Voices of Chaos (25 page)

Magdalena had planned on a single small class in Mizari for the clerks who worked for the CLS team: To her surprise, so many of the staff had shown up, she'd had to make up three. Of course, most wanted to know about the outside, and only a few wanted to learn the language, so it broke down into one actual, serious Mizari session, a "words and phrases" group so the clerks could use a voder for serious communication, but speak greetings, basic questions and answers, and politenesses without it. The third class was cultural exchange, mostly question-and-answer stuff.

Empress Neoha had asked for Mizari lessons for herself and the little princesses--mostly cultural exchange, again. Khyriz dropped in on these sessions now and again; Magdalena could see the physical similarities between mother and son.

Magdalena seldom saw Zhik except when she could spare

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the time for a trip with Alexis. The noble youth apparently intended to serve as their pilot until Alexis had her certification, though she wondered why he did: Most of the time, he seemed so tense when they started, exhausted when they returned.

Khyriz looked tired and worn whenever she saw him of late, and it worried her. Still, he often traveled to and from his estates to sleep in the old palace so he could go around Ebba with Alexis, or spend late hours with her.

Magdalena had never found a way to ask him about that troubling

discussion she'd overheard at Fahara's. It still bothered her. But not as much as the incident in the high country outside Ebba.

Or the library incident: Magdalena was entranced by the puzzle-shaped old-palace library, though its collection of reading matter was clearly geared to clerks who liked the current Arekkhi vids: The shelves held mostly fiction in the same painfully predictable style as the "soap opera" vid. Still, when she'd tried looking behind the newer volumes--at Khyriz's suggestion--she'd found something truly old: a handbound, oversized book printed in an archaic type she could barely make out; the language was Arekkhi but so out of date she couldn't understand one word in ten--when she could decipher the ornate script, that was. It was fortunately mostly pictures: Ancient line drawings that reminded her of medieval woodcuts. And that enormous foldout, in the back! It had shown a near-life-size table, perhaps a tray, with a battle scene incised around the wide rim. It had intrigued and frustrated her both: The figures were small, the detail confusing, and the master of clerks had no magnifier. But when she came back early the next morning, magnifier in hand, the book was gone. She and a worried-looking master of clerks had searched everywhere, but the book was simply gone.

She'd let the matter drop only because the middle-aged clerk-she clearly feared blame would somehow attach to her. Still: odd. Where had the book come from--and where had it gone? And why?

***

Khyriz felt wan and exhausted to his bones, result of too many long, late hours with his father, planning how best to get around the Inner Council so the CLS team would get what seemed to them to be free access to ordinary Arekkhi. His mind swarmed late, sleepless nights with maps of routes that might be chosen by Alexis or Magdalena the next day; what he could say if such routes were forbidden by the Iron Duke and his allies; what different routes he could suggest.

It plunged him into Arekkhi politics, deeper than he'd ever intended to go: The Iron Duke didn't trust him, and Alexis was wary, having been burned once. She'd take herself and Magdalena off-planet without further warning.

Distressful to me; but we need this bond with the CLS.

In the process of the nightly sessions with his father, Khyriz had developed a deep respect for Khezahn, who quietly worked for change despite so many of his Council.

Council meetings were becoming more tense: Two more attacks on the Iron Duke's Akkherif estates had been followed by a raid on coastal Mibhor, two fishing villages burned to the ground, and the small temple serving both bombed into rubble. Those responsible for the destruction of the temple had warned the priests ahead of time, and posted a notice afterward: "Free the Asha!" They had not otherwise named themselves.

So far, his method had worked: Alexis had work to occupy her in the CLS

quarters, and there was plenty to see around Ebba and along the coast well to either side of the city. It wouldn't last long, he knew: The interrelator wanted to set up a trip to the lowland continent Dagona, another to Mibhor, and a proper visit to the station, maybe even a stop at the hydroponics labs on both moons. The Iron Duke, the Prelate, and their allies were utterly opposed to any of that, for their own reasons, but with the increase in raids on both continents, Dagona and Mibhor could actually prove dangerous. But the Council was nearly unanimous that they must keep any hint of fighting from the outsiders.

