Alien Chronicles 2 - The Crimson Claw (34 page)

Only then did she look down at the seat of the throne, where the black cloth lay. Israi bent down and twitched it off, letting the dark silk square flutter to the floor. She seated herself, the seal still in her hand, and felt ultimate satisfaction flow through her body.

The throne was hers now. No one would take it from her. From this day forward, her word was supreme law. Never again would she have to answer to anyone. Never again would she be held back from what she wanted.

“Let the mourning begin for he who ruled before us,” she declared. “Five days may the empire mourn. So says Israi, Kaa of the Viis.”

On the sixth day after their incarceration, the cargo bay doors of Shrazhak Ohr were unlocked and the abiru prisoners released.

They emerged, blinking in the bright lights. They were wary, unsure of what to expect. Trainers, handlers, and station supervisors came to sort out the various abiru. The gladiators were reclaimed with scanners, documentation, and qualifiers.

Halehl, looking impatient and haggard, watched like a raptul as Ampris and her teammates were brought forth. Ampris noticed a long scratch down one side of his neck and wondered if he had been fighting. Unable to believe it, she decided her imagination was running away with her.

In curt silence Halehl led them through the station back to their quarters. The station looked wrecked. In every direction Ampris saw destruction and the aftermath of pillaging. Shops lay dark, their wares spilling out into the central axis. Wall panels hung open, exposing torn circuitry. The floor was scored and stained. Dead Viis still lay where they had fallen, not yet cleared away. Injured Viis, their clothing torn and blood-soaked, lay groaning with no one to care for them. The stench of death, charred cloth, and chemical spills choked the air.

Shocked and appalled, Ampris stared at the carnage and destruction, unable to believe that the supremely civilized Viis had done this to themselves. Yes, she could understand grief. Yes, she could even understand the urge to release that grief by hacking at walls and tearing apart furnishings. But she could not understand how the Viis could turn on each other. Stepping over a moaning Viis official with a battered face, Ampris contrasted what she saw now with how the frightened abiru folk had behaved during their incarceration. They, the inferior species, had not fought, had not stolen one another’s meager rations, had not preyed on each other. Surely this indicated that they could indeed form an alliance and work together for freedom. If the Viis had turned on one another with this kind of savagery, perhaps they could one day be tricked into doing it again.

Ampris paused a moment by the defaced shrine to Ruu-113, as they waited for the lift to come.

“All the workers were imprisoned,” Elrabin whispered to her. “So they haven’t even cleared their dead. What kind of folk can do that to each other?”

Ampris gazed out the observation port at the dead accelerator rings. Were they indeed unable to function, or had the Zrheli sabotaged them? She’d hoped to talk to some of the engineers, but none of the Zrheli had been incarcerated with the main group of abiru.

Ruu-113 did exist. She had studied it long ago with Israi. To the Viis it had become a legend, hardly a place that seemed real anymore. But Ampris wondered why it could not be a new world for the abiru folk who had lost their homeworlds. The Aarouns, if they were ever freed, could not return to their place of origin. But they could perhaps one day go to Ruu-113. It was a dream, she knew, the largest dream she’d had yet. But as she stared out at space, clutching her Eye of Clarity in her hand, she felt the pendant warm slightly against her palm, and knew this goal was right and good.

“Someday,” she whispered, making a promise. “Someday.”

“Ampris!” shouted a voice. “Come on!”

She turned and hurried onto the lift, descending back into her normal life of combat and bloodshed.

Israi leaned forward and struck her fist upon the desktop. “Here!” she cried, tossing the gold-colored key to the imperial treasury onto the wood. It bounced and spun on the polished surface. “Here is the key. Tell me why the treasury cannot be accessed?”

Chancellor Temondahl puffed out his air sacs and looked grave. “Shall I call in the Minister of Finance to explain?”

“No! You explain it to me. You explain!”

Temondahl began talking, his voice droning through the long explanation. Israi settled back in her chair, feeling fury burning to the tip of her tail. Her rill stood up stiffly behind her head. It had been at full extension all afternoon, since this session began. It ached, but she was too angry to let it go down.

