Land of the Dead (9 page)

Ahuizotl felt suddenly, unaccountably sad.
An Imperial security breach
.
At the highest levels. The Mirror, I would think. Now there must be another purge.
He straightened his shoulders. “Esteemed, I assure you that the evidence is quite poor. It consists only of three missing ships. We are mounting an effort to examine the area of space and determine if a permanent hazard to navigation exists, and if so, to determine what it might be that all might avoid the region in future.”

The
zhongdu
settled back, wrinkling his long leathery snout, and took a protracted drag on a
nargile
sitting beside the chair. The sharp scent reaching the Méxica’s nostrils suggested opium, or another derivative of the poppy.
No, not just opium. Something else less subtle. Probably synthetic. Remarkable how much psychoactivity Hjo physiology absorbs without noticeable effect. It is true that in his place I, too, should not be pleased. Nor surprised.

After a moment, the creature issued a long, coiling stream of smoke from one nostril. Its eyes had settled back in their sockets, leaving only a faint, disgusted gleam.

*   *   *

Ekbanz considered the human with disgust.
Look at the fragile, pink-skinned toy in the heavy jacket and fur-lined cloak! See how it mimics Us, as though taking our seeming would confer our strength! This one seems sick
,
too
.
Behold the yellowing of the eyes. But Right Thought has guided it to me, just as my patience with Sahâne wanes. Their ships are fragile—easily lost in the abyss—yes, there is Purpose to be found here.

*   *   *

“We shall send an expert to review the situation,” the
zhongdu
declared. “As we have great experience in such matters.”

“Esteemed, such generosity is far beyond our—” the Méxica began.

“
Hsst!
Your fleet’s departure requires our emissary aboard the flagship. Do not consider otherwise.”

“Of course, Esteemed.” The Méxica bowed his head.
I hope your agent is disposable.
“The expedition’s departure is imminent. The last shuttle leaves this evening at the second dinner hour.”

The
zhongdu
shook its head slowly. “You will wait until the emissary arrives. Go now and prepare. Your presence here is no longer required.”

Despite an intense desire to begin running, the man held a measured pace as he removed himself from the chamber. Once outside, in the blue-lit tunnel, he clenched his jaw against a stabbing pain behind both temples.
A migraine and no med-band to alleviate the pressure.

*   *   *

With the toy gone, Ekbanz glared down at the pitiful specimen his servitors now dragged before him. The
zhongdu
felt a painful throbbing in his forebrain, just from considering the doleful aspect of the Hjo at his feet. But, as was proper, he said nothing for a long moment, partaking of the bitter smoke provided by the water pipe.

“A punishment is in order,” he declared at last, “for disturbing the right order of
my
heavens. You were sent here with great expectations, Sahâne, but you have only proven how low your noble line has fallen.” The
zhongdu
made a gesture indicating large and abiding regret. His nostrils flared wide to inhale the aspect of the young priest suffering deliciously from pure fear. Ekbanz felt almost repaid for having this embarrassment cluttering up the embassy for so many months. “The Hypothesis that brought all of this about was posited by
you
, and you will prove it out.”

Sahâne’s nose quivered. “Esteemed, I only imagined…”

“Pack your bags. You will accompany the local toys to investigate this anomaly.”

“Yes, of course. Guide my Thoughts.”

“They shall find Guidance.”

*   *   *

Sahâne shuffled out into the outer hallway and sank immediately into a dreadful depression.
Isn’t it enough that I am exiled to this backwater?
He fished about in his pouch for a box of opium pellets.
I am too large of mind and body to be stuffed into a miniature spaceship! How shall I stand the smell and chatter of these ignorant toys? It will take too long—these foolish exercises are beyond the Rim. The universe is full of worthless stellar clusters. I am no astronomer! This is beneath the station of anyone in my family! Pah!

“Ah, Most Honored One … word has it that you have received a crucial posting, a task from the
zhongdu
himself. Where are you going?”

The young Hjo straightened up, seeing two older members of the embassy approaching. Their fur was lying quite flat and still, indicating hidden amusement and delight.

“As you can well guess,” he replied, trying to keep his voice level, “this is a secret mission, and not to be bandied about. I must leave you now. There is little time to prepare.”

He brushed past the others quickly, but still heard the sneering whisper: “Maybe the great Sahâne can bring Right Thought to the humans and their chattels!”

“Yes, a task worthy of our esteemed holy one!”

“I do not need servants to remind me of my family duties,” the young Hjo mumbled to himself. “More than a thousand generations of noble duty are more reputation than any one Hjogadim of the Sacred Line should have to bear.” Once safely inside his sleeping compartment Sahâne slumped against the hatchway. “Little is more useless,” he whispered bitterly to the nearest wall, “than the last priest of a race without need for Gods.”

*   *   *

A thousand meters away, the unmarked aircar lifted from the landing stage with a swirl of dust and sped away into the thick, humid sky. A constant layer of cloud lay over the city, trapped beneath the massive dome which enclosed the Capital. The vapors and exhalations of the millions living below rose upward, forming a microclimate beneath the glassite despite the presence of thousands of air circulators in the dome superstructure. The leaden clouds replied with a constant, stinging rain.

