Braxi-Azea - In Conquest Born Part 49

Most Magnificent Lord and Glorious Sovereign of all which is ruled by the might of Braxi: I, Aldar Na-Trev, independent scout in service to the Holding, beg you to receive these words and heed the warning which they contain. I realize that it's customary for a freelance scout to give his report in person, but the nature of my news is such that every tenth is crucial. A drone can reach Braxi much faster than I can, and so I'm sending this on ahead of my ship, in the hopes it will get to you quickly. Ar alone knows what may come between me and the Holding in the next few zhents, but I believe that if I'm careful I can see that this gets to you. Even the days matter now, which is ironic in light of a plan meant to affect the centuries. Listen: I own one of five ships which left the Holding nearly three years ago at your command, in service to your House. You gave us the task of charting specific regions beyond the Barren Zone, and of recording what manner of intelligent life we should find there. (I remind you because it was a long time ago and I know you have other more important things to concern you, Magnificent One, so please bear with me.) It took us well over two and a half years to cross the Barren Zone. I don't know what we expected to find once we got across, we were just so glad to see the stars again and to have something to do besides argue amongst ourselves that we pounced upon the first opportunity to scan for life. And what we found!

I'm sorry, Magnificent One, I know this all must seem chaotic, but I don't know where to start and I haven't got much time to organize my thoughts. I never expected anything like this. You see, there's a human-populated planet out here all right, we found it, right in line with the Schedule of Progress that Sukar worked out so many millennia ago-that is, just getting into early technology, not yet aware of what's going on in the galaxy. Or they weren't. They are now. They've made it to their moons, Magnificent One, and they're going to be taking to the stars soon enough, because SOMEONE'S BRINGING THEM UP TO DATE. That is, someone from a Base World has been forcefeeding them technology, teaching them all about gravitic control and compound acceleration and you give it a True Name, we found them playing around with it.

I checked the Plan of Expansion and found out that Braxi isn't due to hit this region for a good two centuries or more- and I don't have to tell you, in two hundred years these people can become prepared enough to put up a blessed good fight. Because there's something else, too. This isn't just some troublemaker out to make all the Base Worlds miserable. The planet's been told all about Braxi and it's already making plans. And in two hundred years, in a part of the galaxy where no one's going to get in its way, these people are going to go far, and fast.

Now here's the worst of it. Nyser said we should come right back with the news, but I said no, we needed to explore first and find out just where all this was coming from. What good would it do to tell you about the problem without knowing if it was an isolated instance, or if it was just the edge of some widespread campaign? So we tapped into the local transmissions-they had just started using artificial satellites, which made it easier-gave them a rough translation, and when we realized what was happening, we just couldn't believe it. You remember that Azean Starcommander, the one who ran off with a diplomatic runner some years ago and was never heard from again? Well, she's out here. And she's bringing these people up to Base World standard and point- ing them toward Braxi all the while. There's going to be one mess of a battle when Braxi does. .h.i.t this region, if things keep on going the way they are, and I for one am glad I won't be around when it happens.

The other scouts and I felt it was imperative that you be told all of this immediately so that you could act on it, so I'm rushing off this message (along with travel coordinates, etc), and we're all coming home, and hopefully one of us will get to you. Because I think they spotted us out here. And if rumor is truth, she's got hold of a ship that can make us all look like we're standing still, and peel the forcefields off us like the skin off a fruit. So take care of Braxi, Lord. And do something, I beg you! For our children's sake, if not our own. What would the Holding be in a universe without conquest?

Zatar's face was flushed with anger, but his voice was still under some vestige of control as he said, "So that's her game. I knew she wouldn't simply run away. I knew she was planning something. But this!"

Then the control broke down and he slammed the flatrendering to the desk in front of him, with enough force that the swept-crystal structure trembled. "Go ahead, read it." He waved Ni'en toward the message, turned away in rage. "How dare she! How dare she play with the very technological balance of the galaxy like it was another starchart, or maybe a fighter, just some tool of War to be plugged into the computers along with everything else. . . ."

Numbed by the letter's contents, Ni'en let it slide from her hand to the floor.

"She's right, of course," he muttered. "That's all it is."

She whispered it: "What will you do?"

