Fire Sanctuary Read online

  Fire Sanctuary

  Katharine Eliska Kimbriel

  Book View Café

  29 March 2011

  Copyright © 1986, 2011 Katharine Eliska Kimbriel

  ISBN: 9781611380569

  Dedication

  For my godson Justin,

  who received a manuscript instead of a baptismal quilt.

  A Prophecy of Naitun

  And in a year of flame

  and thunder,

  From the womb

  of a healer

  life shall be born,

  bearing sight

  no one

  has seen before.

  And ye shall bow down

  to the one

  before them—

  Rejoice!

  In the healing

  these Atare bring.

  Nuala is one.

  —Naitun

  A Mythmaker Defines Nuala

  This is but a glimpse, a glimmer of end and beginning, exordium and terminus. For to understand Nuala, the word and all the nuance surrounding it, is a lifetime in itself. Nuala is many things—a solar system, a planet, a religion, a language, a people, a way of life familiar, and yet unfamiliar, to the senses of the human species. If you understand nothing else after you have heard this tale, understand this: Nuala means “survival.” Survival against all odds, all enemies, all fortune. Survival.

  —From the words of the Mythmaker, in the reign of the 167th Atare.

  Chapter One

  THE GERRYMANDER

  “Assassin takes king of spades. King of hearts to edifice, queen of hearts to crown, king of clubs to ascendant,” the computer droned as it made its move. The duty officer winced visibly as his king was toppled from the peak of the pyramid.

  Lyte did not allow his smile to reach his face. The computer’s programming for edifice was elementary, and it played scarcely at an intermediate level. Knocking off the edifice card in the second round merely to introduce a pretender in the last tier was poor strategy—but then computers had trouble with edifice strategy. It was too erratic a game for a machine, a fact that kept living, breathing dealers all over the republic in constant demand. Although this move put the computer’s high card into the heir’s position, it placed Lyte at edifice and ascendant—strong positions so early in the game. The duty officer, whose name Lyte did not remember, was in trouble.

  Of course, the idiot had probably figured out his error two days ago, after the first three-hour session of cards. His anticipated “easy” opponent had turned out to be a professional gambler. Fortunately for Lyte, the man was too proud to admit he was overmatched, and the equivalent of a fourteenday’s pay glittered on the divider between them. Lyte’s sympathy had dimmed long ago—the officer was arrogant, almost contemptuous of his two passengers. I would cheat to beat you, fool. If the Nualans hired you to prove they don’t discriminate against non-Nualans, they went too far....

  The 3AV hologram to his right winked at him, drawing his attention. It was frozen in its hold mode, waiting for instructions. Allowing himself a languid stretch, Lyte punched the promotion tape back to its beginning. Noticing his distraction, the duty officer visibly searched for a good move, his nostrils twitching in agitation. Lyte wasn’t worried; he probably didn’t have a good move. Time to finish this hand and start another; he was getting bored, and that shouldn’t happen in edifice.

  “Pass,” the man finally said, his nostrils now fluttering frantically. The contrast of his nervous tic with his excessively thin face was laughable, but Lyte controlled himself as he requested another card. Jack of pretenders—not worth much. He slid it under his other card.

  All hail the biggest pretender of all, he thought wryly as the computer bumped his pawn pretender and slid the king of diamonds into the bottom tier. Four cards now computer controlled—time for an assassin card to turn up. I am the pretender, the biggest pretender. Gods, Moran, hasn’t it occurred to you once that I’ve previously avoided Nuala like a plague? That I’d stay on base and hustle dice before I’d take my leave there, even with you? Gods, you’d be lousy in the tratores—they’d read you like a signpost and take everything you had.

  The tape began once again. Lyte watched it with one eye, his professional card sense taking over the game. He’d memorized this tape, of course, as he had all the others, but they had not told him enough. Even Moran couldn’t really tell him enough. After all, the man was smitten by that Nualan princess, incapable of remembering the terror the word Nuala conjured. “If you ever were afraid ...” Lyte muttered aloud.

