Voices of Chaos (7 page)

could handle the pressures if I ever got the chance." Silence. Rob finally got to his feet, gesturing for her to take his place behind the desk. Magdalena came around and sat, waited for him to cue the tank's privacy field and let the message continue.

Khyriz's gaze remained distant, his body unnaturally stiff. "If there is any way for us to manage this, Dr. Rob, I would greatly appreciate it. The remainder of this message is for Magdalena, but it is not of
that
degree of privacy." A momentary pause; then Khyriz took a step toward the holo-vid camera, his eyes suddenly warm, whiskers curved forward until they nearly touched; his Mizari rumbled, barely accented, tickling her ears. "Magdalena, my dear friend, if you have seen Rob's portion of this message, you know my hope. I know you have often said you would gladly journey here. If my fortune holds, perhaps we shall see each other before the winter rains. Remember, the Grand Autumn Ball will this year be in honor of the CLS staff. I would be proud to escort you onto the floor of my fathers to dance the Xherniz.

Perhaps, another moment when we dance?" His ears flicked slightly-- one of his shy moments, she thought. Her face felt warm as the holo stilled.
The fur
along his chin, there--I remember it pressing against my face, up in the Spiral
Arm.
Her face was warm as she finally remembered to clear the privacy screen.

"All right?" Rob asked. He came from the food servo with two fresh cups of tea, set one before her, and leaned against the wall to sip his. She nodded, drank tea. "You look a little flustered."

"It's--all so sudden," she managed. "Unexpected."

"Need more time to think?" he asked. She shook her head firmly and he laughed. "No, I didn't think you did." They drank in companionable silence, then Magdalena put her cup down and got to her feet.

"I have that test--"

"Excused for now," Rob broke in gravely. "You won't be able to concentrate right now, and there isn't much time between now and your departure to get everything done you'll need to do. You and Alexis get together as soon as you can;

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anything you need help with, any concerns you have--let me know right away, will you?"

"Of course. I just--well, what if everything goes well, and I wind up staying? I mean, poor Ladessa, all the preparation she's done for the Arekkhi, and now ..."

"A week or so ago, that might've been the case," Rob said as he eased past to let her into the outer office. "But since then, she's had an offer from Etsane Mwarka on the Na-Dina homeworld, to assist with the translations on those tomb walls. Ladessa met Etsane back on Earth, some student tour, and they hit it off pretty well; enough that she started following the Na-Dina digs closely when she heard Etsane had transferred there."

Magdalena felt a shiver slip down her backbone as she eased into the hall, wedged in the between-classes press of students among three Drnians and a first-year Heeyoon trying to keep up with his companion's rapid Portuguese.

Everything's happening so fast--and just as if it were meant,
she thought, and headed back in the direction of her room. A smile curved her lips as she reached the door and let herself in. "When we dance," she whispered. Trust Khyriz to remind her of that lush, wonderful piece of music she'd used to teach him to slow-dance, human-style. Just the opportunity to see him again, and so soon...

The smile slipped; nerves tightened her stomach. "I'm going to Arekkhi as Alexis Ortovsky's second-in-command; it won't even be a month, and StarBridge will be behind me for the next half a year, at least." Who was she kidding, telling Rob she could handle something like this? "Oh, God, what have I done to myself?"

And something else--that message, a full holo-vid letter. But Khyriz had always sent her voice-only up until now, and the last she'd heard there was still no way to send holo-vid, because the Emperor wasn't allowing the units in yet. The only holo-vid would be with the Heeyoons on-station, if they had it. Otherwise--clear out to the new jump site. She frowned, sat on the low couch, her fingers drumming the table. "He went off-planet, just to send that message? But why?"

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Maybe he just thought he stood a better chance of persuading her, if she could see him. But it didn't
feel
that way. Something felt... wrong.

Alone in his office, Rob stared fixedly at the door Magdalena had just closed behind her, not really seeing it. "Something feels wrong," he told Bast. "Not wrong enough to hold the girl back. But..." He frowned, drained the last drops of tea from his cup.
But what?

