House of Reeds

A Nondescript House Parus

"I have a private comm call to the Cornuelle on intercept," Lachlan announced. "The Legation naval attachй is calling Chu-sa Hadeishi directly."

"Show me," the old Mйxica woman growled, sitting up from her bed. A v-pane ready to display voice analysis and a running transcript appeared on her panel. The hour felt late and cold, even in the humid Parusian night. Itzpalicue rubbed her eyes and pinched a maguey thorn from her sleeve. "Where's the visual?"

"Voice-only call, mi'lady." Lachlan didn't sound apologetic, he sounded exhausted. "The call is on a cross-link from a native cell network."

"Where are you intercepting? Can you get me a delay?"

Lachlan's image shook his head. "We're tapping the call directly from the Cornuelle. We could override local comm on the ship, but their bridge crew is sure to notice."

Itzpalicue grimaced, head cocked to one side, listening. The sound of aerocar fans was loud, and then the voice of a Fleet ensign said, "Connecting now."

Chu-sa Hadeishi? This is Thai-i Sagamish – I'm attached to Resident Petrel's staff -

Yes, the Naval attachй. Has something happened? Where are you?

Flying into Parus by aerocar. Kyo, have you seen the latest news reports? Is there fighting in the city?

Itzpalicue raised an eyebrow. The senior lieutenant sounded panicked. She tapped up his personnel record and started scanning through the entries, half an ear devoted to the two men talking.

Things were quiet when I went to bed, Hadeishi said in a very dry voice. Why the call, Thai-i ?

I live in the suburbs, Sagamish replied, still sounding on edge. Just after midnight my house was attacked – vandalized – graffiti on the walls warned me to leave Jagan before the old ways were restored and the Empire swept away.

Has this happened before in your district? The sound of the Chu-sa tapping up the latest situation reports was clear in Itzpalicue's left ear. He sounded very calm. Have you been attacked before?

Slicks throwing rocks at my car. Two of my servants quit – I believe they were threatened.

Do you know why? Hadeishi's voice changed tone, making Itzpalicue curse softly, wishing the transmission were carrying video as well. She opened another v-pane, showing the data sources from the Cornuelle, but a tap into the captain's workstation was not available.

I've heard…I'm sorry, Chu-sa, I shouldn't be bothering you with this. Legation comm section is shut down at this hour…I was hoping to reach your bridge watch officer for a situation report.

You're on the shortlist of groundside personnel to route directly to me, Hadeishi said wryly. What did you hear?

I've heard plenty, Sagamish said, now almost calm. It is said the Fleet is going to tear down all the old temples and put statues of the Emperor in their place; that the kujen is going to accept the quill as the official currency in Parus and its dependencies; that prince Tezozуmoc has been sent to be the new planetary viceroy; that the kujen has agreed to sell six hundred thousand Jehanan of the lowest caste to Legate Petrel for blood-sacrifice on AnГЎhuac. Those are the things I've heard – or my informants have heard – in the last three days.

The Emperor is very busy, it seems. Hadeishi's voice was tinged with dismay. Next there will be secret weather satellites causing famines and droughts to inflate the demand for imported grain.

The old Mйxica woman coughed in surprise, her lips twitching into a grim smile. "That is for later," she muttered caustically. "If this world becomes unruly. Or the pochteca cartels need a few extra quills at end of quarter."

Thai-i - none of these things are fact, to my knowledge. Have you heard differently?

No, sir. The sound of aerocar fans in the background changed. Itzpalicue could tell they were shifting into vertical landing mode. Unbidden, a v-pane opened in a relatively clear section of her panel, showing a video-feed from the Legation. A late-model aerocar, splashed with angular Jehanan script in vivid green paint, was setting down on the staff landing stage. Legate Petrel has been very, very strict about keeping a low profile, adapting to native customs, treating fairlywith the princes… I don't know who is spreading this…it's not us, not the Fleet or Armystaff…

How many, Hadeishi said slowly, in a thoughtful tone, Imperial citizens have business on Jagan?