Two kilometers from the skytower, four
Tocatl
-class airtanks dropped out of the gloom and settled into formation around the aircar. Now the entire convoy increased speed, racing northwest across the sprawl. In the comfortable passenger compartment, the nobleman coughed harshly and rubbed his temples, trying to banish the remaining chill. The servants had dressed him on the platform, resealing his armored skinsuit, applying a fresh med-band, and pressing a cup of circulatory stimulant into his hands.

The
kaffe
had gone into the disposal as soon as he was alone. He needed the warmth, but his stomach would not stand the acidity of the drink. And now his mind was full again, and ten thousand priorities vied for his attention.

The
zhongdu
’s command, however, held sway in his thoughts.

But what could be done?
If the Hjogadim wanted to interfere, then he must let them. “There is too much set on this throw to provoke another crisis,” he said aloud to the mauve and gunmetal blue compartment.

“Would you care for hot
cacahuatl?
” the CabinComp asked in a soothing feminine voice.

“Later.” The Méxica tapped up a panel showing the faces of five men. Four were quite alike, handsome and clear-faced, flint-eyed, each radiating a sureness of spirit which would have made another father positively glow with joy. The last was a sallow, dissolute wreck with puffy features and lank hair. Despite his intent, the man’s eyes settled there and remained for a long time.

“Tezozómoc, my son,” the Méxica breathed at last, running the edge of his little finger along the side of the 3-v pane. “You were such a beautiful child.…” Great sadness suffused the
Tlaltecutli
’s face, here in this false privacy. The image before him melted into that of a little black-haired baby held in a woman’s arms. His large, bright eyes looked out from the folds of a blanket. “Now look at you … my little, little boy. What has become of you?”

After a long moment, the Emperor passed his hand over the pane and it folded away. Only the four mighty brothers remained. Outside the armored windows, the convoy threaded between soaring towers aglow with neon and searchlights. Tenochtitlán the Eternal sprawled out to fill the bowl of the Valley of the Méxica like a lake of living gold. The cold fire of his city lighted Ahuizotl’s face while he considered each of his sons in turn.
Four of the finest warriors we can produce,
he mused.
Equipped with the finest training, with dearly bought exocortex overlays, genetically enhanced … which should I spend on this useless exercise? Who goes to the eagle’s stone?

Minutes later, he reached out from deep thought to com Xochitl, his second-eldest, popularly know as “precious flower.”

“My son,” he began without greeting. “I have a task, a mission which I wish you to undertake.”

“My father, I…”

The Emperor did not permit a response. “Someone exceptionally trustworthy must convey an agent of the
zhongdu
beyond the Rim. It is
possible
that a weapon of the First Sun has been found. Considering your capabilities, I am confident that no one else will serve. Understand that the Mirror is already on station, monitoring the device … and a Fleet battle-squadron will be underway within the hour.”

Ahuizotl could see the combined suspicion and pleasure in Xochitl’s face.
His tutors did train him to be ever wary. But he is my son, and he wishes to earn my good regard.

“Surely one of the Admiralty would…”

“This is family business. You must understand that. None else can assume the responsibility.” Ahuizotl smiled. “And who, then, should I send? Tezozómoc the Glorious? To command the
Tlemitl
?”

Xochitl laughed nastily. Pleasure at his father’s apparent favor flushed his face. “The
Tlemitl
, you say?”

“Yes. She has just cleared the fitting yards. And it is only proper that you should command her. But carefully now,” the Emperor went on, a serious tone creeping into his voice. “The Scout Service may have found something
real
out in the back of beyond, and if they have, the single most important thing you must do is make sure this Hjogadim emissary
does not find out
what it is. Too, he must be returned safely to Anáhuac. And of course, we must secure the relic or object for our own use. You understand?”

Xochitl nodded.

Ahuizotl knew his son’s blood would be afire with the prospect of reaching high enough to touch the face of
Tonatiuh
itself. As for himself, the Emperor felt exhaustion and sadness settle deeper into his bones.
We cannot afford the loss of a ship like the
Firearrow
 … not now. I can spare a son, but not her … curse the Mirror, the Judges, and all meddlers!

He tapped the channel closed, an old song coming to mind—something he’d heard long ago, in his innocence, from one of the elders at Chapultepec:

Oh youths, here there are skilled men with shield-reeds,

In the flowers of the pendant eagle plume,

The yellow flowers they grasp; they pour forth noble songs,

Noble flowers;

They make payment with their blood,

With their bare breasts

They seek the bloody field of war.

And you, O friends, put on your black paint

For war, for the path of victory;

Let us lay hands on our shields,

Raise aloft our strength and courage.

THE AKBAL YARDS

O
FF
E
UROPA
,
THE
J
OVIAN
S
YSTEM

Kosh
ō
entered the temporary officer’s mess on the
Naniwa
balancing a tray of tea, rice pudding, and sliced fruit on her right hand, while a heavy set of construction binders were tucked under her left arm. The room seemed enormous to her after the cramped quarters on the
Cornuelle
. Due to the rush of work underway to complete fitting out the ship, there were sections of wall panel missing, and several ceiling tiles were pulled up, exposing bundles of comm and power conduit.