Scattered Suns (16 page)

Chapter 30—KING PETER

On their swift return journey from Ildira, Peter watched his Queen struggle to maintain her composure despite a severe bout of morning sickness. In their quarters, he tried to comfort her through her nausea, noting the clammy face and hands and the grayish cast to her skin. He hoped that monitoring imagers wouldn’t pick it up. Both of them remained convinced they were being watched at all times.

While relaxing, he and Estarra played games in their quarters, making pleasant but guarded conversation. When she rushed to the sink for another bout of vomiting, she mumbled the lie they had decided upon. “My stomach must still be upset from that Ildiran food. Good thing we only stayed a day.”

Peter patted her forearm. “Yes, I feel a bit queasy myself. I’m sure the Mage-Imperator has the finest chefs, but we have different metabolisms.”

They hoped the excuse was good enough.

He told her to rest in their quarters, then went to the closed door of the Chairman’s cabin. He signaled twice, no doubt interrupting important Hansa work. “Basil, I just wanted to say that we’d love to have breakfast with you, but spaceflight has never agreed with the Queen. She’s relaxing to gather her energy for a reception when we get back to Earth. Sorry.”

The Chairman looked up from his document screens, giving Peter a bland but cool gaze. “Breakfast? Are these attempts at sociability meant to influence me in some way? If there is no audience in front of us, then you don’t need to pretend for my benefit.”

Peter bowed, covering his smile. “As you wish, Basil.” Preoccupied, the Chairman made no further comment and sealed the door again.

Of course, Peter wanted to keep Estarra as far from the man as possible. But if they were too obvious about hiding, someone would suspect. Both by lessons and by example, the Chairman had taught Peter many tricks of manipulation.

For a time he’d thought the Chairman actively despised him, but then he realized that Basil didn’t waste time or energy on such strong emotions. As Chairman of the Hansa, Basil Wenceslas expected the King to follow his role and his duties precisely. Nothing more. He grew angry at the young man only when Peter stepped out of bounds and challenged his authority. Otherwise, Basil didn’t bother to think about him at all. The Chairman had no time for friends or enemies. He existed for
administration,
for making decisions and conducting the business of human civilization.

During their brief visit in the Prism Palace, Peter had been surprised at the Mage-Imperator’s deep interest in Estarra and Theroc. Jora’h had been drawn to the Queen, more interested in talking about her brother Reynald and the green priests who had come to visit him in Mijistra than about diplomatic matters.

Now, as they thought about their visit of state, Estarra looked up at Peter with her large brown eyes. “I wish Reynald could have been there with us.”

Peter sat next to her on the bed and pulled her close. With the surreptitious help of the Teacher compy OX in the Whisper Palace, the two had been developing a secret language: key hand signals, gestures, and code words that they hoped no one else would decipher. Now he silently reassured her, told her he loved her.

“Did the Mage-Imperator look troubled to you?” she pressed. “He seemed very disturbed, pulled in a thousand different directions.”

He glanced at a tiny nick in the ceiling, where he was sure a monitoring imager had been hidden. He ignored it, not caring if he was overheard. “Think of how much goes on behind the scenes in the Hansa—underhanded deals and secret decisions and forced activities. The Ildirans aren’t human, but I’ll bet similar things weigh upon the Mage-Imperator.”

“I hope he solves them,” the Queen said.

“I hope we do, too.”

When they returned to Earth orbit, the Chairman informed Peter and Estarra that he was slipping away in a shuttle before all the fanfare began, so he could meet with other Hansa administrators and discuss the statements Mage-Imperator Jora’h had made. Then Basil turned away. It was an announcement, not a polite goodbye. His shuttle separated from the diplomatic transport and raced down into the Palace District.

Meanwhile, Peter and Estarra had to stage a much more formal arrival. Before departing, Basil handed them a speech and ordered Peter to record it. He had long since stopped allowing the King to do anything live. Peter glanced at the words, quickly memorizing them. The speech was relatively innocuous, a cheerleading rally, nothing that he couldn’t stomach saying—unlike other times.

The King and Queen dutifully took their positions in the diplomatic transport’s recording chamber, surrounded by an artificial background projected to look like the area over which they would cruise.

“The alliance between Ildirans and the Hansa remains strong,” Peter said, striving to make his voice firm and confident. “The Queen and I have visited the Mage-Imperator, who is as committed to defeating the hydrogues as his father was. With the Ildiran Solar Navy fighting beside the Earth Defense Forces, we shall stand against the enemy aliens who have already wrought so much havoc.”