Although she made Temondahl run through his explanation of finances, military campaigns, extravagances, poor investments, lack of interest, and shortsighted policies, Israi already grasped the situation perfectly. She had inherited a bankrupt empire. Most of her nobles were ruined, unable to pay their high court expenses, unable to recoup their losses even by selling their ancestral estates. The city of Vir was operating at an annual loss. Issued credit was practically worthless. The economic sanctions leveled against Malraaket had not only ruined that prosperous city but had ruined the economy of Viisymel also.

Even worse, Israi’s personal inherited fortune was practically gone. She stopped listening to what Temondahl was saying and wanted to jump to her feet, to scream and throw priceless treasures at the walls. How could her father have spent it all? She had listened to reports until her ear canals rang. What had he spent it on? His stupid restoration projects? How could he have been so foolish? When she learned that he had deliberately withdrawn the treasury from Mynchepop, leaving his aristocracy to face ruin without any warning, and had refused to reinvest it, so that inflation ate away a huge portion of it, she wanted to rush to his tomb and throw his corpse into the river.

“Shall we move on to other matters on the agenda?” Temondahl asked tactfully.

Israi glanced at him and realized he must have stopped talking without her realizing it. She gestured for him to continue.

“Military dispatches from the rim world rebellions,” he announced. “The conflict on—”

“Why do we not simply destroy those planets?” Israi interrupted. “We would lose a few worlds but the others would be frightened into new obedience. It would save time and costs.”

Temondahl stared at her as though he saw a monster. It took him a moment before he seemed able to speak. “Yes, indeed,” he finally said. “But—”

“Which of the defense installations is closest to galactic border nine?” Israi demanded. “Simply withdraw our forces and order a strike. If I recall my last study of the imperial star charts, we have an installation not far from—”

“It does not work, majesty,” Temondahl said.

His voice was so low, Israi was not certain at first that she had heard correctly. “Repeat that.”

“It does not work.”

She stared at him, her rill so rigid she thought it might snap off. “Explain.”

“We have forty of these secret installations scattered around the empire.”

“Yes?” she said, flicking out her tongue and wishing he would get to the point.

“Only twelve of them are actually operational.”

She felt as though she’d been gripped in a nightmare without end. Was there nothing right? Was there nothing working as it should be? “Twelve,” she repeated in disbelief. “Why?”

Temondahl made a gesture. “Who can say why some equipment fails and others continue to function.”

“You mean no one has maintained them properly,” she said icily.

“As the Imperial Mother says.”

Israi slammed her fist down on the desktop again. “We have nothing!” she screamed, her rill darkening to indigo. “Nothing at all! We rule an empire that is a ghost! It is dead. It is lost. How long until the people learn the truth, that we can hold nothing that is ours, that we can pay for nothing that should be ours? How long?”

Temondahl met her eyes without flinching, his composure unshaken by her temper. “With sufficient cleverness by the Imperial Mother and her council, the people will never know.”

Israi choked back something and rose to her feet. “We hate this,” she said bitterly. “You mean we are to perpetuate a lie.”

“Exactly, majesty.” Temondahl’s gaze followed her. “That is what it means to rule. Nothing is ever what it seems to the public.”

She flicked out her tongue, feeling overwhelmed. “We did not anticipate so many problems, chancellor. We thought the solutions could be applied quickly.”

Temondahl hesitated a moment, then said, “There are two types of kaas, majesty. One type will work hard, serving the people—”

“The people exist to serve
us!”
Israi cried.

“No, majesty. The people are the children of the Imperial Mother. She works hard to protect, guide, and keep them safe.”

Israi glared at him, hating this lecture as she had all his others. “And the other type of kaa?” she asked in a voice like silk.

“The other type defers that which is difficult, ignores that which is troublesome, delays that which is inevitable. The problems become cumulative, and eventually insurmountable.”

Seething, Israi said nothing. She understood his point perfectly, and she did not like it. She hated drudgery, hated these long hours in her study, closeted with Temondahl, who never ran out of reports or problems. There was no end to the work, and she hated work. She longed to be in her garden, lying in the sun, while musicians played soft flyta tunes.

