29
Dani pulled the vehicle to a stop at the edge of the government district. Edison lumbered out of the back seat, and Anlyn followed. As she stepped to the sidewalk and approached the passenger door, the window slid open.
“Be careful in there,” Dani said, leaning over from his seat to catch her eye.
“I will be,” she said.
Dani glanced at Edison, then his lance. “Don’t use that unless you win the vote, and only outside. The spectacle will be just as important for our cause as the politics; otherwise, the vote won’t stick.”
Edison nodded.
“We need to go,” Anlyn told them both. She pulled Edison toward the crowded walkway as Dani waved, then merged back into the traffic. The couple marched swiftly as the crowd parted to either side, the confused jumble of foot traffic becoming ordered and sedate ahead of them.
The crowd morphed into two walls of Drenards, all of whom gawked at the couple as they strode through the heart of the government district. Part of the treatment could be attributed to the royal regalia Anlyn wore, signifying herself as the next in line to the throne.
Her large companion explained the rest.
“Use English when you’re conferring with me,” she told Edison. “Few of the Circle Members are fluent.”
“Understood,” Edison replied. “My Drenard vocabulary lacks finesse.”
Anlyn reached up and put her hand in his. “Nonsense. I’ve never seen anyone pick up a language so fast. I just hope you don’t overlearn it the way you have English.”
“My understanding of that last is non-optimal.”
Anlyn squeezed one of his large fingers. “Exactly. Now, remember the rules. Most votes are controlled by kicking members out on technicalities. Any slip-up and our voices won’t be heard.”
“My familiarity with such gatherings contains both accuracy and precision. Glemot Councils operated in parallel fashion.”
“Okay, here we go . . . ”
They passed under the Clockwise Gate and into the Apex, the arbitrarily chosen “top” of the Drenard home planet. With all the important, habitable land arranged in a ring, locations were given by distance from the top, which is where the Circle met. One direction away from the Apex translated best as “clockwise” into English, but “spinward” would also work. The other direction was “counterclockwise.”
Not only did land value plummet according to distance from the Apex, even elements of Drenard psychology could be accurately measured in the manner residents of the upper ring looked— metaphorically, of course—down on those that lived and worked throughout the lower half of the ring. Clockwise residents even argued with counterclockwise folk, as if the direction around the ring were somehow any less arbitrary than the chosen top and bottom of the planet.
Once one place had been chosen as special, of course, subsequent improvements had surely made it so. While most of the great ringed city around Drenard stayed in perpetual twilight, a cone of reflected and filtered sunlight bathed the massive circle that made up the Apex.
It was one of the few places on Drenard where flora grew in the open, unshielded by glass. Acres of gardens spread here in a complex of labyrinths, all protected by a high exterior wall to shield out the persistent wind, but otherwise uncovered. The wall itself was webbed in colorful ivy that weaved around and up the barrier, popping with blooms that shivered up high where vortexes of wind dipped into the gardens.
Anlyn strolled through the gate, taking in the familiar sights, breathing the old smells. It took her a few nostalgia-filled moments to realize Edison was no longer beside her.
She turned and saw him back by the gate, his head turning from side to side as he absorbed the marvel of the Apex gardens, the small trees, the flowers, the patches of green grass. He had both arms raised, the light of the twin stars shimmering on his fur. Anlyn’s chest heaved with pride for her home, but then she caught the movement along Edison’s arms, the waving fur she recognized at once for sadness.
“Burn me,” she cursed, hurrying back to him. “I should’ve warned you.”
He looked at her, his eyes bright with moisture. “I’m within tolerances,” he said. “Mere recollections of home.”
She took his hand again. “I’m sorry, love, just concentrate on the path.”
“Negative. Observing remains important.”
She nodded and guided him along. Together, they strolled over extravagant pathways of real wood, none of the less expensive marble used elsewhere. Anlyn tried to distract him by pointing to the Pinnacle, the building resting in the center of the large park.
“That’s where the Circle meets,” she said.
“Stupendously unassuming,” Edison growled.
“To you, maybe. But this is one of the shortest buildings on Drenard, a rare luxury.”
Edison swept a paw across the view, the top edge of the building just visible as it stretched across a good portion of the gardens. “Massive, nonetheless,” he pointed out.