I don't know, Sagamish replied and the sound of venting fans whined down to nothing. What kind of merchant or tourist is going to spread those kinds of rumors? Be bad for business, I think…

True. The Chu-sa did not sound convinced. Let me know if anything else happens.

Hadeishi closed the connection and stood with a grimace. Even with the unobtrusive assistance of his medband, two hours of sleep was just not enough to clear his head. He yawned and wrapped his robe tighter. Like everything else on the ship, the flannel-lined silk was threadbare. Old Yejin was a deft hand with needle, thread and a fabric sealer, but all things – even high-quality cloth – gave way in time to wear. He sat on the bed, trying to marshal his thoughts, but he was too tired. The best he could do was key himself a note for Sho-i Smith to review local comm traffic in case someone was stirring up trouble on the planet.

Then he fell back into bed and was instantly asleep.

"Lachlan, what did he hear?" Itzpalicue turned her fierce dark eyes on the Йirishman.

Lachlan shook his head slowly, unkempt hair falling into his eyes. "We've…nothing scheduled on the Flower Priest agitation plot for his district. Must be either the darmanarga-moktar or locals copying what they've heard has happened elsewhere."

"Coordinated action? Or is the lid starting to come off? Did the attachй provoke something with his neighbors?"

The young Йirishman shrugged, spreading his hands. "If a local animosity cell has triggered, they're not organizing by comm. The build-out schedule for the wireless network won't even reach this suburb for another two years. So any organization will be face-to-face and we've no tap on that."

Itzpalicue nodded in understanding. These kinds of operations were always much easier on planets with pervasive comm networks. Here, hoary old rumor had legs like Painal and leapt from city to city with a speed rivaling a t-relay. "Re-route a Flower Listener into his neighborhood today. See what they can pick up. And have analysis section pull an incident map for the last two days for the whole land of the Five Rivers. This feels…"

She stopped, shaking her head. The agitation pattern running up to the outbreak of hostilities was still quite clear. All of her data sources – both from the Flower Priests, her own comm intercepts and groundside informants – pointed in the same direction. Another week of steadily rising tension would rupture equilibrium somewhere – indicators were good for the shantytown districts of eastern Parus to erupt first, followed by the noble cabal and the princedoms trying to capitalize on the wave of popular hatred. There seemed little need for the Flower Priests to try and ignite the tinder themselves. The xochiyaotinime were past masters of this kind of exercise. The right kind of wind always seemed to blow hot enough to strike sparks.

Itzpalicue squinted at the young Йirishman, who was staring bleary-eyed at one of his displays. His medical readout on her panel indicated he was running on stimulant fumes.

"Lachlan – take yourself off duty for the next ten hours. Take a sleepyhead and rest. Nothing is going to break today. But soon, very soon, we will be quite busy."

He nodded, stretching, and Itzpalicue closed the comm herself. Almost time to send my Arachosians out hunting, waiting for a break in the clouds hiding my prey.

A nagging feeling stole over her, though the old Mйxica tried to ignore the concern that her opponent – if there was indeed a subtle force acting against Imperial influence – might have stolen away from the field of heroes. She had drawn an empty net from dark waters before.

Itzpalicue pricked her upper arm, letting the stabbing pain clear her mind of such phantoms.

Moderately refreshed by four hours of sleep, Chu-sa Hadeishi swung onto the bridge of the Cornuelle, weaved his way past two engineering technicians replacing padding on the shockchairs at number two Weapons and number three Comm and settled himself into his own station. The bridge crew was currently standing half-strength to make room for the repairs. Midshipman Smith nodded to the captain and switched over primary command.

"Captain on deck!"

"Ship's status?" The v-panels making a half-circle in front of the command chair came alive, showing summaries of ship's status, local space and the greater Bharat system. Mitsuharu registered his identity code and let main comp recognize him.

"Repairs underway on all decks, kyo. Traffic control is light today – a handful of shuttles are in-atmosphere and several merchantmen are unloading, all registered and verified. Nothing's made transit in the last six hours. The threat board is clear."

