Ruler of Naught (44 page)

But he sure didn’t see any of that now. He was gloating over
something; those pursed lips were too smug. About what? There was no news in
Karroo, and nothing of any import in Rifthaven—she would have heard.

“So we’re agreed, then?” Xibl Banth said, grinning around
the table at the other chiefs, his Draco smile feral with those nasty pointed
teeth. “As soon as the first of Dol’jhar’s allies show up, we invoke the new
approach laws—”

“That covers Defense,” Pormagat of the Yim said in her
snivelly whine. “But Defense ends at the lock, or have you forgotten, Xibl?
What about Public Order?”

“And Trade?” the Houmanopoulis’ old chief, Jep, put in with
his fierce frown.

Xibl sneered at fat Pormagat at his left. the two most powerful
Syndics on Rifthaven, controlling Defense and Public Order—outside security and
inside respectively—hated each other with deadly passion, from the two chiefs
right down to their rats and runners.

Lyska-si tuned them out, knowing they’d brangle for the next
few minutes, about who had insulted whom. Instead, she went back to watching
Snurkel, and was just in time to catch his pudgy fingers worming over his other
wrist: a privacy on his boz’l.

She scanned the room. Someone in here? Although at least
half the chiefs had their hands below the table, none of their throat muscles
moved. Then she saw it: Nuub, second to Jep in Trade. Why was Snurkel talking
to Trade, one of Karroo’s bitterest rivals?

She shifted her stance behind her mother’s chair to afford
her a better vantage. She sensed some of the other runners noting her change in
posture, and she let her hands show, indicating no threat.

Everyone was edgy. The meeting had been called to decide how
to handle the onslaught of Dol’jhar’s allies, who at any time might be skipping
in, full of loot and triumph, their ships armed with those superweapons the
Dol’jharians had discovered. Their squabbles could be planned for, and everyone
knew that the resonance field kept Rifthaven safe enough from those
weapons—that and the new guard on the field generator and its backups, overseen
by Public Order and Defense, with all Syndics providing personnel, just like
they did with the hyperwave.

What remained to be hashed out was the sudden influx of
wealth they’d bring, which could throw the entire economy of Rifthaven, a
painfully achieved, precarious balance at the best of times, into chaos.
Everyone present knew from experience if they were old enough, or had heard,
how vicious trade wars could be. Draco and Yim controlled the two top positions
on council, but that could change—would, if the other Syndicates had their way.

Lyska-si studied Snurkel again, a trickle of cold warning
in her vitals. Karroo was at the bottom—their department was Recycling—which
meant they tried extra hard, her mother had explained. And Karroo had been
enormously successful in recent years, enough to scare the others a little.

Mostly because of that disgusting worm,
Lyska-si acknowledged.

“Has the Dol’jharian’s second issued any further
instructions that can be shared?” Willem spoke up, his rheumy eyes keen.

Lyska-si had a great deal of respect for the old wart’s
staying power; in a place where things changed quickly, Willem had ruled over
the Kug—who controlled Engineering—for nearly five decades.

Several glances were sent toward the next room, where the
ugly Urian communications device was installed and closely guarded to make sure
that no information leaked out to Rifthaven at large.

“Not since the word came in about the raid on Arthelion by
the missing heir,” Corolaris Rouf said in her mellow voice.

They all knew Barrodagh did his best to keep the tensions
high. Dol’jhar needed Rifthaven’s goodwill, at least while his forces—mostly
Rifters—were stretched so thin. But everyone knew the alliance would last just
as long as the balance of need was more or less equal.

Lyska-si half-listened as the Syndic chiefs argued over what
protocols they would adopt, and how they would be safeguarded, when the Rift
fleet did appear. She kept her gaze on Snurkel, who watched through hooded
eyes, his smugness increasing. He never spoke.

When at last the meeting broke up, Lyska-si maneuvered
herself behind her mother, hiding her hand so she could send a private:

(Snurkel was gloating about something. And he had a
privacy with Nuub.)

(I saw. I’ll handle it. But first we have to talk—you and
Nistan have been drawn to take the hyperwave for the next watch.)