Temondahl said, “Although the empire teeters on the brink of ruin, it is my belief that we can save it, majesty. With hard work and sacrifice, such as—”

“You are a joyless creature,” Israi declared. “Have we not sacrificed enough, waiting all these years to inherit the throne from our esteemed father? Have we not been patient? Have we not endured?”

Temondahl’s pupils narrowed to very small dots of black. “Sacrifice, majesty, such as reduction of the imperial household expenses, the elimination of waste and duplication in the military budget, especially inherited officer rankings for the aristocracy, suspension of restoration in the old palace, the closing of unproductive space stations such as Shrazhak Ohr, and the—”

“Enough!” Israi said, raising her rill. “We will hear no more of this today.”

Temondahl bowed at once. “Very well, majesty,” he said, closing the dispatch box. “But the problems not dealt with today will have multiplied as fast as Skeks by tomorrow.”

She glared at him, feeling furious and trapped. A chasm seemed to yawn before her. She knew she had a momentous decision to make, one that might make the difference to the very survival of all she knew and held. But she was tired and too distressed by all she had learned today. She felt that Temondahl was being unfair, dumping so much on her at once.

“Tomorrow,” she said. “We will resume this tomorrow.”

Temondahl’s rill sagged with disappointment. He bowed without protest, his eyes meeting hers in silent criticism. “As the Kaa commands,” he said and left her.

To the sound of cheers, Ampris jogged into the arena for her final appearance at Shrazhak Ohr. She carried her glaudoon, which she brandished aloft in a salute to the crowd. It amazed her how the Viis had resumed the games as though the Kaa hadn’t died, as though they hadn’t been rioting, looting, and killing each other only a few hours ago.

But Ampris spared little thought for the morally corrupt Viis. Instead, she felt pumped by renewed optimism and inspiration. She believed now that the abiru folk really did have a chance at freedom. But they would have to make a real alliance and take action instead of just talking about it.

Now she focused on her quarry. The Zrhel engineer crouched on the opposite side of the arena, his gray eyes huge with fear and hostility. From his narrow, domed skull covered with tiny, plush feathers, to his thin shoulders, to his knobby legs, he clearly possessed no athletic ability at all. As soon as he backed away from her purposeful advance, Ampris gauged his movements and knew he had no chance at all to spin this out.

Being condemned, the Zrhel was unarmed except for his talons and huge, curved beak. Ampris swung her glaudoon about, making showy motions to please the shouting crowd while she closed in.

Again he backed away from her. She circled him, growling to get his attention.

“Hey, Zrhel,” she said softly under the noise of the crowd. “Listen to me. We must talk.”

He squawked in alarm and scrambled away from her. Ampris circled him again, driving him back to the center of the arena, away from the walls.

“Listen,” she said, lunging at him with a flurry of sword movements that ended in a whack at his legs with the flat of her blade.

The crowd booed her. Ampris backed her ears but ignored them. Halehl began murmuring instructions through her collar, but she ignored him too.

“Listen,” she said once more while the Zrhel glared at her, his beaked mouth open. “I am Ampris. I am friendly to the cause of the Zrheli. Answer me one question, please.”

“Liar!” he shouted at her. “Why don’t you execute me and get it over with? Then you can go back to your fancy living, the pet of your accursed masters.”

“I am not here by choice,” she said.

He charged her, squawking and scattering feathers. Ampris whacked him with the flat of her blade, sending him tumbling to the ground.

Again the crowd booed.

“Ampris,” Halehl said through her collar. “Make this quick. We’re paid by the number of Zrheli you kill, not by the show itself.”

She ignored the trainer, focusing all her attention on the engineer scrambling to his feet. “I didn’t choose to be a gladiator,” she told him, anxious to make him understand. “I am a slave, just like you.”

“Slave, hah!” His contempt came hot and furious. “Do you die for your convictions, the way Zrheli die? You talk, Ampris, but you don’t act.”

“Can you fix the jump gate?” she asked, knowing she couldn’t delay killing him much longer.

The crowd had seated itself and was booing her constantly now.

“Kill him!” Halehl commanded her.

“There isn’t much time,” Ampris said to the engineer. “I will be merciful to you. I promise. But can your people fix the jump gate so that the abiru can escape to freedom at—”