Chapter Twenty-One

Deep Space

Pakorus awoke in his bed in the guest quarters aboard Midaia’s yacht – a room which, while bare, thankfully didn’t have any of the disturbing patterns that could be found elsewhere aboard the vessel. It had been several days, by Carann time, since she’d rescued him from Tantos Station, and in those days he’d spoken little to the Adept, who seemed to spend most of her time meditating or locked in her practice room doing Lord-only-knew what. She wasn’t bad company, exactly, and respected his privacy as well as was possible for two people on board a small craft, but still, doing nothing but sitting, reading the few books in the yacht’s small library that weren’t hopelessly esoteric, and eating the occasional meal didn’t make for a particularly exciting journey. Pakorus found himself anticipating their arrival at the Imperial laboratory Specter had directed them to, regardless of what dangers might await there.

Taking a moment to refresh himself, insofar as that was possible with only a single change of clothes that fit him, he walked across the hall to Sister Night’s small commissary where, to his surprise, Midaia was waiting. She was dressed in the black shirt and pants that seemed to be her usual shipboard wear and regarded her passenger from across a cup of steaming kaf.

“Help yourself,” Midaia said, gesturing towards the refrigerator and cabinets that held her shipboard supplies. “Then sit down. According to my nav computer we’re coming up on our destination and I have things I want to discuss first.”

“All right,” Pakorus said, nodding; he poured himself some kaf and got a small scone – Katannen made, according to the packaging, which made him think of Arta with a sudden pang – and took his seat. “I’m curious – do you have any idea what we’re flying into here?”

Midaia shrugged. “Not much. According to Specter’s intel, the Imperial cybernetics laboratory is located in a small space station orbiting a gas giant at the borders of Imperial space. Officially, the project was shut down and the facilities abandoned for decades; Specter’s men were able to find evidence that the laboratory was in use slightly less than twenty years ago, and the cybernetics they designed there matched those that the Commander and his assassins had been fitted with. Current reports indicate that the lab appears abandoned, though Specter’s men never actually went inside. Apparently, he didn’t want to risk losing them to whatever security systems the Empire might have left behind; good informants are hard to come by these days, after all.”

Pakorus swallowed. “So, you have no idea what could be waiting for us inside, then?” he said.

“Like I said, the lab appears abandoned,” Midaia told him. “And according to Specter, nobody on any nearby worlds has reported traffic to or from it. So, it’s doubtful there’s an entire Imperial legionnaire cohort waiting for us inside. I’d take your beam pistol with you, though. Whoever was pulling the Commander’s strings doubtless left some surprises behind to cover their tracks, whether a small team of commandos or just an automated security system. So, don’t expect our little trip to be boring.”

“You don’t seem that worried, though,” Pakorus pointed out.

Midaia shrugged again. “I’m an Adept, Pakorus,” she said. “And a powerful one, if I say so myself. There’s not a lot we might run into that worries me – especially not with someone to watch my back.”

“Unless whoever is guarding the lab is an Adept too,” Pakorus said, a sudden feeling of unease running down his spine. “Is that possible? I assume there are Adepts in the Empire, but would any of them be involved in something like this?”

“There are Adepts in the Empire,” Midaia said. “There are Adepts everywhere. And the Emperor collects them, or so rumor has it. There isn’t much information on the Imperial Adept cabal, but there’s only a dozen or so of any significant power, and they’re spread thin across a thousand worlds – especially with the Alaelam War still raging. Our odds of meeting one of them here are slim – and if their reputations are accurate, I am more than a match for any of them.” She frowned, then; thoughtfully, it seemed. “Except – there is one I’m wary of. An Alealam renegade, they say, who holds no official office but has the Emperor’s ear. Him, I would not want to face. But I think there is little chance that he might be here.”

“But it’s not impossible,” Pakorus said.

“No,” Midaia admitted, and her expression was troubled. “It’s not impossible. In fact…” she seemed about to say more, then shook her head. “Never mind,” she said. “If the Prince is here, either I can deal with him or not, and either outcome is beyond my control at the moment. Just be prepared to fight if you must, Pakorus. Keep your pistol ready – your aim has already come in handy once, and we may need it again.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Pakorus said drily, wondering if Midaia actually felt that or if she was just looking for an excuse to change the subject. He ate his scone in silence before looking up at her again. “One thing I’ve never understood,” he said. “What exactly is an Adept, anyway? I asked Arta once, and her explanation didn’t make much sense.”