Now Estarra joined in. “The hydrogues nearly destroyed my home. They killed both of my brothers.”

Peter continued, “We must fight them, but we cannot fight them alone. The Ildirans feel the same. Your Queen and I return to Earth after securing bonds of friendship and mutual aid with our friends.”

The protocol minister, under strict instructions from Chairman Wenceslas, had them record the speech three times, splicing the best parts together into one perfect presentation.

Unhurried, the diplomatic transport was met high above the city by a ponderous and ornate royal dirigible. After Peter and Estarra transferred over in a connecting tube, the diplomatic craft flew away, no longer needed. The huge airship was slow and ceremonial, perfect for ensuring that the King and Queen were seen by as many people as possible.

The royal dirigible was accompanied by fast-flying escort ships that flitted like bees around a pollen-laden flower. By the time the royal dirigible came low over the Palace District, the recorded speech was ready for release. The smooth fabric sides of the enormous zeppelin shimmered, and the sideskins projected the video on adaptive films so that the faces of the King and Queen filled the sides of the huge airship.

“The alliance between Ildirans and the Hansa remains strong,” Peter’s voice boomed.

While the recording played, he and Estarra stood below in the tiny ceremonial gondola, as if they were delivering the words in real time. From such a distance, the actual figures of the King and Queen were tiny, but they did what was expected of them. Even from such a great height they could hear the murmur of the crowd, the loud cheering of thousands of citizens. Their recorded words simultaneously echoed from speaker stands all across the plaza and up and down the streets.

And for a few moments at least, Peter and Estarra were unmonitored and alone. They could finally talk, quickly and quietly, as the thunderously loud words throbbed around them.

Estarra clutched her husband’s hand. “I don’t think he noticed anything out of the ordinary. We must have slipped a few times, but the Chairman showed no reaction. Our secret is safe.”

“With Basil you never can tell.” Peter’s face remained concerned. “It’s only a matter of time, though. We’re just postponing the inevitable. Soon there’ll be indications of your pregnancy that even he can’t miss.”

Her voice sounded painfully innocent. “If we can keep it secret long enough, the decision will be made for him. Another month maybe, and then it’ll be too late for the Chairman to do anything.”

Peter shook his head. “I wouldn’t count on that. He may insist on getting rid of the baby despite the risk to you, just because...”

Estarra’s eyes welled up with tears. “I don’t understand, Peter. Why would he want that? What does it gain him?”

“It would be out of spite, not logic. We defied him, and he
can’t
allow us to have that kind of freedom. He’ll never tolerate such a blatant challenge to his authority.”

“But it was an accident! I never even intended to get pregnant.”

“Basil won’t see it that way. He’s got to be in control, and if we’re loose cannons, he
must
put us in our place.” Then Peter frowned, calculating. “Unless he realizes that our child would be an excellent way of controlling us. A pawn.”

Estarra looked at him in alarm. “All the Chairman has to do is threaten our baby, and we’ll have no choice but to listen.”

Meanwhile the images of their faces delivered strong and optimistic messages about human and Ildiran solidarity against the hydrogues.

He remembered when Basil had used Estarra herself as similar leverage, threatening his beautiful young Queen if Peter didn’t do as he was told. “As a last resort, we may have to make Basil see that advantage. It could be our only chance to keep the baby alive.”

The Queen leaned against him, groaning. “Maybe we should just tell him and hope for the best.”

“Hope for the best?” He stroked her cheek, sharing a bittersweet smile. “We can do better than that.”

The dirigible circled the enormous Whisper Palace three times. In a well-rehearsed parade, royal guards flanked the elliptical landing area for the bloated airship, which drifted to the flagstone surface. Gravity cables linked into locking anchors, and an elevator dropped Peter and Estarra to a receiving platform, where the bearded old Archfather of Unison greeted them. The Hansa’s official religious leader held a scepter high and stood beside the King and Queen.

Peter had never spoken freely with the benevolent-looking old man, who also held an entirely ceremonial post with no real power. The Archfather’s cheeks were rosy—makeup, probably—and his pale blue eyes were surrounded by many wrinkles, but his gaze was blank. He said his scripted words and offered his prayer, then led a procession that returned Peter and Estarra to the Whisper Palace.

It was a grand, colorful, and noisy show designed specifically to convince the public that everything was perfectly right with the Terran Hanseatic League.

King Peter felt very tired.

