High on the side of a skytower rising above the neon tumult of the Tlapocan district, a thin, darkly handsome Mexica of indeterminate years stepped from an unmarked aircar and onto a landing platform shining crimson with silken carpet. Six guardsmen had preceded him, each shrouded in combat armor, their faces invisible behind armored masks skinned as jaguars. The nobleman paused, waiting for his bodyguards to check their perimeter and signal an all-clear. While he waited on the open platform, a hot southern wind tousled his long, straight hair, carrying with it the stench of the largest city in the world-burning rubber and plastic, the smoke from countless fires, and the acrid tang of industrial solvents exuded from the endless kilometers of factories, workshops, foundries filling the old city districts climbing the surrounding mountains. Such was the heady air of the Valley of the Mexica people, Anahuac.
The lead guardsman snapped shut a portable sensor and inclined his head towards the man standing quietly in the center of the platform.
“Clear, my lord,” growled the Jaguar-Knight. The nobleman nodded slightly, and then lifted his arms. A manservant stripped away his mantle and undertunic, leaving nothing but bare flesh. A second servant immediately ran his thumb-enhanced with a spurlike ring-along the man’s shoulders, arms, sides, and down to his heels. The first servant hurried back from the aircar and now gathered up the almost-invisible skinsuit puddling at the Mexica’s feet.
Now the second servant produced a slim metallic wand and carefully ran the device around the periphery of the man’s limbs, eyes fixed on a tiny readout. When he was done, the servant nodded sharply to the Mexica, who let out an infinitely small breath of relief. He shrugged his shoulders, loosening the muscles, and then beckoned for the heavy Tatarsky coat just carried from the aircar. A sleek ermine-fur hat followed, and both servants made a careful check of cuffs, belt, and boots before whispering “all is well” in the man’s ear.
The pattern word made something click in his mind, and the omnipresent exocortex overlay that daily informed his vision faded away.
The Jaguar-Knight stepped away from the man’s side, his heavy Yaomitl plasma-rifle at half port. The safety interlock was sealed and peace-bonded with a texite strap, but none of the guardsmen could bear to leave their weapons behind, not even here. The circle of iron parted, allowing the Mexica to approach the single door exiting the platform.
The portal was massive-six meters high-and formed of a single anthracite slab. The walls on either side gleamed dully, showing the refractive sheen of battlemetal. When the man’s step reached a hand-span from the door, there was a soft hissing sound and the entire massive structure folded up and away into a hidden cavity. Beyond, a dark corridor receded, lit only by a line of pale blue lights on the floor. Chill air billowed out around the nobleman, biting at his high cheekbones and stinging his lips. Eddies of fog formed as the near-freezing atmosphere inside the corridor mixed with the thick, warm air of central Mexico.
“Await me,” the man said to the Jaguar-Knight before stepping away and pacing down the corridor, fog boiling at his heels. “I will return in due time.”
The twenty-meter-long passage was entirely empty-and in truth, in the whole of the man’s life this was possibly the only time he was truly alone-and ended in a second titanic slab of stone. As the first had risen, this one receded into the floor at his approach and again the temperature dropped. Hoar-frost now rimed the walls, though the chamber beyond was well appointed with large, heavily constructed chairs, a pair of low waiting tables, and behind them-on walls cloaked in heavy silken tapestries-a vast collection of curious artifacts.
Gorgeous masks and finely wrought amulets, tiny figurines of gold and silver, one or two delicate statues in glossy marble-a collection of treasures, all drawn from the cities, nations, and principalities of Anahuac-and all well known to the Mexica, who had spent many interminable hours considering them as he waited in this very room.
Thus are our museums plundered, he thought drily. Any anger had long since been schooled from him. And our history held up to mock us.
This time he did not pace along the walls, but rather stood quietly, attempting to conserve some vestige of the summer heat in the folds of his coat. The first time the nobleman had entered this chamber-sixty years ago, more or less-he’d come close to hypothermia and he had no desire to lose fingers or toes to hastiness.
A breathing technique, imparted by a nauallis of his acquaintance, settled his mind, slowing his heartbeat and moderating his metabolism. His mind, usually filled to capacity with a thousand and one details, all warring with one another for his attention, fell quiet as well. In other circumstances, the Mexica would have welcomed a moment of quiet meditation.
