Abendau's Heir (The Inheritance Trilogy Book 1) (18 page)

“It must be hard,” she said. What must he have heard, on the ship with his father? What did he know that was driving him to clash with everyone? “Having people tell you what you should do.”

“I’m coping.” He glanced down, and she realised none of it– the smugness, the arrogance– was anything other than a way of keeping himself safe. He leaned forward to her and set a memory filche on the desk.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“I’m prepared to deal,” he said. “I know I’m no use to the Banned– in fact, I’m a drain on the group– if I don’t reach an agreement with you. This is an outline for a project I’d like to manage. It will create close to real-time comms throughout the group, reducing the current space-delay– you’ll thank me for it, one day.”

Real-time comms in a space army. It was the nirvana they’d been seeking for years, what technical director after technical director had tried for. Her father had thrown resources at it, sure it was the one thing that could give the Banned an edge. Their fleet was small enough, in comparison the Empress’, to utilise it.

“How?” she asked, careful not to show the interest he’d sparked. But if it was true, he was right– she’d bargain for it.
If
it was true.

“An interface. It’ll link via the fleet and use their boosters to carry the signal. Provided we get the configurations right– the ships’ capacity and alignment– it will speed up comms. Not to real time but much, much quicker than now. Certainly enough that the Banned could command remote battles from the base, pull the campaigns onto one strategic platform.”

Not to real-time, then. Her shoulders dropped in disappointment. “It’s been tried.”

He smiled, a slow smile that made her stomach turn over. “Not by me. I’ve looked at your systems and I can get it closer than anyone else.”

The arrogance was back. She found her fist clenching. His eyes looked down at it and she unclenched it.

“Why are you annoyed?” he asked. “You’ve tried to use me since the minute I arrived here– you’ve probably sold me to half the outer rim, already.” She dropped her head so he couldn’t see her redden. Not just the outer zone, but the Ferrans, and the families. “There’s no point being coy– I can
feel
how true it is. You did it even though no one asked me.”

She raised her head. “I did it because I had to.”

“It’s not your name,” he said, his voice soft, perhaps a little hurt. “But I’m not surprised– everyone else wants a part of me, why wouldn’t you?”

She shifted, uncomfortable. If she had the choice again– today– would she do what she had and promise him to the families? She wasn’t sure, not anymore. She lifted the filche, changing the subject. “You said you’d deal.”

“I’ll let you use my name as a possible president and sell
me to the outer rim, to any families you can…. I’ll turn up when you need me to, and look as shockingly like my father as I suspect you’d like me to.” He touched his hair. “I’m growing this back– he always wore his a little longer than me.” He paused. “I want my own project group– my chance to prove I’m not just here for my name, that I have other things to offer. But I’ll warn you– the colonel has already turned me down for getting ideas above my station.”

“You’ll meet anyone we need you to?” she asked. “And you’ll back the Banned in public?” It would be the least that Michael would seek.

He leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs out. “Yes. I’m no orator, though.”

“We can address that. You’ll allow us to use your name?”

“Yes, provided you do
not
sell me as a future Emperor.”

He reached forward and put his hand over hers. A warmth spread through her, the same warmth as in the corridor earlier. She didn’t know what lay behind it, whether it was that she liked him, or the opportunity he offered, and she hated herself for not knowing, for being as much a politician as friend.

“I mean it, Sonly. I have to know I can trust you on this.”

She met his eyes, and swallowed. Michael had told her to bring him into the group and force his commitment, no matter how she did it. But he wanted commitment to the empire, not a presidency. Still, a presidency was a start; they could work on the rest once he’d come to accept that. She wriggled her hand free and closed the other around the filche. Rjala would hate her for this. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you.”

She paused: she knew so little about him, and if she was wrong to back him…. “There is one other thing I’ll want.”

He smiled. “Shoot.”

“My brother– I missed him. He’ll be on the project team.”

“Lichio?”

She nodded.

“That’s okay, he’s okay, but I have my own condition.” He paused. “No more reports on me– if you want to know something, just ask.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” she said, disappointed; she’d believed he wouldn’t read minds. She supposed this must be how he’d felt when she’d used his name.