Chapter 31—OSIRA’H

She felt very small as the Dobro Designate marched her into the presence of the Mage-Imperator. Osira’h had anticipated this moment for most of her life; it was time for her to walk down the path of a destiny she had never asked for. Uniformed guard kithmen stood inside the skysphere reception hall prepared to give their lives to protect their powerful leader. Such unwavering loyalty.

Prompted by Udru’h, Osira’h came forward with small, uncertain footsteps. She’d met her father when he had come to Dobro to visit her mother’s grave, and even then she had been filled with doubts about his real motivations. Had he truly been unaware of the horrors? Now her mind resonated with secondhand recollections from Nira Khali.

When she looked into Jora’h’s face, the girl could not drive back the flood of past experiences planted inside her mind shortly before her mother’s death. Through Nira’s eyes, she saw this man as the Prime Designate, a loving and compassionate son of scheming Mage-Imperator Cyroc’h. Jora’h would never have sanctioned the terrible things Nira and the other breeding prisoners on Dobro had endured. Or so her mother had believed.

Seeing him now, up there on the sunlit dais in his ornate chrysalis chair, Osira’h watched through a flood of secondary vision, memories as crystal clear as the colored panes that formed the skysphere above: Jora’h as a younger man holding Nira, his pale Ildiran skin warm against her mother’s chlorophyll-green arms, legs, breasts. She remembered his touch, his kisses, the way he fired her nerves. In a detached way, Osira’h wondered if she had witnessed her own conception.

These were not memories any child should have of her father, but Osira’h felt no revulsion, no sense of voyeurism. Part of her
was
her mother, and Nira had loved this man, trusted him. She never believed that he had abandoned her. But Osira’h knew the power this man held in his hands. He had done nothing to wipe clean all the forced rapes and the horrific genetic experiments with secret human prisoners, even after he knew the truth. What was he waiting for? Osira’h wasn’t sure her father deserved such reverence. In fact, she wasn’t sure about anything.

The Dobro Designate held back as Jora’h stepped down the dais to meet her. The Mage-Imperator’s eyes glinted with pride and hope. “My brother Udru’h says you are ready, Osira’h. The Ildiran Empire can wait no longer. Do you accept the terrible task that falls to you—to find the hydrogues, form a bridge, and bring them back here, to me?”

Osira’h stood as tall as she could and said what they expected to hear. “I not only accept my duty, I embrace it.”

When Jora’h responded with a warm smile, a part of her wanted to dissolve with happiness. “That is as much as I expected from you—and more.” He tentatively embraced her, but the girl remained stiff, not sure how to respond. Did he truly see Osira’h as his daughter, or merely as a pawn, a tool to be used for the good of the Empire?

Then, with surprise, she noticed a potted treeling that rested in the sunlight next to the chrysalis chair. She felt a pull and a longing in her heart—her mother had been torn from her blessed communion with the worldforest mind, had been so desperate to feel that contact again. A lump swelled in the girl’s throat, and she wanted to run to the small plant, wrap her thin fingers around it, send out a wild message through telink.

If she was able.

Instead, Osira’h held herself back, though the Mage-Imperator had already seen the hungry look in her eyes. “Is that one of the worldtrees of Theroc?”

Jora’h glanced at Udru’h, then back at her, puzzled. “Yes, but how would you recognize it?”

Osira’h thought swiftly, not wanting to reveal anything of what she knew, not to anyone. “I studied many subjects on Dobro. The instructors and mentalists are very thorough—and the Designate tells me I am special because my mother was a human green priest.”

Udru’h himself seemed perplexed at the presence of the treeling. “I thought all of the Theron growths were dead, Liege.”

“This one was a recent gift from Queen Estarra of the humans.” Jora’h narrowed his eyes. “I intend to take good care of it.
And keep it safe.
”

Osira’h could feel her body trembling with a need to touch the treeling. She would find a way soon. The Mage-Imperator would not send her to the hydrogues for another few days, while the necessary preparations were made. Osira’h would have her chance...

Udru’h bowed formally. “Liege, I need to return to Dobro. The Designate-in-waiting and I must continue to train Osira’h’s siblings, in the eventuality of her failure.”

Standing beside his daughter, Jora’h glared at him. “Do you not have confidence in her?”

Though Osira’h was right there in front of him, her uncle’s answer was aloof and cold. “I devoted my life to preparing the girl. However, the fate of our Empire is at stake. I will not gamble on only one possibility.”

With that, the Dobro Designate, the man who had raised her and cared for her, the man who had shown so much love and hope—and also the man who had imprisoned and repeatedly raped her mother, then had her beaten to death—turned and left Osira’h without another word.