Empyrion I: The Search for Fierra (22 page)

A few minutes later, a guide—the one who had awakened him that morning—came in carrying a large tray, heavy with bowls of food: more raw vegetables, a thin, clear soup, and several small roast fowl. The guide placed the tray before Treet and backed away as Treet dove in. He seized one of the birds and tore off a leg.

Treet was licking his fingers and looking at the soup when Rohee entered the kraam. With a nod he dismissed the inquisitors, who looked relieved to escape. Treet smiled to himself; he hadn't realized it was that easy to intimidate these goons.

Rohee settled himself on a cushion and dipped his hand into a bowl of cherimoyas. He popped the fruit in his mouth and sucked the sweet juice, studying Treet, his eyes sharp and hard.

“Help yourself,” said Treet, and went on eating.

“There will be no more questions,” announced Rohee as he rolled another of the delicate fruits in his hand.

Treet swallowed. “Good.” He took a tentative sip of the soup and added, “I thought you said you trusted me.”

“Yes,” replied Rohee thoughtfully. “But we are also curious.”

“I'm curious, too. I want to know what happened to the people I came here with. You said you would tell me—I'm still waiting.”

“They have not been harmed.”

“So you say. But if they're all right, why can't I see them?”

The Supreme Director's wrinkles arranged an expression of extreme concern, but his eyes remained hard. “It is best that you be kept apart for the present. It is for your own well-being.”

Treet's head snapped up. He swallowed. “What? Is that a threat?”

“It is a simple fact.” Rohee gazed at him quietly. “I can explain.”

“Go ahead.” Treet wondered at the change in the old man. The first meeting had been stiff and formal, the second more friendly. And this—this was downright cozy. The Director was treating him like a confidant. Or, Treet reconsidered, a condemned man at his last meal.

Rohee tilted his head back and looked down his beak nose. “I am beset by enemies. Traveler,” he began. “I am Supreme Director of the Threl, leader of all Empyrion. Naturally, my position attracts many who bow before my face, yet conspire for my power behind my back.”

Treet wondered at this confession. Why was the old bird telling him this? “I understand. Are you telling me that my friends are in danger from your enemies?”

“Not precisely. If you have not guessed. Traveler, your arrival has put me in a very awkward position. My enemies would like nothing better than to get their hands on you and your friends. They believe that you could help them in their plots against me.”

“I see. What do you think? We know nothing about any of this.”

Rohee shrugged and reached for another cherimoya. “This is what they believe. I merely mention it because they are ruthless men whose schemes stop at nothing short of open opposition— which they dare not attempt.” He lifted his shoulders again as if to say, I accept this; I live with it. “Therefore, I have instructed my allies to take each of your friends into Hage. They are hidden there, safe from my enemies. To move them now would endanger them needlessly.”

Treet nodded. “I see.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and replaced the soup bowl. “Pardon me if I don't believe you for one microsecond.”

“You do not know Empyrion,” Rohee stated, firmly. He returned Treet's gaze equably. “But when you have learned our ways, you will be reunited with your friends. Traveler. I, Supreme Director, have so ordered it.”

Treet remained silent for a moment, considering. He had pushed the matter far enough for the moment; there was nothing to be gained by badgering Rohee about it. Best now to change the subject. “What's going to happen to me?”

Rohee smiled, his eyes becoming slits. “I have been thinking about what you said this morning—about your mission.”

“Yes?”

“I have decided that you will fulfill your mission, Traveler.”

“Is that so?” Treet eyed his benefactor suspiciously. There was a trade-off coming, he could feel it.

“It may be as you say—that it would prove beneficial to everyone. We will never know unless you try.”

“I'll need some help,” suggested Treet, pouncing on this unexpected opportunity. He wanted to see how much Rohee was willing to give.

“I will assign a guide to you. He will be instructed to help you in every way.”

