Only the Open Read online

  “Almost everything is useless unless understood. The quest for Perfection is, in the end, a quest for understanding.” The Knife stood away from the corner, tucking his wings neatly behind his shoulders. “I will return tomorrow, if you are amenable.”

  “I am, yes.”

  The Knife inclined his head, the neat end of his mane falling over his shoulder. “Tomorrow, then, Ambassador.”

  Lisinthir decided his bruises did not rise to the level of urgency necessary to bother with the clinic and opted instead for a long water shower, and to spend the time before bed caring for the Imthereli swords. As he polished them, he wondered what he would have made of the Empire had he met individuals like the Knife first, rather than the males attracted by the rarified and extreme environment of the court. And yet, would it have mattered? The court ruled the Empire, and all the males like the Knife and Uuvek. Unless those males could be convinced to rise against their masters, not all the knowledge that they existed mattered.

  A tool was also only as useful as its willingness to be wielded. Lisinthir slid the swords home in their sheaths and thought of Jahir and Vasiht’h’s commentary, about therapy requiring the consent of the participants.

  That night, he lay flat on his back on the bunk and stared at the darkened ceiling, reaching in vain for traces of those he loved. But he did not have the talents that lent themselves to touching them intangibly—was better with the physical plane than the spiritual, did not have even Jahir’s small talent for the pattern that made it possible to sense where everyone was on their particular paths. He could only pray that they were where they were supposed to be, and do his best to be there himself.

  He and the Knife were at their practice the following day when they were interrupted by the arrival of Uuvek. Unlike the Knife, Uuvek lifted his brow ridges in an expression of patent skepticism. “I didn’t expect to find you playing,” he said to the Knife.

  “I am exploring the mindset of aliens in order to better assess the potential abilities of our allies in our mission to recover the Emperor,” the Knife said primly. And then, with a sudden grin that gaped his mouth. “And it’s not really playing, though it has its fun moments. You should try it, Uuvek, it’s interesting.”

  Uuvek eyed the Knife’s practice sword, floating in the air beyond the Knife’s fingers. “I prefer aiming large grasers at things I wish to destroy.”

  “Spoken like a true computer technician,” the Knife said. “So what brings you here?”

  The levity fell from the other male like water sleeting. “I’ve found something we need to discuss.”

  “Say that again?” Meryl said in the conference room fifteen minutes later.

  “I have made contact with some of the survivors of the battle that destroyed the Emperor’s flagship,” Uuvek repeated. “They are requesting rescue.”

  “I assume there’s some reason requesting rescue hasn’t caused the traitors in your Navy to swoop in and finish off the job?” Shanelle said.

  Uuvek eyed her. “You work with networks. You know there are layers of them. Eddies where people wash and might go unfound. Some of us have kept secrets, and when we want to talk with like-minded Chatcaava we go to those places in the skein. That is where I found this request, and it was buried deeply enough I almost didn’t notice it.” He glanced at the Knife. “If you hadn’t made me read that scripture I would have missed it. They were using it as a code.”

  “Really?” the Knife asked with obvious fascination.

  Before the derailment could continue, Meryl lifted a palm. “All right. Let’s assume you’ve found valid information, not something someone left out there to catch people looking for your survivors. Where are they? And how many?”

  “Four,” Uuvek said. “Not far from Apex-East. They limped into hiding out past the heliopause. And we must rescue them because one of them is the Admiral-Offense, and he is near death.”

  The Knife’s mouth dropped open.

  “The Admiral-Offense is important,” Na’er guessed.

  “The Admiral-Offense would have commanded the flagship,” the Knife said, eyes still wide. “He would have been intimately involved with the Emperor’s plans.”

  “Maybe he killed the Emperor, then,” Na’er said.

  “No,” Lisinthir murmured. “They weren’t sure of his allegiance either, so they sent him to the slaughter with the male he served.”

  The Knife and Uuvek looked at him sharply. The former said, “That is also a possibility.”

  “A strong one,” Uuvek said. “Why would he be in hiding if he was on their side? He could ask for pick-up and be assured of a rescue.”

  “Unless they wanted to kill him off as a way of erasing evidence?” Na’er said, tapping a finger against the side of his muzzle.