Lyska-si’s heart accelerated its beat. The lines of power
were shifting indeed—Karroo had only been drawn once so far in the “fair lots”
to take turns at Eusabian’s comm. She looked across the room at tall, bony, slant-eyed
Nistan, the runner for the Y’Mered, who controlled Atmospherics, and caught a speculative
glance from him.

Things were going to get interesting.

o0o

It better be now,
Marim thought, and reached
one-handed for her clothes beside the bed. Digging under them, she located her
boz’l and tapped out a private code to Lokri.

“Hey.” A long, muscular arm reached lazily for her.

Marim smacked the hand away. “Gotta pee.”

“Well, hurry up.”

“You ready again, sneezewit?” She reached over and rumpled
her fingers through Rex’s chest fur. “Don’t move!”

Marim hopped out of the bed, grabbing up her boz’l. In the
disposer, she made sure the door was locked and palmed the light. She slapped
the boz’l against her wrist and hit the receive, looking at the door while she
waited for a response. She still couldn’t quite believe what Rex had told her,
swearing her to secrecy. Not just skipmissiles like to bust a moon wide open,
but FTL comms, a hyperwave, straight out of star fantasy.
There’s no place
safe.
She wondered why the knowledge wasn’t widespread yet on Rifthaven—surely
the Syndics found it advantageous to control the word as long as they could,
like Rex’s captain.

But she hadn’t cashed in yet on her Mandala loot, so she didn’t
dare tell anyone about the comms, not even Lokri. Especially Lokri, if he was
still forming some plot around the Arkad. As soon as Vi’ya found out, and she
would, they’d be off Rifthaven instantly, even though she knew Hreem wasn’t
about to tell the Syndics about the Arkad and
Telvarna
and had no other
way of reaching any agent of his on Rifthaven until long after they were gone.

Lokri’s response splintered her thoughts.
(What is it?)
came
his voice.
(I’m in the middle of a game.)

(I think you better know. I was at—I met Rex, you know,
off the
Tantayon
... They skipped into Abilard system just before coming
here, and skipped right back out ‘cause Fasthand and his gang had taken the
planet.)

(Bad for Abilard,)
Lokri’s sarcasm came clearly
through the neural induction.
(But what—)

(Fasthand had orders from Eusabian about the Arkad. They
know he’s alive, and there’s a price worth ten planets on his head. And a price
almost as high for anyone crewing a Columbiad called
Maiden’s Dream
)

There was a long silence. Marim tapped her boz’l.
(Still
there?)

(Yes.)

(So we lie low, right?)
she went on.
(You know
what would happen to you if you tried anything on with those Dol’jharian
blungesuckers.)

(I’ll keep my mouth shut.)

She breathed in relief, killed the connection and the light,
and went back to slide into bed. Rex was waiting impatiently. she pounced on
him, thinking,
I’m safe. As long as Lokri does keep his mouth shut, and
doesn’t—

She sat upright so fast the bed jolted, and Rex mumbled a
protest.

Why hadn’t she seen it before?
She reviewed that conversation,
understanding what Lokri had promised—and what he hadn’t.

Cursing, she whipped out of bed and began scrambling into
her clothes.

Rex rolled over, blinking. “What? Where you going?”

Marim tapped her boz’l. “Vi’ya sent out a code yellow. I
gotta go supervise the rebuilding of that chatzing aft under-cannon,” she
improvised.

“Can’t it wait?” Rex asked, smiling sleepily. “Been too long
since we saw one another.” He sat up in the bed, and Marim looked at his big
dark eyes, and his tousled hair, and her knees weakened. Another moment and
she’d be right back in that bed.

‘True thing, Rex,” she said, hastily fastening her tunic.

“Free-fall bunny,” Rex said, grinning. “Meet at the gym when
you get free.”

Dashing through the bewildering maze of corridors, halls,
and tubes, she didn’t stop until she reached the
Telvarna
’s docking bay.
The hired guards nodded her through, and she dashed toward the ship’s ramp.

A lazy voice stopped her. “What’s the call?”

Marim whirled around. Lokri stepped out of the shadows, where
he had obviously been waiting for the right moment to slip back on board.

She sagged against the ramp. “You’re going after the Arkad,”
she accused. “Why, when I just now told you the danger?”