Hadeishi nodded, lips pursed in consideration. He fixed Smith with a sharp look. "Time to hyper for the Cornuelle?"

Smith blinked in surprise, then his hands were active on his own panel. The Chu-sa ignored him, reading through the latest groundside status reports culled from the Legation and public press.

"Ah, kyo, baseline time to spin to hyperspace gradient and reach minimum safe distance for transit is one hour, sixteen minutes." Smith held his voice steady, but he was twitchy and rattled. "Are…are we going to need to make transit today, sir?"

Hadeishi grunted, then looked at the young officer. Smith, being in comm section, did not stand senior officer on duty watch very often. The Chu-sa considered him for a moment, face impassive, and then decided there was nothing to be gained by reprimanding the boy. Not this time.

"Unlikely, but not impossible Sho-i. Keep this in mind at all times."

"Hai, kyo!" Smith shrank into his chair. Hadeishi turned back to the departmental status reports. Repairs were indeed underway on all decks. Isoroku and Kosho are not wasting any time… Every hand not already ripping up worn-out nonskid or cutting out damaged plating was unloading cargo shuttles as fast as they arrived in the number two and number three boat bays. The Chu-sa allowed himself a tiny smile. Real food for a change. Yejin will be pleased, and the crew will swoon with delight to eat something with unfamiliar molecules.

"Smith-tzin? You're on duty for the next half-watch?"

The boy stiffened as if shot. "Yes, sir."

Hadeishi tapped a glyph to transfer a recording of the midnight comm call to the Sho-i's panel. "Review this. The situation on the planet is deteriorating, but no one at the Legation can put their finger on the cause – I wonder if someone is stirring up the locals. Do what you can to verify these reports. If you find anything unusual, strange or simply out of place, let me know immediately."

"Hai…kyo? Do you think there are, ah, separatist agitators active on Jagan?"

"Swedish or Danish terrorists, you mean?" Hadeishi smoothed his beard, considering the prospect. "If so, they're a long way from any system sympathetic to their cause. Difficult to support operations out here without a fleet…but not impossible."

Smith nodded and turned back to his panel. Hadeishi frowned, wondering if the outlawed 'Swedish Naval Research' or its Danish equivalent might have changed their operational patterns. No. There's nothing here to invite their interest…wait a moment! There is one target of opportunity for them here. Not one whom anyone would miss, but still…

"Smith-tzin, find the Imperial Prince Tezozуmoc and keep track of his locator. Just in case the long arm of the gaijin has reached out here to do him mischief."

Sweat ran freely from Senior Engineer Isoroku's bald head as he knelt on the floor of the officer's dining room, a metal saw howling in his hand. Showers of red sparks burst around him as he cut the last of the damaged panels free from the underfloor supports. The saw whined back to silence and the engineer shuffled back on his knee-pads. "Done," he coughed, and then cleared his throat of hexacarbon dust with a long swallow from his water bottle. "Take it away."

Two Marines privates – seconded to Engineering for the duration of repairs – ducked in and hefted the heavy panel. Grunting, they duck-walked out of the mess and stacked the partially melted chunk of metal on a grav-lifter in the corridor outside. Isoroku spat to clear his mouth and then thumbed the cutting blade on his saw over to a finishing surface.

Deftly, he ran the blade over the jagged edges, burring them down to a smooth bevel. The elderly Nisei abhorred sloppy work, even in locations – like the sub-floor supports – where no one would see his care and attention. This particular project was very relaxing too – a far cry from trying to clear and seal compartments shattered by battle damage, while alert horns blared in your ear and Khaid cluster bombs shook the ship like a rat in a Kochi terrier's mouth. Isoroku was fond of carpentry, particularly making cabinets and furniture. The chance to rebuild this whole suite of rooms brought a faintly pleased expression to his habitually impassive face.

