Planet Sub-Zero

A man-high mound of rubble stopped Anen's fall with a crash. He lay very still, stunned with amazement that he was still alive. The fall had merely knocked the wind out of him and bruised his knees, elbows, and cheek. He lay quiet, listening. His descent must have clattered, though he had been too busy trying to save himself to notice. He heard nothing moving above. Perhaps the falling snow had muffled the noise. He reminded himself grimly that the snow could also muffle the sounds of pursuit until the pursuers were in the stairwell itself. Anen moved cautiously, first to see if his resting place was stable, then to see if cuts, scrapes, and bruises were his only damage.

He rose to his knees, found the crash kit by touch, and felt his way cautiously around the mound of rubble. Below it, at least two treads were entirely missing. Was this the edge of one of the Dawn People's pits? Anen glanced over his shoulder. He saw no lights above in the storm. Carefully, shielding the light from searchers above, Anen swept the beam of the kit's torch across the stair. Below the two missing treads, the ruins above began to shelter the stairs and there they were in fair condition. A corridor crossed the foot of the stairs and vanished into the shadows beyond the light's reach. Anen turned off the sparkler and descended with care to the corridor below.

He followed a wall by trailing his fingertips across it. Twenty-five paces beyond the stair, his fingers slid into emptiness. A corner? A trap? Anen knelt and felt the floor ahead of him and to the side. It seemed solid. A corner. He crawled around it, feeling ahead of him, and, when he felt he was safely out of sight of someone at the foot of the stairs, he sat on the floor and leaned against the stone wall, listening. Still no one followed. He touched the face of the tik-tok to read the time, then let his head fall back against the wall.

Moaekod must believe my House very weak, he thought bitterly, to lay an illegal siege and attempt gang assassination against all feudal laws. Is Congress now so much in House Moaekod's power the Moaekod's can act as they choose? Does Tomok believe he can eliminate my Family before Congress finds out? No, the plan is too good to be Tomok Moaekod's alone; he's never been a thinker. I must get to Congress with this news, but if I elude the assassins now, how will I get there? The meeting is only three days away and I have no transportation save my own two feet.

Anen reached for the kit. A light swept the foot of the stairwell, its gleam reflecting from the walls of the corridor. Anen froze, hand still extended, afraid of the sound resuming his position would make.

"Down here, milord?" The voice was guttural, with a serf's accent and a definite tone of incredulity.

"I'm sure I saw him jump near here, Alan," came the reply.

Anen recognized the smooth, mellow voice, and broke into a cold sweat. Gaito Moaekod! He must be the Heir now, to come personally to see the Heir of House Kurharay killed. Anen stood very, very slowly, silencing the metal objects on his belt with his hands. His mind raced. If the men came down the corridor he would run. He was a dead man whether he ran or not, but it was better to take chances in the pits and mantraps of the Dawn People than the sure, ungentle mercies of Gaito Moaekod.

"I'm sure he jumped over there, lord," the serf continued. "Shall I go down here and look anyway?"

"What do you think, idiot?"

The serf may have been stupid enough to question his master, but he was not stupid enough to argue. "I---I'm---the Dawn People...."

"Are you refusing my order, Alan?" Gaito Moaekod's voice was silky and all the more dangerous for it.

"You---you gave no order, lord. I--I--I just thought that if Kurharay had come this way there'd be some sign."

"Go down and look, Alan."

The light bounced up and down as the Moaekod serf descended. Anen heard the man yelp, then heard the crashing and crumbling noises that indicated a fall. There was a long moment of silence, then Anen heard the man pick himself up and continue down the stairs. Anen flattened himself against the wall and held his breath. Had snow falling from his boots left a trail? The serf's boots echoed from the stone walls.

"I'm not goin' into any of the Dawn People's Hel-holes," the serf muttered, not loud enough for Anen to hear, but loud enough to echo to Anen. "Passages that go down and around so sneaky ya never know where ya are, and pits, and deadfalls, and...."

"What do you see down there?" Moaekod's voice was impatient.

The serf swung his light to and fro along the passages. "Nobody's been here, milord."

"If you're wrong about that, you'll die very soon."

"I---I understand, milord."

Anen prayed the serf's fear of the Dawn People's treacherous and booby-trapped passages would outweigh his fear of execution. The man came a few steps down the corridor, dimming his light as if he'd gone farther. Moments later Anen heard the serf clumping and slipping on the stairs. He heard Moaekod's voice, but the men were apparently moving, and the wind blew the words away. Anen waited a long time before he sank to a sitting position and let his head drop on arms crossed over his knees. Gaito himself comes to find me!