Midaia laughed. “I’m not surprised,” she said. “How do you explain sight to someone who was born blind? And Artakane doesn’t have the sort of training in philosophy or theology to articulate the concept, in any case. I have that training, and even so, it’s difficult.” She paused, seeming to gather herself. “Let me say simply that there are currents, Pakorus, that exist in this universe beyond what our senses can usually perceive. Currents of matter, of energy, of force, or… thought and spirit, you might say, though the words aren’t really adequate to describe them. These currents are as much a part of reality as you or I or the ship or the stars or the planet Carann, but most people will live their whole lives without sensing them. A rare few are born with the sensitivity that opens them to these realms beyond normal human experience; others may acquire it through intense mental and physical discipline. The mystical practices of certain religious groups can help activate such sensitivity in some for whom it would have otherwise been latent – if you had ever heard there are more Adepts among the clergy of the Church than among laypeople, or in the Alaelam Alliance, where mystical practice is common even among the laity – that is why. And it is why some of the more hardline priests and sisters believe that Adepts should be solely the province of the Church. But however such sensitivity is awakened, we call those who possess it Adepts.”

The former princess of the realm raised a hand, and red light played along her fingers. “Once you can sense the cosmic energies, you can learn to manipulate them. To read and influence the minds of others, forge weapons or armor from pure energy to protect yourself, move objects without touching them, even penetrate the veil into past and future – all of these and more are arts that Adepts can learn to make use of. That is why my kind are so dangerous, Pakorus, for we are never unarmed, and our powers can create effects that even the most advanced technology can’t duplicate.” She clenched her fist, and the light went out. “Of course, there are dangers as well, for the cosmic forces are not to be toyed with lightly. And there are beings from other realms, that dwell in the darkness between the seen and unseen, that may take notice of us.” Her expression darkened and she glanced down at the deathly pale skin of her arm. “I was… touched… by such a creature once, and that touch led to my… alteration. Another who was with me wasn’t so lucky.”

This was all a great deal to take in, and Pakorus felt his mind reeling at the implications, but at the same time, he found himself fascinated by what Midaia was telling him – as if he was getting a glimpse of a whole other world, one which he had only been tangentially aware of before. “But what is it like?” he found himself asking. “To hold that kind of power, to use it?”

Midaia looked thoughtful. “I don’t necessarily think of it as a power,” she said. “In some ways it is, but it is also a state of being. You know, the ancients, in the time before Terra was lost, had a phrase. They believed that when celestial bodies moved, they made a sound, a sound which is all around us all the time but which most people can’t hear, because it’s so pervasive they can’t distinguish it. But for those who could, it would bring knowledge of the secret workings of the universe. They called it the music of the spheres. And Pakorus, when I hold the power of an Adept in my hand – in that moment, I can hear the music of the spheres.”

Pakorus didn’t understand what Midaia meant, couldn’t wrap his mind around the thought, but when he saw the look of sheer awe on her face as she spoke those last words, he realized that she meant them, wholly and absolutely – and that in saying them, she had bared her soul to him as she had done to few others. Before he could think of what he could possibly say in return, though, a sudden sharp beeping sound echoed through the cabin.

“Ah,” Midaia said, her expression seeming to return to the mundane world. “That is my autopilot’s alert. We’re coming out of jump soon, and then we’ll be at our destination – and, hopefully, we can find some answers.”

///

Kallistrae ast Tantos was not surprised to find herself roused from her bed early one morning a few days after her encounter with Mardoban’s reprogrammed mech by a group of cold-faced guild security guards. She was curtly ordered to dress, and when she had done so found herself marched down the hallway to one of the smaller of the palace tower’s various meeting rooms. When she was rather harshly shoved inside, she found herself face-to-face with Duke Naudar and Duchess Sateira and their bodyguards; both nobles were looking downright murderous.

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“Dare I ask what the occasion is?” Kallistrae asked, though she had a feeling she did.

“You know damned well what,” Sateira snapped. “Do you care to explain this?” The Duchess of Tashir activated the holoprojector in the middle of the table and stepped back; an image flared to life, depicting a square in Tantos City that Kallistrae recognized as having been the site of a nasty riot – and nastier reprisal – last year. A crowd filled the square, chanting loudly and waving signs that had various slogans printed on them; a closer look revealed that some of the signs read “Aurann Go Home,” “Down With Respen,” “Free Kallistrae,” and “Long Live Artakane,” among various others. The handful of guild security personnel around the corners of the crowd were backing up slowly, looking nervous – despite the fact that they were armed and armored, they were badly outnumbered, and though the protest hadn’t turned violent yet, that wasn’t a risk any of them seemed willing to take.