"Kyo? Do you want the new flooring in now?" One of the Marines, sweat making his face shine like polished mahogany, leaned in the doorway. Most of the corridor was filled with stacks of pre-cut floor panels. Isoroku had arranged a very sweet trade, he thought, with the Development Board warehouse. All of the hexacarbon floor plating – even the sections gouged and damaged by combat – for four times the amount of highest-grade native lohaja, cut and planed to his specifications. The wood was incredibly wear resistant and took varnish to a truly beautiful gloss.

To his even greater delight, the lohaja was too hard to cut with the paltry set of woodworking tools aboard, so he'd been forced by circumstance to dig into the departmental budget to acquire – again through the sources Helsdon had found on the planet – a complete, matching set of Sandvik power tools designed to cut, finish and fit the native woods. Isoroku was itching to try them out. The tools themselves were works of art.

"Not yet. Not yet. Let me finish edging these support s…"

His personal comm chimed and the engineer sat back, turning off the saw and locking the safety cover in place. "Hai?"

This is Hadeishi. How are repairs progressing?

"Very well, sir!" Isoroku plucked a hand-comp out of his toolbox and thumbed up the current status display. "We're on schedule for repairing all the non-critical battle damage we've accrued in the past nine months. I'm in the dining room now, replacing the flooring. Crews are replacing the passageway vent filters by alternate decks. We've got one water recycler down while we flush and scrub the tanks before refilling with fresh supplies. The other will get the same treatment the day after tomorrow. Supply replenishment is underway – though you'll have to ask Sho-sa Kosho about her time-to-complete."

There was silence on the link, and Isoroku started to frown. When the captain started asking for status reports, something was going on. The engineer's forehead furrowed and he rubbed his pug-nose vigorously, trying to clear the metallic bite of ozone away.

Thai-i, I want you to scale back your repair schedule. A situation might be developing on the planet and we can't go to combat acceleration if you've got the corridors filled with unsecured construction materials.

"Kyo!" The engineer sat upright, horrified. "We reviewed the schedule just yesterday! You and the Sho-sa approved the whole list – we've already torn out everything designated first phase! We can't…we can't just put everything back."

We're still on a combat duty station, Thai-i. Adjust your schedule to pull and repair a compartment at a time. You must assume we are always a moment's notice from battle alert. The comm-band beeped cheerfully, signaling the channel had closed. Isoroku stared in horror at his wrist.

"One at a time?" Isoroku's voice rose violently and then, with a massive effort of will, he closed his mouth, swallowed a bellowing shout of disgust, and ground both palms into his eyes. "One at a time…oh, mother Ameratsu, save me from flight officers of all kinds."

His thick, muscular fingers separated and he peered at the comp pad on the deck beside him. "My beautiful, perfect schedule…" The thought of having to stand down all of the extra hands he'd been given and having his technicians concentrate on one compartment at a time, rather than addressing entire decks at a go, made him want to weep. "What a waste of able hands and hours. What a waste!"

For once, Itzpalicue was not in her darkened bedroom, surrounded by the pervasive hum of comps and the sullen glare of v-displays, when a system alert sounded. Instead, the old Mexica was sitting on the covered veranda running along the southern side of the rented house. Elaborately carved wooden screens blocked out most of the sun's glare, leaving the porch dim and quiet. Some kind of a vine with petite white flowers climbed the roof supports and exhaled a thick, heady fragrance. Her bare feet were in sunlight, and her head was in cool shadow.

Her comm-band chimed again. She opened one eye and regarded the turquoise and silver bracelet sitting on a side table at her elbow, alongside a tumbler filled with the local equivalent of limonata. She had been trying to write a letter to one of her nieces, but the effort of putting pen to paper – the old woman did not send recorded messages – had lulled her into a drowsy nap.

"Ah, Lachlan must still be asleep," she said when the band chimed for the third time. "They will wake him if I'm not properly responsive." Sticking out her tongue at the device, she picked it up and tapped the channel open. "Yes?"