Despair overcame the stout control he had kept on his grief ever since he received the Congress's message and Anen wept, there in the dark and the cold, for his brothers, Ivan and Toben and Din and for himself, the despised and untrained third-born son, who must now deal with the consequences of the feud his great-grandsire had started. Much later, cold penetrated even the survival suit, rousing Anen from his despair. His joints ached with the cold, his fingers and toes burned. Cursing himself for precious time wasted, Anen reached for the crash kit. Clumsily, he opened it with fingers that hurt at every movement. He set the multiheater on its stand and huddled close to its warmth until the pain in his hands and feet eased. Then he unrolled the two-man shelter, released a compressed-air capsule that inflated its support tubes, and crawled into it with the multiheater and the rest of the kit. He connected the multiheater to the shelter's ventilation system and pulled out packages of opov and dehydrated stew from the kit. He stared at them. Standard crash-kit rations. Both needed water.

Anen closed his eyes. Anen and his searchers were probably gone, looking elsewhere. Did he want to risk a trip to the surface? The idea of climbing the treacherous stairs and possibly exposing himself to Gaito Moaekod frightened him to his core. He'd been too long away from Mirl'da V. His instinctive feel for danger, his ability to instantly make the right reaction for his survival----these skills had been years unused. He wondered bitterly if he still had them. And what of Bubov? If he had escaped the crash, he was still out in the storm. As his commanding officer, as a fellow human being, Anen felt a responsibility to help Bubov if possible. And knew that feeling was inappropriate on this planet. He opened his eyes and looked blindly at the white shelter wall. He could wait for food, but he could not wait to look for Bubov. He had to go back out to the surface.

Anen twisted the top off the one can of energy rations and gulped the contents. He felt the warmth of its alcohol content first, then the slow surge of strength as the nutrients took hold. Anen picked up his torch and the kit's collapsible bucket, peeled open the doorseal, and crawled slowly out of the shelter. He crouched in the darkness and listened. There was only the silence of the dead stone building and the faint howling of the wind above. He rose and walked carefully toward the stairs, feeling his way with his feet and his fingertips. At the foot of the stairs, he stopped again and listened for a long time. Unmuted by stone, the wind was shrieking. He remembered how Mirl'da V's winds could be in Gorny, tearing at snowdrifts, ripping branches from trees, freezing any warm-blooded creature unfortunate enough to be caught out there.

He crawled up the stairs on all fours, unwilling to expose himself by using the light. When his hands reached the top, he lay down, listening. He heard only the wind. He cautiously brought his head to the surface and looked. There were no lights. He crawled over the top and crouched there, listening still more, then crept silently along the base of the wall, keeping one hand on it at all times. Metal clinked against stone. Anen stopped in mid-motion. He heard another clink, just beyond a tall snowdrift. He set the bucket down carefully and drew the zapper from his belt. Then he flicked on the torch and pointed the light in the direction of the sound. The response was a rustling, sliding noise on the other side of the drift and a faint voice. "Lord Anen? I----" It was Bubov's voice! A snow-covered lump at the light's edge rose a little from the ground, then fell heavily.

Anen started towards the man, then remembered lessons in suspicion he had not needed for almost six years. He paused. Nothing else moved in the wind-whipped night. If he could see no one, no one could see him to kill him. Except Bubov. Anen shook himself. That was impossible! The Bubovs had always been friends of Kurharay. Anen returned the stunner to its case and quickly pushed through the snow to Bubov's side.

"Bubov! Bubov!" He shook the man but got no response. He turned the light on him. Bubov was unconscious but clinging to the strap of his crash kit. The kit's fabric was wet and badly frayed.

"He's been dragging it!" Anen gripped the torch in his teeth with some difficulty and ran his hands swiftly over Bubov. A jagged point of bone jutted through the right sleeve of Bubov's uniform.

"Sentinels!" Anen whispered, remembering the agony of bone-end grating against bone-end, and he rubbed the slight lump in his lower arm where a similar break had been. He also remembered his sire's scorn because he had fainted when the bone was set. He'd been seven winters old. Anen shook off the memory, dragged the injured man as carefully as possible to the top of the stairs, sat down with Bubov's back against his chest, and slid on his rear to the corridor below. At no time did Bubov let go of his grip on the crash kit.