“Impressive,” Kallistrae said in a carefully neutral tone. “I doubt it will get anywhere, though. The last time people tried this guild security sent in flitters to shoot them from the sky.”

“This,” Naudar said, “is happening all over the planet. Guild security is stretched rather thin, between these riots and using their personnel to reinforce our troops in orbit. Guildmaster Madran is being run ragged, or else he’d be here with us right now.”

“Well, it looks like you three have pushed my people past their breaking point,” Kallistrae said, shrugging. “But I don’t know why you’re mad at me. I’ve been locked up in my rooms this whole time; none of this is my doing.”

“Isn’t it?” Sateira asked in a waspish tone. She pressed a few keys on the holoprojector and the image of the rioters vanished, replaced by Kallistrae’s own face as she recited the message Mardoban’s mech had recorded for her – an exhortation to her people to stand up against their oppressors, outlining the guilds’ treachery and their role in the invasion of Tantos, a call for solidarity with Queen and Kingdom in fighting those who would tear this Dozen Stars down. For something she’d extemporized in fifteen minutes, Kallistrae thought it wasn’t half-bad; maybe she’d make a politician yet.

“This was on every holo-channel,” Sateira said. “Do you have an explanation for us as to how it got there? You’d best answer very quickly and convincingly if you want to save yourself, Kallistrae.”

Kallistrae only shrugged. “Like I said, I’ve been locked up in my room ever since you three invaded my planet, and I certainly haven’t had time to record something like this. And if I did, how would I get it out? You can check your own security footage if you want, and that’s exactly what it’ll show you. This is clearly a forgery, using doctored footage.”

“Liar,” Sateira snapped, resting a hand on her sword belt; Naudar reached out and rested his own hand on her shoulder to steady her, and the duchess subsided.

“If it is a forgery, it’s a very clever one,” the Duke of Sakran said. “The people of Tantos III have long resented the guilds, haven’t they? Your House may be in charge, but it’s the guilds who have been forcing the people to work in the mines, and the guilds that have cracked down when they resisted. And of course, they resent us – invaders are rarely popular. By linking the two of us together and raising you – who were always more popular than your late cousin – as our enemy, whoever created this message has done a very good job of turning public opinion against us, and towards you. And, by extension, Artakane and Mardoban. Well done, I must say.” He regarded her shrewdly with cold eyes. “Very well done.”

“’Whoever created it?’” Sateira asked incredulously. “Stop playing games, Naudar. You know she’s responsible. So, the people have a newfound love for their duchess? Well, then, let’s make an example of her. Execute her, and we can cow the commoners back into compliance.”

Naudar sighed. “My dear Sateira,” he said, “you do get bloodthirsty when thwarted, don’t you? But I don’t need you speaking Respen’s words for him while he’s not here. Killing Kallistrae wouldn’t solve our problems; it would create a martyr, and that is a very dangerous thing. Lady ast Tantos is correct that we have no proof that she had anything to do with these riots or that message; I, for one, don’t think the situation has quite escalated to the point where we need to spill too much noble blood. We’ll return Kallistrae to her quarters with a warning. She is to record for us a message denouncing the previous message as a fake and the rioters as traitors, or we will give Guildmaster Madran leave to crush the resistance by any means necessary.” Naudar’s gaze left little room for doubt as to what that meant. “I dislike resorting to that kind of violence, but I will if you leave me no choice. Am I clear?”

“Of course, my lord,” Kallistrae said.

“Very well,” Sateira grumbled. “You may remove her to her chambers.” The door opened and the guards stepped in, seizing Kallistrae by the arms and marching her from the room.

Well, that’s part one down, she thought. Let’s see how long we can keep this going. Lord willing, long enough to choke all three of them on it.

///

“You know she recorded that message,” Sateira said after Kallistrae left.

“Of course, she did,” Naudar said. “The real question is, how did she do it without alerting our security systems? That’s why we’re letting her off so lightly; if she does it again, we need to be ready to trace it back to its source.”

“If she does it again, she won’t live long enough for it to matter,” Sateira replied. “My threats weren’t all for show. I don’t like being made a fool, Naudar.”

“Who does? But this tower is a fortress, and we have the power of three duchies and a guild at our backs. We can kill every rebel or rioter on this planet if we have to, though I’d prefer to avoid that.” Naudar stood. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a call to make.”

The Duke of Sakran ignored Sateira’s questioning expression and stepped into a side room, where he tapped the head of his cane and activated the hidden communicator there. “The situation has changed,” he whispered, a message to his benefactor. “Tantos is unstable, and my compatriots increasingly unreliable. We need to talk.”