Your pardon, mi'lady, a tentative voice answered. We've registered a system trace alert. The communications officer of the Cornuelle has begun a planet-wide scan of the local comm networks, including our own and the ship-to-shore traffic control system.

"Has he noticed our cell tap?" Itzpalicue shifted in the chair, sitting up straight, her mind waking slowly from its comfortable doze. "Are our secure relays compromised?"

We don't believe so, replied the voice. He's only just started. Shall we shut him down?

"No! There's no need to draw attention. Use the relay tap on the Cornuelle to monitor his progress. If he finds any data we don't already have, shunt it to my message queue. If he impinges on our surveillance network, or seems likely to come across the time-delay interfaces on the military and diplomatic comm channels, dial back our presence and let him find the Flower Priest operation instead. The xochiyaotinime can deal with Fleet for us."

Yes, ma'am. The operator went off-line and Itzpalicue shrugged her shoulders, a little annoyed at being disturbed. "Lachlan needs to ease up on his staff, I think," she mused aloud. "They're far too timid for my taste."

A private channel glyph started to wink on Hadeishi's command display and the Chu-sa coughed, interrupting Isoroku, who was in the midst of an impassioned speech regarding the sacred and infallible nature of engineering repair schedules. "We will discuss your concerns later, Thai-i," Hadeishi said smoothly as he terminated the call. "I have an incoming call from Sho-sa Kosho."

"Hello, Susan. How is resupply going?"

Ahead of schedule, kyo. The executive officer's voice was a cool, confident breeze after Isoroku's affronted tirade. Shuttle two has just finished unloading – three months' supply of local firewater, fresh bed linens and a hundred cases of hand-milled soap. Assorted local flavors, but none of them will make you gag.

"I see you and Heicho Felix see eye-to-eye on certain critical matters, Sho-sa. When is the water supply coming aboard?"

Shuttle three is downbound now with the reinforced bladder in place. They should be back in about sixteen hours. I'm preparing to take shuttle two down as well – Helsdon's managed to find us three to four tons of miscellaneous spare parts. All Imperial issue. Not the latest revisions, but then the ship is not exactly fresh from the Jupiter Yards.

"Excellent. Be aware the situation on the ground is starting to cook. If you've space on the shuttle, take a squad of Marines. I've – ah – freed some up from Isoroku's repair projects. If anything happens, evac to orbit immediately. We need you and those crewmen back here more than the repair parts."

Understood. Felix's fireteam is already standing by with Helsdon and two of his technicians. We'll see you in about twenty hours. Kosho, out.

On the bridge of the Cornuelle, midshipman Smith leaned heavily on the armrest of his shockchair, eyes half-closed, one finger pressed to his earbug. His free hand drifted across the v-display, tweaking frequencies and absorption ranges. A constant stream of static, chattering, booming music, lilting singing voices, twenty-second advertisements and encrypted bursts of garbage noise washed over him. In comparison to the spare interstellar communications environment he usually worked in, Smith felt like he'd thrust his head into a hive of angry, polyphonous bees.

A particular warbling squeal caught his attention. "I've heard that before. Three-Jaguar, can you isolate the comm spike at six-thousand-and-fifteen?"

The second watch communications officer, a petite Tlaxcalan girl with perfectly straight ink-black hair, nodded, tapping up a new pane on her display. The frequency isolated and Smith leaned in, watching the main comp apply a score of decrypt filters in dizzying succession.

"Doesn't that look familiar? I'm sure it's an Imperial code…"

Jaguar nodded absently, her attention wholly focused on the v-display. Short, neatly manicured fingers skipped across the board, pulling slates of Fleet, Army and Diplomatic code images from archive and queuing them for decrypt comparison. After a moment, she paused and lifted her sharp chin. "I remember this," she said slowly, "it's from commtech school – an old-style encrypt used by one of the priestly orders."