  “They don’t think that way,” Laniis said. “They don’t care about evidence or rule of law the way we do. It’s the right of the strong to rule. If you lose, you’re automatically in the wrong.”

  Meryl glanced at the Chatcaava.

  “She’s correct,” Uuvek said. “Not that the rest of us are glad that it works that way. But in the upper echelons... yes.”

  “So if we pick up these stragglers, we might learn what happened,” Meryl said. “From the perspective of people who were actually there. And all it requires is... finding them.” She eyed Uuvek. “You want us to find a handful of survivors who have consciously chosen to go dark in space somewhere they know they won’t be found.”

  “Yes,” Uuvek said. He snorted. “Fortunately for you all, the Knife is a reader of poetry.”

  The days that followed were excruciating. Meryl refused to drop into a system as heavily guarded as their target and coasted out of Well several days out from their destination. From there she appeared determined to creep as slowly as possible into the outskirts. Nor was she the only one plagued by an excess of caution, because both Chatcaava approved of her paranoia. They also needed her to move slowly so they could sweep the immediate area for their missing Naval personnel, and the area that constituted ‘immediate’ when using passive scans not likely to attract attention was so miniscule Shanelle described the procedure as ‘looking for a single germ in a city.’ If they had not had the clues the Knife decoded using what appeared to be an ancient set of psalms from the Living Air’s primary religious tract, they could have spent years creeping around the edges of Apex-East, hoping to find their targets... as it was, the volume they had to cover was small enough to handle ‘within a few weeks.’

  In his calmer moments, Lisinthir knew their caution was necessary and justified. When he forgot this, he fought himself dripping in the gymnasium, gritted his teeth, and tried not to live in his memories of all his lovers, Eldritch and Chatcaavan, or in his fears for them in their durances.

  The summons came while he was sleeping—poorly, as usual—and jerked him from his confused mélange of memory and dream. Shoving himself up from the bunk, he said, “Yes?”

  “We’ve found them, and they’re coming over now.”

  “On my way,” he said.

  He hadn’t asked where to go and didn’t need to; when he exited his quarters he followed the sound of over-agitated talk to the clinic, where Dellen Crosby, the Seersan medic, was at work on the unconscious body of a male with a rack of horns that would have impressed Lisinthir had he not known the Emperor’s so intimately. Circled round him like a flock of distressed birds were the rescued Chatcaava in their torn and bloodied uniforms, dull-eyed with exhaustion. The Knife and Uuvek were telling them the freaks were willing to help and that they should stand down, allow themselves to be escorted elsewhere to ease the crowding in the room. The Fleet personnel were lined against the wall, watching the newcomers warily.

  “Finally,” Dellen said when Lisinthir entered. “Get them to shut up and go somewhere else.”

  “They won’t abandon him,” Lisinthir said. In Chatcaavan, he said, “Pardon me. I believe you’d like to know the person in charge of this mission?”


  All the Chatcaava swiveled their heads toward him.

  “What is that!” one of them hissed.

  “That is the Ambassador who sat on Second’s pillow at the side of the true Emperor,” the Knife said.

  The stares became rounder. He found the sight of them in all their lambent colors rather astonishing, jewel-like... unintentionally comical.

  “I assume,” Lisinthir said, “You are also partisans of the true Emperor. If not, I fear things will not go well with you.”

  They looked at one another, the three strangers. Then one said, “We follow the Admiral-Offense. If you save him, we have no quarrel with you.”

  In horribly accented Chatcaavan, Dellen said, “If you don’t get out of my way I’ll stab him myself just to have enough peace to think.”

  Another startled silence. Lisinthir filled it, before the Seersa could make good on his threat. “Those Outside have their idiosyncrasies, do they not? Rest assured we want nothing more than to succor the Admiral-Offense. Irascible medics notwithstanding.”

  That made one of the rescued Chatcaava smile a little.

  The Knife stepped forward. “Perhaps we can show these individuals to a place they can wash and eat?”

  “Yes,” Meryl said. “Follow me. Ambassador, you’ll stay here?”

  “So long as my presence does not disturb the medic’s peace,” Lisinthir said, studying Dellen.