Here, however, such efforts were part and parcel of his preparations.
No more than an hour later, a creature appeared out of one of the passages opening into the waiting area, and the Mexica was curiously surprised. He guessed-and a review of historical records would later confirm-this was the shortest that either he, or one of his predecessors, had ever waited.
Odd, he allowed himself to think.
The servitor gestured sharply with a wrinkled gray-black hand and then turned away. The Mexica followed without hesitation and moments later had climbed a flight of steep, granite steps into a second room-this one well known to him, and occupied by a being he knew far too well. Like the servitor, the creature, sitting upon a large chair of some bloodred wood, was wrinkled and gray-black with a heavy, close-napped fur. To a human, it seemed as though a two- or three-meter-high tapir had found hind legs and stood up. A pair of shiny, feverish eyes was placed far back in deep sockets on either side of a long, tapering skull which ended in a pair of slit-like nostrils. Though his scientists had not dared to dissect the rare Hjo which fell prey to misfortune in Imperial space, the Mexica knew the alien could withstand tremendously cold temperatures, that it was very fast when startled, and stronger-kilo for kilo-than an equivalent human. In other circumstances, the suffering the Hjo must endure in the Anahuac summer might have drawn a drop of compassion from the Mexica, but in this case-he often prayed for even worse heat and drought to afflict his city.
“Esteemed Ekbanz.” The man bowed precisely as low as required, then stood up straight with benign attention arrayed upon his face. “Guide me to Right Thought.”
“Right Thought? Right Thought? ” The zhongdu Ekbanz’s brow furrowed sharply and his eyes gleamed with distaste. “Ever we are displeased to hear sacred words from your pitiful lips.” A massive hand cut the air sharply. “Though so you must address us, as guided by Law…” There was a long, high-pitched hiss as the creature exhaled through a set of multivalved nostrils.
The nobleman neither spoke nor moved. He felt his own naturally smooth brown skin blotching and pitting with the cold in the audience room. He waited an unseemly period for the zhongdu to continue, but by continued slow breathing and a focused mind he kept from making an unwise movement, or showing any hint of the grim cold which was stealing into his limbs.
At last, the zhongdu stirred from his contemplations and exposed a single claw tip. The appendage gleamed with red and black lacquer as it pointed at the man’s chest. “You have neglected Duty. You have broken the third agreement, human. By Law, this entire system should be forfeit to us-an example to be made, of cindered worlds and ashy skies…”
What has come to his attention? And more important, who was the messenger? “Esteemed-”
“You cannot force harmony from this dissonance! My sources are accurate, timely, detailed in their facts.”
Just fishing for information? I wonder. “The third agreement?”
The zhongdu bared his teeth. Even at this distance, its breath was hot upon the Mexica’s face. “With proper concessions, We may be satisfied with a colony world serving as an example. What do you offer to restore proper balance between us?”
“Esteemed, I still await the accusations.”
The Hjo grimaced, revealing twin rows of tiny, cutting teeth. “You are a bold servant, human. But this is not a matter for a Speaker of the Law to adjudicate. This is between us. Our arrangements require that you provide us with all evidence of the Ones-Who-Wait in a prompt and forthright matter. If you have found anything…”
Ahuizotl felt suddenly, unaccountably sad. An Imperial security breach. At the highest levels. The Mirror, I would think. Now there must be another purge. He straightened his shoulders. “Esteemed, I assure you that the evidence is quite poor. It consists only of three missing ships. We are mounting an effort to examine the area of space and determine if a permanent hazard to navigation exists, and if so, to determine what it might be that all might avoid the region in future.”
The zhongdu settled back, wrinkling his long leathery snout, and took a protracted drag on a nargile sitting beside the chair. The sharp scent reaching the Mexica’s nostrils suggested opium, or another derivative of the poppy. No, not just opium. Something else less subtle. Probably synthetic. Remarkable how much psychoactivity Hjo physiology absorbs without noticeable effect. It is true that in his place I, too, should not be pleased. Nor surprised.
After a moment, the creature issued a long, coiling stream of smoke from one nostril. Its eyes had settled back in their sockets, leaving only a faint, disgusted gleam.
