Primary Inversion (Saga of the Skolian Empire) Paperback (10 page)

He pointed at the Jumbler I held. “This is all you
understand. You see everything as war and hate. My father is a great man, far
greater than you could ever comprehend.”

“Where have you been for the last twenty years? In a cocoon?”
I wanted to hit him. “Hightons
torture
people. Your father probably did
it to your mother while he was siring you.”

His face went white. “You are sick. Sick.”

“You think I’m lying?” I waved my gun at him. “Fine. Come
into my mind, phony Highton. You want to know what providing is like? Come and
look. If you have the courage for it.”

He watched me like a man balanced on the edge of a cliff.
Then he fell.

I had meant only to make him see what had happened to me on
Tams, to make that memory hurt him the way it hurt me. But I couldn’t pull out
of our link. His mind was too strong, more so even than what I had expected
given the warning of his immense barriers. We dropped together, melding as we
plunged, a joining I had known only once before with a seven-year-old boy. Only
this time it was with an adult, with an intensity heightened by anger and
sexual desire that hit me like a tidal wave.

Jaibriol Qox was Rhon.

I could smell him now, a musky, masculine smell that permeated
the air around us and muddied my thoughts. Pheromones, Rhon pheromones, unlike
anything normal humans produced. My whole body reacted to it. Our mental link
picked up my arousal and fed it back to me, exciting me even more. It
multiplied Jaibriol’s reaction as well, locking us into a double feedback loop
that fast became almost unbearable in its intensity. Had our personalities been
incompatible, it would have been revolting. But
he fit
me. He was like
an aphrodisiac, firm and masculine, warm, sensual, inviting ...

I fell into his memories like a diver plummeting into the
ocean. His thoughts curled around me as if I were the only solidity in the sea
of loneliness where he had lived for so long. He had spent the entire
twenty-two years of his life, until a few weeks ago, living alone ... only the
visits of his tutors broke his solitude ... his father rarely came to see him—

The demands of his life leave him no time, Jaibriol thought.
He has more than me to consider. He is Emperor of Eube.

I recognized what he couldn’t see: to his father, he was the
ultimate provider. Somewhere within himself Qox had found the decency to leave
the boy alone, avoiding him rather than risk giving in to the drive to torture
his own son.

Too late I realized that as soon as I formed those thoughts,
Jaibriol knew them. His mouth opened, then shut again.
How can you believe
such a thing?
he thought.

Jaibriol
—
I’m sorry.
I had to pull out of this
link. Distance myself. I couldn’t let this happen. I couldn’t react with such
sympathy to the Highton Heir.

Then I saw his mother, the Empress ... tall, regal in a
black and gold dress that clung to her sculpted body. Gold glistened on her
wrists and at her throat, diamonds sparkled on her ears. Her hair fell to her
waist like black silk. Her eyes were rubies, as red and as clear as the most
perfect gemstone. And her face, so lovely, so regal, so cold, cold and icy, as
hard as her diamonds. Why did she hate me so? What horrible things had I done,
that my mother despised my every word, my every move, my every breath?

I watched his face, wanting to touch his cheek, his lips. Jaibriol,
can’t you see it? There isn’t even a remote resemblance between you and Empress
Qox. She can’t be your mother, not if you’re Rhon and she’s Highton.

Stop!
He took hold of my lower arms, gripping them as
if I were the mother who so loathed him.
I am not a provider.

Despite his denial, I was sure he suspected the truth. How
long had it taken his grandfather to find or engineer a provider who carried
the Rhon genes? Years? Decades? Could he have made a Rhon heir for himself
then? Probably. But I had no doubt he used the provider to sire a son who was
half Qox and half Rhon. That ensured his genes remained in the Qox bloodline,
but more importantly it required the least deviation from Highton behavior.
That he managed to break those ingrained patterns of conduct even enough to
sire a son who was half Highton astounded me.

The son he created—Jaibriol’s father—must have completed the
process. How? Used his own genes? Or did he also make a provider who could give
him pleasure as well as carry his Rhon heir?

I could guess how the Emperor falsified the bloodline:
threats and bribery. Qox had means available to no other Highton. I also had no
doubt that he later murdered those who made the verification, executing the
death sentence himself, in secret, leaving no witnesses to the truth of his son’s
heritage.