  The Seersa’s ears flicked back. “Just keep quiet.”

  “My race is noted for its silences.”

  Dellen snorted and resumed ignoring him and everyone else. The Chatcaava, appeased for now by Lisinthir’s promise, filed from the room in Meryl’s wake, and Uuvek went with them... but not the Knife.

  “I too can be quiet,” he said when Dellen glared at him.

  They settled into silence, then. Lisinthir studied the battered face of the male under the halo-arch. Burns, cuts and bruises, at least one cracked horn and a wing that was torn... the Admiral-Offense had been through hell, but if the halo-arch was any indication it was his internal injuries that were killing him. The Alliance was very good at arresting such traumas, however, and the Chatcaava, for all their slight frames with their occasional hollow bones, were harder to kill than they looked. Lisinthir let his head rest back against the wall, closed his eyes, and let time slide away from him.

  “He’s coming around,” Dellen rasped into the quiet. Beside Lisinthir, the Knife sprung up, went to the bed to crouch alongside. When the other male opened crusted eyes, the first thing he saw was another Chatcaavan male’s worried gaze, which was good, Lisinthir thought... because Chatcaava did not heal from injury lying on their backs the way citizens of the Alliance tended to.

  “Where....”

  “You are safe, Admiral-Offense,” the Knife said firmly. “Among friends of the true Emperor, not the Usurper.”

  “Did... did my messages...”

  The Knife glanced at Lisinthir, who lifted his brows.

  “We received no messages from you, sir,” the Knife said. “But you were rescued by three of your people who have been adrift with you since the battle, and they requested aid. Carefully, so that our enemies would not find you.”

  “Uhn, where am I—” The Admiral-Offense looked past the Knife at the unfamiliar color of the walls and their height, then shot past the Knife’s shoulder to lock onto—“You.”

  “I see you recognize me,” Lisinthir said.

  “I know of you.” The male grimaced. “I am trapped. Why?”

  “You’re under the healing arch of one of the aliens,” the Knife said. “I don’t know if you can rise yet.”

  “I’d rather he didn’t,” Dellen said again in his horribly accented Chatcaavan.

  “Stay a while longer, let your wounds finish healing,” the Knife said firmly. “You are among allies. These aliens... they are the Ambassador’s to command.” Dellen snorted. “They are here to see if they might rescue the Emperor, and with him help save the Empire.”

  “Madness,” the Admiral-Offense muttered.

  “Did you think we would not help the true Emperor?” Lisinthir asked.

  “I think there’s no reason for you not to want us to fall apart,” the Admiral-Offense replied. “What better for you freaks if we dissolve into petty fighting? We can kill each other much more effectively than you can.”

  “There is something to that, but it ignores a rather more important issue,” Lisinthir said.

  “Oh?” The Admiral-Offense eyed him, managing a baleful look despite his inability to lift his head. The eyes helped, a bright crimson flecked in orange.

  “A strong leader can keep you all in check. Failing that, a strong leader will give us a single foe to fight,” Lisinthir said. “If you ‘dissolve into petty fighting’ then exterminating you all will require us to disperse our forces so widely we would leave ourselves vulnerable to defeat in detail. We are not unaware of the size of the Empire, no matter the lies you offered us over a treaty table.”

  The Admiral-Offense’s eye narrowed.

  “He thinks a little like us,” the Knife said. “For an alien, a great deal like us.” Leaning forward. “Sir, you are the only one who knows. Where is the Emperor? Did he escape? Did they capture him?”

  “I know where I told him to go,” the Admiral-Offense. “Whether he made it, I can’t say.” At their intense regard, he finished, “I told him to go to ground on the Apex world. He made it off the flagship by hijacking an enemy fighter craft. That’s the extent of my knowledge.”

  Lisinthir looked at the Knife, who said, “Uuvek.”

  “If anyone can find out, surely it will be him.”

  “It’ll be easy compared to this,” the Knife said. And saluted the Admiral-Offense, claws out. “May I be dismissed?”

  “Go.” Rolling his head on his cheek, the Admiral-Offense squinted at Lisinthir. “It’s said that he fell because of you.”

  “If he did, then it is meet that he should rise again because of me, yes?”

