In Extremis Read online

  The Usurper frowned. “Do you think he’s sick?”

  Second resumed his scrutiny. “The Ambassador was unwell when he left, by all reports. I am no judge of freaks, but he looks too thin to me. Maybe he has a wasting disease, or the hekkret is finally killing him.”

  “I don’t want him dead.” The Usurper’s scowl became more pronounced. “I just acquired him.” To one of the guards, “Send for the Surgeon.”

  Second grabbed his wrist. “Wait! The Surgeon healed him before in a gel tank. He may be—”

  “Don’t say ‘fond of him,’” the Usurper said, sounding bored. “I thought my paranoia was extreme, but this is stupid. The Surgeon is Outside. If the former Emperor told him to treat the alien, he had no choice.”

  “But what if the Surgeon is a partisan of Kauvauc?”

  The Usurper snorted. “And if he is? No drake Outside would risk his status. He knows the moment he gives up his neutrality, he dies. Still…” He smiled thinly. “If it will make you feel better, we will take precautions.”

  “I hope those precautions include finding a way to entrap the Surgeon if he is a traitor. He was reluctant enough to saw off the Slave Queen’s wings.”

  The Usurper shuddered. “Who wouldn’t be. They might be a female’s wings, but they’re still wings.” To the guard Jahir couldn’t see at the door, “Well? Go send for him already.”

  “I continue to think this a bad idea,” Second said. “I hadn’t thought you capable of vanity.”

  “Is it vanity?” the Usurper said. “Or vengeance?”

  Second was drumming his clawtips on the desk, a little click-click-click that reminded Jahir absurdly of piano exercises. “Vengeance. Now who’s being ridiculous? What could you possibly need to avenge yourself for?”

  “These creatures believe they deserve some part of the galaxy that belongs to us. Surely that requires punishment.”

  Second eyed the Usurper, then looked again at Jahir.

  “Ask him what he thinks of that,” the Usurper urged.

  After a hesitation, Second said, “No. No, I have no desire to engage this freak in any conversation. Nor to prompt it.”

  “Wise of you,” Jahir murmured, because Lisinthir would have.

  “If you believe they deserve punishment,” Second said, “you should surely punish him now, for insolence.”

  The Usurper’s chuckle was thin and self-satisfied. “Oh, no. He’d be expecting that. A swipe to the face or the chest…” He pointed at the scars. “Look at the marks Kauvauc left. That’s how you knew you were getting to him, isn’t it, freak?” He grinned without humor. “Ah, but you haven’t succeeded with me. Go ahead, be insulting. This is nothing but the flailing attempts of a conquered foe to press an engagement on his victor. But there will be no second chances for you, ‘Ambassador.’” He paused, then said to Second, “There. Do I sound the proper Chatcaavan now?”

  Second sighed. “You have nothing to prove to me. You’ve always been a proper Chatcaavan.”

  “Even when I was Logistics-East?”

  “Especially when you were Logistics-East. And you would do better to act like that drake, and not like the Emperor we assassinated.”

  “We’ll see,” the Usurper said, rising. “I will take care of that detail for you now.”

  Second did not speak while they were alone. Jahir didn’t goad him, either, and they had given him a good excuse for his lack of aggression. They believed he was Lisinthir, thanks to the roquelaure… and Lisinthir had been dying when he left. If they thought him sickly, they might allow him more time to himself, and time to himself could be turned into an opportunity to use his abilities in private. That was worth his silence.

  The Usurper returned with a bundle, which he set on his desk. A few moments later, the Surgeon entered.

  “Ah, here we are. Surgeon. You recognize this freak?”

  The Surgeon glanced at him. “It is the former Ambassador.”

  “Exactly. The former Ambassador, because he is now my wall decoration. Second here, however, has some concerns about his health.”

  Second said, “He was purported to be frail. And I don’t know if he can be left hanging like this without breaking a limb. Aren’t the freaks heavier than we are?”

  “He was in poor health, yes, when he left.” The Surgeon studied Jahir dispassionately. “It is difficult for me to tell without a proper examination.”