No.
Jaibriol’s thoughts shimmered like tears
collecting on a mirror.
You’re wrong. Wrong!

Jaibriol
—
I’m sorry. Gods, I’m so sorry.
I
swallowed, trying to pull my mind away from him. But it was impossible—so
lonely—his life had been so lonely. The
only
constant in it was his
father.

A great man, Jaibriol thought. I may never be worthy of
his name.

Don’t worship him. It will only hurt you.

I don’t worship him. I love him.

He left you with no one.

He brought tutors. Jaibriol formed an image in his mind, an
elderly man with gray hair and large eyes. Marlin I loved most. He taught me to
sing. His voice was magnificent. On my sixth birthday he gave me a hunterpup as
a present. And he always encouraged my hobbies.

Hobbies?

Jaibriol showed me his library, a complex of buildings on
the grounds of the automated estate where he lived. He showed me images of him
studying, singing, reading, writing, training, building, researching. His “hobbies.”
He had nothing else to do with his time. He spoke fourteen languages, played
seven instruments, had a voice that spanned three octaves, excelled at seven
sports. He knew the histories and geographies of a hundred worlds and more, had
studied mathematics and science at the doctorate level, could discuss the works
of both human and nonhuman philosophers.

I stared at him. Don’t you realize what you’ve accomplished?

I’ve done nothing. He showed no trace of pride. He simply
had no referent to compare with his achievements. I am a failure as a son and
an heir. Why else would my father hide me? He swallowed. Marlin stopped coming
to see me. This always happened. They came for a while, then stopped. Only my
father always returned. His next thought was more ragged. My nurse—Camyllia.
She was there when I was small. She took me for walks, played with me, sang me
to sleep and comforted me if I woke up afraid. She let me feel as if every
moment we spent together was precious beyond words, that it would never come
again so she had to make it the best that it could be. He drew in a shaky
breath. Then she stopped coming. My father said she was sick ... that that she ...
died.

I could see Camyllia in his mind, a young woman, stunningly
beautiful, a brown-eyed, brown-haired version of Jaibriol. With her hair and
eyes altered to look Highton she could have been his twin sister. But I had no
doubt it had been Jaibriol’s eyes and hair that had been altered. Because I was
sure Camyllia wasn’t a sister. She was his mother.

As soon as that thought formed, I imagined a blanket falling
over my mind, hiding it from Jaibriol. His father would have killed anyone who
knew his son’s true identity. That the mother had convinced Qox to let her live
long enough that Jaibriol remembered her was as astounding as it was
heart-wrenching.

But Jaibriol saw through the cover I laid over my thoughts.
No.
You’re wrong.
A tear ran down his face, then another.
Wrong.

Your father loved you. I made myself believe it so that
Jaibriol would believe it. He isolated you because it was the only way to make
sure no one hurt you. If any hint of who and what you truly are ever escapes,
it will destroy you. Not to mention his father. He needed you to grow strong,
to learn how to protect yourself.

His grip on my arm tightened. How can you think you know
anything about the love of my parents? You’re a Jagernaut, a killer. Can you
even feel love at all?

As soon as he formed the question my mind responded. I tried
to hold back, but he swept into my memories. He saw my childhood, a girl
surrounded by an intense and passionate family. He felt what it was like to
live with other empaths, the fulfillment that came with it, and he felt the
gaping lack of it in his own life. He saw Rex, Helda, Taas, understood how
close we were. He saw us working together, Rex and me most of all, even on
Tams—

And then he found Tarque.

As his face contorted, he sank to his knees, pulling me down
with him until we were kneeling face to face on the carpet. He bowed his head
and leaned forward, his grip so tight on my arms that his knuckles turned
white. Even when his forehead bumped up against mine he didn’t look up, just
kept staring at the floor. I dropped my Jumbler and clenched his arms while my
mind heaved a blanket of denial over the memory. But the blanket whipped away
again, thrown out of the whirlpool like a tiny rag that flew away in the wind.

