“Althor, it doesn’t sound any crazier than when we went from my universe to yours through that thing—what did you all call it?—a branch cut on a Riemann sheet.”
“That made sense.”
I smiled.. “To you, maybe. Not to me.”
An Abaj out in the desert shouted. Turning, we saw another red plume racing toward us, this one from the direction of Saint Parval, It resolved into four Abaj warriors. They were escorted to the Uzan, who conferred first with them, then with Althor and Eldrin.
Althor translated. “Ragnar has told the Abaj that by refusing to ‘surrender’ us, they are committing treason. He gives them one hour to release us. Then he will begin destroying sites on the planet.”
I tensed. “Are they going to give us up?”
“No.” Althor looked out at the warriors, some astride their ruzik, others tending their mounts or simply standing by them. “Six millennia of fealty do not vanish with one threat.”
“Can’t we take a ship up from another starport?” I asked. “The Jag put us here because Saint Parval has the only functioning starport on the planet.” He shrugged. “We probably don’t need a port to take off. But Ragnar will attack any ship trying to escape. And he has a state-of-the-art V-class cruiser.”
“Which do you think is more likely?” I asked. “We try to escape and are recaptured or destroyed, or we use the psibernet and don’t make it?”
He grimaced. “Both are suicide.”
“We have to do something.” I squeezed his hands. “Your father says his way has been done. Have you ever seen an Abaj-type ship escape a warship like Bloodmark’s?”
“No.”
“Then shouldn’t we try the method that’s worked?”
“I don’t know it’s worked, damn it.”
“Your father—”
He made a frustrated noise. “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”
“Did you ever think that maybe your opinion of him has been poisoned by Bloodmark?” More gently I said, “You’re acting just the way Bloodmark would want.”
Althor stared at me, his emotions so intense I felt them despite his barriers: denial, shame, anger, guilt. Underneath all of that he hurt, both from Bloodmark’s betrayal and from the wounds in his relationship with Eldrin. Despite their prickly interactions, he loved his father deeply.
Althor stood and spoke to him. Eldrin nodded, and they walked away, to the other side of the fountain. They spoke quiedy, Althor sometimes dropping his gaze, unable to look at Eldrin. A tear ran down his face and he quickly wiped it away. Eldrin. watched him gendy, with a love nothing could ever wash away, neither the years of struggling to make a child whole nor the years of an interloper poisoning their lives.
Finally they returned to us. Althor said, “We’ll try the psiber-net.”
Tiqual rose out of the desert, a solitary pyramid hundreds of feet tall. The setting sun gave it a luminous bronze glow, accenting the shadow that stretched out from its base into the darkening desert. Its name gave me chills, so like ancient Tikal on Earth, the greatest of the great Maya cities, a metropolis of glorious temples and legendary dynasties.
I rode with Althor this time, Eldrin at our side and the Abaj all around. We approached Tiqual at a stately pace. No city surrounded it, only a courtyard tiled with close-fitting triangular bricks the color of terra-cotta. Wind blew across the courtyard, ruffling sand into the air and letting it down in wings of red dust.
Several hundred yards from the pyramid, an arch glowed in the aged sunlight. Its sides were fluted blocks nearly three meters tall, its top a long stone. The Abaj rode through it two abreast. As we came closer, the sides resolved into statues; each was a woman, a muscled warrior with her arms stretched over her head to support the top stone. Neither wore anything except the Abaj sword hanging from her belt. They showed no shyness, with breasts lifted high and heads thrown back, their faces proud in the bronzed light.
A statue as tall as a man stood near the arch, one of the mythical spirit companions. He had a powerful body similar to a mountain lion, but longer. His head was human, with a hooked nose and heavy-lidded eyes that watched the desert, sensual and forever half-closed. Instead of ears, horns spiraled in his luxuriant hair.
We rode under the arch and across the courtyard to the pyramid. The entrance was a ruzik’s head with its mouth open in a roar. In truth, I’ve never heard a ruzik roar. But it created an impressive doorway, one over ten feet tall.
