The Rifter's Covenant (36 page)

Felton stood
outside the lift, waiting impassively. Torigan pushed past him without a
glance, but Hesthar met his eyes, and seeing him nod fractionally, enjoyed a
hot pang of triumph and anticipation.

Srivashti awaited
them in a spacious suite whose immediate attributes were comfortable wing
chairs and expensive wood.

“We should have at
least half an hour before anyone misses us,” he said. “It should be enough time,
but expedience—”

Hesthar was not
going to permit him to take control of the meeting by deciding who would speak
and for how long. “Then let us begin,” she cut in smoothly, smiling at Torigan.
She did not look at Srivashti except peripherally. His stillness indicated how
angry he was. “Stulafi? Your affair?”

Torigan gave her a
brow-furrowed glance. “Preparations for the trial proceed apace. My counsel
reports that the young man is in some physical distress. He seems to be
resigned to his fate.”

“A tacit admission
of guilt, yes?” Hesthar said, smiling. “Visual proof is much more effective. I
am glad you insisted on the public hearing.”

Torigan shrugged.
“Something to divert the crowd energies, that strange old ochlologist said. I
don’t think Nyberg would have granted it but for that.” He frowned, and slurped
at his drink. “I was initially surprised that the Rifter cook had the influence
and credit to hire this Ixvan. He was evidently quite famous as a defense vocat
in Ivory Sud.”

“It was the
Panarch, of course,” Srivashti said. “If only there were a way to find out what
Ixvan knows!”

“Tovr Ixvan won’t
get anything through the DataNet that I don’t let him,” Hesthar said. “Since he
first accessed it here on Ares I’ve had him chasing phantoms.”

Torigan leaned back,
licking his lips. “It doesn’t worry me,” he said smugly. “The fact that the
Panarch was forced to permit this trial, but put a freeze on all other matters
of jurisprudence external to Ares, seems to me to be evidence that he, at
least, doesn’t know anything. And that ruling has been accepted widely as tacit
acceptance of Kendrian’s guilt.”

Hesthar tapped her
diamond-pierced nails on the glossy table at her side. “Perhaps . . . but I
would feel better if I controlled the Net completely.”

Srivashti leaned
forward, a quick frown contracting his brows. “You don’t?”

“I was just coming
to my report. As it is, I have been able to bias incoming data to play up the
Rifter role in the war. By drawing attention to Kendrian’s Douloi origins, my
Archetype and Ritual contacts tell me we can very effectively create and
exploit a feeling of betrayal.” Neither of the others needed to know how far
advanced that work really was. Thanks to Arret, her own ochlologist, she could
trigger riots at any time now. But without Koestler, she lacked the manpower to
properly exploit them.

She swallowed her
rage once again and smiled, drawing Torigan’s attention to the possibilities of
her work. “The novosti have been doing an excellent job.”

Torigan’s face
eased a bit from its perpetual pout. “I’ve been using them to bring the
Enkainion up again,” he said.

Hesthar controlled
her expression; peripherally she observed Srivashti’s narrowing of the eyes. He
had to be as exasperated as she was at Torigan’s lack of subtlety. But then
they had not brought him in for his skill at finessing.

“Yes, we noted your
interview on Ares 99. But, if you will honor me by considering it further,
would it not be better just to let it echo against any lingering concerns over
the Panarch’s role in that atrocity, since he appears to have surmounted that?”

That fat fool
Stulafi played the role of Crassus to perfection, she thought, hiding her
contempt. The nullwit wouldn’t have known what she was talking about had she
spoken aloud, but it was obvious who the weak member of this triumvirate was. Torigan
thought in terms of striking and crushing. The power of data control manifested
itself as sipping and swallowing, enfolding and smothering , cutting the
victims off from reality by consuming and digesting, degrading their sources of
knowledge. One person, or a million, it made no difference.

Torigan deferred,
his hands flat in the reservation-of-judgment mode. Irony—from that fool? She
longed to dig her nails into his thick neck.

“That’s all very
well,” Srivashti said with a hint of impatience, then he turned his
heavy-lidded gaze on Hesthar. “But the implication is that you are not in
control.”

