XXVI: Island of Sanctuary

XXVI
Island of Sanctuary

The building called the Amphitheatre of Leto resembled a great galleon constructed from crystal. Trees surrounded it, aqua and sea-green, sculpted like waves and tipped by foamy white blossoms, each a spray of petaled tubes that sang when the wind blew across them. The Allieds had raised the amphitheatre within only days, working with both Skolian and Eubian architects. On a clear winter morning in the hills above New Athens, the Trader Emperor and the Ruby Pharaoh came in person to the same planet, the same city, the same building. No such meeting had ever before occured. More protections were in place than had been seen at any other summit for any the three major civilizations that comprised the trillions strong population of humanity.

So began the first day of the Delos Summit.

Birds were flying outside the floor-to-ceiling window of the chamber where Kelric stood. He had never seen such a species, bright red with blue wings. He enjoyed watching them soar in the violet-tinged sky. This chamber was in a “mast” of the building, a tower room with its narrow window-wall offering a panoramic view. In the distance, New Athens sprawled across the land, a city of wide streets and airy markets that were mostly empty now in the burning heat of the day. Beyond the city, the ocean waves crashed against the reefs.

It seemed fitting to Kelric that the summit was here on a world of sanctuary instead of on Earth. This peace they sought would join two bitterly estranged branches of Earth’s lost children, who had been sundered long before they rediscovered the legendary home of their species.

A note chimed behind him, high and clear. Turning, he saw Dehya coming through the archway of the chamber, a slender woman in a simple white dress. Her black hair was piled high on her head, caught by slender braids.

“Is it time?” Kelric asked.

“We have a few minutes.” She joined him at the window. A cloud floated below the glass, and birds arrowed through it, streaks of red.

“World of sanctuary,” she murmured.

“Perhaps,” Kelric said. They could hope.

She looked up at him. “That girl on the dais was Aliana.”

“So they claim.” He shook his head. “She had normal hair and skin. Blue eyes. No gold.”

“Kelric, she looks like you. But with her coloring disguised, it’s hard to make the connection unless you’re looking for it.”

“I hope that’s it.” It had shaken him to see a girl who might be his kin wearing Trader slave restraints. Did Jaibriol suspect the girl’s identity? When they had suggested the exchange of the ESComm agents for the two psions who asked for asylum, Kelric had feared ESComm would refuse. The youth was a valuable provider. If Dehya had agreed to take only Aliana, it would have looked like an absurdly unbalanced exchange, drawing exactly the attention to the girl they were trying to avoid. Although he was gratified that their plans for the trade had so far worked, they were nowhere near completion. He wouldn’t believe Aliana was safe until they had her away from Delos.

Dehya spoke quietly. “We should join the others.”

He let out a breath. “Yes, let’s go.”

They left the chamber together, Kelric limping. His leg ached more than usual, perhaps because of the heavier gravity here. Compared to the vibrant youth of Jaibriol Qox, he felt aged and slow. Dehya seemed so small. His job was to protect the Ruby Pharaoh, not put her in a building full of Aristos. Still, they had made the best decision they could, given the situation. Besides, Dehya only looked fragile. She had a strength of will like a steel rod.

A cluster of people waited in the conference room: Roca, First Councilor Tikal, General Naaj Majda, Admiral Chad Barzun, and various bodyguards. It was a resplendent group. Naaj wore her green uniform with gold braid on the shoulders and cuffs, and medals on the tunic. Her belt had the Majda hawk tooled into it, the insignia of a queen. Chad stood next to her, smart in his blue Fleet uniform, his grey hair cropped short. Roca was a vision, a statuesque woman in a rose dress that set off her gold skin. Tikal wore conservative trousers and an elegant white shirt. Grey streaked his brown hair, but his lean face showed only a few lines, making him look younger than his sixty years.

Kelric had chosen a simple uniform, a dark gold tunic with a stripe across his chest and trousers that tucked into boots. Like his predecessors before him, he wore none of the medals, ribbons, and pins he had won during his career. He had only a wide band on each of his biceps to indicate his rank of Imperator.

He looked around at the newly constructed room. A good portion of his participation in the summit would take place here. Its eastern wall was also a window and sunlight poured through the polarized glass. The ceiling slanted upward, its highest point more than four times his height, braced by beams cut from a gold wood. Light orbs spun in the upper reaches of the room like swirling moonstones. The table was round, making every seat equivalent. A twin of this room waited in another “mast” of this building, the tower dedicated to the Eubians. The third mast contained the center where the Allieds had set up the monitoring stations for all three governments.

