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foci circling him are asexual.
Never has Martel experienced an asexual focus. Theoretically, the user is
either ancient or alien, but while alien gods are possible in theory, Martel
has never run across one. Therefore, either the foci are ancient human-derived
gods or artificial.
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As a practical matter, neither is likely to be a danger, and Martel returns to
normal awareness, increasing his circulation level to lessen the possibility
of physical stiffness. He blinks.
While he can sense the five foci, he can see none, only Emily hovering at an
angle, her eyes shielded by her customary veil of glitter, emotions cloaked in
a jangle of discordant projections.
Lust rolls in so strongly the beach air reeks of rancid trilia blossoms, so
pungent that Emily would have cast a double shadow on any other planet. Martel
does not move.
 You still believe in all that ethical restraint, Emily notes as she touches
down several body lengths in front of him.
 No. Or not exactly. I don't like being pushed into making decisions.
 Apollo wagered that you would break the elementals.
 And you bet I wouldn't?
Emily makes a curious gesture in the air, and the five foci are reabsorbed
into the field.  You know, you do believe in ethical restraint. One woman, one
god, one set of beliefs, and that's what They're fearing.
Martel looks away, back at the thin edge of foam that coasts into the beach
ahead of the waves. Finally he speaks.  Why now?
 You've given Them a millennium. Isn't that enough? Since Emily never quite
tells the whole truth, Martel makes the necessary translation. Apollo has
finally decided that Martel is no danger and is moving against him. Either
that, or Emily has decided that Apollo is no danger to Martel and is pressing
Martel.  Not necessarily.
Emily takes a step sideways, toward the water. Martel casts around, but,
outside of a few norms farther up the beach, they are alone. No gods or
demigods are standing by.
 Why don't you go to Karnak, Martel? suggests Emily.  Why Karnak?
Why indeed Karnak? Is she playing to your curiosity, Martel? Or trying to get
you off Aurore, and away from the field?
Before he has finished the thought, the girl who glitters has bent the field
and is half Aurore away, or playing with the dolphins in midocean, or
reporting to Apollo. He can go to Karnak or he can stay on Aurore. That is not
the question, but then, it never has been.
XLV
 Shuttle from the Grand Duke Kirsten now arriving at port ten. Passengers from
Tinhorn, Accord, and Sahara. Grand Duke Kirsten at port ten.
One would have thought that the Viceroy would have retired the Grand Duke
before having the former pride of the transport liners relegated to backwater
runs. One might have thought, unless one knew the Viceroy. Even so, before
long the Grand Duke would be scrap or an outsystem tramp with a new name.
Eventually, another Grand Duke Kirsten of the Imperial Western Flag Fleet
would be built and christened the fifth of the same name and the cycle would
repeat.
In the meantime, the fourth Grand Duke carries passengers on the
Karnak-Tinhorn-Sabara-Acconi quadrangle, and often carries far less than a
full complement, for the schedule is more important than the profit, the
regularity a quietly impressive reinforcement of Viceregal power cheaper than
corresponding calls by appropriate fleets. Not that the fleets do not call. .
. just that they call less frequently, but just as impressively as ever.
The first shuttle's passengers file down the sloping corridor toward the
clearance officers and their fully instrumented cubicles.
One customs inspector fingers his power spray syringe, reviewing the small
holo of a black-haired man with a young face and deep eyes, a face that seems
to cast a shadow even through the holo cube. His partner should steer the man
toward his station. Then it will be his job to complete the operation.
The killer, for that is an accurate description of his profession, paid as he
is by the Assassins' Guild of Karnak, relaxes as he sees the man approach,
mentally measures the distance between the unsuspecting traveler and his
inspection console, and flexes his arm to ensure the proper function of the
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syringe hidden within his sleeve.
The victim wears black except for a silver triangle mounted on the plain black [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]