Lokri came toward her at an unhurried pace. “You told me,”
he said, “because you want me to do something about it and you don’t dare.” He
smiled. “I being the gambler, and you just a thief.”

His irony did not escape Marim, but she ignored the accusation.
What he threatened was more dangerous than her plans for the nick treasures.
Giving a sigh of exasperation, she said, “Can’t you leave her alone? Can’t
you—” She took a deep breath. “—leave him alone?”

“Why should I?”

She scowled her fiercest, struggling with reactions she’d
scarcely bothered to define before. As always, she opted for the immediate.
“Because if you sell him to anyone we’re all going to
die
. You
know
those chatzing blood-suckers won’t stop with just you.”

Lokri shook his head. “I don’t intend to sell anyone.”

“So why are you here?”

“I thought,” Lokri said, “that our guest might enjoy a game
of Phalanx. I got it all set up. Total anonymity.”

Marim tipped her head back, studying his face. He smiled
down at her with that not-quite humor in his light eyes.

She bit her lip.
It’s not just sex he wants from the
Arkad, it’s more than that. He ran this scam on Markham, too, and nearly got us
all killed. Why? I know Lokri better than anybody in the crew, but sometimes I
don’t know him at all.
She whispered so the hired guards wouldn’t hear her,
“I don’t want to end up on some Dol’jharian torture rack, mumbling through
broken teeth about our Arthelion run.”

Lokri smiled. “All I have in mind is some fun, and at the
same time a reminder to Vi’ya of the limits of her reach.”

Marim sighed.
He won’t dare do anything while Viya’s
still on board. With any luck she won’t leave the ship to find out about that
chatzing Heart thing until just before she’s ready to leave. And nobody’s going
to talk about Eusabian’s FTL while there’s still a chance of an angle from
knowing about it when most don’t. I hope.
She flicked up a hand. “If you
need me, I’ll keep this thing open.” She tapped her boz’l and then left, punching
up Rex’s bozcode as she went.

o0o

Vi’ya breathed in the air, sorting carefully. It was almost
right, but not quite.

Opening her eyes, she considered the sequoia forest around
her. One could almost be convinced it was real. Certainly it had given both the
Panarchists a jolt when they walked into it. But the air... she’d spent some
time playing with the tianqi but so far was not successful. It was an
intellectual challenge. All her other environments were disturbingly real in
sight, sound, and smell. It was important to get this one defined in precise
terms and translate it to code.

It was a game she played, to take a place that dealt in
strong affect and break that affect down into reproducible components. But this
one was proving difficult.

Her annunciator light flashed, and she killed the holo.

Montrose entered. “Ivard’s got the Kelly Archon’s gene imprint,”
he said. “The Kelly surgeon can’t do anything about it. Swears protection and
aid if we’ll get the boy to someone who can.”

“We?”

Montrose’s bushy brows went up. “Said I’d stay with you—if
you don’t go off to that damn ice planet.” He gave her a fierce look, his voice
a low rumble. “Or—it’s the Schoolboy that suggested this, and maybe he’s
raving—that hellhole you were born on.”

Vi’ya laughed. “Time limit?”

“The Kelly didn’t say.”

Vi’ya studied him, sorting rapidly through her options. “We
can accommodate Ivard and these Kelly only if it is safe enough to do so,” she
said at last. “My plans beyond that are my own.”

Montrose’s eyes narrowed. “You’re going to haul those damn
Panarchists wherever you go?”

“Maybe.”

Montrose grunted. “I’ll let you know what I find out.” He
turned to leave, then turned back. “Why are you letting our people go?” he
asked abruptly. “They’re a good crew, or as good as any you’ll find these
days.”

“They want to leave,” she said.

He made an impatient gesture. “You could pull them together
again. All of them. You did it after Markham was killed.” He frowned. “Unless
you want them gone.”

Vi’ya cursed mentally, then tried to smother the bleak
flicker of laughter at the futility of calling down karra-fire. All those
devouring demons and vengeful ghosts were fantasies, another link in the chain
the lords of Dol’jhar used to leash a difficult people.

Reality was this man standing before her now, asking what to
him was an honest question. To put personal discussion into words was to bare one’s
back to the flaying knife, but Montrose had been a loyal crew member. By her
own code this required an answer, though perhaps not the whole answer.