“Fair enough. But I want someone who knows his way around and can get me the information I need—not one of those three bozos—” He jerked his head toward the nonexistent inquisitors. “I want someone smart.”

The Supreme Director stared and then lightened. He chuckled, “No, not one of those. They are Jamrog's security advisors— chosen to prepare a report to the Threl about you. Your arrival has naturally piqued the interest of our leaders.”

“Why don't you let me meet them personally? I have nothing to hide.”

“No. Not yet. In time, perhaps.” Rohee shook his head, drawing his sparse eyebrows into a knot. “It is better for you to remain invisible for now.”

“Enemies?”

“There are always enemies. You will be safer if no one knows who you are; you may pass more freely that way.”

Treet accepted this. “Fine. Cynetics will be pleased. But soon I will need to see my friends again, of course.”

“Yes. In time,” said Rohee. He stood slowly, and Treet stood with him. “I open Empyrion to you, but no one may know what you are doing. Speak to no one else, do you understand? You will answer to me. Traveler.”

Treet heard an unspoken threat in the leader's voice and felt the tension of balancing unknown factors, of coping with potentially lethal forces beyond reckoning. He then understood something of the risk involved in turning over the keys of the city to an alien. “You won't be sorry,” he said, attempting reassurance.

Rohee only nodded, then rose stiffly and shuffled away. In a moment Treet was left alone again. He ate some more and lay back on the cushions, but soon discovered he was not the least bit tired anymore, so got up and walked around his new quarters, thinking, replaying all that had happened to him.

There were many questions left unanswered. But if he was very, very smart, he would find the answers. At least now he was being given the opportunity to dig them out for himself. Maybe that's what Rohee wants too, he thought. He wants me to find out for myself because … why?

That was something else to discover.

“He
knows nothing,” said Tvrdy in frank disgust, “and suspects less. In his present condition he is worthless.”

Cejka nodded. “Patience. It will take a few days for the antidote to be absorbed into his tissues.”

“Even then I'm not so sure we'll get anything. The damage is already done, I'm afraid.”

“Where will you keep him?”

“Here with me. I have assigned guides to watch him so he doesn't wander.”

“That could be very dangerous,” the Rumon leader cautioned. “If he were seen, or if—”

Tvrdy brushed aside the warning. “No one will suspect he's here. I do not want him out of my sight.”

“Have you notified Piipo and Kavan?”

“No, and they are not to know—not yet. Later, when he is ready to talk. For now, there is no need to tell them. There is nothing to tell.”

“I agree.” Cejka allowed himself a broad smile. “What a stroke of luck, seh? We've done it! Who could have dreamed it would be so easy?”

Tvrdy grinned, his lips curled in amusement. He placed a hand on Cejka's shoulder. “Jamrog will dig his heart out with his own hands when he learns what we intend.” The grin faded suddenly. “But that is not for a long time yet. We must not become overconfident.”

Still smiling, Cejka agreed. “Yes, yes, you're right. But it starts now—after all these years. So much patience, so much work … but worth the price, yes?”

“Did you ever doubt it?” Tvrdy smoothed the shimmering folds of his green Hage robe with his hands. “But we've yet to discuss taking the other spies.”

“No,” Cejka said. He pushed himself up from his chair and took up the orange Hage robe draped over a nearby table, pulling it over his head. “We've discussed enough for one night. I must get back to Rumon Hage before I am missed. Jamrog must not have cause to wonder about my movements. Besides, we must guard against overconfidence—yes? I think we should be satisfied with the one we have caught. We know where the others are; we can find ways to get them if that becomes necessary. Losing one will be enough of a shock to Jamrog.” He smiled again. “I wonder what he'll do?”

“We'll find out. I wouldn't want to be in Hladik's yos when Jamrog explodes. That could be very messy.” Tvrdy got up and moved to the lift with Cejka. “Do you want my guide?”

“I can find my way back. A guide might arouse suspicion. I'll be all right.” He stepped into the lift and pulled the yos sash tight. “Send word when our friend is ready to talk.”