  “What?” The duty officer jerked, as if startled.

  “Nothing,” Lyte said, wondering if the little man was trying to figure out a way to cheat. Damn, why did the Axis tapes have so little information about Nuala? As if the Axis tried to forget the colony existed. And this was basically an assignment; he couldn’t afford gaps in his knowledge. Moran had been forthcoming but simply hadn’t understood his friend’s concern. Lyte glanced away from the 3AV toward his dozing partner. Moran always looked very peaceful when he slept, his smooth, classic features more appropriate for an artist or an entertainer than for a warrior of the Axis Forces. But his temper never showed through when he slept. Years ago, before Moran had taken classes in control, Lyte had seen his friend almost kill a man with nothing but his hands. Moran had learned the reason for his outbursts, and his temper rarely showed through; but unlike others, Lyte never made the mistake of thinking this tranquil, soft-spoken individual was an easy mark. Not since you pounded me into the ground for that prank I arranged on your twelfth birthday.

  “‘My other half, dark to my light, but I am the darker brother,’” Lyte quoted, running his fingers through his own silver hair to straighten it.

  “Are you playing or not?” the duty officer snapped.

  “Are you passing?” Lyte responded mildly, fixing the man with a frost-tipped gaze.

  “I passed.” It was muttered—they were playing strict edifice, which meant no discard, only three cards maximum. He was probably holding pawns and jacks.

  Lyte drew a card. Another jack; gods, was the deck rigged? Maybe after two days of losses the guy was getting desperate.

  The computer chose to draw and apparently didn’t like its card. “Pretender queen removes jack of diamonds, pawn of hearts enters,” it droned. The duty officer could not control a strangled gasp. The jack had been his last card in the pyramid.

  “Can you do anything?” Lyte asked, ready to toss in his cards.

  The man tossed his onto the small pile in disgust, punching the machine for another game. Lyte raked the cubiz to his side of the seat separator. Nearly five hundred cubiz—yes, this was close to a duty officer’s salary.

  “Double or nothing?” the man suggested quickly.

  “Where’s your stake?” Lyte countered. The man reached for the computer keys, and Lyte added, “Cubiz only. No credits.”

  “A regular game, then.” The other sighed, sneaking a glance at Moran as he pulled out a handful of cubes. Lyte could not help but smile—the fool had actually nudged Moran awake once to cut off a game he was losing. Not this time. He was too far away....

  Lyte watched without comment as the computer once more dealt the cards, sliding them across the smooth seat separator with precision. The duty officer’s face lit with pleasure, and he placed his first card, the queen of diamonds, at the edifice spot. Grimly amused, Lyte placed his king of clubs directly below and to the right, in the heir apparent position. The computer took ascendant with the king of hearts, and then Lyte lost interest.

  Nuala. He was going to Nuala, the enigma of the stellar system, the only populated radioactive wasteland, the—Stop it, fool. His unease surprised him; he had visited many dangerou
s planets in his time. Perhaps it was knowing that Moran intended to marry one of the natives. Or maybe it’s because an assassin stalks us ... and I fear to find out who did the hiring....

  “Where do I get the radiation pills I have to take?” Lyte casually asked the duty officer. Startled, the man looked up from the board. Lyte gave the cards a glance; he’d probably assassinate the computer’s king of hearts, moving his king to the ascendant position.

  “Pills? You’re staying?” The tone was incredulous.

  “Of course not. I always take my vacations on transport ships.”

  It took the duty officer several moments to realize Lyte was being sarcastic. The man slowly flushed. “We rarely carry non-Nualans.... They change you—the pills, I mean. So the food won’t make you sick. I’ve never taken them, I eat ship food. But whoever meets your party will probably bring them. Your hotel guide or embassy rep.” The man dropped the ace of diamonds on the computer’s king and slid still another king into the tier.

  “Assassin takes king of hearts. King of spades ascendant, king of diamonds enters,” the computer announced.