From far away Tiqual looks like a Maya pyramid. It has the pyramidal base with terraced sides and a steep stairway that climbs the front of the temple. At the top is a chambered sanctuary, and on top of that a roof comb, a high-reaching crown of masonry hollowed out by airy vaults. But up close, its differences show, from the ruzik’s gaping mouth at the base of the pyramid to the intricate designs made from the red, gold, and yellow bricks used in its construction. Yet its differences only accent its haunting similarities.
We dismounted, the Abaj jumping down around us. Wind had swept the courtyard clear, but the cobblestones felt pebbly under my soles. Althor’s hair stirred, glinting bronze in the slanting sunlight. Eldrin stood next to him, arms crossed, staring up at the pyramid.
The Uzan and ten warriors ushered us through the yawning beast mouth. It faced away from the setting sun, so we entered darkness. A light flared, then a second, then a third as the warriors took up torches from claws on the wall. Yellow radiance surrounded us but it barely extended past the edges of our group.
They took us deep into the pyramid, following a rectangular tunnel. Carvings on the walls jumped into focus as we passed, and receded into the darkness behind us. Eventually we reached what felt like a larger place, though it was hard to tell with such meager light. The warriors doused their torches, plunging us into chilly blackness.
Light flooded the pyramid.
A vast cavern spread out before us, wide and lofty, as high as Tiqual, its sides sloping to a point far above our heads. Mammoth generators made from ceramic and precious metals hummed. Crystal columns rose up for hundreds of feet, lights ' spiraling within them. In one corner, a gigantic maze of mirrors and panels reflected the light. Other machines resembled the intricate workings of a huge watch, with gold and copper gears, glass levers, polished ebony. In another place, they could have been the innards of a fantastic antique submarine, its cables woven from flexible crystal.
Modern science neither designed nor developed psiber technology; it all comes from the Ruby Empire. Tiqual and the three psibernet Locks are the only functioning Kyle machines left. Althor’s people have barely begun to deduce how they work.
Eldrin seemed stunned, but Althor looked relaxed, familiar with the surroundings. The Abaj led us to a dais that supported three gold boxes with transparent lids. They looked like coffins. The warriors stopped in front of the center one and turned, their black-cloaked forms reflected in the polished surfaces all around us.
Althor looked at his father. “I’ll go through.” When Eldrin protested, Althor said, “Father, it makes sense. You and Tina are more valuable to the Rhon, and the Abaj don’t have high enough Kyle ratings to manage it.”
They spent almost ten minutes arguing. Althor quit translating after the first few sentences, but it was obvious Eldrin had no intention of letting his son risk his life. Finally Althor made an exasperated noise and raised his palms in a gesture of surrender.
As Eldrin stepped toward the boxes, Althor glanced at the Uzan. The Abaj leader barely moved, but Eldrin suddenly slumped, falling face forward. Althor caught him and gently eased him down to lie on a bench near the dais.
“What did you do to him?” I asked.
“Nothing,” Althor said, looking guilty.
“Then what did you tell the Uzan to do to him?”
“It’s a mild sedative. He’ll wake up soon.” Althor took hold of my shoulders. “Tina, he’s the true Third Key, trained all his life for it. I’m expendable.”
“No, you aren’t. Let me do i
t.”
Softly he said, “You’re the miracle. The least expendable of all. Besides, no one knows you. Why would they trust you? Nor do you have any psiberspace experience.”
I made myself take a deep breath. I knew he was right. “Just be careful.”
He squeezed my hands. Then he walked to the dais. As he mounted its steps, I murmured a Zinacanteco prayer, also forming the words in my mind, for Althor:
Holy Vashakmen, my father,
Holy Vashakmen, my lord,
In divine unison, then,
In divine accord, then,
Will you stand up in holiness,
Will you stand firm in holiness,
Behind the lowly backs, then,
By the lowly sides, then,
Of your sons,
Of your children.
Do not yet lose them for me,
Do not yet abandon them for me.
Althor glanced back at me, his face gentling. Two warriors turned a crank on one of the boxes, and with a protest of long unused hinges, the bronze fittings on the lid retracted. They opened the coffin and Althor climbed inside, lying down on his back.