Much later, Anen sank back on his haunches and looked at his work. He had sealed the two crash shelters together because a 2-man really had no room for cooking if it had 2 men in it, had splinted Bubov's arm with a splint made from the stand of the second multiheater, dialed the multiheater up a decade to warm the half-frozen pilot, then rolled Bubov in his nightbag. He had made a second trip to the surface for the bucket and snow to melt in it. On that trip he thought he'd hear fliers, but he'd seen no lights. Now a 2-pot of stew and opov filled the shelter with warm, fragrant steam. Anen set the pot off the multiheater and poured a mug of opov for himself from the upper pot. He sipped cautiously, but the hot liquid singed his tongue anyway.

3 days, Anen mused. Only 3 days between now and Congress, and I'm 3 days walk, for an uninjured man, in intolerable weather, from Kurharay Holding. Anen looked at Bubov. I could leave him to survive if he can until I send someone for him from Congress. It's what my sire would've done. But if the storms get worse or if Congress denies my lady mother the regency.... Anen sipped the hot opov and stared at the steam still rising from the two-pot. Bubov's eyelids trembled. Anen's hands tightened around the mug. He saved my life, he told himself fiercely. We go together, somehow....

Bubov opened his eyes. "I didn't dream you found me." His voice was ragged and disbelieving.

Anen gave a short laugh. "Give me no credit, friend. I just snuck above ground for some snow and heard you by pure chance. I was afraid Moaekod's men were still up there. Me, Lido Pisaeosem's son, hiding in the darkness of a Dawn People's place because I was scared!"

There was a long silence. Then Bubov stirred in the nightbag and pushed himself to a sitting position. He fixed Anen with his dark, serious gaze. "Fear is not a crime, lord, only in acting a coward because of it, or in showing it to others. A commander's fear, and the care it calls forth, have won many a battle for him who is afraid."

Bubov shifted position to ease his broken arm, winced at the movement, and cursed softly. "Moaekod! Tomok is falling and Gaito takes the reins before his time. May his sire learn of it!" He looked down at the thin, smooth fabric floor of the shelter, then up at the shelter roof just centimeters from the top of his head. "I tangled with two of Moaekod's soldiers on my way here. They'd followed the flitter down. I killed them, too, but one of them kicked my broken arm as he went down, and I blacked out. I don' t know how long I was out, but I was hellish cold when I woke up and heard you." Bubov shivered, remembering. "Is that opov I smell?"

Anen nodded and poured a mug for him. While the pilot drank, Anen ladled out the stew, then sat watching the heat eddies bend and flow across the surface of his opov and wishing he were back on sunny, peaceful Raaros. He'd had to come home. Much as he hated Mirl'da V's clan feuds and intrigues, he'd had to come home. His entire House and Holding would have otherwise been destroyed.

Third son and fourth to inherit, he thought bitterly. If women could inherit, I think my sire would have put Kidd ahead of me. For her to have our lady mother's build and temperament was all right. The pain of that knowledge was as sharp as it had ever been. In the five years at the Academy, where he had been judged on his own personality and accomplishments, memory of Lido Pisaeosem's contempt had been pushed to the back of Anen's mind. Now it was brutally vivid again. His mouth firmed to a thin, hard line. Well, he promised himself, my sire's despised third son will save something from Moaekod's hands, if saving is still possible.

"Milord?"

Anen looked up. The pilot was studying him gravely. Anen hid his feelings behind a smile, which came out more of a wry grimace. "Doesn't it seem rather silly to you, one Heir calling another 'milord'?" Anen asked.

Bubov lifted an eyebrow. "I'm a junior officer in your service, Anen Kurharay."

Anen's hands tightened around his mug, and he looked again at the minute ripple of heat flowing across the opov. "Right now, I need a friend far more than another junior officer," he murmured. He couldn't bring himself to look up to see the pilot's reaction to this second breach of Puredorv etiquette, so close on the heels of the first. This is the Tarian Academy's top cadet negotiator? he asked himself derisively. The cadet who never let his feelings show or influence him when dealing with an issue?

Bubov cleared his throat, hesitantly. "If that's the way you want it...." His voice was husky.

Anen looked at him then and Bubov's eyes did not slide away from his in embarrassment as Anen had expected. In fact, the eyes brightened, and the corners crinkled with good humor.

"Friends it is, then, 'milord.' In private. What are you going to do now?"