Tikal was talking on his wrist comm. He looked up as Kelric and Dehya joined him. “Major General Yamada is coming up in the lift. He should be here in a minute or so.”

“Good choice,” Kelric said. Yamada had been in charge of the military forces on Delos eleven years ago, when Jaibriol had traded himself to the Eubians for Eldrin, Dehya’s husband.

As Roca came over to them, Kelric thought, How are you doing? This summit would be the first time she came face to face with Hightons since she had been a Eubian prisoner. It had been many years, but she still suffered from nightmares.

I’ll be all right, she answered.

General Yamada arrived within moments. A stocky man with a wide face, he had two stars on each shoulder of his blue uniform and a multitude of ribbons and medals on his chest. A striking woman walked at his side. Her dark blond hair was streaked by gold, and she wore a smart blue skirt and jacket. Kelric recognized her as Kate Dolan, the Delos Ambassador to Skolia, one of Earth’s top diplomats. The Allieds had given this summit their highest priority.

After all the formalities were observed, Yamada said, “The Eubian delegation is waiting to enter the amphitheatre. Major General Holland is accompanying them. We’ll time it so that both of your parties enter at the same moment.”

Kelric nodded, accepting the conditions they had all decided on well before this moment.

It was time to begin.

Jaibriol entered the amphitheatre with Tarquine at his left and the Earth general on his right, followed by Corbal Xir, Azile Xir, Barthol Iquar, and Erix Muze. The civilians wore black diamond clothes, and the military officers had on black dress uniforms, a sharp contrast to their alabaster faces. They looked like a starkly beautiful chess set. Except in chess, the queen acted in the defense of the king. Jaibriol no longer knew what was true for Tarquine, and it weighed on him far more than the minds of the other Hightons with them.

They stood on a high balcony looking out over the tiers of seats, ring upon ring of them, with a circular dais in the center. The domed ceiling curved high above the hall, veined by crystal panels that reflected the light orbs. It was smaller than the Amphitheatre of Providence on Glory; only a few hundred delegates sat in these tiers. But they were a markedly distinguished group, the elite of his empire and the Imperialate. More than half of the Eubian delegates were Aristos, and though they were too far away to impact his mind directly, he felt them like a distant pressure. He stood with Tarquine, his hands resting on the crystal rail, and looked out over that phenomenal assemblage, the first of its kind ever convened.

What riveted Jaibriol, however, wasn’t the delegates; it was the group on the balcony directly across the hall from him. The Ruby Pharaoh entered with the Assembly First Councilor and another Allied general. Kelric came in behind them, massive and towering, a dramatic contrast to the delicate pharaoh.

Jaibriol wasn’t tempted to underestimate Dyhianna Selei, a mistake so many people had made and regretted. She had survived the Radiance War, assassination attempts, and Eubian infiltrations, then gathered her forces and overthrown her own government. The Skolians claimed they split their government evenly between the Ruby Dynasty and the democratic Assembly, but Jaibriol didn’t believe it. If ever it came to a challenge between the two, their military would support the pharaoh.

Dyhianna Selei was also the Assembly Key of the Triad, the liaison between the Assembly and the star-spanning web. The Mind of Skolia. Kelric was the Military Key, the Fist of Skolia. Kelric’s late father—Jaibriol’s grandfather—had been the Web Key, the Heart of Skolia.

Three keys to the Web: Mind, Fist, and Heart.

What does that make me? Jaibriol thought. The Heart of Skolia? He couldn’t have come up with a less apt description if he had tried. He gazed across that amphitheatre at his family, the kin he could never acknowledge, and felt as if he were breaking.

It was excruciating to be this close and yet cut off from them. The same was true for Aliana. He had analyzed her DNA in secret. It matched that of Althor Valdoria, who had been an ESComm prisoner years ago; Aliana was Jaibriol’s first cousin. He could never tell her, never breathe a word of it to that gloriously powerful psion. But he could disguise her coloring to hide the resemblance between Kelric and an “inconsequential” taskmaker no one had yet bothered to notice.

The delegates were all watching the royal parties, waiting. They were already organized into task forces, and they would later split into their groups, Skolians and Traders together, to discuss the multitude of details needed to put the treaty into effect, setting up trade relations between their empires. The main conferences, the ones that would determine how Eube and Skolia would attempt to coexist in the same galaxy, would be between Jaibriol’s people and the Pharaoh’s party in the tower conference rooms.