Ekbanz considered the human with disgust. Look at the fragile, pink-skinned toy in the heavy jacket and fur-lined cloak! See how it mimics Us, as though taking our seeming would confer our strength! This one seems sick, too. Behold the yellowing of the eyes. But Right Thought has guided it to me, just as my patience with Sahane wanes. Their ships are fragile-easily lost in the abyss-yes, there is Purpose to be found here.
“We shall send an expert to review the situation,” the zhongdu declared. “As we have great experience in such matters.”
“Esteemed, such generosity is far beyond our-” the Mexica began.
“ Hsst! Your fleet’s departure requires our emissary aboard the flagship. Do not consider otherwise.”
“Of course, Esteemed.” The Mexica bowed his head. I hope your agent is disposable. “The expedition’s departure is imminent. The last shuttle leaves this evening at the second dinner hour.”
The zhongdu shook its head slowly. “You will wait until the emissary arrives. Go now and prepare. Your presence here is no longer required.”
Despite an intense desire to begin running, the man held a measured pace as he removed himself from the chamber. Once outside, in the blue-lit tunnel, he clenched his jaw against a stabbing pain behind both temples. A migraine and no med-band to alleviate the pressure.
With the toy gone, Ekbanz glared down at the pitiful specimen his servitors now dragged before him. The zhongdu felt a painful throbbing in his forebrain, just from considering the doleful aspect of the Hjo at his feet. But, as was proper, he said nothing for a long moment, partaking of the bitter smoke provided by the water pipe.
“A punishment is in order,” he declared at last, “for disturbing the right order of my heavens. You were sent here with great expectations, Sahane, but you have only proven how low your noble line has fallen.” The zhongdu made a gesture indicating large and abiding regret. His nostrils flared wide to inhale the aspect of the young priest suffering deliciously from pure fear. Ekbanz felt almost repaid for having this embarrassment cluttering up the embassy for so many months. “The Hypothesis that brought all of this about was posited by you, and you will prove it out.”
Sahane’s nose quivered. “Esteemed, I only imagined…”
“Pack your bags. You will accompany the local toys to investigate this anomaly.”
“Yes, of course. Guide my Thoughts.”
“They shall find Guidance.”
Sahane shuffled out into the outer hallway and sank immediately into a dreadful depression. Isn’t it enough that I am exiled to this backwater? He fished about in his pouch for a box of opium pellets. I am too large of mind and body to be stuffed into a miniature spaceship! How shall I stand the smell and chatter of these ignorant toys? It will take too long-these foolish exercises are beyond the Rim. The universe is full of worthless stellar clusters. I am no astronomer! This is beneath the station of anyone in my family! Pah!
“Ah, Most Honored One… word has it that you have received a crucial posting, a task from the zhongdu himself. Where are you going?”
The young Hjo straightened up, seeing two older members of the embassy approaching. Their fur was lying quite flat and still, indicating hidden amusement and delight.
“As you can well guess,” he replied, trying to keep his voice level, “this is a secret mission, and not to be bandied about. I must leave you now. There is little time to prepare.”
He brushed past the others quickly, but still heard the sneering whisper: “Maybe the great Sahane can bring Right Thought to the humans and their chattels!”
“Yes, a task worthy of our esteemed holy one!”
“I do not need servants to remind me of my family duties,” the young Hjo mumbled to himself. “More than a thousand generations of noble duty are more reputation than any one Hjogadim of the Sacred Line should have to bear.” Once safely inside his sleeping compartment Sahane slumped against the hatchway. “Little is more useless,” he whispered bitterly to the nearest wall, “than the last priest of a race without need for Gods.”
A thousand meters away, the unmarked aircar lifted from the landing stage with a swirl of dust and sped away into the thick, humid sky. A constant layer of cloud lay over the city, trapped beneath the massive dome which enclosed the Capital. The vapors and exhalations of the millions living below rose upward, forming a microclimate beneath the glassite despite the presence of thousands of air circulators in the dome superstructure. The leaden clouds replied with a constant, stinging rain.
Two kilometers from the skytower, four Tocatl -class airtanks dropped out of the gloom and settled into formation around the aircar. Now the entire convoy increased speed, racing northwest across the sprawl. In the comfortable passenger compartment, the nobleman coughed harshly and rubbed his temples, trying to banish the remaining chill. The servants had dressed him on the platform, resealing his armored skinsuit, applying a fresh med-band, and pressing a cup of circulatory stimulant into his hands.