"Get to Congress ground somehow. Kurharay Holding's the closest to us; maybe we can sneak in and steal one of Moaekod's fliers for the trip."

Bubov chuckled. "Pull the Ghor bear's tail, huh? Wouldn't that be fun! We certainly can't get to the castle's fliers." He sobered. "I appreciate the 'we'. Your sire would've left me or killed me to keep me from slowing him down. I won't slow you down, Anen. There are painkillers in the kit. I'll keep up."

And keep up he did. The storm had ceased by the time they climbed out of the Dawn People's ruins and started towards Kurharay Holding, but gray clouds covered the sky, keeping the air cold. The sun was only a pale, green-white disk above them. The hard, wind-packed snow surface was a blessing, for they could walk much faster over the snow than through it, and a brisk pace helped fight the stinging cold. They talked little so they could hear approaching fliers, and there were several--small, fast, silver, and unmarked, scanning the rim of the Desert for survivors. Each time the young men heard one, they dropped to the snow, the white snow-textured back of the survival suits facing the approaching sound. Each time a flier passed over, Anen expected a sudden, deadly heat-beam. At no time did Bubov mention his pain or ask for an easier pace. They traveled three days through open country, skirting the Desert, stopping only as needed for warmth, rest, food, or sleep, driven by the need to get to Congress on time.

On the morning of the fourth day, the day of the opening of Congress, Anen and Bubov climbed the low mountain pass that divided Kurharay Holdings from the Desert of Ghor and moved down the Holding side.

"Flier!" Bubov cried sharply.

The men dropped flat, and the flier passed over.

Moaekod gold," Bubov observed. "Here, at least, the fighters wear his colors. We must be near Moaekod's outposts."

The two moved fast through the foothills between the pass and the plain, using sheltered riverbeds where the snow was not deep, and drifts were few. Fliers frequently passed over and the young men had to scuttle under the edge of a riverbank or drop face down on the snow. Finally, from a ridge in the lower hills, they saw the entrance shelters of Castle Buruq and city, all of them ringed by Moaeked army units. Buruq was the center of the Holding, its heart. The sun broke through a gap in the clouds, throwing a painful glare from the snow. Anen squinted upward.

"It's almost noon. Congress will be opening. We have to find a flier very soon."

They slid down the westward side of the ridge and slipped through the pinkpines towards what had, from higher in the hills, looked like the outer ring of Moaekod positions. Anen relied on Bubov for educated guesses about likely spots for Moaekod fliers to set down. Anen had had little military experience beyond armory practices, war games on Raaros's open countryside, and the theories in books. The two young men moved almost silently through the snow, listening for men talking or the sound of a flier's engines. Raaros felt time closing in on him. The regency of House Kurharay had to be one of the first items on the World Congress's agenda.

"Psst!"

Anen froze at Bubov's warning. In a hollow below them, two men in Moaeked gold leaned against an unmarked silver fighter. "Silver!" Anen whispered. "Evidence!" He motioned Bubov to stay put, then crept to the hollow's edge and looked down on the Moaekod soldiers. They wore zappers, but in belt-cases with snapped covers. While Anen watched, one of the men below pulled a flask out of his survival suit and motioned his companion to the low, inviting edge of one of the fighter's wings. Anen returned to Bubov, who had taken advantage of the pause to wrap an arm around the flaky tan trunk of a pinkpine and rest his head and shoulder against the bark.

"You look done in, Kosh."

A wan smile tipped the corner of the pilot's mouth. "Nearly. The kits have stim-tabs. Keep me going a little longer."

"The 'guards' aren't worried about being disturbed. Their zappers are locked up and they've just sat down for a little nip of something."

Bubov gulped a small white tablet and pushed himself away from the tree. He stumbled and caught at the trees to steady himself. "The stim-tab takes a few minutes to work, lord."

"I don't have a few minutes, Kosh. Wait here a little while, then follow me."

"There are two of them."

"There are. But you're in no condition to help me. You can barely put one foot ahead of the other. Every moment here lessens my chances of reaching Congress before it makes a decision. Imagine what tales the Moaekods are telling, Kosh! Or maybe they're consoling my lady mother for the loss of the Heir in the storm. I'll take those guards down, Kosh. I have to."