The dais was rising in the center of the amphitheatre, crewed by Allied personnel. A robot arm had docked at Jaibriol’s balcony, waiting for his use. It ended in a gigantic bronzed hand exactly like the one in the Amphitheatre of Providence. A similar arm was docked at the Skolian balcony, except that it ended in a Luminex console cup.

Major General Holland spoke at his side. “Your Highness, they are ready.”

Jaibriol took a breath. “Let us begin, then.”

The general spoke into his gauntlet comm. “On three.” Across the amphitheatre, Major General Yamada was also speaking into his comm.

Holland paused, then said, “Copy that. One, two, three.”

Jaibriol raised his hand in the same instant the Ruby Pharaoh raised hers. A single chime rang out in the amphitheatre as the Aristos tapped the diamond cymbals they wore on their thumbs and index fingers. Lights flashed from the Skolian consoles.

On the dais below, an Allied woman stood next to a console. She spoke in a clear voice that carried throughout the amphitheatre:

“The Summit of Delos is begun.”

Streaming blue.

Del floated through the Kyle. It swirled into curves and hollows as if he drifted through a landscape of blue fog.

Prince Del-Kurj? That thought came from a woman.

My greetings, Panquai, he answered.

And mine to you, she thought. Can you access the ISC mesh for Delos?

I don’t know. What do I look for?

Many people see it as a grid. We’re hidden by a security cloak, so other users won’t notice us, but we should be able to detect them. Their thoughts may look like sparks.

Del concentrated, striving to create a grid out of the mist. None appeared, though the landscape did become more detailed, with orb trees, blue cloud-grass, and sparkles like shimmerflies. I see blue. Hills, sky, trees, orbs. No grid.

I mostly know how military types see it, Panquai said. Maybe you perceive it differently. But my sensors say we’re definitely in the military grid.

A shimmerfly drifted toward Del. It wasn’t a gauzy insect, but a winged woman. Hey, I see you! You look like an angel, Panquai. It reminded him of a song on his first music anthology: Angel, be my Diamond Star, before my darkness goes too far.

Amusement came from Panquai. I’ve never been sung to on a mission before.

Del grinned at her. A Jagernaut angel.

My halo is crooked, she thought. What else can you find here? Any problems?

He drifted in a circle, surveying the blue universe. Everything looks fine. I don’t know how I would know otherwise.

Essentially, you’re looking for yourself.

He considered the idea. On Earth, my music is available as something called a virt. It’s a virtual reality simulation of the songs. It includes an avatar of me that acts as a host. If I go into the virt, I can meet “myself.” It’s bizarre. Even when it looks and acts just like me, I know it’s not.

That’s a good description, Panquai thought. If you concentrate on that idea, the forgery of your neural patterns might manifest as your virtual self.

Del closed his eyes and imagined himself in a virt. He picked the song “Rubies,” a ballad he had written about his family. The bittersweet music played around him:

Living bound by your empathy

Shelter found in your trinity

Love imprisoning hope for all days

Rubies must give their souls in all ways.

Del opened his eyes. He was standing knee-deep in the grasses of the Dalvador Plains on his home world Lyshriol. Stalks rippled around him, each tipped with an iridescent bubble. The plains stretched out to the horizon in most directions, and to the Stained Glass Forest in the west. Beyond the forest, the Backbone Mountains rose starkly into the sky. The landscape all had a blue tinge, as if he were seeing it through a diaphanous mist.

“This is beautiful,” a woman said.

Del turned with a start. Secondary Panquai was a few paces away, looking around, lean and tall in her black leathers.

“Hey,” Del said. “Welcome to my world.”

She smiled. “Is that you singing?”

“Yeah, that’s me.” It was hard to say more; the song “Rubies” held a lot of pain.

“It’s lovely,” she said. “It sounds almost classical. I had thought you sang rock.”

“Mostly. I like all kinds of music, though.”

“You have an incredible voice.”

Feeling awkward, he said, “Thanks.” He could see past her, in the distance, to where a figure was approaching them. “Panquai, look. Do you see that?”

Turning, she peered across the field. “A man, I think. It’s not you, though.”

“Come on.” Del headed for the figure. In one of the surreal jumps common in a virt, he and Panquai were suddenly only meters away from the figure. It was a man, a huge one, built like Kelric, but with violet eyes instead of gold. He wore Jagernaut blacks like Panquai.