“I am in as much
control as I need to be,” she snapped. “However, under the pretext that there
is too much work for one person, our new Panarch has seen fit to divide the
position between myself and a Vice-Admiral Willsones, thus denying me
untrammeled access to the deepest levels of the DataNet.” She sought to mollify
Srivashti. He was still useful. “But what would really be helpful—if I may
suggest—”

Srivashti bowed,
his face relaxing somewhat.

“Find out what the
crew members know.”

Srivashti sighed.
“Fierin did that, just after we arrived. Felton indicates she really thought
she was subtle about it. If they had known anything, she would have been noising
it all over.”

Torigan snorted.
“Or pretending to. She’s a pretty little thing, but witless. Quite witless. Even
a child can figure out that if she did manage to get her brother cleared of the
charges, she would lose everything to him.”

Hesthar nodded his
way. “Only a fool attempts to find anything from surreptitious whispers on a
transtube pod. One needs time. And an atmosphere conducive to cooperation.”

Torigan looked from
one to the other, then grinned. “You mean drugs.”

Hesthar shuttered
her eyes to hide her overwhelming contempt.

Srivashti said, “Never
mind Fierin. She is gone—maybe dead.” He paused to give Torigan a narrow look,
and Hesthar held her breath, thrilled with this unexpected wrinkle in events.
Torigan could have had Fierin vlith-Kendrian killed, but she doubted he had the
wit or the wherewithal to hide it.

Srivashti went on.
“I can’t get at Jesimar Kendrian, of course. Or the cook, or the drivetech. And
I have to admit, the prospect of confronting the Dol’jharian tempath unmans
me.”

Hesthar laughed. “The
youth is the obvious choice. Gossip says he’s half-crazy after inadvertently
bonding with Kelly chemistry.” She made a moue of distaste. “But that might be
to your advantage.”

Srivashti bowed
again, drank off his liquor, then rose to his feet and paced back and forth.
“The rest of the meeting, Hesthar?”

She gave a concise
description of who was there and what was said, offering to boz the details to
them. After that was done, Srivashti murmured, his yellowish gaze now turning
Hesthar’s way, “If only I knew what happened to Fierin.”

He dared to suspect
her? A hot spurt of anger made it impossible for Hesthar to keep silent. “Whoever
did it performed a favor for us all. She was a loose string, absolutely
unnecessary; you should have disposed of her before you even arrived on Ares,
and no one would have been the wiser.”

“Sentiment is
dangerous,” Torigan muttered, shaking his head. “Dangerous.”

Srivashti’s fine
mouth flattened in faint distaste, as Hesthar wondered how ‘dangerous’ it was
to keep the fatuous cretin as part of their alliance. It was time for him to
end a singularly worthless life, as soon as Kendrian was silenced.

Srivashti said
gently, “I couldn’t get rid of her, my dear Stulafi, and keep my connection
with Vakianos. They knew I had taken her wardship, and unfortunately, she saw
fit to retail our relationship to one of her cousins there. The connection
would put me first in their suspicions, and I intend to annex Vakianos.
Nothing
will get in the way of that.”
The quiet precision with which he spoke indicated how annoyed he was.

Torigan flushed a
dark purple. “You both think me a fool, but
I
am not the one who made the blunders placing us here right now.”

Hesthar forced herself
to relax, and she leaned forward to tap his hand. Stupid as he was, he could
also be very troublesome. “You’re right, Stulafi. I apologize for my lapse.
Attribute it to the stresses of the day. Perhaps we should return to the party
and exert ourselves to enjoy the rest of the evening.”

Srivashti bowed,
his hand gesturing ironic agreement; she knew it was with her assessment, and
not her words. “Let us, then.”

Outwardly Hesthar
maintained strict control, projecting serenity and calm, but as the evening
wore on, her heart began to accelerate.

The Consecrated One
had summoned her. It was time for another dai-Ultschen. She knew it had to be
on her behalf, to build her power.

Her time had come
at last.

An hour later, the
sharp scent of incense stung Hesthar’s nose. She breathed it in, anticipation
tingling like fire along the nerves of her body.

“Cleanse yourself,”
came a voice from the darkness beyond the veil.

Hesthar undid her
jewels with quick fingers and flung her brocade gown onto a bench. Naked, she
moved near the low brazier and walked counterspinwise around it, feeling the
hot, dry smoke on her flesh.