Anen slipped away through the trees. He wished he were really as confident as he had led Bubov to believe. He crouched at the edge of the hollow and examined the terrain. On his left, thick, low trees almost reached the side of the fighter. Bad strategy, he told the Moaekod men silently. No good soldier plants himself so close to cover for the enemy. Anen circled towards the trees. The snow was dry; when disturbed, it would not send small betraying balls down the slope. Then he was among the trees, sliding towards the fighter. For several minutes he could see the flier through the branches, but not the guards. He worried. Then he reached the edge of the trees. The guards had finished their drink and now stood by the craft's nose, looking up towards where he had been. Had they heard something? Had they seen Kosh? Anen sat down and leaned against a tree trunk to steady his arm, then turned his zapper to "long range" and swept its beam across the men. They folded up gracefully. Anen sprinted to them, felt each's jugular. The blood beat slowly but regularly.

Soft! Too soft to kill them! Lido Pisaeosem's ghost whispered. Such softness will get you killed! Anen shook off the warning and bent to strip the men of their uniforms.

Bubov skidded down the slope and grabbed the edge of one wing to keep himself from falling. "Dead?" He nodded at the two still forms.

"No. I'm sure someone will find them before they freeze to death."

Anen helped Bubov into the fighter. In its shelter, they changed into the Moaekod uniforms. Anen draped a uniform jacket over Bubov's shoulders, arranging it so the crude splint was easily seen. He leaned back and studied the effect.

"You'll do. Invent some story about being injured in the siege or whatever. We're carrying vital information for Lord Astin. Even if has men looking for us at Congress, and I doubt he does, he won't expect us in his uniforms."

Bubov pulled back in his seat, incredulous. "You're going to Astin Moaekod?"

"You are. I'd give a lot to tell Gaito to his face that he's failed to kill me, but, even in the Congress chamber, I don't think I'd live more than a few seconds after he recognized me. It would be a stupid risk. I have a message for House Bubov about its missing Heir."

Bubov grinned at some thought of his own. Anen belted both of them in, then lifted the fighter abruptly out of the hollow and turned it towards Congress ground.

"That takeoff lacked a certain finesse...."

Anen did not respond to the humor in the pilot's voice. "Haven't flown since I left here. No need." He set the auto-pilot and was reaching for the dial to turn control over to it when the com crackled to life.

"Ship 41. Ship 41. You have not been cleared for takeoff. What are you doing?"

Anen flashed a look at Bubov, who shrugged. Anen caught his lip between his teeth for a moment, then leaned forward and spoke. "We're heading for Congress ground. We've just caught an aerocast from that special patrol over Ghor. You know Lord Gaito wants its report as soon as possible. Discreetly, not on the public channels."

"Those are the orders. Don't dawdle coming back. If Kurharay finds that gap---"

"Yessir! We'll go silent." Anen snapped the set off.

"A string of lucky guesses, milord, all of them verified." Bubov chuckled and settled himself more comfortably in his seat.

Anen sighted. "Lucky is right. I should just have mentioned Gaito. That would've been sufficient. I took too many chances. I should have known better. If those hadn't been Gaito's orders, we'd have had fliers all over us." He turned control over to the autopilot and let his head fall back against the seat's headrest. For a few minutes, he enjoyed the feel of sitting down, then turned to Bubov. "Let's talk about timing. I've never been to a session of Congress and we're going to have to stop the meeting cold."

"You've never been to Congress?"

"My sire was sure I'd never rule, so he saw no need to take me. I had three brothers, after all."

"But you weren't the youngest."

"No," said Anen, in such a final way that Bubov said nothing more on the subject.399Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡibCPqlCFMk
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A millennium of Zizranski soldiers lounged outside the Congress lift-shelters, eyeing stragglers going down to the Congress chamber and stopping several, either to ask something or, once, to make a fast body search. Anen and Kosh Borisovich Bubov watched the indignant search victim step into the lift and disappear downward. Anen saw in Bubov's grim face and stiffened posture the pilot's outrage at this blatant disregard of the neutrality of Congress ground. Anen was sure his own anger was not visible. The Academy had trained him well.

"You still want to try it, Anen?"

"Don't use my name!" Anen warned in a low voice. "I have no choice but to go in." He loosened his zapper in its sheath and walked briskly toward the lift. "Look important and rushed," he whispered. "We have a vital message for Lord Astin."

The Zizranski men moved to block them. The prefect in charge blocked the center of the lift opening, crossed his arms over his chest, and looked insolently down into Anen's eyes. The faintest ghost of taunting laughter drifted through the Zizranski men. Anen wrapped himself in an aura of authority and power. The illusion was effective----Anen had used it successfully two or three times when negotiations stalled---but it was an illusion. Inside Anen apprehension and fear churned his stomach and made his heart beat faster. He walked up to the prefect. "Stand aside!" he ordered sharply. "We bear important messages to Lord Astin by Lord Gaito's command!"