“It’s wide, yeah. Another decadent waste. We could feed or house a lot of people here . . . don’t get me started. Oh, and when we get to the top of the steps, let me do the talking. There’ll be a lot of guards on the balcony and none of this crowd. Go ahead and hold your lance, just keep the tip like I showed you.”
Edison unclipped the strap that held his modified lance to his back and moved it into his hand. He kept the weapon vertical, tip-down, and tucked next to his hip.
The modifications he’d made had been a romantic gesture, a gift for their looming wedding ceremony, but when Dani saw a demonstration, he insisted they bring it along. If everything went their way, they would use it to seal their victory, making the celebration legendary and less likely to be overturned.
As they wound their way toward the center of the Apex, Anlyn noticed most of the crowd was flowing in the same direction. Word of the meeting had already spread, as had the rumors of multiple deaths in the royal line. The entire planet buzzed with uncommon energy, a wild force that could be shunted toward war or peace, and it was up to Anlyn and Edison to make sure it went toward the latter.
The couple ignored the attention they got from the crowd and just followed the walkway as it snaked through the gardens. They went past small ponds full of floating flowers, through a fake canyon where manufactured Wadi holes leaked miniature waterfalls, then through the dragonmoth plantings, where various colorful plants swarmed with the bright, silvery insects.
Eventually, the path wound back toward the Pinnacle where a wide set of wooden steps awaited beyond the mingling and surging crowds. A sizable group of Drenard youth stood clustered near the bottom of the steps, listening to an adult speak. When the guide spotted Anlyn and her tunics, he directed the group’s attention their way and launched into an excited spiel on royal finery.
“Ignore them,” Anlyn told Edison. She pulled him through the crowd and up the steps, taking the first few too quickly before remembering her station—and trying to forget her youth. She bent forward slightly, grabbed her outer tunics with both hands, and concentrated on walking with perfect grace.
The tall steps leading up to the balcony made it difficult; they were designed by male workers for male strides. Beside her, Edison’s problem continued to be walking slow enough to not get too far ahead. She marveled again at the irony: when she fled Drenard, she dreamed of falling for a more sensibly sized alien. A human, even, though that idea likely came from her desire to perturb her uncles.
No matter: whether by dumb luck or DNA, she’d ended up engaged to a man almost as big as her last fiancée.
The ruminations ended as she reached the top of the flight of worn steps and saw an entire battalion of the royal guard awaiting them.
The guards stood, neatly arranged in the sunlight, their number quadrupled exclusively for her and her partner. The commander stepped forward in his deep blue tunic; Anlyn didn’t recognize him, but she could read everything in his layers and the way his heavily decorated lance nearly drug on the ground. His posture communicated respect, but she knew better.
“Lady Hooo, the Circle is in session. Your distinguished presence really is not required.” His hand rose, urging her to turn away.
“Step aside,” Anlyn said, sweeping her arm to indicate the side she’d prefer. Her voice was cool, but her eyes were aflame.
The guard stood firm, possibly out of stark terror. His eyes had moved to Edison, darting up and down his tunics, obviously just now realizing they both outranked him. Edison moved forward, and Anlyn could see his fur rippling with the anticipation of danger.
“Step aside,” Edison repeated in Drenard. “That’s an order.”
If the guard’s legs were shaking, the tunic hid his embarrassment. He bowed and slid out of the way, waving his hand at the other guards. Anlyn wondered how long Bodi had hoped these clowns would delay her and whether the shock of hearing Edison speak fluent Drenard had done the trick.
As the guards shuffled aside, like a sea of blue parting down the middle, they revealed the Pinnacle beyond: squat, round, and wide. Anlyn moved toward the old building, glancing up at the twin shafts of light streaking down to the center of its low roof.
To either side, the Great Balcony stretched off, wrapping the entire Pinnacle with a wooden platform around which Circle members could walk and confer. Anlyn had been there several times with her father, but she never dreamed she’d return one day as a member, however temporary that status.
Ahead of her, the reflected sunlight from the orbital mirrors ended in a crisp line, and the perfect shade of the eclipsing disc began. The gardens were given the luxury of natural light, but it wouldn’t do for the Circle to indulge. For that reason, the Pinnacle remained cloaked in darkness, a round slab of metal high up in orbit shielding it from the light. Anlyn sucked in a deep breath of warm Drenard atmosphere before stepping across the artificial terminator.