For a moment he wondered if Magdalena had reacted to the mention of Alexis and her preferences, but... no. Magdalena had been incredibly naive when she first came to StarBridge at age fifteen, so many of her opinions influenced by that wretched New Am cult... and so even though she'd openly embraced the different alien races on StarBridge, she'd been shocked speechless the first time she saw two boys walking hand in hand down the hall. But Magdalena was adaptable, and she'd been able to learn tolerance and acceptance. She'd been able to quickly separate what Solomon Smith had taught those poor captive children, and what her own instincts told her about love.

The incident she'd described last night with David--that still left him a little uneasy, but he tended to side with Magdalena on that one: She'd been too involved in the upcoming recitals to pay much attention to the emotional state of the people around her, and she was literal-minded enough that when David said "friends" or even "special friends," she'd assumed he meant exactly that. If the circumstances last night were as she described them, with David forcing the issue, then she'd actually done very well--for Magdalena Perez.

But there's something
... He finally shook his head and got to his feet, cup in hand. "Bast, she really lit up when Khyriz was talking to her. You don't suppose ..." He considered this, then chuckled. Bast stirred, made a faint, protesting little sound, curled back into a circle, and slept. Rob shook his head again, then checked his com to see what other appointments his morning held.

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CHAPTER 3

***

The Emperor's morning room was located where it would be close to both the royal apartments and Council chambers. It faced south, taking advantage of winter sun and a view of the water. During the heat of summer, however, the room was shuttered, and on this day ancient wrought metal lamps shone on a plain table and two long benches. The Emperor sat in a pool of yellowish light, dexterously working two cross-hilted forks through a long, bony fish. Across the table from him, Khyriz drank pale, watered jhuris-wine and tore a chunk of seed-bread into increasingly small bits.

He hadn't slept much the past two nights due to outside activities. And when he'd tried to relax, he couldn't--too much anticipation. The CLS ship had passed the new jump-point station and would dock late today.
So much
changed when I went out to StarBridge. And again when I returned. And
now....

In just a few hours, she would step onto the Arekkhi station....
They both will,
he reminded himself sternly.

Unfortunately, he wouldn't be the one meeting them; his father had just informed him of that fact. Disappointing, though hardly surprising. Still...

"Why?" he asked. The question would be expected.

Khezahn looked up from his fish, chewed meat, and spat tiny bones into the bone-bowl, then crossed his forks on the platter before replying. "It was my decision as much as the main Council's," he said finally. His voice was unexpectedly

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high-pitched and reedy for a male of his size and station.

Khyriz flicked one ear, letting disappointment show. "I know you prefer to keep your offspring on-planet, but--"

"Accidents happen," the Emperor broke in. Both Khyriz's ears went flat: His father seldom interrupted him. "But it is a matter of appearance: The Council is displeased that you appear to care more for the Academy and your outside acquaintances than for your own kind. Particularly since these females wil soon live in the old palace." His gaze fixed on his son's right hand, and the small, bright bit of red enamel fixed to his freshly blunted thumbnail. Khyriz glanced at the tiny adornment--only he knew of the inner workings that made it a sophisticated spy-device locator.

The Prince spread his hands in a shrug. "It was a gift from the translator-she Magdalena," he said stiffly. "If another Arekkhi had given it to me, it would be a breach of manners
not
to wear it."

"I know Arekkhi customs," the Emperor said with a growl and Khyriz, startled, fell silent. The elder royal ate fish, sipped his jhuris, spat bones.

"Khyriz," he said finally, "I am not angry with you, though many of the Council are."

Khyriz gestured sharply to his right with one hand, the Arekkhi equivalent of a human nod. "I know. They believe I deliberately failed them, at StarBridge.

But Father, the Academy is nothing like they envisioned! Nor are the other beings who run the Academy as--as--"

"As stupid as some of the Council believe?" The elder Arekkhi's whiskers curved forward in a sharp, brief smile. "They don't really believe that, you know. They merely hoped. Few of them really thought you would provide us with the technology we need to be seen as their equals, Khyriz."

"Then why...?" He couldn't complete the thought; memory of that session in the closed Council chamber, all those hooded figures, still gave him nightmares, from time to time.