  “You brought tools to effect this examination?” the Usurper said.

  “Yes, Exalted.”

  “Excellent.” To the guards, “Take him down.”

  They weren’t good at their new work yet. Jahir imagined in a few weeks they’d be quicker, jerk him around less. Their minds, fluttering against his skin while they stripped the shackles, were superbly focused on their task, leaving little room for any introspection he might examine for data. Perhaps on another day he would have tried anyway, but he could not faced with this new peril. The roquelaure would surely not protect him against the truths uncovered by a medical examination. But the Surgeon had only ever seen one Eldritch—two at most, if he’d been allowed access to Bethsaida. Without additional subjects, would he be able to tell the difference between two Eldritch?

  “Now,” the Usurper continued as Jahir slumped between his two captors, “My most worthy Second is concerned that this freak will poison our thoughts with his words. I have brought these from the use closet. Will any of them work on his face?”

  The Surgeon drew close to the desk, hiding it from view, for which Jahir was grateful. He had some of Lisinthir’s memories of the use closet, enough to never want to enter one. The clanking and shifting of metal was bad enough without having to see whatever they were handling.

  “Most of these are too harsh, or not the right shape for an alien’s head,” the Surgeon said at last. “This one would serve for short-term use, however. The strap can be tightened.”

  “You sound reserved,” the Usurper said. “Do you believe the freak should be left free to speak?”

  “The freak’s speech is immaterial to me. What concerns me is that he can’t eat with this in the way. If he is continuing in the habits I observed during his first stay, he must be regularly fed or he won’t eat.”

  And Lisinthir had teased him about his eating habits. Jahir would have to remember this for when he saw his cousin next. Because, he thought, trying not to tremble, he would. He must. God and Goddess willing.

  “Maybe,” Second said, “you could paralyze him somehow, so he can’t speak. There has to be a drug.”

  “I don’t want my investment maimed,” the Usurper said before that suggestion could petrify Jahir. “You place too much importance on this, Second. Much more and he’ll believe he has some power.” He glanced at his prisoner and grinned. “I don’t see any power. Do you?”

  “A gag,” Second insisted, “can be removed.”

  “A gag will do,” the Usurper said. He handed a bar to one of the guards. “Put it on him. Then take him to the bathing chambers. That should give the Surgeon enough space for his examination. Second and I have matters to discuss. And since we don’t want the gag coming off… one of you stay during the Surgeon’s exam. To protect you,” to the Surgeon. “Of course.”

  The Surgeon was already moving. “Watch the teeth, they’ll chip if you force it against them. Or just give me that—”

  The guards were hauling him around now, bringing him face to face with the male Lisinthir had counted a potential ally, once upon a time.

  “Mouth open,” the Surgeon said. “This will be easier if you accept it.”

  “Fighting now would accomplish little,” Jahir observed, eyes on the bar. It was thick and dark, and in its center was a small spiked ball. His skin prickled, and it was not cold this time… nor anticipation, which would have made this easier.

  “Exactly.”

  This was what horses felt like, perhaps, being bridled. Jahir surprised himself by hating it. The forms of bondage Lisinthir had advanced to him
had eased his spirit, but this… he didn’t like having his face handled. The metal was sour and the spiked ball a cruel vow on his tongue. The contrivance made swallowing difficult; the harness attached to it was inelegant. It surprised him to realize that being ugly and powerless bothered him more than vulnerability alone did.

  Perhaps his dismay left his mind open to the thought that rang, with perfect clarity, from the mind of the male handling him. Don’t like that, do you. Don’t blame you. Barbaric thing. If it lacerates his tongue only a little, I’ll be surprised.

  Then the guards were marching him to the bathing chamber, where they lowered him ungently to the ground. One departed. The other retreated to the door and took up duty there as the Surgeon swept past them.

  “Next time, don’t drop him. Their bones are solid but that doesn’t make them indestructible.” Crouching alongside Jahir, the Surgeon flipped open his kit as the Eldritch struggled to ignore the impending danger. A distraction was surely called for, enough of one to keep the Surgeon from concentrating on interpretation of his anomalous medical readings.