"A military order? Like the Knights of the Flowering Sun?" Smith started scanning through the code archive. After a moment, he found something which looked vaguely like the pattern flowing across their panel. "Might be an upgraded version of this one…I'd tell the captain. Jag, look at this other thing…" He swapped in a completely separate v-display showing clusters of locator signals scattered all along the Parus-Sobipurй-Fehrupurй axis. "Run down these locator idents – there are Imperial signatures all over this countryside – like school let out or something…they're encrypted too and we'd better find out who they are."

The second watch tech nodded, transferring the v-display to her panel, quick mind already nibbling away at the new problem. Smith changed his earbug channel to the command push and thumbed the priority glyph for Chu-sa Hadeishi. Not for the first time, he found it amusing the main comm system was required to route a talktime request to the captain, who was seated behind and above the comm station and no more than two meters away.

"Yes, Sho-i Smith?" Hadeishi spoke quietly into his comm-thread. A particular feeling was beginning to steal over him, a sensation he associated with patrolling in hostile space. A sense of impending action, as if a steadily building weight was pressing on his mind. He had been keeping an eye on the communications station – Smith had not left his station when second watch arrived on the bridge, which meant he had gotten wrapped up in the analysis project. Hadeishi let him stay; Three-Jaguar did not appear to mind and they made a good team.

"Have you found something?" The Chu-sa was keeping track of Isoroku and his repair crews who, despite the mournful protests of the senior engineer, were making excellent progress at securing all of the repair supplies and adapting to a more conservative schedule. If only we had received some kind of munitions resupply. Fresh soap has a laudable effect on morale, but will do little for us if we have to provide ground-support for the Army.

Unfortunately, despite considerable investigation, the local industrial base simply could not provide the Cornuelle with fresh sprint and shipkiller missiles, or even capacitors and munitions for the point-defense network.

"Hai, kyo." The boy's face was keen with anticipation. "First, we've started to pick out a lot of chatter on fringe Imperial bands – all encrypted – using an old-style code formerly associated with certain Imperial religious military orders. We've had no indication there are any Templar or Tlahulli brigades operating on Jagan, so that's a little strange."

Hadeishi considered this for a moment, turning the indication over in his mind. That does not seem to fit at all. So it must be a foundation piece of the puzzle…"And?"

Jaguar leaned over, whispering in Smith's ear. Hadeishi waited patiently. As the two junior officers consulted their panel, the Chu-sa kicked off a ship-wide request for departmental status.

"Second, kyo, it looks like the 416th Arrow Knight regiment has taken to the field. Motorized elements apparently departed their cantonment south of Parus two and a half hours ago. The furthest afield are almost at Fehrupurй, but they're encountering sporadic resistance."

"What?" Hadeishi stiffened, his entire body suddenly and completely awake. "We've had no notification of an operational deployment! Get me Colonel Yacatolli right now."

Jaguar immediately began speaking into her comm-thread, the glow of a fresh v-feed from the surface shining on her cheekbones. Smith tapped a copy of his locator map to Hadeishi's station.

"What kind of resistance is the Army encountering?" Hadeishi tagged the flight paths of his shuttles into the map. Number three was already on the ground, while Susan's shuttle two was inbound to the main shuttle field at Sobipurй. Shuttle One, with a Marine drop-squad standing by, was still in boat bay one. "Local military contingents?"

"No, kyo." Smith shook his head and copied a set of thumbnails to the command station. "Kids throwing rocks and firebombs – mostly methanol and soap in glass. Some of the squad commanders have reported roads blocked or bridges under repair where satellite sweeps yesterday showed plenty of local traffic crossing."

"I see. Jaguar-tzin, do you have Yacatolli on comm for me yet?"

The Tlaxcalan ensign shook her head, pixyish features immobile with anger. "Regimental headquarters is saying he's busy and doesn't have time to talk to you right now. They say…they say they'll call us when he's free."

Hadeishi's eyes narrowed and he considered overriding the channel himself. For a moment. Then he pushed the anger aside and turned his attention back to the two junior officers. "Very well. Smith-tzin, find out where all this priestly traffic is coming from. Yacatolli's belief in the superiority of his regiment over the locals is a known quantity – this other business is more disturbing."