Edison followed, struggling to not overtake her as they moved toward the old Pinnacle doors, supposedly cut from the last living tree on old Drenard. When the two guards to either side moved to pull them open, Anlyn waved them off.
She needed to do this herself.
Reaching up, she grabbed the ornate handles on the old doors, each one standing not quite three meters tall. Male Drenards, to exaggerate their bulk, often made a show of bowing as they entered.
Especially those that had plenty of clearance.
Anlyn threw the wooden antiques open and took a step forward. She held her head high, remaining erect, despite how utterly small and insignificant she felt.
????
“Contacts on SADAR,” Parsona said.
Molly glanced up at the security cam as she limped through the cargo bay. Mom. The reminder of her failure on Dakura hit her hard. Nothing had been learned; her mother’s old memories had not been taken care of. And now they’d never be allowed back.
“Navy!” Cole yelled. Molly hurried to the cockpit to find him leaning forward from her chair, Walter in his. She rested her hand on the back of the seat, the spot’s emptiness reminding her of the Wadi locked in her stateroom. So many concerns swirled in her mind at once that she couldn’t see any of them clearly.
“Let me have that seat, Walter.”
He unbuckled himself and jumped out, his eyes fixed on the sight of the large ship that had jumped in-system.
Molly peered through the carboglass. “That’s a StarCarrier,” she murmured, awed. She’d never seen one in person. It lay out in the L1 between the moon and Dakura, but its blocky outline was instantly recognizable.
She took over control of the ship with her left hand and nosed around for the back of the moon. “They probably won’t even notice we’re here,” she said. “We’ll get on the other side and thrust out to clear space—”
“GN-290 Parsona, KML32, this is GN Naval Command Task Force Zebra KPR98. Maintain altitude and respond, over.”
“Damn. Not good,” Cole muttered.
Molly increased thrust. She’d developed a small habit of running whenever anyone said “freeze.”
A second voice came through the radio: “Molly, this is Admiral Saunders from the Academy. We’re prepping to jump Firehawks to the other side of the moon. Do not spin up your hyperdrive. If you do, I’m going to send every missile in our fleet down your tailpipes. Reduce thrust this instant or become a fireworks display. Your choice.”
Molly took in the SADAR and nav charts. Several new contacts popped up in the free space she’d planned on escaping to. Her brain whirled, looking for an idea.
“This isn’t good,” Cole said again.
“Mollie . . . I don’t think we have a choice.” It was her mother’s voice. In many ways, more familiar and real than the one she’d just spent hours with—
“We could jump blindly,” Molly suggested.
Cole opened his mouth to protest, but it was Parsona that vetoed the idea first. “Absolutely not, Mollie Fyde. Don’t you dare. It would jeopardize everything.”
“As will being caught!” she countered.
“Who iss that talking?” Walter asked.
“The radio,” Cole lied. “You might wanna go strap in, buddy.”
Walter nodded and ran back to his seat.
“Molly, Admiral Saunders. We’re firing missiles in five seconds. Reduce thrust and maintain altitude.”
Molly thought about the last time she’d seen Saunders, just a few weeks ago. He’d been a Captain, then, and doubled over from a blow between the legs. Lucin, his boss, lay slumped over a desk, dead. She had a hunch the missiles weren’t an empty threat.
She keyed the microphone. “Reducing thrust,” she said, pulling back to hold her current altitude.
“What’s the plan?” Cole asked.
“I don’t have one,” she admitted.
“You had better encrypt me if you guys are planning on getting caught,” Parsona suggested. “If anyone searches the computer while I’m active, they’ll see this isn’t nav data, and your father went through a lot of effort to hide me from the Navy.”
Molly looked at Cole. “I guess the plan is to be caught,” she groaned.
“Thank you for complying, Parsona,” the first voice said. “Hold position and prepare to enter hangar bay four.”
“Roger. Hangar bay four,” she radioed back to the Navy. She flipped off the mic and turned to Cole. “Get the Wadi plenty of food and water. Enough for a few weeks. Put it in the lazarrette under one of the thruster panels. Make sure the door’s sealed to keep the atmosphere in there.”
“It’s in your quarters?”
“Yeah.”
“You sure it won’t bite me?”