“Of course you do– your brother’s smart, I like him a lot, and he’s reasonably competent around computers. But there is no security system I can’t bypass if I want to, and after I realised he was on Corun for me, I
really
wanted to.”

“You shouldn’t have looked; I’m sure they were listed as private.” She kept her voice steady, but she was pleased, nonetheless. Snooping in someone’s files wasn’t, perhaps, a particularly edifying act, but it was better than reading their mind.

He pulled a face. “I believe they might have been…. Look, if you can get the agreement for me, I’ll work with you. If you don’t, I’
ll get a skinhead and deny all knowledge of my parents.”

Her mouth started to curl and she hastily hid the smile.

“And, perhaps, we could be a bit more open,” he said. “I’m not out to get the Banned, I’m here partly because I had nowhere else, and partly because I wanted to come back. All the way through my childhood, I wanted to come back….” Wanted to, but couldn’t. No wonder he didn’t trust her or the Banned. “I’m on your side– I just don’t want to be Emperor. Deal?”

She nodded. “Deal.”

He stood to go, and she had an image of him trying to deny his father– even bald it’
d be impossible. She broke into a smile.

“What is it?” The confidence he’d shown was gone, replaced by something– an edge of embarrassment, a little ducking of the head.

A warmth spread through her, and she had to look away. She absolutely had to learn to control that. “You’d look ridiculous with a skinhead.”

“I know,” he said, and he smiled too. “I really do. So, please, see what you can do, save me from it. Please…” He left, closing the door behind him, and she slumped back in her seat. Lord, this was getting complicated, and she didn’t need it, not now. An hour, every day… she might have to reduce that; give him some books to read instead, or get Michael to do some of it. But first things first: she pulled her comms unit to her. “Rjala,” she said. “We need to talk…”

Silom looked across the desk at Lichio. “So, where
am
I being posted?”

“You’re staying with the 42nd. Planet called Merrandron, in the Calixta system, naturally habitable, not terraformed. We have a base on Nero.”

Neither name was familiar to Silom. “Nero?”

“Their satellite.”

“A naturally habitable satellite too?”

Lichio’s face twisted, as if in apology. “Sorry, no, the base is the only thing on it, and it’s got an artificial atmosphere. But the planet is better, if you get the chance to go over. A little on the cold side… take some thermals.”

Bastard
. “Sir, I’d like it on record that I’ve requested a transfer to the Holbec base.”

“It’s on record.” Lichio leaned forward. “It’s not going to happen, though.”

“Why not? Because I’m space debris, first to die for the Banned?”

“No, not at all.” Lichio looked shocked, and Silom’s lip curled– this boy had no idea that half the people who arrived at the Banned were fodder for a war that had already taken their homes and families.

“No, really,” said Lichio. “You’re a good soldier, you’ll do well. In fact, that’s why your transfer isn’t going to go ahead.” He sighed. “I think your career will be better served by being split from Kare.” Silom’s fists bunched, and Lichio put his hands up, as if in surrender. “It’s common practice to disperse those who arrive together. If it hadn’t been for the security implications, we’d have done it earlier.”

“I want to appeal against your decision.”

“Feel free.” Lichio paused. “Look, don’t take this the wrong way, but– has he got some sort of hold on you? Something you’re not telling us?”

Silom took a moment and then started to laugh. “You’re wondering has he been Influencing me? Wriggling his fingers and making me jump?”

“The thought crossed my mind.”

“No. I learned how to keep him out of my head a long time ago.”

“You seem very sure.”

“I am.”

Lichio drummed his fingers on the table. “If I’m right, you were forced to leave your home because of him. Your mother was killed because of him. Your girlfriend… ”

Silom’s coffee from earlier threatened to come up. “Do you know what happened to Liane?” He could barely get her name out, the fear was so great. He’d hardly managed to think about her since he got to the Banned, knowing what could have happened. Knowing that his last call to her father had been to a dead comms unit, and that his warning to get out might have been too late.

“No, we just know she’s not on Dignad anymore.”

Silom rubbed his hand on his chin, taking deep breaths. “The Empress?”