They fastened finely tooled leather straps across his legs, chest, hips, and arms. At first I wondered why, but as they worked, the mental shield on the mind of one slipped and I glimpsed one of his memories, a time one of the Abaj had experimented with the boxes. I saw the warrior twisting in panic, arms flailing to open the lid as he disappeared. One arm remained after he was gone.
I shuddered. Although Althor was calm, his inner turmoil brushed my mind. In part, the symbolism of the coffinlike box agitated him. More than that, though, the procedure echoed his memories of being fastened into Iquar’s framework. That he went ahead with it despite his feelings, and despite his well-founded doubts, spoke eloquently to me about his courage.
The Abaj closed the lid and cranked its fittings into place. Seen through the translucent lid, Althor looked calm. But his claustrophobia made a gray mist around the coffin. Please make it fast, I thought. Get it over with:
The Uzan turned to a pillar of brass-bright metal and pulled a lever. At first I thought nothing happened, that the ancient machinery was broken. Then I realized the lid was turning opaque, like moonstones on a beach. Lights flickered inside, flashes of white and blue, and glitters ran along the edges just inside the lid. I could no longer see Althor, but his claustrophobia felt like tar on my skin.
Then I didn’t feel him anymore.
The Uzan pushed up the lever. The coffin became translucent again—revealing an empty interior.
Eldrin and I sat together on the bench. Two Abaj worked at a console, monitoring communications from another site on the planet. The others stood quietly, the eternal bodyguards, positioning themselves around us yet keeping enough distance to give us a bubble of private space.
Eldrin had awakened only minutes after Althor disappeared. He hadn’t said much, just stared at the coffins. I felt his anger, and his fear for his son. If we could have talked, the interminable wait might have been more bearable. But we had no language in common. We didn’t even know what we were waiting for. Had Althor made it through to an ISC ship? For all we knew, he had died as soon as he disappeared.
Five warriors suddenly strode into the cavern and crossed to the Uzan. As they spoke to him, Eldrin tensed.
“What is it?” I asked.
Eldrin spoke in Iotic, then paused, watching my face. When I shook my head, he averted his eyes, concentrating. Words came into my mind, but in the unfamiliar language. The Uzan glanced at us, then continued to confer with his warriors. Eldrin’s sense of urgency tightened the air. A picture formed in my mind, an alien image, as if he were running a movie in my.brain. It felt strange, intrusive; my initial reaction was to shut it out. I resisted the impulse and concentrated until it became clearer.
First he made an image of Ragnar Bloodmark. Then a picture of a Raylican sundial. Another picture of Bloodmark. Then the sundial exploding, followed by Bloodmark giving orders to people in uniforms. Next he showed a ship taking off from a red planet. Then a ship in space firing on that planet. He finished with images of the Abaj dying in the inferno.
I understood. Bloodmark’s hour deadline was closing in. If the Abaj didn’t surrender us to him, he would fire on the planet.
There must be a way to stop it, I thought. But what escape could exist for the Abaj? No matter what we did, Bloodmark still had to kill them and destroy any site where they might have left a record of his betrayal.
I made an image for Eldrin, trying to evoke an Imperial military officer. Since I only knew jagernauts, I based it on that and hoped he understood. I showed Althor talking to the Jagernaut, then the Jagernaut locking Bloodmark’s hands behind his back.
Eldrin spread his hands in an I don’t know gesture. A blue mist spread out from him, the color of grief. I understood. He feared his son had already died.
Eldrin formed another picture: He and I standing together, facing Bloodmark. Another man was there, one with shimmering black hair and red eyes. Jabriol Qox III, Eldrin thought. He showed me Bloodmark giving us to the Trader emperor.
My unease at the picture was muted by an odd effect; the emperor looked familiar. I couldn’t place why. I shook my head, then showed the image blowing up.
Eldrin responded with the imagine of an unfamiliar Aristo. A rush of emotions came with it: fear, anger, shame, hatred. He knew this Aristo, hated him with an intensity that burned. Eldrin shuddered and the picture disappeared. That’s the only time I’ve ever known him to “speak” about his capture by the Traders. I understood what he meant: he would rather die here than become a Trader prisoner again.