“I’m sure. While you’re in there, grab the two red bands in the top drawer of my dresser. Hide them with the Wadi.”
“Gotcha.”
“Oh, and tell Walter to go along with whatever happens and to keep his mouth shut.”
“With pleasure.”
Cole shook himself out of the tall spacesuit and headed back to lecture Walter. Molly pulled up the nav screen and sighed.
“Tell me what I need to do to encrypt you,” she said to her ship.
To her mother.
????
The balcony inside the Pinnacle stood thick with spectators, far more than Anlyn could remember in any of her childhood visits. She and Edison pushed through them, out onto the clockwise landing that overlooked the gathered Circle members below. A low murmur rippled through the crowded seats, and heads—even those around the Circle—turned to survey the source of the distraction.
Anlyn led Edison down the flight of steps between the rows of seated onlookers. Below lay the large circular table around which the council manipulated an entire empire. Anlyn noted grimly that several seats stood empty, draped with white mourning cloths. She forced herself to look straight ahead, ignoring the legion of onlookers filling the seats to either side of the aisle and stretching out through the darkness all the way around the Pinnacle.
The timing of their arrival, she saw, couldn’t have been better. Bodi stood in the bright light that shone down within the circle, the table before his empty seat illuminated by a second shaft of harsh rays, signifying his turn to speak. She nodded to her former fiancé, baiting him, as she walked around the back of the Circle members and approached one of the empty seats.
“Anlyn,” Bodi murmured, a hint of false surprise in his voice. He stood in full Royal regalia, some layers of which he hadn’t actually earned, only borrowed thanks to their supposed engagement.
Several members turned to him before looking back to Anlyn, following her with curious gazes. She took her place behind Bedder’s empty seat, and waited while a council page hurried forward, confused, to remove the mourning cloths.
Anlyn rested her hands on the high back of the stone chair, the old petrified tree cool to the touch. Her eyes traveled up from the empty seat to meet Bodi’s. “I am assuming Bedder Dooo’s position within the Circle.” She turned slowly to sweep the words across the entire gathering. Edison took his place beside her at Muder Dooo’s chair. The page hesitated, not sure what to do.
Bodi broke the tense silence from the Light of Speak: “Lady Hooo, you have been through much these past few months—”
“And I have learned much from these ordeals.” The words contained a coo of sarcasm. Anlyn tilted her head slightly and used a wry smile to punctuate her bitterness. Everyone present knew full well Anlyn had fled Drenard to get away from Bodi. And his role in the recent ambush on her and her friends was assumed by all present.
Bodi smiled back at her, defusing the barb by pretending her warmness contained sincerity. “One of your high measure must also know that war planning is a lowly endeavor. Beneath your station and—”
Anlyn interrupted again, ignoring the Center of Speak and causing expensive tunics to shift uneasily. “Nonsense,” she said. “The fate of our empire means more to me as a result of my position.”
Bodi switched tactics. “Then perhaps I may appeal to your fairer sex and caution against getting dirt on—”
“Counselors.” Anlyn looked at each of the dozen or more members. “I will—”
“You violate the Center of Speak!”
It was Tottor, the Navy Counselor, a distant cousin of Anlyn’s. He’d won his high post over several other candidates whose Wadi were larger in every way—but those counselors did not have Royal blood within them.
Anlyn turned to address his outburst. “No, Counselor, it is you who violates the Center of Speak.” Tunics fluttered at this. “When I entered the Circle, as is my right, I was addressed by Lord Thooo, who holds the Center. This conversation is his choosing, and it is over when he says it is over.”
Anlyn turned back to Bodi while Totter seethed, his blue skin purpling with rage. Several members of the Circle who had won their posts due to merit attempted to cover their panting chuckles.
“Lord Thooo,” Anlyn continued, “you call my gender to attention in an attempt to discredit me while pretending to honor me.” All eyes turned to her again at this accusation. Anlyn once more addressed the entire room. “Many sun cycles ago—long before the threat we face today ever made itself known—female Drenards not only served on the War Circle, they served in the General Assembly and on every Planetary Board—”
“Enough,” said Bodi, both palms held up to Anlyn.
