It was just as well that Hoshi had accepted J'zakthi's offer to accompany her to the encounter with the Oo'oacu, because she'd never have found her way there on her own.
The building was an absolute maze, corridor after corridor that after a while simply melted into a confused impression of color and wealth, populated by splendidly-dressed people who made way for the two of them as though they were radioactive. Every face turned towards them with an expression of awe that bordered on fear.
Her companion seemed to notice nothing out of the ordinary. He was more splendidly dressed today than he had been the day before; his long, loose black robes were of what looked like patterned silk, so long at the back that the hem whispered along the floor behind him. He was wearing no jewelry except deep wristbands of black silk studded with tiny pearls in complex sigils, but from a long leather cord around his neck hung a plain, slender dagger with a blade of what looked like obsidian.
"The Chief Artisan is to be in attendance on the Oo'oacu," he remarked presently, a propos (it seemed) of nothing in particular. "The Oo'oacu has commanded the commissioning of the first of the panels for his Eternal House. It is a day of great significance, as the hieth'a will be aware. All hope that the gods will smile upon it." There was the smallest shift of emphasis, so slight that anyone with less keen an ear for tone than hers might well have missed it. "Of course, a vision would be the most significant omen of all for such divine approval."
"The gods send visions as and when they will," she replied, keeping her voice neutral. "The zarh surely knows this as well as the hieth'a does."
"What the zarh knows and what the hieth'a knows and what the Oo'oacu hopes for are not always one and the same thing." His voice was silken, utterly without inflection. "The zarh knows that the gods may not be commanded. Nevertheless, the zarh may hope."
"The hieth'a also hopes. Everything that may be done, shall be." Hoshi kept her voice equally level. No point in letting him know that the chances of her producing a 'vision' were zero; in a case like this, she was going to play it one-hundred-percent safe. The Oo'oacu would have to do without his sign of divine approval, however disappointed he might be.
He nodded, and after a moment said, again with that odd gentleness, "The zarh admires the hieth'a's courage, if she seeks the gods again so soon after what happened yesterday."
It took her an effort to keep her face expressionless. What the hell happened yesterday? Was it – was it something to do with the way Travis and I came here? She could hardly question him on that point, however. Whatever she was to find out, she must do so alone. And cautiously – surely they'd excuse her caution! – at least till she'd managed to get hold of Travis.
Maybe this was their way home. She fought down the sudden wild surge of hope, buckling it down beneath grim determination. If this 'seeking the gods' held out any prospect of getting back to their own time and their own people she'd seize it with both hands. Until then, she just had to watch her step and play along. And whatever happened, she had to get hold of Travis and keep him with her somehow.
A few minutes later they turned another corner – she'd long ago given up trying to keep count, or even any sense of direction – and arrived at a very large corridor indeed, one that seemed to run in a straight line for a great distance. Away on their right, at the other side and perhaps twenty meters further down, was a huge pair of double doors. Two guards in flashy armor stood on either side of it, each holding a great broad-bladed spear.
J'zakthi walked towards the door and between the guards with the ease of one to whom it would be unthinkable even to consider denying entry. Hoshi matched him step for step, keeping her chin high.
As the new arrivals drew level, the innermost of each pair of guards set hands on the door and pushed. The great wooden structures must have been incredibly heavy, but they were so finely balanced that they swung with remarkably little effort, and made no sound at all.
The pillared room within was vast, and so brilliant with color that it easily outstripped all those she'd seen before. Bands of the palest imaginable gold spiraled up each pillar, with exquisitely detailed frescoes between them. The floor was an expanse of alternating green, blue and white hexagonal marble tiles; the ceiling high above was made of wood, carved and gilded.
The far end was such a blaze of color and light that it took a moment for her eyes to adjust sufficiently to pick out detail. Presently, however, she saw a figure on a throne, raised on a dais of four high steps. There was a second, empty throne to the right of him, on the second step, and another on the third, opposite it. Neither of these approached the magnificence of the central one. It looked as though it was made of solid gold, draped with priceless fabrics and exquisite furs. Tall windows all around the curved end of the room let in light that focused on it and lit it as though it was the only illuminated object in a dark room.
But there was plenty of light left over to pick out the court standing assembled around him. There must have been over two hundred Yb'oan nobles and courtiers, each more splendidly dressed and bejeweled than his neighbor. They were all men. Presumably women were not admitted to this center of power; it was common among many primitive societies for their womenfolk to be regarded as the lesser, weaker sex, unsuited to any responsibility more demanding than child-rearing and home-making.
It seemed that the 'hieth'a' was an exception to this rule.