Late one night a nine-day short of the welcoming ball, Khyriz spread his hands in an Arekkhi shrug and sighed. "Father, we cannot avoid it any longer, the women must be given a portion

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of the truth. The interrelator grows impatient; she is suspicious of the Council's latest excuses. And in a nine-day or a little more, she will certify for the flitter. What excuse will Zhenu give her then, for not going where she pleases?''

The Emperor pushed tiredly to his feet and shoved aside an untouched plate of bread. "But to tell her there is danger ... Will she believe it, or think it another excuse? And what of the CLS? If they see this as warfare, and simply remove their ambassadors, then all we have done is for nothing!"

Khyriz turned to look at him. "If it were general warfare, CLS would insist the team leave. If they were in danger. But this is not everywhere. And they know from their own history that riots and fighting can be caused by fear of change. This has happened on other of the CLS worlds."

"They will believe such a tale, after so many things we have told them?" The older male sounded skeptical. "That no word of fighting has been put forth anywhere and now, since no other excuse is acceptable, we give them a new and better excuse?"

"It would seem that way, so put," Khyriz replied. He paused to consider his words carefully--as he did every single night the two males came together like this. "But if we ... if
you
tell them that the problem has been ongoing from the first contact with the Heeyoons, but that we did not understand such problems are normal... if you tell them that many of the original groups now accept our relationship with the outside, but new groups have arisen recently that we do not know yet who all of them are or why they are angry ... if you explain that you and the Council reason with them, rather than suppressing them, even though it takes longer to make peace... Alexis will accept that."

"She will wonder why she has not heard of them before."

"No; they know we have only one news-vid. Tell them, if need be, that you feared such news would upset the general population and encourage others to violence, and would solve nothing. If she sees all this as a cause for embarrassment by the Council, she will believe. And she will be willing to give you time to resolve the matters peacefully. She will not give up wanting to see all of our world, of course. But she will

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understand that certain parts of it are not safe at present."

"And Zhenu may accept such a solution for now." The Emperor exhaled gustily, the sound vibrating in his throat. "I will take this to the Council, Khyriz; I should have the support to force agreement, whatever Zhenu wants.

I am reminded, Khelyu's First of House sends report from Hedessk that he has another full company of royal fighters ready to fight, though they continue to train. I am told they could be here, at need, within three hours."

The Prince was quiet for some moments, adding in his mind. "We are close to equal forces, then... at least in numbers. But Zhenu's are armed and the Prelate's may already have real combat experience...." His voice trailed off.

To his surprise, the elder male showed no distress at the idea, but gestured a grim assent.

' I have my own ways of learning what happens on Arekkhi, Khyriz. I have long wondered who could possibly launch one ground attack after another against targets upon Zhenu's holdings here on Akkherif
and
in central Mibhor. As he tells us himself, his guards are well trained, armed, and placed where they can be the most protection to his assets. And yet the attacks hit his lands--and they succeed."

"Perhaps he deceives himself as to the worth of his guards, or perhaps he does not realize that the more he tightens his grip, the more villages will slip through his blunted claws," Khyriz murmured. The Emperor's whiskers quirked forward briefly; he understood the meaning, even though he wouldn't have the least notion of Khyriz's reference--Dr. Rob's old spaceship vid with the blood-stirring music.

His father's affectionate back of hand against his cheekbone brought him back to the moment. "Tell the interrelator, tomorrow," Khezahn said finally. "I will convince the Council to accept this because it is logical, because it gives those who desire it more time, and because--because it is already done." He finished with a satisfied rumble, and for a moment his eyes didn't appear nearly so tired. Khyriz let his whiskers touch.

