted universe. It explains why we’ve had so much trouble identifying our ancestors. We’ve looked for a people who lived on Earth six thousand years ago. But the Abaj estimate that only about a thousand years have passed since your DNA branched into a different evolutionary path from that of the first Raylicon settlers.” He took a breath. “And, Tina—you don’t carry the CK complex.”
“That’s good, isn’t it?” I asked.
He squeezed my hands. “It’s a miracle.”
Eldrin spoke, and Althor nodded. After a moment I asked, “What did he say?”
“That the existence of the Maya may be moot if Ragnar kills the Raylicans.”
Eldrin continued. “I doubt the Traders wish to start another war. They would rather recover the two of you according to the Paris Treaty. If it were anyone else, Jaibriol Qox would probably let it go. But any of us could serve as a Key, and both Althor and I have been bred for it. It’s why we exist. That makes recapture more worth the risk.”
The Uzan spoke to Eldrin. He listened, then motioned to his son. Althor just shook his head. It was frustrating not being able to understand them.
“What is it?” I asked.
Althor turned to me. “The Uzan suggests we copy our neural patterns into simulators and load them into the net. That way, if we’re killed here, we might survive in the web. If cloning Rhon psions ever becomes possible, they could create new bodies and transfer our simulations into them.”
“That’s horrible,” I said.
More gently he said, “It wouldn’t work. Even the best neural simulations are less than the human mind they come from.”
“The Jag did it with me.”
Althor nodded. “I’ve a record of it. It was a good simulation. It also included a Kyle transfer of your consciousness. But that was still a poor substitute for your mind. It was already degrading when you downloaded back into your own brain.”
I rubbed my fingers on the hinge in his hand. “Even if they figured out the cloning, wouldn’t it fail for you? Or not fail, but… ?”
“Yes.” Althor pulled away his hand. “They would have to rebuild me. Again.”
When Eldrin spoke, Althor didn’t translate, but I understood anyway: he didn’t want his son to suffer the pain of his childhood a second time. Althor looked at him, love gentling his face. Bloodmark may have injured their bond, but nothing could destroy it.
“Ragnar has cut off our access to the electro-optic webs,” Althor said. “We can’t send out eomail via starship, either. And he has a V-class cruiser sitting in port. From Saint Parval it could destroy this entire region. From space he could slag the planet’s surface. It’s a standoff; his ships are blocking us from sending anything out and the Abaj are blocking them from entering the system.”
“We can’t use the psibernet?” I asked.
He shook his head. “I’ve worked with his covert operations agents. He has high-rated telepaths working as telops. They’re blocking psibernet transmissions. It’s the equivalent of cutting electronic or optical lines in an eoweb.”
“Become a data line yourself,” Eldrin said. “If you are a living part of the web, it makes no difference if someone cuts you off from the system. You simply move elsewhere.”
Althor made an exasperated noise. “Father, what are you talking about?”
“I think he means put your whole body into the psibernet instead of just your mind,” I said. “Then you can go anywhere you want.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Althor said.
I reddened. “Well, it was just a thought.”
Eldrin smiled when Althor translated, as if I had made a joke. I suppose it sounded that way. Either that, or he was giving me the benefit of the doubt.
Eldrin spoke to the Uzan. The Abaj responded at length, and when he finished, he asked a question. This time I guessed the meaning: What do you want us to do?
Eldrin spoke: he wanted them to go ahead.
Althor shook his head, angry. No.
“Althor?” I asked. “What is it?”
Taking my hands, he sat with me on the bench. “My father claims my mother once transferred herself, mind and body, through the net. The Uzan also says it is possible, at least for a Rhon psion. It has to do with this equation my mother has named after her.” He frowned. “They are both crazy. She must have used the net in a manner my father didn’t understand and he interpreted it in this strange way.”
“Why would he do that? And why would the Uzan agree?”
“I don’t know.” Althor hesitated. “As an equation, it works. But that is math. It isn’t a physical process.”
“How does it work?”
“You know quantum theory?” When I shook my head, he said, “It’s all wavefunctions. I have trouble with it myself. In school, I barely passed.”
In truth, he knows theory better than he gives himself credit for. It’s in his genes, after all; his mother is one of the great mathematical geniuses of her time. He described the wave-particle duality: matter sometimes behaves like particles and other times like waves. Macroscopic objects don’t act like waves because their wavelengths are too small to measure, but human beings are still wavepackets propagating through space.
“I can locate a packet by its coordinates,” Althor said. “If I want to describe where you’re sitting, I need three numbers, say your height from the ground, your distance from me, and your distance from the fountain. Your coordinates. Every point has three. It’s the same as saying three mutually perpendicular vectors specify a point in space. Those vectors span our three-dimensional universe.” He paused. “But suppose you exist in a space where it takes an infinite number of vectors to specify ‘location.’”
“Places like that exist?”
He nodded.
“Mathematically. They’re called Hilbert spaces, after an Earth mathematician. The ‘vectors’ are wavefunctions.” It sounded crazy. “What do they do?”
Althor snorted. “Torment engineering students who have to take classes in quantum theory.” When I laughed, he smiled and cupped his hands as if he were holding a universe. “The wavefunctions are building blocks. They depend on physical quantities, like position, time, or energy. In other words, Hilbert spaces are built out of blocks from our universe. The math has been known for centuries. Your friends at Caltech probably studied it.” ' “But there’s more?”
“Suppose your blocks don’t depend on physical quantities. Suppose they depend on thought.”
I blinked. “Wouldn’t that mean that your location in that universe depends on what you’re thinking?”
“That’s exactly what it means.”
“Althor, that’s weird.”
He laughed. “This is why I like engineering better than theory. My mother loves this stuff, though.”
“What was the equation she discovered?”
“You know what is a transform?” When I shook my head, he said, “A transform takes a mathematical function from one space to another. You can Fourier transform an energy function into one that depends on time. The reverse transform takes it back to an energy function. You go from energy space to temporal space and back again. Children here learn Fourier and Laplace transforms in school. They study Selei transforms later.”
I had heard Joshua talk about the first two. “What’s a Selei transform?”
“It takes you from our universe to psiberspace. My mother figured it out when she was a teenager.” He exhaled. “The Abaj claim they can transform the wavefunction of our bodies into psiberspace and send us to another node. We would have to reverse the transformation ourselves: with communications blocked, there would be no way to notify anyone we were coming.” He shook his head. “It’s crazy. Suppose they actually turn our bodies into a mathematical function? Suppose it degrades while we’re in the net? What if we can’t transform back? What if we only pardy transform on one end? Or both? What would we be, semi-transparent humans? Missing parts of our body? I Can’t even guess.”