The kaffe had gone into the disposal as soon as he was alone. He needed the warmth, but his stomach would not stand the acidity of the drink. And now his mind was full again, and ten thousand priorities vied for his attention.
The zhongdu ’s command, however, held sway in his thoughts.
But what could be done? If the Hjogadim wanted to interfere, then he must let them. “There is too much set on this throw to provoke another crisis,” he said aloud to the mauve and gunmetal blue compartment.
“Would you care for hot cacahuatl? ” the CabinComp asked in a soothing feminine voice.
“Later.” The Mexica tapped up a panel showing the faces of five men. Four were quite alike, handsome and clear-faced, flint-eyed, each radiating a sureness of spirit which would have made another father positively glow with joy. The last was a sallow, dissolute wreck with puffy features and lank hair. Despite his intent, the man’s eyes settled there and remained for a long time.
“Tezozomoc, my son,” the Mexica breathed at last, running the edge of his little finger along the side of the 3-v pane. “You were such a beautiful child…” Great sadness suffused the Tlaltecutli ’s face, here in this false privacy. The image before him melted into that of a little black-haired baby held in a woman’s arms. His large, bright eyes looked out from the folds of a blanket. “Now look at you… my little, little boy. What has become of you?”
After a long moment, the Emperor passed his hand over the pane and it folded away. Only the four mighty brothers remained. Outside the armored windows, the convoy threaded between soaring towers aglow with neon and searchlights. Tenochtitlan the Eternal sprawled out to fill the bowl of the Valley of the Mexica like a lake of living gold. The cold fire of his city lighted Ahuizotl’s face while he considered each of his sons in turn. Four of the finest warriors we can produce, he mused. Equipped with the finest training, with dearly bought exocortex overlays, genetically enhanced… which should I spend on this useless exercise? Who goes to the eagle’s stone?
Minutes later, he reached out from deep thought to com Xochitl, his second-eldest, popularly know as “precious flower.”
“My son,” he began without greeting. “I have a task, a mission which I wish you to undertake.”
“My father, I…”
The Emperor did not permit a response. “Someone exceptionally trustworthy must convey an agent of the zhongdu beyond the Rim. It is possible that a weapon of the First Sun has been found. Considering your capabilities, I am confident that no one else will serve. Understand that the Mirror is already on station, monitoring the device… and a Fleet battle-squadron will be underway within the hour.”
Ahuizotl could see the combined suspicion and pleasure in Xochitl’s face. His tutors did train him to be ever wary. But he is my son, and he wishes to earn my good regard.
“Surely one of the Admiralty would…”
“This is family business. You must understand that. None else can assume the responsibility.” Ahuizotl smiled. “And who, then, should I send? Tezozomoc the Glorious? To command the Tlemitl?”
Xochitl laughed nastily. Pleasure at his father’s apparent favor flushed his face. “The Tlemitl, you say?”
“Yes. She has just cleared the fitting yards. And it is only proper that you should command her. But carefully now,” the Emperor went on, a serious tone creeping into his voice. “The Scout Service may have found something real out in the back of beyond, and if they have, the single most important thing you must do is make sure this Hjogadim emissary does not find out what it is. Too, he must be returned safely to Anahuac. And of course, we must secure the relic or object for our own use. You understand?”
Xochitl nodded.
Ahuizotl knew his son’s blood would be afire with the prospect of reaching high enough to touch the face of Tonatiuh itself. As for himself, the Emperor felt exhaustion and sadness settle deeper into his bones. We cannot afford the loss of a ship like the Firearrow… not now. I can spare a son, but not her… curse the Mirror, the Judges, and all meddlers!
He tapped the channel closed, an old song coming to mind-something he’d heard long ago, in his innocence, from one of the elders at Chapultepec:
Oh youths, here there are skilled men with shield-reeds, In the flowers of the pendant eagle plume, The yellow flowers they grasp; they pour forth noble songs, Noble flowers; They make payment with their blood, With their bare breasts They seek the bloody field of war. And you, O friends, put on your black paint For war, for the path of victory; Let us lay hands on our shields, Raise aloft our strength and courage.