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.
