"Those who helped the nightmare worm that called itself the Khaqan persecute and destroy my father, my family, and my brother will be destroyed.
"I know them.
"I have known them for years.
"Lying awake, on my pallet, dreaming of the homeland I thought I would never see, I saw their faces, and I swore that if I was offered the chance, there would be a reckoning.
"This reckoning is now at hand."
Complete silence in the hall. Then the silence was broken by the applause of the Altaic Cluster-a forearm slammed hard against the body. Applauding the loudest was General Douw.
After all, each of them, and each of their families, had enemies.
Blood, indeed, had to be answered.
"... there would be a reckoning. This reckoning is now at-" and the man palmed the recorder off.
'' And what will your Imperial master think of that?'' Dr. Iskra asked, a note of challenge in his voice.
"The matter should not concern him," the man answered. "The Emperor chose you to rule the Altaic Cluster, after having decided you were the most qualified being. In what manner you choose to consolidate your power is not important, especially when it comes to minor trivia like a purge of the military hierarchy."
Dr. Iskra visibly relaxed. The man allowed him to relax while he went to a table and poured two cups of Iskra's nighttime herbal tea.
"That is assuming," he suddenly said, "that this action is handled as it should be. Which means you should be cautious as to how many private enemies you let these generals add to your list... And the matter must be handled immediately."
"It will be," Iskra said. "In the way you outlined as being the most effective. Of course, I have had to provide slight modifications, given the social characteristics of my people."
The man looked at Iskra and decided not to ask further.
The man was the Eternal Emperor's liaison to Dr. Iskra, ordered to operate under deep cover. No one beyond the Emperor himself was to know of his existence—especially not any of the Imperial mission on Rurik. That exclusion specifically indicated Sten, the Imperial ambassador.
Sten knew the man.
He was the consummate spymaster, a man who served no one but himself and his employers of the moment, who had best be the highest bidders.
His name was Venloe.
The man responsible for the assassination of the Eternal Emperor.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The forest was far north of Rurik. It began where an equally huge swamp ended, and it stretched for many kilometers, almost to the shore of a nearly tideless inland sea.
In the local peasant dialect, the forest was called "The Place of Smokes." In summer, windstorms swept through the forest, lifting huge clouds of debris high into the atmosphere. In spring and fall, dank fog crawled over the dry, silent land. In winter, polar storms made the "smoke" white.
Near that inland sea, many years earlier, the Khaqan had determined to build himself a retreat. Since everything on Rurik was big, and since the Khaqan thought even more grandiosely than his world encouraged, this retreat was to have included buildings sufficient for his entire court.
The property was surveyed.
Here and there one could still see colored markers that had been injected into tree trunks or stumps.
Roadways had been cleared, but never paved.
The Khaqan lost interest before any construction had been done, and the Place of Smokes returned to its desolation. Now, the forest's only visitors were illegal charcoal burners in summer and fall, and fur hunters in the winter.
They did not stay long. The forest was too huge. Too silent. Too uncaring.
The long line of gravlighters crept along the remains of a road, deep in the forest heart.
Each gravlighter's cargo area was packed with beings, human and ET. Some of them wore uniforms, hastily pulled on in summons to angry door-knocks and now ripped and torn. Others wore only what garments they had been able to grab as they were rushed from their homes or places of duty.
They were closely guarded by beings who wore the same uniform. But all of these guards were human.
The prisoners were silent. Some of them nursed wounds.
The gravlighters turned onto a narrower lane, then again, onto a track. The track opened onto what had been a meadow.
The lighters grounded.
Orders were shouted. The prisoners dismounted.
There were other prisoners still in the gravlighters. They lay, unmoving and trampled, on the lighters' decks. For the moment, these dead or near-dead were ignored by the guards.
Further orders brought the surviving prisoners into line.
Among the prisoners were Acinhow and N'em. One was a minor prison officer, the other a tax official. Both of them had had time, when being arrested, to grab a few rationpaks, which had kept them alive on the long trip north.
"And now," N'ern whispered. "I see no sign of a prison. Are we to build our own from this forest?"
Acinhow shook her head slightly and indicated with a nod.
Halfway across the meadow were long, open trenches. Earth-moving equipment waited nearby.
Other trenches had been dug beyond them. But these had been filled in. Earth mounded above them in rows.
N'ern's face became gray.
There were whispers as other prisoners saw the trenches. Shouts from the guards for silence.
It took N'ern two attempts before she could speak.
"The children will never—" She broke off.
Acinhow shivered.
N'em tried once more.
"At least... at least," she murmured, "it will be honorable."
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Sten was up to his ass in R-O-U-T-I-N-E. Which on Jochi meant a permanent state of borderline panic. Two thirds of the lights on the com board were winking yellow alert. The remainder were red.
His com techs—all schooled as diplomatic ombudsmen—hustled the board. Whittling away at the drakh. Soothing when mere calm words would do. Referring callers to appropriate agencies—knowing it would be some time before any Jochi governmental department would be operational. Dispensing small Imperial embassy favors where they could.
Anything worthwhile was boiled into an intelligence monograph and sent on to Sten. So many such reports had been pouring in that Sten had wound up spending his whole morning in the com room, poring over the reports, as well as fielding a stream of calls only an ambassador could deal with.
The first call of the day had been from young Milhouz, urgently wanting to talk to the ambassador. Sten put this at the bottom of the mental stack of things he had to do. Yes, he had promised the Pooshkan students a hearing with someone in authority. After meeting Dr. Iskra, Sten wasn't real sure how to make his promise good.
Later with that. He would figure out something—just as soon as he made sense of all these reports of scattered disturbances all over Jochi. Especially in the neighborhoods and ghettos of Rurik.
There were a few more blood feuds being settled than usual. But no rioting. Some small-scale street maneuvering by the militias. But no shots fired—in anger, at least. A slight increase in looting. Also family violence.
Sten scrolled on. He came to another urgent call from Milhouz. The com officer had boiled the message down to the following: "Have successfully won delay in ultimatum," it read. "Committee has agreed to extend deadline by one more week." Sten noted the com officer was Freston, his most senior and trusted dial-twiddler. Unfortunately, the man was far too efficient, and it had taken Sten to rescue him from a seemingly inevitable and murderously dull career running high-ranking REMF com staffs.