///

“Do you consider yourself a man of faith, Ambassador?”

Quarinis turned from where he’d been standing at the glass wall of the palace garden, looking out over Carann City, and saw the robed form of the High Prelate standing beside him. He’d been so lost in thought, apparently, that the old man had been able to sneak up on him. He was slipping; not a mistake he could allow himself to make again.

“Does the question need to be asked?” he said, turning to face the elderly priest. “I attend your church often enough, don’t I?”

The High Prelate chuckled. “I didn’t ask if you attended church,” he said. “I asked if you were a man of faith.”

Quarinis raised an eyebrow. “Is there a difference?”

“All the difference in the world,” the High Prelate says. “And so, my question stands.”

Quarinis smiled thinly. “You are a discerning man,” he said. “And your question is an interesting one. Faith in what, I wonder? Do I believe in the Lord? The Lord is much greater than I, High Prelate, and whether They exist or not, I doubt my belief – or lack thereof – is of any particular importance to Them. Do I believe in the collective divinity of the emperors, as the Imperial Cult of my own homeland teaches? I serve one Emperor, the one alive today – if there is some force connecting and animating all emperors past, present, and future, that is a question for philosophers, not for a simple servant of the state such as myself.”

“But you do believe in something,” the High Prelate said.

“Yes,” Quarinis whispered. “I believe in the Empire, which is larger and grander than myself and which will endure beyond my death, but which, unlike the Lord or the Imperial Spirit, will actually benefit materially from my service. I believe in duty; unlike so many of our patricians or your nobles, I believe that power is of no use unless it is put to a purpose, and my purpose is the service of the state. And I believe in humanity, which to survive requires a strong will to guide it lest it fall once again to the chaos that nearly consumed us all when Terra was lost. So yes, High Prelate, I would consider myself a man of faith, though perhaps not in the same sense you would.” He paused and regarded the older man for a long moment. “Is there any particular reason you ask me this question, or do you merely consider it your clerical duty to nose into other people’s business?”

“It simply occurs to me that of all who have served in this palace, we three have been here longer than almost anyone,” the High Prelate said. “You, me, Duke Mardoban. And yet, I really feel I know you very little. You give away nothing that you don’t mean to, Ambassador, and though you have worked diligently on your government’s behalf for as long as I’ve known you, it occurred to me that I didn’t have any real understanding of what motivated you in that effort. But I think you were as honest with me just now as I’ve ever seen you.”

“Indeed?” Quarinis asked. “And what prompted these thoughts, exactly? What are you worried about, High Prelate?”

The old priest snorted. “What am I not worried about, these days?” he said. “Three duchies in open revolt, an untried girl on the throne – this is the sort of moment on which history turns, and I’m not sure yet which way it will turn. This is not a time to be comfortable with uncertainties, Ambassador. To say nothing of the wars in your own country, between the Empire and the Alaelam – a conflict that has cost too much already.”

“The Alaelam Wars have not touched the Dozen Stars,” Quarinis said, genuinely surprised. “I did not realize they would attract your attention, when your own calling takes you closer to home.”

“All of humanity are the Lord’s children and therefore part of my flock, Alaelam and Imperial as well as Dozen Stars and Realtran,” the High Prelate said. “As High Prelate of this Kingdom I have certain obligations, but in my heart, I cannot place one life above another, and any war is a cause for grievance.”

“That is a noble sentiment,” Quarinis said. “And, though it may surprise you, it is one I can genuinely respect. Therefore, allow me to give you a warning. This is indeed the sort of moment on which history turns, but it may not turn the way you expect – and the turning may be more dramatic than you would wish. Prepare yourself, High Prelate. Change is coming, and though change is often painful, I promise you that in the end, we will all be stronger for it.”

“That sounds like a threat, Ambassador,” the High Prelate said. “What do you know?”

“Many things,” Quarinis said. “Most of which, alas, are not fit to be discussed in a public venue, but I will leave you with this – the Church’s roots are in the Empire, and Verus Licinius values that relationship and would prefer to see it strengthened, to the benefit of all.” A light flashing on his wrist comm caught his eye, and Quarinis sighed. “But for now, I must take my leave. Thank you for the stimulating conversation.”

Quarinis turned and swept away, leaving a confused and troubled cleric behind him; once he was out of sight, he pulled up his messages and saw the identity of the one who’d sent the most recent – Naudar. Well, better him than the others; Naudar could be reasoned with. Still, if he’d seen fit to initiate communication, that meant things weren’t going well and Quarinis’s attention would be needed.

A true servant of the Empire’s work, as they said, was never done.