“Of course. Good night, Cejka.”

The unidor crackled on, and the lift dropped from sight. Tvrdy stood looking at the empty tube for a moment, chin in hand, thinking. Pradim came in silently and waited to be noticed by his master. “Nothing more tonight, Pradim,” said Tvrdy when he stirred finally. “Just make sure our guest is comfortable before you go to sleep.”

Pradim padded away quietly, his fingers waving in the air. Tvrdy crossed the room and went out onto the balcony. Tanais Hage spread out before him, sparkling with the light of tiny yellow lights. The byways were empty and shadowbound; the intercrossed mazes of Empyrion wore night faces. The patter of the fountain echoed up from far below, and Tvrdy turned his eyes toward the dark outline of the lake. There, slipping among the trees winding along the shoreline path, a figure moved with quick stealth.

“Soon, Cejka,” Tvrdy whispered to himself, “we will all walk in the daylight.”

Treet had been up
for several hours and had taken his sweet time sampling the pleasures of his new sanitary stall. Warm water was a luxury, and the liquid soap he found in a crystal canister containing a pungent perfume with an astringent quality he found refreshing. He rubbed himself all over with thick, coarse-woven squares of fibrous grasscloth which, he assumed, served as both washcloth and towel.

I'd strangle a rhinoceros with my bare hands for a real bath, thought Treet. His skin cried out for a nutrient solution; he felt flaky and brittle all over and wondered how long it would be before his dry epidermis began peeling off in sheets. He sighed; at least it would be a passably clean hide.

He hummed as he laved the water over his face and neck, happy for the first time in a long time, having decided upon rising that he would play the Supreme Director's game—at least to all outward appearances. He would go along without a fuss and use his position to gather information, locate the others, and eventually reestablish contact with Cynetics.

There is no hurry, he told himself. The main thing is not to make anyone nervous or suspicious. I can wait; I've got time. My first task is to scope out the territory, get the lay of the land, and find out what these people are all about. What do I know about them really?

Not much. Only that they have changed. More to the point,
time
has changed. I'm seeing the colony at some point in its future, relative to Earth. Something happened in the colony's past to bring it to this state, and I have to find out what that something was.

The idea of a quest renewed in Treet a sense of adventure he thought he'd lost. Here he was, transplanted in a semi-advanced culture on an alien world—think of the possibilities! Who could tell what he might find, what secrets he might unlock?

The fire of adventure warmed Treet's blood. He was anxious to be off on discovery's road. He pulled his silver-striped kimono over his head and adjusted the sash, pulling the hem up to just above his knees, in the manner of the colonists. That was one thing he'd learned already.

He emerged from the stall ready to leap tall mountains and ravenous. He paused midway across the floor of his kraam, wondering how to summon breakfast. As he stood thinking about the problem, he heard a single chime and a moment later a young woman entered the kraam carrying a large oval tray.

“Breakfast!” said Treet. “Wonderful!”

The young woman looked at him curiously, ducked her head shyly, and proceeded to the nearest of Treet's tables where she set down the tray and began laying out the food. “I don't suppose there are any croissants on that tray—or coffee?” Treet muttered to himself.

“I do not understand, Traveler,” replied the young woman in a clear, precise voice.

“So you
do
talk. Good.” Treet sat down in a sleek chair of polished wood and began dipping into the various bowls. “Tell me then, when do I get this guide I'm supposed to have?”

The young woman regarded him closely. “I am to be your guide.”

Treet sized her up: a slight but well-knit frame, shapeless under the flowing kimono; fine brown hair cut short over a high, spacious forehead; expressive hands with long, tapering fingers. Her quick dark eyes with a suggestion of epicanthic fold at the outer angle hinted at an oriental ancestry now far removed. With head erect atop a slender neck, she appeared intelligent and alert. “Great. Now then, you know your way around this dome of yours? You can get me into the places I want to go?”