Hoshi set her jaw and stiffened her back as she and J'zakthi paced up the center of the long room. She was one of Enterprise's alpha bridge crew, one of Starfleet's best. She would show no feminine weakness that would play into this society's disdain for women's abilities.
Three men were standing facing the throne, at the foot of the steps. One was standing at right angles to them. It was soon evident that he was relaying their words to the Oo'oacu, who never looked at them.
The exchange had not quite finished by the time the new arrivals came to a halt some five meters behind the three, who were apparently explaining some shortfall in the expected tribute for that year. Hoshi was briefly puzzled by the fact that they spoke to the oo'oacu's representative rather than to the oo'oacu himself, because they were all speaking the same language and there was no modification of any kind in the relayed messages that would suggest some kind of translation. Presumably it was beneath the oo'oacu's dignity to listen to visitors from a vassal country, particularly when they were bringing news that was hardly likely to please him.
When the last speaker had concluded with an appeal for the Oo'oacu's patience and goodwill, there was a little silence. Then the hazel eyes of the man on the throne cut sideways to where one man was waiting, dressed in white robes that were an aching brilliance in that sea of vivid color.
Hezafer moved forward, his steps measured, his expression bland. At a guess, he was authorized to propose some timetable for the shortfall to be made good.
Lying on the green marble of the bottom step of the dais was a long-handled jade ax.
He lifted and swung it before the three ambassadors had time to react. It virtually decapitated the first before burying itself deep into the chest of the second. This unfortunately caused the blade to become momentarily wedged between the man's ribs, and as the ambassador toppled to the floor, gasping in agony, Hezafer jerked at it savagely to dislodge it, kicking him.
It was hardly surprising that the third man reacted, knowing all too well what his fate was to be when the zarh succeeded in getting the weapon free. He spun around, dilated eyes seeking escape and finding nothing but the closed expressions of the courtiers who would not utter one word or make one move to save him. If he made it to the door there were the guards beyond it. He was going to die.
It was improbable that he thought through the consequences of his next action, even if he understood what they might be. He threw himself towards Hoshi, whether to plead with her to intervene on his behalf or to take her hostage would never be known.
Obsidian can be worked to produce an edge of razor sharpness. J'zakthi moved with absolute economy of effort. The blade ran with perfect precision into the hollow under the man's jaw and buried itself in his brain. The zarh's left arm clamped around the dying ambassador, holding him upright just long enough for his right hand to neatly slip the cord from around his neck so that the blade could stay in place as the body was allowed to slip to the floor.
Straightening, he looked with cool disdain at Hezafer, whose white robes were spattered with scarlet.
Hoshi gulped desperately, swallowing vomit. She knew that her face had gone pale. I can't pass out, I can't, she told herself over and over again, and fortunately it worked. The buzzing in her ears receded, and her suddenly weak knees regained some of their steadiness. She concentrated on taking long, deep breaths, forcing herself not to think about the bodies or the blood; trying instead to imagine herself back on the Bridge aboard Enterprise rather than in the midst of these nightmare parodies of the people she knew and loved.
Nobody moved. Nobody said anything.
Servants dived in, materializing from nowhere as it seemed, and dragged away three things that were making the floor untidy. Others produced cloths and water, and cleaned up the mess, rubbing frantically at the tiles till they bore not a speck of red. Still more ran to Hezafer and carefully disrobed him, removing the ruined, priceless gold-shot fabric and winding fresh in its place, while he stood motionless, his expression one of remote boredom. As soon as he was pristine again he walked back to his previous place.
There was not so much as a fleck of blood on J'zakthi's clothing. The knife left in the wound had seen to that. Presently one of the servants ran back in with it and presented it to him, bowing. The blade had been wiped clean. Quietly, his face showing nothing, he slipped the cord back around his neck.
Not until every last scrap of evidence of the entire episode had been tidied away did anyone stir, almost as though they'd all been caught into some magical trance while unpleasant but necessary things went on to restore the world to its proper order.
At that moment two things happened.
J'zakthi stepped forward to take up the place previously occupied by the unfortunate ambassadors. She automatically stepped with him.
And a door opened in the wall behind the oo'oacu, and a small number of gorgeously-clad people entered. Most of them moved automatically to left or right, taking up places among the courtiers flanking the dais. One, however – a woman – walked to the throne on the third step and took her seat on it with aloof dignity. It was not she who captured Hoshi's gaze, however, despite the fact that the face beneath the green and gold paint looked eerily familiar, but the man who walked behind her and took up position directly behind the throne on which she sat. His eyes roamed the faces in front of him until they latched on to hers, and it was immediately obvious that for a split second he could hardly contain his joy and relief any more than she could.
She'd found Travis.
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