  So someone from the palace would bring the pills to him. He decided not to mention their connections—apparently this ship had never carried Moran to Nuala. He studied the board. The duty officer had four of the seven slots. Time to shake him a bit. Lyte pulled out his ace.

  “Assassin takes king of spades, queen of clubs to ascendant, jack of pretenders enters.” This time Lye allowed himself a slight smile. The guy would go crazy trying to figure out why he didn’t take the edifice. The hand was young....

  “They say if you take the pills five days, you’re safe. Unless you get injured while on the planet or something. But I guess they have good doctors there—they should. People don’t die from rav anymore,” the duty officer murmured, still studying the board.

  “Rav is radiation poisoning by ingestion?” Lyte asked, his fingers toying with his final card. He had heard all this, of course, but he was interested in the officer’s perspective. He worked with Nualans; his prejudices might be enlightening.

  “It’s when you eat their food without building up to it first. Don’t eat the meat,” he added. The nostrils started twitching again. That jack of pretenders had him worried—an assassin in disguise?

  “Ingestion. Are the pills metered doses of radiation?” Lyte went on, probing.

  “No, I think it changes your immune system somehow, so it likes the radiation instead of fighting it. Only Dielaan radiation, though—not ultraviolet or plutonium or anything. I guess it changes you permanently. People only take the series once.” Sighing, he drew a card. “Pass.”

  Lyte also drew. Another ace—good. “Pass. Are they good for the radiation in the air ... and the people?”

  The man’s sudden laugh was slightly derisive. “You’ll be two days by boat from any bad area and from the irradiated colonists. Don’t lose sweat over it.”

  “Boat?” Lyte had not found any references to boats. In fact, the hot city, Tolis, had scarcely been mentioned at all.

  “The hot city is so hot normal metals don’t survive there, and even Nualan stone gets gritty and pebbly on the surface. Why hook them into the rail system? Who’d go to visit? And water travel is cheap—they don’t want to bother with a transport system. The land is fragile, I’ve heard.” He drew. “Pass.”

  Lyte pounced, both hands moving with precision.

  “Jack of pretenders turns assassin, king of diamonds falls,” the computer droned. “Queen of pretenders enters.”

  The man’s jaw dropped. Lyte heard Moran chuckle—how long had he been awake?

  Afraid the man would stop talking, Lyte smoothly asked, “Why haven’t you taken the series?”

  Composing himself, the duty officer leaned back in his seat. “If I took the series, I might get assigned to the terminal there. Since I don’t want to take the pills, they won’t force me, so I don’t get ground assignment.” He seemed smug about the situation. “They aren’t pushy, the Nualans, I’ll say that for them.” He studied the remaining vacant spot in the pyramid, planning a strategy.

  “People always say metals don’t survive on Nuala. Any kind of metal? Am I going to lose my timespot?” Lyte said suddenly, annoyance creeping into his voice. He hadn’t thought of that before—the ship was Nualan, of course, it was made of vandrun, which was impervious to Dielaan radiation. But what about his shaving tackle, his timespot?

  “I’ll put anything you have on you into a vandrun case. You can carry that to your room. Just don’t ever wear it near the launch pads,” the man muttered, glancing at the computer to see why it hadn’t made its move.

  “But it could eat my timespot if I wore it?” Lyte persisted. It was the last thing his mother had given him before his father kicked him out, which was why he hung on to it.

  The duty officer shrugged. “I suppose. I’ve never been in the city. I don’t know how it works.”

  “Moran, stop shamming and talk to me,” Lyte said without turning his head. He was momentarily distracted as the computer moved, filling the open space with the queen of hearts. The duty officer looked disappointed.

  “About what?” Moran asked companionably.

  “My timespot, joker. How potent is the radiation? Will it eat my timespot?”

  “Only if you strap it to the nose of the ship before reentry.” The man straightened in his seat, stretching broadly before continuing. “The microbe’s harmless unless Dielaan radiation speeds up its metabolism.” Moran glanced over at the edifice board. “Didn’t you read about the sinisus microorganism?”

  Lyte felt his irritation rising. “I read every damn thing in the library, and it didn’t say a damn thing about any damn microbe.”