Wreaths of ghostly
white drifted in her face. She caught up a tangled aranda frond from the pile
next to the coals and waved the smoke toward herself, washing her body with
incense.

When she was
cleansed, she slipped into the waiting black robe and tied the mask across her
eyes. Ready, she parted the veil and knelt.

“Who comes into the
presence of the god?”

“One who seeks
death and rebirth.”

“Whence come you?”

“Away from the host
of those who die once.”

“Why do you come?”

“That I may eat and
be eaten, drink and be consumed.”

“Enter, then.”

She rose to her
feet and lifted her eyes.

All seven Third
Circle Ultscheni on Ares stood there already, their identities masked. She
bowed before the great altar. Above the thin stone slab, hanging without
apparent support above the polished black floor, floated the ikon of the god, a
circle of emptiness so profound that it pulled at one’s eyes. The light in the
room touched it not. Hesthar knew how the illusion was produced, but it didn’t
matter. This was but the semblance of the likeness of what they worshiped,
which has had many names. Entropy is but one of Its faces.

Suddenly the
Consecrated One was there. Hesthar shivered with awe: this was one who, as a
youth destined for death in the Opening, had spoken the unknown name of the god
in ecstasy, marking him as the god’s own in life. That he might never risk that
utterance again, the Circle of that day had burned out his speech centers. Then
they had released him for the god to use. And Srivashti had found him.

Hesthar shivered
with acidic pleasure. Srivashti believed only in himself and thought nothing of
the Ultschen. If he even knew. He would have no doubt of Felton’s loyalty if he
did. But Felton was loyal to Nothing, that singularity which swallows all
things in the end.

At a gesture of
command from Felton—alone, as the Consecrated One, unmasked—two of the
Ultscheni left the sanctuary and returned with the Sacrifice, a powerfully
built young man, robed in white and blindfolded with a red sash. They guided
him before the Consecrated One, who leaned over and breathed delicately into
his face. Hesthar could see the victim, still unaware of his fate, relax; she
smelled the sweet, almost carrion tang of the seventh chord of the numathanat,
that discipline of breath-borne poison of which Felton was a master.

Then Felton took
the collar of the young man’s robe and tore it asunder, ripping the garment
from his body. Hesthar’s body tingled. The youth’s brown skin lay smooth and
clear over powerful muscles. He stood with the grace of an athlete, even under
the influence of the numathanat drug now coursing though his blood.

A pang assailed
her. The victim reminded her irresistibly of Swennis, her eldest son, brightest
and most beautiful of her children, whom she had offered up for the selfsame
Ritual of Opening so many years ago, bringing her to the Third Circle of
Ultschen. She fought the feeling, burning it away with the remembered anger at
his defiance of her, which had rendered him useless for any other purpose.

Sentimentality was
the greatest sin against the god.

Entirely docile
now, the young man suffered himself to be lifted onto the altar. Felton
breathed upon the fingers of his left hand and touched the Sacrifice’s throat,
taking up the knife with his right. From hidden sources swelled the sound of
the god’s triumph, what some prescient ancient had called “the dismal universal
hiss” that heralded the decay of Totality into the abyss that waited when Time
ran down.

The energy of its
dissolution ran through Hesthar like a current of darkness; this was true
Power, launching oneself into the future astride the irresistible arrow of
Time, trampling over the fools who fought the flow of entropy, dissipating
their powers in futile struggle. She surrendered to the praise of the god,
feeling the random syllables rise from somewhere deep within, spitting them
joyously at the altar as the Consecrated One opened the Gate. Time now ran
confused as the god became manifest.

The iron reek of
blood filled the room as the seven shed their robes and crowded forward to
anoint themselves while Felton filled a chalice with the hot liquid and
breathed upon it. The red blood within turned black. Hesthar savored the bitter
reek as she drank, for without it what followed would be not ecstasy, but
painful death.

A dry sibilance
behind her announced the messengers of bliss. Hurriedly she anointed her seven
chakra, reaching especially deep into the crevice of the second one. Then, not
looking behind her, she backed away from the altar, bowed deeply, and lay down.
She closed her eyes.