He laughed, bitterly. "A complicated question, my Mistress. B'Salos! I thought of everything she might do, where she might go, how she might still be a threat to me . . . but I didn't antic.i.p.ate this. How could I? The scope of it is so far beyond anything that's been tried before! Who else could have conceived of such a plan, much less carried it out with such callous efficiency?"

He turned back to her; the flush was fading from his brow, but his eyes were dark with rage. And fear? "The Barren Zone is a lifeless realm of dust and gases that no ships have bothered to penetrate, prior to this. There are no stars in it for light-decades, nothing but microscopic debris and scanner static. One travels by faith and one's starcharts; taking reliable readings through the stuff, provided one's traveling at augmented speeds, is impossible.

"Without going into great detail, suffice it to say I can't simply send a fleet to deal with this. It would take preparation- zhents, perhaps years-we would have to establish supply facilities along the way, some kind of beacon that could function in such a place . . . and we'd be traveling blind, which is a real danger in any case but more so if she knows we're coming. That's one problem. Then, too, there's the question of tactical preparation. Even if I gave immediate orders to withdraw certain ships from their current a.s.signments and send them out to get her, there would be unavoidable delays: planning and building in order to bridge the Barren Zone, strategic sessions, diplomatic preparations to keep the newly unguarded regions from rebellion while the fleets are elsewhere. And the time!

Two years minimum to get there, Ar alone knows how long to conquer, another two to return--at least! No communication with them while they're out there, no hope of reinforcements. Any word sent to Braxi from that far out would be outdated long before it got here. And even if we-when we conquer this miserable upstart world, we'll never get hold of her."

"If she leads them into battle-"

'She won't. Not if she really means to destroy the Holding. She'll disappear as soon as the tide turns against her, with all of the unclaimed galaxy for her hiding- place, until she can find some suitable planet and start all over again. And how could we stop her? Ar!" He struck one hand with the other, a gesture obscene with violence. "She's trying to get someone to do to us what we did to Lugast- and I won't allow it!"

Quietly, the perfect complement to his rage, she asked "What can I do, Lord?"

He shut his eyes for a moment, letting the rage settle, trying to think. "We have to act. I have to do something- soon. Call in the fleet commanders: Benex, Sirin, Tuvir . . . and Herek. We've got a Peace, thank Azea for that; one bit of luck in our favor. It can last a few zhents more, while we work out some plan of action. As for her. . . ."

He smiled to himself. "I forget, sometimes, the full extent of my a.r.s.enal. For the war, we will summon warships. As for the warrior . . . we will summon her maker.

"Call Feran to me."

When Feran answered his Master's summons, he was disturbed to find Zatar aloof and restrained; and when the Probe tried to read his surface mind for cause of it, he found his query turned aside with a skill that was alarming.

How could a man who had never lived with psychic awareness manage so perfect a shield? Was mere strength of will enough? He had been teaching the Pri'tiera the basics of telepathic discipline, but that was mere theory, meaningless to the non-sensitive; he had never expected Zatar to internalize it.

If you were psychic, he thought, in addition to everything you already are, no man could stand against you.

"Welcome," the Pri'tiera said, but there was no welcome in his voice-only tension, finely tuned and carefully controlled. "I have some news that I think will interest you." Some news that I know you fear, his surface thoughts added.

"I am the Pri'tiera's servant."

Of course. The dark eyes were watching him, ready to a.s.sess his reaction to news that was clearly disturbing.

"I have located Anzha lyu Mitethe," he said simply.

The skies swirled about Feran in maddening chaos-and were still, and he managed a small measure of control. "Where? Doing what?"

"Plotting the downfall of Braxi." He gave that a moment to sink in, then withdrew the scout's missive from his tunic. And read it.

Then silence.

At last Feran spoke, his voice an unsteady whisper. "What will you do?"

"What I must. The planet will die; there's no other way. Even now my fleets are being prepared for the effort; we'll find a way to cross the Barren Zone, and then we'll crush this world and its fledgling colonies. Not a single native will survive, I a.s.sure you. Which takes care of the immediate threat to our security." He looked at Feran, his gaze so intense that the Probe had to turn away. "But it doesn't address the real problem."

"Anzha lyu."