"Father, I shall." A short time later, he left, bound for the old palace--where Magdalena might still be waiting to share
zhner
with him. And perhaps some more slow dancing, Earth

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fashion, to the music-cube she'd brought from StarBridge. The fur at the base of his throat hackled as he stepped onto the moving walkway; he smoothed the fur with both hands, then composed himself to regal stillness. His image reflected on high windows, a being shaped like Magdalena but otherwise--

so unlike her!

He touched the
zhona-silk
cloak--the long, bronze-colored fabric that crossed over one shoulder and under the other, fastening over his heart with a long, wrought pin, fluttering in the faint air-movement caused as he traversed the moving walk. The cloak was his most recent prized

possession: near-duplicate of the one worn by the Romeo-he from the three-hundred-year-old Earth ballet video he'd watched with her back on StarBridge, just before he was called home. He had brought a copy of the vid with him, duplicated it to Arekkhi equipment. When he'd showed the dance to Fahara, she had practically quivered with delight at the music, the ornate fashion, the use of style, shade, and colors; she'd made him the cloak as a gift. He hoped Magdalena would remember it: The dance-mistress at StarBridge had used very different costuming for the balcony scene Magdalena danced at her final recital with pale-haired David.

David,
Khyriz thought, suddenly gloomy. The human youth was so well matched with Magdalena, skilled at ballet. Khyriz knew he could never lift her as David did; not without special gravity. Arekkhi simply weren't built that way. Arekkhi couldn't stand on their toes, or spin as did that Romeo-he.

He'd always known there was no chance for him with Magdalena ... To take a member of another species as his mate? His people would never agree to it! Besides... Magdalena cared for him but as a friend. She would eventually return to her own kind, find a mate like David. The thought depressed him beyond solace.

The moving walkway tipped down and a cool breeze flowed across his face: He'd gone the length of the new palace and started down the ramp, and barely noticed. Khyriz stepped off the pale carpet and gazed at the old palace; his heart sank. Certain things had always been impossible. He had known that deep down, but had never accepted it until now.
But friends...

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yes, friends. That, at least, is very possible...
The Prince glanced at the now-still walkway, stepped away from it, and stalked toward the distant building.

There were few hover-craft resting on the blocks in the old palace area this night: his own personal craft and that of the chief clerk, who often left it on the island and rode the tram with her team rather than expend the cost of fuel, air, and time, all of which accrued charges. To his surprise, Zhik's vehicle was nowhere in sight. Considering the hour, the youth should be asleep; his father insisted upon proper hours, and still assured Zhik kept them by having the servant bring first-meal. Jild, like most old palace servants, kept his own quarters, but spent most of his day hours caring for his young master's quarters.

Perhaps the flitter was being cleaned or repaired; Zhik was using it a lot these days. Khyriz dismissed the whole matter from his mind, and wove a path through the resting-blocks to reach the separate door for the upper-floor apartments. Better to make certain everything was prepared for
zhner,
his rooms ready for a guest, before he called on the second floor.

Zhik's flitter sat on padded blocks well back in the unlit, common section of the nearly filled parking across from the designer's apartment complex. The young noble stood where he could study the boulevard and the entry to Fahara's apartment. He already knew her flitter was gone;
she
had said the designer was gone for the night to the highlands, to choose specially tanned leathers from Emhheru, master of hides. The renowned Emhheru refused to sell in open market and would not send skins on consignment, while Fahara, equally proud, would not permit a crafter, however skilled, to decide what goods she could choose from.

Even if she had been at home, Zhik would have eventually crossed the boulevard, unafraid of being caught where he had no business; the designer took strong soporific teas before retiring, and slept in a chamber that was noise-sealed. It was unlikely anything short of a fire or a quake would waken her.

He was stil extremely quiet and always cautious--just in

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case. But to stay away--no. He knew the risks, but went nearly every night.

She cares for me. She--she at least cares.
He didn't dare hope for more, however he felt. She knew his kinship, after all. But the first gesture of her private hand-language she had taught him was the joining of thumbs, palms up.
Dearest friend and companion,
it meant.