doorway. They said nothing, but every technician in the room, including Helsdon, turned instinctively towards them.
The Imperial Jaguar Knights entered silently, their armor etched with dozens of black spots overlaid on a mosaic of pale blue and yellow lines. Their helmets, the visors currently opaque, rippled with stylized black and white feathers. Though entirely functional, the Ocelototec Mark Sixteen articulated combat suit contained a simple stealthing technology which allowed the wearer to adjust the surface patterning at will. At the moment, all three Jaguar Knights had their distinctive regimental colors and emblems dialed down-but Helsdon had seen them on military parade in Tenochtitlan itself, and knew they could, with the addition of brilliantly feathered nanomechanical cloaks, shine like the sun itself.
The officer-there were no obvious markings on his armor to indicate this, but Helsdon had a sense of the Knight from the way he carried himself-surveyed the room. The Jaguar’s gaze settled on the engineer, which made Malcolm swallow nervously. Not good; someone has realized I’m the “survivor.”
“The Prince Imperial will speak with you,” the officer declared, his voice underlain by a vocoder-generated growl.
A firm grip helped him to his feet and down the hall. I guess consent isn’t required. Wisely Helsdon made no protest, simply following along where directed. Any instinct to resist had been suppressed by his tremendous weariness. A tubecar put him and his escort at the main shuttle bay, which had previously been the Calexico ’s cargo loading hangar. A mint-new shuttle was standing by, hull glittering with protostellar debris. He got a good look at the crest above the hatchway as he was hustled inside. The Imperial household! They did mean “the Prince.” Saint Ebba the Younger, preserve me from the attention of On High.
The shuttle drifted into a boat-bay on the side of the Tlemitl which could have swallowed the Calexico whole. The descent of the passenger boat to the landing stage seemed almost ludicrous to Helsdon as he watched acres of freshly constructed pressure wall roll past the porthole. Even the seats on the shuttle were so new they squeaked. Professional curiosity drove him to eyeball the curve of the air intakes, and peer out at the flaps and lifting surfaces on the shuttle wing.
Two versions up, at least, from the last of these Tegus models I worked on.
Inside the super-dreadnaught, he was struck by the emptiness of the passages. An SDN usually carried an enormous complement; freighting a Fleet Command staff, whole embassies, trade delegations, and a full regiment of marines. But here-as he and his escorts zipped along on a g-sled-most of the offices, or spaces for shops, were empty.
Only a combat crew aboard, he guessed. At one point they passed a pair of technicians rooting around in a series of access panels in an adjacent hallway. Still doing the fit and finish work. So this heavyweight has been rushed into service.
The sled passed through two checkpoints-both manned by more Jaguar Knights-and finally they found themselves in a tenanted precinct. Officers, technicians, and staff orderlies filled the passages, each moving with the kind of swift direction which implied a task of tremendous importance.
They dismounted in a double-height corridor lined with enormous mural-sized v-panes.
On the left side, as Helsdon hurried past, two towering volcanoes-the doomed lovers Popocatepetl and Iztaccihuatl-loomed over a vast, bowl-like city drowned in night. But so great was the glow of lights and fires and refineries in the valley that it seemed filled with rivers of molten gold. Beyond the dim outline of the two peaks, the night sky was split by the blazing white-hot descent of an enormous meteor, which would in just moments smash into the plain of Tlaxcallan a hundred kilometers to the east. The streaking fire-trails of thousands of anti-ballistic missiles-launched by the Mexica in a vain hope to destroy the incoming weapon-were frail in comparison.
That Blow-and even Helsdon, raised on a colony world far from the Center knew the story, which was a foundation stone of Imperial mythology-would shatter the neighboring province, triggering massive earthquakes which would level most of Imperial Tenochtitlan, and inspire a new ice age due to the dust thrown into the upper atmosphere. But all of this would not fatally wound the Empire and, indeed, the Mexica reaction to the attack would carry their armies victoriously to every corner of the globe.
Curiously, Helsdon could not-in his half-addled state-recall the name of the adversary who had struck the Blow. Must have been one of the European powers-was it Denmark? I cannot remember.
To the right, the mural panels were dark, showing only intermittent static and a wandering glyph indicating the v-server attached to them had suffered some kind of file corruption problem.
At the end of the hall, a massive, blocky stone gate stood closed. Each door post was formed in the shape of a jaguar standing on its hind legs, paws raised, talons unsheathed. The lintel was formed of a line of squared-off skulls, deep-set eye sockets filled with shadow. As the engineer approached, one of the jaguar heads swiveled towards him-and even after serving in the Fleet for nearly ten years, the sight still raised the hackles on the back of his neck-and the feline eyes burned a deep, lambent yellow for a moment. Both Knights paused, and their firm grip on Helsdon’s shoulders held him in place while they were scanned. Then the gate swung open, stone valves grinding ominously. The Ocelotl officer stepped inside, muttered something, and then gestured for Helsdon to enter.
The engineer presumed such quarters would be filled with every kind of luxury. But instead, he found himself facing a slim, dark-haired, copper-skinned young man with perfectly regular features, in a room stacked with shipping crates and a series of oddly decorated free-standing screens. The young man was sitting on the edge of a table heaped with a fortune in papers and real books. On him, Fleet dress whites seemed more than a uniform, they seemed to glow under the strip lights in the ceiling, and the contrast with his dark skin was very striking. In full court regalia, an Imperial Prince would be almost invisible under the weight of a massive, jeweled feather-cloak and pendants and torques of gold.
But here, in this jumbled room, he exuded an effortless, almost irresistible authority. Only one dissonance caught at Malcolm’s attention.
He seems… anachronistic, Helsdon thought. Where are all of his electronics? The Prince did not wear a medband or comm bracelet, or even an earbug. There was a velour-skinned sofa, but no chairs and no bed. A strange, not-entirely-unpleasant odor of musk and tobacco hung in the air. The engineer was frankly puzzled when he knelt before the Prince. As he did, he noticed the Jaguars had remained outside, leaving him-apparently-alone with the young man. He was no expert on court ritual and etiquette, but it seemed rash to let one slightly deranged Fleet kika-no within arm’s reach of the Emperor’s son. But he must be well armed of himself. Aren’t the Imperial Family supposed to be superhuman?
“ Tlatocapilli -great lord, son of the Light of the World-how may
I-”
“Get up,” Xochitl snapped irritably. “Tell us-tell me-what you saw and how you survived.”
Helsdon breathed in deeply. This isn’t the real thing, it’s only a story about what happened to another person. Just another debriefing. Nothing can reach me here.
“Light of Heaven, I was going EVA to repair a thermocouple relay,” he began.
He related the momentary glimpse of the “blurred thread” which cut Calexico in half, leading to so many deaths, and then the long desperate struggle to stay alive in the wreck of the destroyer. Eventually-and by this time his voice was hoarse-another Imperial Scout ship had arrived and recovered him.
When Helsdon finished, he found himself rubbing his hands on his trousers. Why do they sweat so much? Then he stood in the awkward silence, trying to focus on the Prince. The room had darkened into night cycle as he’d talked, and now Xochitl was only a vague shape, his light-colored mantle a lesser shadow in the gloom.
“Thank you, Engineer Second.” Xochitl stood up slowly.
Wish I could see his face better. Didn’t he believe me?
Xochitl spoke to the air: “ Kikan-shi Helsdon is ready to return to the research station.”
Helsdon’s mind-which seemed oddly fogged-cleared at the thought of returning to work. Now there it is