No, I thought. I showed an enraged Jagernaut locking Bloodmark’s hands behind his back. Then the admiral on trial. Then his execution.
Eldrin shook his head and showed a Trader ship firing on Raylicon. That one.was obvious; Bloodmark would help the Traders break the Raylican defenses, letting them do his dirty work and take the blame.
But that logic had a hole. Attacking Raylicon was no use to the Traders unless they retrieved us. Otherwise they risked starting a war for nothing. Even with help, breaking the defenses would be no easy task, and they would have to get in and out fast, before ISC forces caught them. Unless we had already surrendered, getting us would take too long. So all we had to do was refuse to surrender.
Eldrin was watching me. He made a new picture. Althor’s mother. Seen through his thoughts, she was warm and vulnerable. In truth, that delicate exterior hides a steel cable. Dyhianna Selei walks the Imperial halls of power as a mover who knows every nuance and convolution of its intrigue. Spectacularly beautiful, a power among powers, yet caring and nurturing to those she loves, with an awe-inspiring intellect—it was no wonder Ragnar Bloodmark wanted her.
Eldrin added a second person to the picture: Bloodmark. The admiral was leaning over her, pulling her head back, with a knife against her neck. That image dissolved, replaced by one of Eldrin and me surrendering to him. Another image of Althor’s mother, this time showing Bloodmark comforting a bereaved wife and mother.
So. There had been more in Bloodmark’s ultimatum than Althor realized, threats couched in terms meant only for Eldrin: if we didn’t surrender, Althor’s mother would suffer Bloodmark’s revenge. Eldrin had showed a knife, but I had no doubt the admiral’s methods would be far more subtle.
I reformed the image of Bloodmark threatening Althor’s mother. Then I showed her rolling him into a tiny ball that she chewed up and spat out.
Eldrin smiled dryly. But he spread his hands. Neither of us knew if Bloodmark could make his threat real. One thing was obvious: if we died on Raylicon, it would devastate Althor’s mother. And she still trusted the admiral. Eldrin showed another possibility: Bloodmark comforting her. As she cried, he tilted up her face up and kissed her. Eldrin exploded the image into shards.
The Uzan came forward and spoke. Eldrin nodded, then turned to me and motioned first toward th
e starport, then toward the sky. He made two images, one showing us going to Bloodmark’s ship and the other showing us dying on Raylicon. Next he tilted his head: a question. It was time to decide. Give ourselves up or die here?
I shook my head. I had an idea, perhaps insane, but better than the alternatives. I got up and went up onto the dais. Laying my hand against one of the coffins, I regarded Eldrin. He stood up, next to the Uzan now, watching me. I made an image of the Abaj stalling Bloodmark, telling him we were about to give ourselves up. Then I showed Eldrin and myself climbing into the coffins. Even if only one of us survived to warn ISC, it would be worth the effort. If we both failed, as Althor apparently had, the result would be no different than if we died at Bloodmark’s hand.
Eldrin made an image of me in a coffin. Then the Uzan pulling the lever. Then an empty coffin. He tilted his head: a question. In answer, he spread his hands in an I don’t know gesture. I understood: once I was in psiberspace, I would have no idea how to reverse the transformation and return to normal space.
At least this gives us a chance, I thought to him. I took hold of a crank and tried to undo the lid’s fastenings. It was harder than the Abaj made it look.
One of the warriors took over, opening the box. I made myself climb in and lie down. Soft material lined the interior, but it felt claustrophobic even with the lid open. As they strapped me in, I had to make a conscious effort not to thrash. To distract my attention, I lifted my head—and saw Eldrin climbing into another box. He glanced at me and nodded. Then he lay down, disappearing from view.
When they closed the lid, panic hit. I struggled against the straps, twisting as the lid fogged over. A strange sensation came over me, a sense of dissipating. Dissolving.
Disintegrating…
The last thing I saw, before I lost touch with the physical universe, was Althor’s face above the lid, his mouth forming the words, Tina, no! Come back!