  They had muzzled him: fine. He did not need his mouth. When the drake rested a hand on his chest to steady him, Jahir extended a bare filament of himself outward until he met resistance. The Surgeon froze.

  “Something wrong?” the guard asked.

  “No,” the Surgeon replied, brusque. “I am remembering that aliens are not Chatcaava, and this heart rate is not indicative of a coma.” He bent closer, eyes narrowing, and Jahir watched, wishing he was warmer, better fed, not fettered, free. Wishing this was over and the war won. But this was where the Pattern had swept him, so this was where he needed to exert his best efforts.

  /If you know Eldritch,/ Jahir whispered to that face, /then you know we do not need tongues to speak./

  The hand on his chest flinched, claws scraping skin.

  /Nor do you need to answer aloud./

  Ridiculous, the Surgeon muttered to himself. Outrageous. But there was a thread of curiosity there.

  /Needs must/, Jahir offered. /Or I would not. It is discourteous./

  The Surgeon’s huff of amusement was fortunately quiet. He resumed setting up his instruments and started running tests, his expertise providing a low-level murmur of medical data beneath the conversational exchange. /So you return. Not so timely this time, Ambassador./

  /I am just where I must be in order to spy on the Usurper’s plans./ No question the hesitation there. /You were the Emperor’s partisan once. Will you tell me you think his replacement better?/

  The Surgeon’s eyes met his briefly before flicking back to his instruments. Where they stayed for a very long time as his brow ridges tightened above those fixed eyes. Then: /Who are you?/

  So it hadn’t worked. Jahir sensed the intellect that had assembled the puzzle so quickly, admired it… and held his breath.

  The Surgeon set aside one of the instruments and studied his face, roving from eye to brow to mouth, along the nose. /You are not the former Emperor’s Ambassador, though you look exactly like him. Who are you?/

  /How did you know?/

  They both paused, evaluating one another. So much that might go wrong… so Jahir gambled, the way Lisinthir would have, and let his mind open, let the Surgeon into it. Let him sense the core of him, where duty and love had made him as adamant as his cousin, at last… but where the differences also resided. His essential gentleness. His need to heal.

  A shiver flowed through the Surgeon’s pinions, which he mantled quickly to explain away the noise.

  /You are not him,/ the Surgeon said again. /Though my instruments tell me you are. Because there is no sign of hekkret use at all./

  Of all the things to betray him…! Not the differences that existed between two members of the same species, but the lack of evidence of a syndrome for which the Surgeon had treated the Ambassador before. The Surgeon wouldn’t have recognized the real Lisinthir either, using that metric, for the Alliance had rebuilt his alimentary canal almost from scratch.

  /You do not react like him, either/, the Surgeon murmured. /I knew him. Even in weakness, he was more aggressive than you are./

  Worse and worse. He could be assertive, but in no universe could he sustain the constancy of Lisinthir’s ferocity.

  /Do you think the others have noticed?/

  The Surgeon put away the second of his tools. /No. They never met the Ambassador. They have only the stories to go by. You look like him—it’s enough./

  Jahir exhaled slowly, closing his eyes.

  /You are here, then, to help the former Emperor, and the Queen Ransomed./

  /Yes./

  The Surgeon nodded to himself. /My instruments say you are in poor health. Are they correct?/

  /I don’t know/, Jahir admitted. /But I will need a great deal more food and water than they’re giving me. Especially food. What I am doing takes energy./

  A noncommittal “mmm,” then, which was apparently normal because it provoked no reaction on the part of the guard. /And the wall?/

  /They shouldn’t keep me on it constantly. I’m not sure how that will fail, but I suspect it will be painful./

  /If you don’t know, then I have an excuse to visit./ The Surgeon packed his kit. /Did the Ambassador explain the concept of Outside to you?/

  /He did, yes./

  /Then you know that I should take no side in this dispute./

  Jahir glanced up at him. /But you will./

  /They made me cut off the Queen Ransomed’s wing vanes./ The Surgeon looked toward the arch leading to the rest of the suite, face a mask. /They are animals. I have others to protect, but increasingly I am uncertain that I can./

  /No life is safe,/ Jahir murmured.