Startled, Del stopped. “Althor?” Vertigo swept over him; his brother Althor was dead.

“My greetings, Del,” Althor said, smiling.

Del just frowned. The Traders dishonored his brother’s memory with this forgery.

Panquai studied the avatar. “Are you Secondary Althor Valdoria Skolia?”

“A virtual simulation of him, yes,” Althor said.

“No, you aren’t,” Del said. “You’re a fake. We’re going to erase you.” He gave the forgery a hard mental shove, letting his anger push it away. To Panquai, he said, “The Traders have Althor’s neural signature, too, from when he was a prisoner of war.”

Althor faded, his body becoming translucent, like blue mist. Del, wait, I’m not a forgerrrry. . . . The words dissipated as he disappeared.

“We should let Kelric know,” Del said. What bothered him wasn’t that the forgery existed, but that it seemed so real. If he hadn’t known Althor was dead, he would have believed it was actually his brother in Kyle space.

Panquai worked on her gauntlet. “I’m notifying the telops. They’ll take care of it.”

“Why forge Althor? We know he’s dead.”

“It could be an echo from something else ESComm is doing. They’re so raw with all this. I doubt they realize we can find their neural forgeries.”

The sunlight no longer streamed so fully. In fact, the day was turning dark.

“Something is wrong,” Del said.

“What do you see?” Panquai asked.

“It’s getting dark! Can’t you tell?”

She shook her head, the motion difficult to discern in the dusk. “It looks the same to me.”

Concentrate, Del told himself. Center yourself with songs. He thought of “Sapphire Clouds,” a song he had written about the loss of childhood innocence:

Running through the sphere-tipped reeds

The suns like gold and amber beads

Jumpin’ over blue-winged bees

Don’t catch me please

Running, running, running.

The dark became complete and he lost all sense of mooring; only the song kept him anchored. He needed to orient on something definite. Kelric had sent him in here to check for problems with security, which had started with a rip in the Kyle mesh.

Show me the rip, he thought.

A voice answered, deep and inhuman. SPECIFICATION INCOMPLETE.

Del froze. What the hell?

Gods almighty! That came from the usually unflappable Panquai. Del, you just accessed Comtrace. That’s impossible. No way do you have clearance for that.

QUANTIFY “RIP,” the inhuman voice said.

I don’t understand, Del said. What is Comtrace?

It’s one of our most highly secured intelligence nodes. You shouldn’t be able to do this. I certainly can’t.

Should I say anything? he asked.

Wait—I’m getting authorization. Brant Tapperhaven is monitoring security for your brother. Then she thought, All right. Tell it what you mean.

Del marshaled his thoughts. Comtrace, take me to the place in the web where ISC security was compromised, the hole ESComm used to infiltrate our mesh and make it look as if I released “Carnelians Finale.”

DONE, Comtrace answered.

Del was suddenly in a deep grotto. Water swirled around him, green-blue, and gold fronds waved around the ruins of a submerged building with a cracked roof. Brightly colored fish, gold and blue, swam through the broken windows. He floated to the structure and peered inside. Old equipment lay scattered about in there, most of it pitted and corroding past recognition.

THIS SITE WAS CLOSED ONE HUNDRED AND SEVEN YEARS AGO, Comtrace told him. ITS AGED SYSTEMS WERE IMPROPERLY SECURED. WE HAVE REPAIRED IT.

Comtrace, why are you telling me this? Del asked.

YOU ARE CLEARED THROUGH IMPERATOR SKOLIA.

I don’t think he intended that, Del thought.

ACCESS IS REQUIRED TO COMPLETE YOUR MISSION.

Primary Tapperhaven says you weren’t cleared, Panquai thought. He thinks you reached Comtrace because of your close relationship to the Imperator and the job he asked you to do here.

But our relationship isn’t close, Del answered. Kelric and I argue all the time. Wryly he added, Maybe his forgery gets along with mine, but in real life—Del froze. Panquai, I know what’s going on! He kicked hard, arrowing for the surface. We have to warn Kelric!

Telop station fourteen, Panquai shouted into her gauntlet. Bring us out of the mesh now!

Vertigo swept over Del as he was dragged upward. His clothes, boots, everything pulled at him, weighing him down, as if the Kyle itself were refusing to let him go. He fought through the darkening waters, aware of Panquai at his side.

He had found the forgery. But it wasn’t him.

It was Comtrace.