Anlyn took this to mean that he had no further complaints. She stepped around and climbed up in her seat, kneeling on her shins to rest her arms comfortably on the male-sized table. She turned to Edison and gestured to the empty chair beside her. The pup nodded solemnly as the page hurriedly swiped away the mourning cloth. Edison held up his lance, as he’d been taught, and laid it lengthwise across the table.
Bodi complained immediately. “That is Lord Muder’s chair. Your pet will not be allowed—”
“Lord Edison Campton is my betrothed. He is not my pet, and I am no longer yours,” Anlyn laced her words with cold venom. “Lord Muder is the second uncle I have lost this week, and his widow has granted Lord Campton—”
“Lord?” snorted Bodi.
Anlyn smiled. “Ninth degree, Lord Thooo. And as you are an eighth-degree Lord, you will not be permitted to use his first name unless he permits it, a protocol I’m sure I need not remind you of again, lest you desire to leave these proceedings.”
Bodi purpled at this. The entire Circle could surely see the hem of his tunics vibrating with frustration. “No alien, Lady Hooo, has ever—”
Anlyn cut him off again, each jab to her ex-fiancé’s ego like a blow to a fighter’s belly, sapping his endurance. “Lord Campton is a Drenard. If such a thing may be measured, he is more a Drenard than you. He will be my husband. He has been given this seat by Widow Muder. He will go before the election board during the next cycle to retain his seat.”
“With all respect, Lady Hooo, his seat holds the Chair of Alien Relations, how will a nonlinguist—”
Anlyn smiled as Edison rose to respond. She spread her pale blue hands across the ancient table, its ten-meter diameter cut from a single petrified tree, the largest ever found on the cold side of Drenard. She rubbed the polished grain and watched each Counselor’s reaction as Edison spoke.
“Distinguished Counselors,” he said in a perfect Drenard coo, “the subject being discussed from the Center is my qualifications as Lord Muder’s replacement.” He swept his face across the circle, wide teeth flashing. “While my dialect has the lilt of upper Drenard, a result of my association with Anlyn,” he stressed her common name as he met Bodi’s gaze, a brilliant blow, “it might interest you to know that my race has a long history of rapid language acquisition. I am fluent in English, and I am already conversational in Bern.”
Bodi seemed more stunned than the rest to see him speaking—with the accent of Drenard royalty, no less. The full implications of this creature’s presence on the Circle appeared to finally settle through his thick skull. With Edison’s status as Anlyn’s betrothed, and the recent death of two members of the royal family, Bodi was looking at a potential Drenard king!
Anlyn saw him sway forward as it sank in, ready to pass out, or perhaps considering a mad rush to kill his rival with bare hands.
Were he not so blasted timorous, Anlyn thought, he’d surely attempt himself what others failed to do in cowardly ambush.
Bodi glared at Edison. He opened his mouth to speak, then stopped, closing it. Anlyn hoped it wouldn’t be the last time she tripped him up; one misstep on either side could result in expulsion.
“I call for a formal Vote of Protest—” Bodi began, his voice shaking.
“Bodi—,” Edison began, cutting him off once more, but this time in a blatant breach of protocol. Anlyn spun in her seat to warn him, fearing all would be lost.
“—I would like to issue a Citation for violating the Light of Turn.”
The Circle grumbled, dozens of spectators in the packed house panting with laughter. All heads turned to the second shaft of light being reflected through the hole in the roof. Eight minutes ago, those photons had left Hori II, Drenard’s smaller sun. They travelled through space—across millions of kilometers of vacuum—before reaching a series of occluding disks stationed in orbit. Those clockwork orbital machinations continually shifted, directing the narrow shafts of light down through the windy Drenard atmosphere, piercing the roof of the Pinnacle. One shaft remained stationary in the center, where all speeches of importance must be made. The other shaft slowly orbited the surface of the giant, petrified tree, indicating whose turn it was to speak.
Everyone in attendance—thousands of Drenards—focused on that spot of illuminated marble.
The Light of Turn no longer stood before Bodi’s empty seat; it now rested before Lord Mede. He rose, purple with so many eyes turning his way, and nodded apologetically at Bodi.
“I forgive the transgression,” he said meekly.
Anlyn let out her held breath and settled back against her seat. In the Center of Speak, on the symbolic highest point of the planet Drenard, Lord Bodi Yooo shivered with rage. Otherwise, he did not budge. His eyes focused on Edison.
His imagination concocted murder.