House of Reeds

him.

Prince Tezozуmoc stood near the middle of the room, a heavy Imperial assault rifle slung over his shoulder, the muzzle – still glowing cherry red and steaming softly – covering a pack of haggard, bloody Jehanan officers kneeling against the wall. The young man was watching his captives with a fixed, grim expression, teeth clenched tight. His hands were very steady on the handgrips of the weapon. His black skinsuit did not show any smudges, gore or dust.

'Ah, superbly done!' Bhazuradeha exclaimed, stepping past the kujen, who was staring very suspiciously at the wreckage, bodies and debris scattered around the room. 'The prince of the air has swooped down on pinioned wings, seizing the conspirators in their very lair! Look, mi'lord, see who he has taken captive for you: the king of land and sea, the conqueror of the four quarters!'

The kujen tore his eyes away from the sight of two battered, exhausted Imperial Eagle Knights sitting with their backs to the wall, cleaning their weapons and reloading with numbed, trembling fingers. The younger one had a pair of darkened goggles over his eyes and half his face swathed in quickheal gel. Bhrigu glanced at Mrs. Petrel, gave her a lingering, suspicious stare and then turned back to the poetess, who had stepped to the largest of the captive officers and twisted his head around, her tiny rose-colored hand tight on his snout.

'Kurbardar Humara,' Bhrigu said solemnly, looking down on the battered-looking officer. The scar along the Jehanan's snout twisted, but with the girl holding his mouth shut, he could say nothing. 'Your treachery has cost many lives, but by the quick thinking of many loyal men…and women' – he nodded to Bhazuradeha – 'your foul and treasonous rebellion has been crushed.'

The kujen made a slashing motion with his hand. 'Take him away!'

The troopers from the 111th swarmed forward, binding the captured officers and dragging them roughly away. Humara was the last to disappear through the door, his eyes filled with rage.

'That one,' Mrs. Petrel said quietly to the kujen, 'will have to be killed.'

'They will all be executed before nightfall,' Bhrigu said, tongue flicking between his teeth. 'All these traitors will be rounded up and shot. Their families will be exiled, their estates and properties confiscated.'

Mrs. Petrel nodded, beginning to relax. She felt terribly, terribly tired. 'What about the rebellious elements in the countryside, in Takshila and Gandaris?'

Bhrigu regarded her rather slyly. 'I'm sure the Imperial Army can take care of such rabble as runs amuck in the other principalities. Aren't your Colonel Yacatolli's men already deployed across the length and breadth of the Five Rivers?' He wrinkled his snout. 'Parus is wracked by civil unrest. There is no way my forces could essay to campaign against these other princes while my position is insecure at home!'

'I see.' Mrs. Petrel forced a cold smile. 'And if these mutinous lords are suppressed, then Imperial forces will be required to…maintain order…in the north. For some goodly time to come. Are you sure some Parusian regiments could not be spared to maintain civil administration in the rebellious towns? Taxes will have to be collected, the law enforced…'

Bhrigu clicked the point of a small claw against his teeth. 'A pressing point,' he admitted. 'Perhaps an arrangement could reached, apportioning these taxes in an equitable manner…'

On the other side of the city, in a quiet suburb, Itzpalicue rubbed her hands together, well pleased. The darkened room around her was lit by the glow of v-displays and filled with the hum of machinery and men and women talking rapidly into their comm-threads.

'Cut!' she barked, tapping a nail on her display.

In a side-pane, Lachlan scratched his head, leaning back in his chair in relief.

'Freeze feed, scrub out the jitter from those spyeyes and post a copy to the Mirror as soon as a t-relay is available.' The old NГЎhuatl woman opened a channel to all of her operators. 'Well done, all. Very well done.' She smiled, showing yellowed old teeth like a row of grainy pearls. 'Once the city is secured by loyalist troops, go to half-shifts. Release time-delay on all controlled comms. Time for the army to clean up our mess. Everyone can get some sleep.'

She yawned herself and sat down in a wicker chair from upstairs, completely spent. The warm feeling of a job well done, despite unexpected adversity, filled her breast. Itzpalicue turned to speak to Lachlan and saw the young man had already leaned back in his chair and was snoring softly. As she watched, one of his technicians draped a patterned blanket over his chest and arms, then reached out and shut down the v-feed.

'Well done, my boy,' Itzpalicue said to the darkened screen. 'Ah, I should rest myself. Tomorrow will be just as bus y…' She consulted her chrono and bared her teeth. 'Villeneuve should arrive soon and my services will be required again. Ah, this work is never done.'

The Cornuelle

At the Edge of the Jaganite Atmosphere

Wincing, Hadeishi settled himself into the command station in secondary control. Two medical orderlies assisted him, but despite their gentle hands, every nerve and muscle in his body throbbed with pain. At the navigator's station, a deathly-looking Sho-i Smith stared at him with haggard eyes.

'Kyo?' The boy's voice was a frail whisper.

'Prepare for maneuvering burn,' Hadeishi gasped in response, shifting his hips in the shockchair. 'Engineering – are you live on this channel?'

The Chu-sa had two earbugs and two comm-threads tacked in, one on each side of his face. Static and warbling interference intermittently flooded both channels.

We're here, an unfamiliar voice responded. This is Yoyontzin. Isoroku has gone up into the drive deck access to control the engines from the maintenance panel on level two.

'What?' Hadeishi kept his face still. Smith and the other junior officers in the secondary bridge were already on the ragged edge. All of them were injured – the communications officer had taken a bad cut on the side of his head and had one arm taped to his chest. A little less than half of the equipment was working – most of the control panels were dead – and there were signs of an explosion near the roof. A bitter taste of electrical smoke hung in the air. 'What happened to the telemetry relay?'

Keeps dropping out. Yoyontzin's voice was cracking, veering into panic. We've replaced the hard-line twice, and it just keeps dying. I have comm to the Thai-i on a separate channel. I'll…I'll just relay what you need by hand.

'Understood. Stand by.' Hadeishi muted the channel and stared at Smith. 'Navigational scanners? External sensors?'

'Up and running, kyo.' The midshipman tapped his panel. 'On your pane now.'

The command display curving around Hadeishi flickered to life. A set of v-panes unfolded, showing minimal altitude, position, direction and velocity data for the ship. The Chu-sa's jaw tightened and he forced himself to focus. The pain in his legs was wearing away at his concentration one bite at a time. 'We're deep,' he said, checking the altitude of the ship. 'Hull temperature?'

'Rising, but slowly.' Smith crouched over his panel, working the glyphs with one hand. 'A shallow descent.'

'All that's kept us alive so far,' Hadeishi said, reaching up to smooth his short beard. He grimaced – the Medical techs had shaved half of his face to get gel tape on his radiation burns – and switched back to the engineering channel. 'We have navigational control. Stand by for burn plot. Smith-tzin, we're going to have do a preprogrammed maneuver – the live relay to the engines is down. Isoroku will have to fire them remotely.'

'Hai, kyo.' The boy began tapping on his display. Hadeishi opened a Navplot pane himself and searched around on the console for a stylus. They had all disappeared, despite magnetic adhesive which was supposed to keep them in place. Somewhere there are millions of panel styli in a bucket, he thought blackly, millions of them.

Remembering a trick from the Academy, he slipped a rank tab from the collar of his z-suit and twisted the retaining clip out. The metal point had the right kind of electrical signature to activate the sensor layer on the v- pane. Leaning over, he began sketching a trajectory on the display showing the round bulk of Jagan, his ship and