Part 12 (2/2)

He turned to her, a pharaoh descended from the queens who had ruled a mysterious, ancient empire.

She evoked those matriarchs, with her dark hair, long limbs, and cla.s.sic features. But instead of dark eyes, she had green ones, startling in their vivid hue. The lines around her eyes and white in her hair were the only signs she had lived 322 years. No one knew her potential life span; she was the first human to have had the benefit of age-delaying biotech from the moment of conception. How long could a human live? Early nanomed technology had been crude, but in the 322 years since it had improved.

In those centuries, she had founded an empire.

The people of the Imperialate wors.h.i.+ped her. She was a symbol, their exotic forever-queen. But Kurj sensed the truth: she had grown weary. She pushed herself too hard, working in the Kyle web she had created, centuries ago. Striving to protect her empire, she spent days at a time wired into the great command chair that linked her body to the ever-evolving network. He feared the time was coming when she would give the medics an answer to the question of how long a human could live.

He spoke with atypical gentleness. ”You should rest.”

Lahaylia glanced at him, her slanted eyes a deeper green than usual today. She spoke in a too quiet voice. ”Yes. I should.”

The finality of her tone sent a chill up his spine. ”I meant sleep.” For a race as long-lived as theirs, the concept of death became distant, easy to forget, making it even harder to accept.

”Ah, Kurj.” She spoke softly. ”I've had a life most people would only dream of. It has been a good one, even with all the struggles and heartache. It is your time now.”

A lump seemed to form in his throat. His grandmother was one of the few people he could talk to without barriers. She didn't fear him. It devastated him, knowing he could stop s.h.i.+ps, armies, even wars, but not the pa.s.sing of the people he loved. He wanted to tell her what he felt, but he had no words to express such emotions. So he answered simply. ”Say no more.”

She nodded. They watched the stars wheel past as the Orbiter rotated. After a while she spoke again.

”Is she home yet?”

”No.” None of his vast intelligence networks had located his mother. His fear for her had been with him every moment since she vanished. Sometimes he could submerge it in his daily concerns, but it never left his mind.

”She always was a stubborn one,” Lahaylia said.

Kurj glanced at her. ”My mother?”

”Yes. And I will tell you something else.”

”What is that?”

She spoke evenly. ”You cannot force her to do what you want. That includes trapping her on Irendela so you can change her votes in a.s.sembly.”

Kurj was glad the nanomeds in his body prevented him from flus.h.i.+ng. ”I would never change the votes of a Councilor.”

She just arched her eyebrow. Then she went back to watching the stars wheel past. He didn't try any more denials. They wouldn't fool her.

Eventually she said, ”I was born a Trader slave, you know.”

Kurj frowned. She spoke casually, as if commenting on the weather instead of dropping a bombsh.e.l.l. It couldn't be true, of course. She couldn't have kept such a well-guarded secret for over three centuries.

Perhaps she was making a terrible joke. But he knew her. She wouldn't joke so about the Traders.

”Grandmother.” Kurj waited until she turned to him. ”You descend from the queens of the Ruby Empire.

Many doctors have verified your DNA.” They constantly examined her, especially as she aged. ”You cannot have been a slave.”

”Of course I can.”

He waited.

Her gaze darkened. ”You know of the Rhon project.”

”Of course.” It was his heredity. Centuries ago, Doctor Hezahr Rhon had isolated the mutations that created Ruby psions, the most powerful empaths and telepaths known. Humans on the world Raylicon had just been regaining s.p.a.ce travel, emerging from five millennia of dark ages. They needed powerful psions. It was the only way to resurrect the ancient machines; the people of the Ruby Empire had developed an arcane discipline combining mathematics, neuroscience, and mysticism. Their machines accessed universes based on thought rather than s.p.a.cetime. But Kurj's ancestors had lost that knowledge; nothing had survived the millennia except three Locks, those mysterious command centers that could create and power a Kyle web. Only a Ruby psion could activate them.

Rhon had pursued two goals: to create and to protect Ruby psions. It was an ancient dilemma; the stronger a psion, the more sensitive their mind, and the more pain they experienced when other people suffered. Rhon had meant to ease the anguish they endured, but that n.o.ble, well-intentioned goal became one of the worst failures in human history. It created the Aristos, a race of anti-empaths with no capacity for compa.s.sion. When an Aristo picked up pain from a psion, it stimulated the Aristo's brain, producing an ecstasy they called ”transcendence.” Psions projected their pain more; the stronger their minds, the more intense the effect. Aristos brutalized them with obsessive cruelty. They enslaved empaths and telepaths and called them providers.

They craved the Ruby Dynasty beyond all reason.

Now, centuries later, the Aristos ruled the Eubian Concord, an empire built without the inhibition of compa.s.sion. All their subjects, trillions of them, were slaves. Providers made up only a tiny fraction of those populations; most Trader slaves lived comfortable lives as long as they followed the precepts set out by their owners. But none had freedom.

As a Jag pilot, Kurj had defied the Traders. Linked to his s.h.i.+p's EI brain, strengthened by technology that allowed humans to endure immense accelerations, he had become phenomenally versatile in battle.

But Jag pilots had to be psions-and hypersensitizing psions during combat exacted a terrible price. Kurj could never lose the memories of the soldiers he had engaged, not only the Aristos and almost Aristos, but the many slaves who had no choice but to fight, or who nurtured hopes of a better life if only they could distinguish themselves in combat. It was impossible to demonize an enemy when he felt their humanity. He wept with them, screamed with them-and died with them.

Kurj had flown a Jag for eight years, longer than most Jagernauts, and he would never lose the guilt of having outlived so many of his contemporaries. Jag pilots also had a higher suicide rate than personnel in any other branch of the military. He survived by barricading his emotions until he became a fortress no one could breach. He could no longer open his heart, but his defenses made the pain bearable. Almost.

To Lahaylia, he said only, ”You were born in the Rhon Project.” They had created her using preserved DNA from ancient Ruby Pharaohs.

”Actually,” she said, ”I wasn't.”

”I've seen the records.”

”It's true, the history of the Skolian Imperialate has been arranged to explain my birth in such a manner.”

She shrugged. ”In a sense it is true. Rhon envisioned my birth. But he never succeeded. It is prohibitively difficult to make psions in vitro.”

”Prohibitive, yes.” It perturbed him to have his view of the universe disrupted this way. ”But not impossible. You are living proof.”

”The Aristos created me.”

Kurj stiffened. ”No.”

”It is true.”

”It cannot be.”

She regarded him steadily. ”They had no ethical compunctions. None. They tried thousands of times, even millions, and in all those attempts they produced only two viable fetuses, myself and a boy, my mate. We were to be the ultimate providers.” A deep rage stirred within her and she let him sense it.

”The boy killed himself when we were teenagers. He preferred death to a life of torture.” Her voice grated.

”Nor could he bear to know the Aristos intended to breed our children for the same. He took his own life rather than live that nightmare.”

He didn't know where to put these revelations. ”You knew the boy?”

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