“Maybe. Or the local boys.”

It wouldn’t have mattered which– the same thing would have happened. It was horribly, sickeningly wrong. And his fault– he’d known about Kare when he’d met her. He should have kept his distance and never got involved with anyone. Kare had never moaned about the sacrifices he’d made, had never commented on the nights Silom had gone out with his friends, when he’d lived between four walls. Anger bubbled up, and he didn’t know who it was directed towards– Kare, for being a fucking saint and getting on with things, or himself for not being able to. Or the empire, for Liane. For the whole damn mess. He just knew he wanted to hit out, to hurt: to make things right.

“Are you all okay?” asked Lichio. “I’m sorry, I should have been more careful in how I said that.”

“It wasn’t Kare’s fault,” blurted Silom, and almost kicked himself for doing so. Lichio had been nosing around for months now, and he hadn’t risen to it.

“I didn’t say it was his fault. I said it happened because of him,” said Lichio, and his manner, his offhand way of dealing with it, made Silom respond.

“He was leaving
because
of Liane, to keep her– us– safe.”

“He could have left before.”

“You don’t know what it was like.”

“So, tell me.”

Tell him what? The fear of someone finding out, of coming home and finding troops waiting for him? The worry that a knock at the door would be the army? The knowledge that he had a life and a job and his mate couldn’t even leave the house? The secret part of him that resented Kare turning up on their doorstep and changing everything? It wasn’t fair, to feel like that. Kare hadn’t had any choice. He’d been a kid, on the run. But what had happened wasn’t fair, either. The image of his mother, lying cold on the ground, came to him. It had been months since he’d allowed himself to think about her, and Liane, and the whole mess on Dignad. Lichio waited, silent, and he knew he wasn’t getting out of this office until he gave him something to quash the thought he was under Kare’s power and didn’t have a mind of his own.

“We had to move all the time, we couldn’t bring anyone back,” he said, picking his words. He could tell them what they wanted to hear, but not the secret in the heart of him. “From the moment he arrived, we had to be careful– more than careful.”

Lichio cocked his head. “Must have been a pain, for all of you.”

“
We got used to it.”

“Even so, you must have found it hard. A saint would have– glory boy turning up and your life changing. Come on, you were– what– eight?”

“Nine,” said Silom. He looked at Lichio, saw his eyes were sympathetic, not judgmental, and the words spilled out of him. “My dad died when I was five, and it had just been me and my mother. So, yeah, it was hard, and no one told me anything about why we had to move, only that I had a cousin and I wasn’t to say. My mother was really strict about it and you didn’t go against her when she really dug in.” He paused. “But it was harder for Kare.”

“So when did you find out who he was?”

Silom took a moment to count it back. “When I was sixteen. I caught him practising his powers and it all came out.”

“Exciting, was it?”

Anything but
. “Not especially.”

“Really? It’s just, it must have been something– finding out you’re living with the Empress’ son.”

“It was… different,” Silom said. It was hard to explain his relief at finally knowing, and the fear at understanding the stakes involved. “But I’d always known there was some big secret, so it didn’t change much.”

“Something did, though,” said Lichio. “Otherwise, presumably, you’d both still be on Dignad.”

Silom took a breath. “I met Liane, and it became serious.”

Lichio nodded, his eyes understanding. “Bad enough keeping a secret in just one house…”

“Yes,
” said Silom. “When I brought her round to meet my mother, Kare stayed out of the way. Then one night we had a fight, and she stormed out. She bumped into Kare, skulking round the back, waiting for her to go.” He looked down at his hands. “So, I
had to tell her this was my cousin, and he was sitting there, looking terrified. She must have known something was wrong. Anyway, a couple of days later, Kare told me he was going.” He paused. It was good to talk about it and be honest; it felt like something he’d carried inside, something that had pulled him down, was lifting. He met Lichio's eyes and refused to look away. “If I’m honest, I was relieved. Glad it was over. Even though I knew it was a hell of a thing to do– walk out at seventeen with a backpack, no ID, relying on a Dignadian shipyard owner for your life. But I was glad– I was getting my life back. You understand?”