  /All lives end. But lives should have dignity./ The Surgeon rose. “Bring him.”

  The guard seized his wrist and he choked back a noise.

  “Not by the hands, he’s been hanging on them.”

  The guard muttered something and dragged Jahir to his feet by the elbow, which wasn’t much of an improvement. Swimming had kept him flexible and built on the muscle he’d acquired in the heavier gravity of most of the Alliance’s environments, but it wouldn’t take much of the Usurper’s ‘decorative’ treatment to wrack his limbs, the yoke of his shoulders, even his spine and legs. His wrists already ached, and he’d hardly realized it until the ungentle grip.

  “Try talking to him,” the Surgeon said briskly. “He does understand commands.”

  “Come,” the guard said.

  Jahir followed, though the guard remained wary. Had Lisinthir set such an example, then? Or was this distaste? Or something specific to the personality? Would the Usurper’s guards rotate through too large a pool for him to get some sense for each individual? He wanted, desperately, to draw a picture of the people he would be forced to interact with, but his stomach ached and there was a tremor in his lower limbs that he didn’t recognize and feared was more serious than the effects of mere hunger.

  In the Usurper’s office, the guard forced him to the wall again and re-cuffed him. The Surgeon already stood in front of the desk.

  “Well?”

  “You wish to keep this creature, Exalted? For an extended period?”

  “Yes,” the Usurper said. When Second hissed, he amended, smiling faintly, “Or until it’s no longer expedient to keep him.”

  “Then these are my recommendations,” the Surgeon said. “Hang him for no more than four hours at a time and no longer than twelve hours a day. Allow an hour between each session. Feed him at least three times a day. Give him a room to sleep in that’s large enough to stretch and walk in, and a blanket. Have him washed daily as well—if you don’t want to leave his hands free, have an attendant assigned to him. If you intend to make a habit of the gag, have one made for him; ours don’t fit him. Prolonged use will ruin his mouth.”

  “As if that matters,” Second muttered.

  “It matters if you wish to avoid an infection that might kill him,” the Surgeon sa
id. “I am not a specialist in the treatment of animals. I can observe their biology without knowing which of our drugs or regimens are likely to kill him.”

  “Point taken,” the Usurper said. “Continue.”

  “I would like daily reports of his health,” the Surgeon said. “And to see him when it is convenient for you, Exalted. To evaluate if this protocol is sufficient to maintain his health. I don’t know if there will be lasting effects from immobilizing him in this position and would like to monitor the situation until I have more data.”

  “Eminently reasoned.” The Usurper waved a hand. “I approve of your recommendations. His attendant can file your reports, and I will summon you to check the freak when it is convenient for me. Is there anything else?”

  “Not at this time, Exalted.”

  “Go.”

  The Surgeon inclined his head, wings spreading, and left.

  “Did the gag come off?” the Usurper asked the guard idly.

  “No, Exalted.”

  Turning to Second, the Usurper said, “Satisfied?”

  “No.” Second’s arms were folded, wings tight in against his back. “And if you’re going to leave that thing hanging on the wall during our conference, I want it blindfolded and its ears muffled. Wadding cloth into them should work given their bizarre size.”

  The Usurper’s brow ridges lifted. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you feared the freak. This imprisoned thing, which has nowhere to run. Who exactly do you think it’s going to spy for, and how will it be delivering that information?”

  “I don’t know.” Second rose and padded toward Jahir. “And if I asked, I am guessing you wouldn’t tell, would you, freak.”

  Jahir kept his eyes lowered, wondering if Second would touch him. He felt the shadow cross his chest as a cold chill just before the Usurper snapped, “Don’t.”

  “It needs a demonstration of the consequences of its disobedience!”

  “It hasn’t disobeyed any command,” the Usurper said dryly.

  “Look at me, freak.”