"As long as she's free to roam the galaxy at will, Braxi is in danger." He saw panic stirring in Feran, and nodded his approval. There was only one solution; the Probe wasn't likely to welcome it. "As for what to do about her, the portrait has changed all that. Her bloodline is as precious to Braxi as my own. If I kill her now, knowing that, I may undo all my work. Braxi would turn against me; the common people are not yet so loyal to me that they would allow me to desecrate their history; even the military might have second thoughts after I cut short their proudest bloodline. No, I can't kill her-but I can and must neutralize her. She must cease to be a threat, and that's where you come in."

"What do you want me to do?" he stammered, fearing the answer.

"I have no illusions that my fleet will be able to find her, much less capture her.

Only a mind attuned to her own could second-guess her intent as finely as would be required, or call to her across the vast distances involved. Only a mind that shares her background could pry her loose from her dream of conquest, and bring her back to Braxi."

"She would kill me," Feran said quickly. His voice was thick with fear. "Have you taken that into account? Her hatred of me is only second to that which she reserves for you. She would kill me in an instant if she had the chance, and you're giving her the perfect opportunity! How can I serve you if I'm dead?"

"You fear death," he observed.

"Don't you?"

"Not in the same way. I fear defeat more. Which is why I must take certain risks, in order to negate her advantage."

He paced for a moment, thoughtful, then addressed Feran anew. "How will she react, do you suppose, when she learns the truth of her heredity?"

It pained him to answer, to remember. "The child I . . . adjusted . . . could not come to terms with such a thing. I know that."

"And now?"

"Who can say? You can't design a person, Pri'tiera. You can only design his tendencies, then let him follow his own course. If your foresight was good, if your planning was adaptable, if the environment is amenable to your intentions, you may get something like what you wanted."

"And in her case?"

He chose his words carefully. "I see, in her actions, the results of what we did. I also see many choices open to her that we didn't antic.i.p.ate. She's much stronger than she was, stronger than we ever thought she could be. Not just in power. In stability. Li Pazua thought she would go insane," he confided. The memory was rank within him. "That suited his purposes, so we made our plans accordingly. As she reached adulthood, the programming would take effect. Denied human contact, national ident.i.ty, even the limited comfort of a planetary home, she would be driven forth in a desperate search for something to give her ties to the rest of humanity. That was the plan. What actually happened was something else again."

"You never foresaw her fleet service."

"I foresaw a frightened child, fleeing some inner darkness that she couldn't comprehend-which I had put there," he said defiantly, as though daring the Pri'tiera to pa.s.s judgment on him. "Li Pazua envisioned a woman wholly dependent on him, whom he would support financially and otherwise as she searched throughout the galaxy for the information he wanted so badly-the information you now control. You must understand, he believed in racial memory. If somewhere in her psyche the key to her past was in hiding, it stood to reason that emotional duress might unearth it. Desperation does strange things to the mind."

"And you?" The dark eyes studied him for reaction. "What did you think of that?''

"I obeyed orders," he snapped. "That was programmed into me.What I believed then is irrelevant; the point is, we failed. She didn't suffer quietly. She didn't fall apart. Most important, she didn't turn to li Pazua for support. She made her own destiny, in ways none of us would have antic.i.p.ated. So you ask me, what will happen when she finds out that the Race she hates is her own? My answer is that she should fall apart, unable to cope-or she should go running back to the Inst.i.tute, so Li Pazua can have his answer. But she won't. She doesn't need him any more. She doesn't need any of us."

"What does she need?" he demanded.

He hesitated; even now, years later, the memory of that child's mind was overwhelming. "Consummation of a self-hatred so intense that all the Probes in the Inst.i.tute couldn't alter it. It took me years just to redirect it, and you see the result. That's why I say, she has no way to deal with news like this. None." He shuddered. "I suspect there's a good chance that when a link is demonstrated between herself and her enemies she may well identify with them-and in that case, everything we did to save her from herself may be undone, and quickly."

"She would die?" he pressed.

Feran looked away. After a long and painful silence he ventured, "That would be the most merciful end."

"And what if the hatred were consummated?"

He looked back, startled. "But that would take the destruction of Braxi-of you-of herself, once she learns the truth."

"What if it were redirected?" he asked evenly.

Suddenly Feran understood-and feared. "Not at this point. She would crush me if I tried, do you understand that? Programming the mind of a child is one thing. Inserting suggestions into the mind of a Functional Telepath is suicide!"

"And your commitment to serve me?"