  Moran smiled; the expression was, as always, disarming. “There are microbes native to the Nualan solar system that leach minerals out of rocks. Normally they work about as fast as, say, a glacier melting. However, when one variety, Arachnobacillus sinisus, is exposed to Dielaan radiation, its metabolism goes crazy. A Dielaan radiation belt encircles this planet, so a ship’s hull is exposed as it enters the atmosphere. The sinisus microbes hop on board, mutate, and start eating at an incredible rate. They can devour a non-Nualan ship in about a thirtysixday. This ship is Nualan—its vandrun hull has been ‘doped’ so the microbes won’t like it. They’ll jump off the ship to find something to eat, but since all Nualan metals are doped, the microbes starve to death.”

  “What if they find my timespot?” Lyte was still annoyed. This was the kind of information he had wanted and had been unable to find.

  “The duty officer will seal it in a small case made of vandrun. You’ll carry it off in that. The microbes from the ships die quickly, Lyte—if we stay out of this area, it’s unlikely anything will happen to it. You can have the stuff plated if you’re worried.”

  “Why isn’t it mentioned in the tapes?”

  “It is—they say that all metal valuables will be sealed for visitor protection. Most people don’t care what causes things—only that they and their possessions are safe. Few tapes refer to the microbe, Lyte. And what you just heard is all that is recorded off-planet. The Nualans are very jealous of their secrets.” Moran’s gaze was steady, in control. “Are you finished with your game?”

  Game. He had completely forgotten the stupid game. The duty officer was still staring at the board. He had only one move; if he had an ace, he could assassinate the pawn before his jack and move one space. But it gained him no money, nor an extra card. Surely he’d wait to see....

  The man dropped an ace on the ten of hearts. “Assassin takes pawn of hearts,” came the computer’s voice. As the cards slid to the right to fill the void, the duty officer moved another card into the tier. “Jack of spades enters.”

  Lyte was tired of the game. He whipped out his ace.

  “Assassin takes queen of diamonds. King of clubs to edifice, queen of clubs to crown, jack of clubs to ascendant.” The pronouncement was sweet; so was the
look on the duty officer’s face. Obviously he was hoping Lyte was too addled to think clearly. The warrior placed his last card. “King of pretenders enters.”

  Lyte heard Moran chuckle, and felt his body’s tension continue to unwind. He had won. There was only one assassin card out; even if the fool had it, he couldn’t remove both edifice and crown. And Lyte had a pretender threatening both the man’s board cards.

  The computer drew a card. “Pass.”

  His nostrils almost vibrating in his agitation, the duty officer drew. “Pass.” There was no emotion in that tone. Lyte almost felt sorry for him again.

  The warrior drew and set the card face down without looking at it. Only two cards left mattered—pawn of pretenders and the last assassin. Did he want to bother? A bright core of irritation said yes. He looked at the card. Assassin. But one can not draw and assassinate in the same turn. “Pass.”

  “Pass.” Startled, Lyte glanced at the computer. It had missed its move! Or had the duty officer changed its game programming? Some variations did not allow pretender displacement. But they had played that version for three days....

  “Stupid machine,” the nameless idiot muttered, drawing the last card. No, no change in the game, just a flaw in the program. Perhaps it realized it could not win and did not wish to inadvertently aid either side. But missing a play did often aid a side. “Pass.”

  Hell freeze it. Lyte dropped the ace on the duty officer’s jack of clubs.

  “Assassin takes jack of clubs, queen of pretenders to ascendant,” the computer announced. It then filled the last tier spot with its own queen of spades. “Pass.”

  The duty officer sat very still for a long moment. “I concede.” He carefully folded his three cards and set them face down on the divider, hiding either three pawns or two pawns and a jack, Lyte knew. With only twenty-five cards in the deck, edifice strategy depended on the first three rounds. “Actually, it’s not that many hours until we land. I think I’ll get that valuables box right now.” Nodding tightly, the man stood and moved off down the aisle.