While Jaibriol struggled with my memories of Tarque, I also
shook with my own nightmare. I knew why Jaibriol existed. There was only one
explanation. He had a destiny his father and grandfather considered even more
important than the purity of the Qox bloodline. They had created him for one
reason, and one alone—to take control of the Skol-Net. Through him, the Traders
would finally conquer Skolia.

Gradually, so gradually that at first I wasn’t aware it was
happening, our minds separated, like a storm abating. No one, not even the
Rhon, could sustain the intensity of that contact for long. I became aware of
the room again. Jaibriol and I were still leaning into each other, he holding
my arms as if he were my lover. I was gripping his sleeves so hard that the
cloth had ripped in my hands. His face was wet with tears and I felt them on
mine too. My Jumbler lay on the floor next to us.

I couldn’t stop my arms from trembling. Jaibriol sat up,
still holding on to me. “My father is not evil.” His voice shook. “Hightons are
not evil. You will see. You are wrong.”

“You were there with me. You
felt
it.”

The door’s pager chimed, followed by a voice coming over the
com. “Lord Qox?”

Jaibriol dropped my arms as if they burned. For a moment I
was afraid he wouldn’t answer at all, forcing the guards to come in and find
out why. Then he drew in a ragged breath and spoke in a loud voice. “What is
it?”

“We’re ready to reactivate the cyberlock, sir.”

Both Jaibriol and I stood up. Then he bent down and picked
up my Jumbler.

No. Gods, no. How could I have lost my weapon to him? It was
true, he couldn’t have used it even if it had been loaded; the gun was keyed to
my brain and could only be activated by me. But now that he had it, my bluff
was worthless. And he knew my identity. All he had to do was say, “The Primary
is in here.”

Jaibriol handed me the Jumbler. “Go.”

I backed into my hiding place behind the wardrobe. “The
guards. In the garden.”

He wiped his cheeks on his sleeve. Then he went to the door
and touched a panel next to it, turning off the lights. When the door opened,
the shadows hid his face.

I heard the crinkling sound of a guard bowing.

“I was asleep,” Jaibriol said. “You will have to wait until
tomorrow to turn on the lock.”

“I’m sorry, sir.” The guard sounded nervous. “But I’m afraid
we have to do it now.”

Anger mixed with fear stabbed through my mind. Neither emotion
was mine. Although I could read Jaibriol well enough now to realize he was
still barriered to everyone else, he and I were locked in a link that neither
of us could break. But at least our meld had receded to a bearable level of
intensity.

Almost bearable. The memory of how his pheromones affected
me, of his muscled body under his clothes—my body responded with a surge of
desire so intense I almost dropped the Jumbler again.
Block!
I thought.
The psicon flashed erratically in my mind, then made a popping noise and
fizzled out like a wet firecracker.

Overlaid on that unwanted arousal was another emotion, Jaibriol’s
loathing for the cyberlock,
hateful, suffocating, dizzying ...

I took a silent breath, trying to dissociate myself from his
reactions. I knew from my own experience that turning on the cyberlock was like
being hit with a vertigo that never stopped until I deactivated it. Why had
Jaibriol’s father sent him here when the risk was so great he needed cyberlock
protection? In our joining I had found only a sense that Jaibriol wasn’t sure
himself.

“You will wait until tomorrow,” Jaibriol told the guard.

“I—I’m afraid I can’t do that, sir.”

Jaibriol spoke in a chillingly perfect Highton accent. “I’m
ordering you to do it.”

“I’m sorry, sir. I’m very sorry. But I have orders from your
father.”

Pause. “Give me six hours without it.”

“I can’t. I—I’m truly sorry, sir. But my orders. A lot could
happen in six hours.”

“Two hours,” Jaibriol said. “Or I shall be—displeased.”

“Sir, I
can’t.
If anything happened to you, the
Emperor would have me executed.”

“Nothing will happen.”

“I ... I can’t.”

Jaibriol’s face relaxed into a smile. “I’ve heard your
daughter is a gifted seamstress.”

“Sir, my daughter has never offended any—”

“No, no.” Jaibriol spoke pleasantly. “I have heard only good
reports. Has she applied to the Tailor’s Guild?”

“Yes, sir.” The guard hesitated. “She was turned down. My
daughter is not a taskmaker, you see.”