"Pri'tiera, there are things that have pa.s.sed between Anzha lyu and me which you simply can't understand, things that make it impossible for her to accept any kind of probic contact."

"Don't underestimate me," Zatar warned him. "I know the full extent of your work, including the details you never told me. Yes, even what you did to her s.e.xuality. I don't doubt that she'd jump at the chance to kill you-I would myself, under the same circ.u.mstances. For now, just answer my question. What would happen if her destructive tendencies were channeled elsewhere?"

"Toward whom? I see why you would want to do it, but I don't see how it could be done."

The Pri'tiera's voice was low and even, a sharp contrast to the intensity that poured forth from his surface mind. "What if she understood that you weren't responsible for what you did? What if she placed the blame where it really belonged-on those who gave you your orders, taught you your techniques, manipulated your emotions? What if the Inst.i.tute became her enemy?"

It took him a long time to remember what it meant to be innocent of motive; it was a concept alien to the Braxana mind, which punished doer and planner alike.

"I might, then, be spared." He spoke softly. "Is that what you want? Turn her against the Inst.i.tute so she'll go back there to fight them-start her all over again in some new vendetta? I don't know if I can do that."

"But if you did." he persisted, "there would be an end for you, at least. You've learned to live with the memory of what you did to her, but you've never really come to terms with it."

"I would be doing it all over again," he said bitterly. "Taking away her certain victory and giving her an empty dream in its place."

"Listen to me." Stepping forward, the Pri'tiera grasped him firmly by the shoulders; emotion, strong and unbridled, flowed through the contact. "I am sending you out there. I have no other way to reach her. All other things aside, I must get control of her-or Braxi is doomed, Feran, do you understand that?"

"She'll never submit to you. The k'airth-"

"Is ended! Haven't you realized that? She abandoned the endless battle for one that promised victory, and I say, put it in those terms again. Promise her vengeance. Promise her consummation of that hatred which has ruled her life. I give you that power."

"What do you mean?"

"I will destroy the Inst.i.tute. I've intended to for years, for military reasons, but I'll do it now, in her name."

He was stunned. "But how-?"

"My means are my own secret. It will be blamed on her, never fear; the Peace will remain intact until I choose to break it." Emotion poured forth from him in torrents-hatred, determination, hunger. "I can't leave her out there; she'll destroy Braxi if I do. I must reel her in, and for that the Inst.i.tute will be my bait.

As for the rest. . . ." He released him, suddenly shielded. "She's no longer simply an enemy. Knowing her bloodline changes everything."

Feran caught the undertone to his words and whispered, "You want her."

"How could any man not want her? She's the woman my ancestors sought, when they chose their mates to strengthen the Tribe. Braxana have fought for her kind, died trying to possess her, waged war and moved nations-how could I fail to feel desire for such a woman, when she embodies everything my people value?"

The mental block, slowly slipping, was suddenly reestablished. "But that's beside the point," he said coldly. "I must have her, and only you can bring her to me. As for what happens once she gets here, that's my concern, not yours."

"If I can stop her," Feran said quietly, "and if she lives-if I live-do you really think she'll come to you? After everything?"

"Because of everything. Yes, Feran. She'll come. I can't say what will happen after that, but when I tender her an invitation sealed with the Inst.i.tute's lifeblood.

I have no doubt that she'll accept. And after that. . . ."

His words faded into silence, rich with conflicting emotions.

"She has my Name," he said at last. Then his mind focused back toward the workroom, and the painting it contained. He let Feran share the image, and all the thoughts which it inspired.

"As I have hers," he whispered.

Harkur: Above all else, never underestimate the enemy.

Twenty-seven.

He walks to the terrace, looks out into the early dawn. There, at that angle, the star of Llornu is rising. Not visible to the naked eye, not this morning, not from Braxi. He calls for a magnification field and waits while the proper forces align themselves in response to his summons. There . . . yes, he can see it now.

"How much longer?" he asks.

The House responds: .21 TENTH.

"Tell me when it happens."

UNDERSTOOD.

He considers what he has done, and what is about to happen, and what the ramifications of it will be. He indulges his imagination at length, knowing the supposed danger of it.

Sense my thoughts, he dares the telepaths, taste my intentions, read my purpose. And stop me-if you can.

But the distance is too far and he knows it; no one can hear him, despite his powerful intent-focus.

The House of Zatar speaks: IT IS TIME.