  To that, the male said nothing for a long time. Then, growling, “I rest.” And closed both eyes and dropped apparently unconscious. Lisinthir glanced at the Seersa, who looked at the read-outs with lifted brows. “I’d like to know that trick. Would have been handy when my kits were babies and I desperately needed the sleep.”

  “Mmm,” Lisinthir said. And then, “For a Seersa, your accent is positively atrocious. I didn’t think that was possible.”

  “It’s not,” Dellen said. “I do it on purpose.”

  “The answer,” Uuvek said to them much later, “is a conditional yes.”

  “A conditional yes? What does that mean?” the Knife asked, irritated. “Either the Emperor escaped or he didn’t!”

  “The fighter was seen going down near the capital.” Uuvek pushed back from the console and folded his arms over his broad chest. “But there’s no report after that.”

  “Meaning?” Meryl asked.

  “No one has reported a body,” Uuvek said. “No one has reported a chase on-world. If you dig, there are some alerts sent to peacekeeping squads in the capital, but no one will say for what.”

  “Maybe they want to keep his death quiet?” Laniis offered, tentative.

  “That doesn’t seem in-character for anyone,” Meryl said. “If he’s dead, why wouldn’t they say it?”

  “But if he’s loose, why not say that?” Na’er countered.

  “Obviously because they don’t want anyone to realize he’s still alive,” Lisinthir said, tapping the console. “The question is... where did he go?”

  “He might be dead but in a way that makes it difficult to identify the body,” Na’er pointed out.

  “Maybe,” Laniis said slowly, “the new Chatcaava will be able to go on-world and find out?”

  Meryl sighed. “Somehow I doubt that, since the one in the clinic’s been asking us to drop them off somewhere they can hijack a ship and head for the border.”

  Both of their Chatcaava’s heads came up. “I beg yo
ur pardon?” Lisinthir said for them.

  “He insists his duty is to go round up the loyalists and bring them here so they’ll be ready for the Emperor to deploy against his enemies,” Meryl said. “Or failing that, to avenge themselves on the traitors who decided to use the Navy for its own purposes.”

  “Oh,” the Knife said softly. “Yes. That would be very pleasing.” Noticing the attentive looks, he added, “It is the one tenet that binds us in the Navy. We fight each other to decide the most worthy males in our ranks so that we might establish a chain of command. But we don’t betray one another. It’s...” He made a cutting motion with a hand. “It’s what sets us apart, as a group. It is the one place where a male is supposed to be able to trust that every other male is on his side. If the Usurper and Second have turned the Navy against itself, then they have destroyed something sacred to serve their ambitions. And given that they were Navy themselves....”

  “They knew,” Uuvek said. He shrugged, the palm twitch Lisinthir knew most of the Pelted wouldn’t recognize. “It’s what made the plan work. Because no one would trespass on that imperative. So no one would expect it, to guard against it.”

  “We couldn’t send those Chatcaava down, anyway,” Meryl said. “If they were part of the flagship crew, wouldn’t someone be watching for them? They’d be easy to identify as the Emperor’s partisans.”

  “But if they can’t go down to the world to find out what’s going on with the Emperor, who will?” Laniis asked, frowning. And then her ears dropped abruptly, as if the framing the question had been enough to suggest its answer. She scowled ferociously at Lisinthir. “Don’t even say it!”

  Lisinthir laughed.

  Looking from the Eldritch to the Seersa and back, the Knife said, “What?”

  “You can’t impersonate one of the Chatcaava,” Laniis said to Lisinthir, stern.

  “Why not?” Lisinthir asked. “The roquelaure you assigned me will do the job quite admirably, I would think. And I am fluent in the language.”

  “But you don’t know the local culture well enough to craft a character that other Chatcaava would accept!” Laniis pointed at Na’er. “He can do that. He can make you believe he belongs anywhere he’s supposed to be because he knows enough about the personas he’s inhabiting to pull it off. But you and I... all we know is the throneworld culture. This isn’t the Chatcaavan imperial court, it’s some Naval world with its own petty politics and personalities. You wouldn’t even know the name of the latest 3deo star, or whatever equivalent the Chatcaava have!”