"Because it is hard to see something unacceptable, and not attempt to deal with it," Khezahn replied. Khyriz went very still, wondering if somehow his own deepest secret had somehow been found out. But the older male's next words reassured him. "Change is hard, especially on the elder of us. Many on

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the Council fear the outsiders and their influence." A dark eye fixed once more on his youngest son.

Khyriz privately doubted the
zhez
Zhenu had ever feared anything in his life, but he kept that to himself. "I could not make myself steal and sneak as they ordered, Father; you should know that much. I did not want to. Furthermore, I have no skills for such spywork; I would surely have been caught at once.

And sent home in disgrace ... much sooner than I was recalled. But so much study was required of the students, there was no time to even think of how to begin such thievery, let alone carry it out." He stared down at his blunt-nailed, cream-furred hands; his father waited. "And yes," he added in quiet defiance, "I
did
like the outsiders. I do, still."

"I could tell as much from the first day you returned home, if not before that.

We are talking of appearances, however." The younger male kept his eyes fixed on his hands, to hide his astonishment. His father had
never
stressed the importance of appearances, unlike the fathers of his contemporaries--or the Council.
Has he fallen completely under their influence?
Khyriz wondered, suddenly afraid. If his father were to actually become the mask-faced Emperor who had sat silent in the secret chamber while the inner Council bullied him... ! But his father now spoke, suddenly, in a much lower voice.
As if he fears a listener on this chamber,
he realized, and his eyes flicked toward the nail-gem. No sign. He didn't dare tell his father so, of course.

The Emperor shoved his half-eaten fish aside, whiskers quivering with sudden distaste. "Khyriz." He paused, then lowered his voice even more. "I have carefully kept you from the inner workings of our politics. But it is time you know: The current Council is not all of my choosing."

Khyriz fought the urge to stare. Such a confidence was new and a little unnerving, especially when matched with the expression on his father's face.

Say something,
he ordered himself. "I know a little," he managed. "The Prelate and the Iron--and Duke Zhenu were appointed by my grandsire--"

"And your grandsire died young, leaving his eldest son---me---to assume the Arekkhi throne at least ten years before such an event would normally happen,'' the Emperor finished

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for him. His whiskers flicked forward and his eyes narrowed in a brief, abashed smile. "The Prelate and his advisers terrified me as a youth. And your cousin Zhik's father is no one to challenge."

Khyriz kept his own voice prudently low--the room might not be "bugged," as Dr. Rob's movie-actors would say, but servants came and went; any of them could be in the pay of the Prelate. Or the Iron Duke, as Khyriz privately called Zhenu. "But, Father, it is
your
Council, not the other way around! The Emperor's word has always carried, no matter what the vote of the nobles and religious leaders!"

"My Council, yes. And technically, the vote of either Council carries no weight. In reality--well, unfortunately, your grandsire never kept an army or even company of militia. Not even an armed household guard. He was a miserly old brute." The Emperor's whiskers flicked forward in a brief, fond smile. "Guards cost money."

Khyriz knew that as well; but the question would be expected: "Guards? I--

know the Prelate has an honor guard...."

"Fully armed, as is Lord Zhenu's militia. No threat is ever spoken, of course; but both Zhenu and our religious father know that I know their soldiers could overwhelm the palace at a moment's notice, once they reached this island."

"That is--unspeakable," Khyriz finally managed.

"No, my son. Unpleasant, rather. And you should also know, your brother Khelyu is working hard and in secret to increase the numbers of armed palace protection here, on the island, and about the planet. Everywhere.

Still, my troops are outnumbered by those of the Prelate and Zhenu. And since they employ good spies, they both know it."

"They--surely, Father, they do not threaten you?"

The Emperor gestured a broad, harassed shrug. "No. They need not; they hold superior numbers. Also, they know I will never risk harm to our people by sending my forces against theirs in open combat."

"Civil war," Khyriz breathed, his ears flat to his skull. The Emperor cast him a sympathetic glance. ''Not in my lifetime, nor yours, if we are cautious, son.