The prefect looked less sure of himself.

"Stand aside!"

The prefect moved out of the way. Anen brushed past him into the waiting lift and touched the control for "chamber level." The illusion of authority vanished the moment the door closed. Anen sagged against the lift's wall.

"By the Sentinels, you certainly set that prefect back on his heels, Anen!"

"An actor's trick," Anen replied absently. The lift began descending. Anen gritted his teeth. "Searches! By a private army on Congress ground! What's happened to the law?"

"It certainly does look bad." Bubov's face was grave.

The lift's descent slowed. They'd almost reached the Congress-chamber level. Summoning again the control the Academy had taught him, Anen took deep, slow breaths to control his fury. The successful pacification officer does not exhibit what he feels about an issue. On most planets, such exhibitions influence one side or the other to feel an advantage. The deep, slow breaths began to do their work. The Navy pacification officer does not exhibit what he feels about an issue: he uses them, under appropriate intellectual control, to fuel decisive action. The lift doors opened onto the brilliant blue-green mosaics of the hall that encircled the Congress chamber. Anen paused in the opening for a moment. Effective action, he repeated to himself. Sentinels! My Academy training is all I've got. Let it be of use to my House.

Bubov fumbled with his good hand in his breast pocket, pulled out another stim-tab, and swallowed. "It's the last one."

"We'll be finished, one way or another, before that one wears off, Kosh."

The two strode towards the big double doors, looking to neither side. They entered the circular Congress chamber and stopped just inside the doors to assess the situation. Bright overhead lights picked out details in harsh contrasts. Below the 3D screen on the curved back wall, this term's chairman, the Count Zubrugov, leaned forward over his desk's glistening surface, his eyes intent on Kererr Rahl Pymazhenko, who was speaking. The Freemen's section, to the chairman's left, was half-empty. The benches of the minor Houses, to the chairman's right, were nearly full, and the lord of one of these Houses was standing, waiting for his turn to speak. Across the aisles separating the semicircle of the Ten Families from the rest of the Congress, House Kurharay's segment was glaringly empty. Only a few cousins from distant small-holdings sat on the benches, and nobody sat on the front row at the prep table reserved for the Czar-of-House and his staff. Bubov rested his good hand on Anen's shoulder encouragingly, then walked down the circular aisle toward the benches of House Kurharay. Anen strode purposefully towards the Bubov prep table, hearing the disapproving buzz on his left made by the Bubov Family at the sight of the gold Moaekod uniform in their area.

The Kererr Pymazhenko was saying, "House Pymazhenko regrets, as do the Ten Families, the death in the storm of Anen Kurharay, the young Kererr designate. However, it's imperative that the House now left leaderless receive a new lord. The only surviving males of that line are infants, sons of Lido Pisaeosem,, clearly impossible Heirs at this hard time, yet the Family Kurharay has not chosen to particpate in this debate." Pymazhenko waved disdainfully at the almost empty Kurharay benches.

Anen stiffened, but he refrained from looking at the speaker. The Kererr Pymazhenko had to know about the siege, the reason Kurharay was not represented. Even Anen knew that Pymazhenko and Moaekod had been close allies for ten generations. Anen stopped behind the first row of Bubov benches, keeping his eyes on the back of Grand Duke Bubov's balding head.

Pymazhenko's righteous voice went on. "Despite her grief at the loss of her husband and sons, the Dlinnyy, at least, should be here with some male relative to speak for her and her House. Does she think we will actually appoint her Czar-of-House, whatever the late Kerarr's Will said?"

An angry murmur swept the chamber. "No female regent!" someone on the Zubrugov back benches shouted. Grand Duke Bubov shook his head despairingly. At that moment Anen gripped the grand duke's shoulder. The grand duke whipped around. His eyes met the gold uniform and his face flushed deep red. "Your master's already..."

"Nick." Anen tipped his helmet so the grand duke could see his face and telltale brown eyes.

The grand duke's anger faded and he started to rise. Anen put a finger to his lips and shook his head. The grand duke sank down onto the bench again and moved to make room for Anen beside him. A wondering murmur whispered through the Bubov benches. Across the chamber, Kosh had just passed the Panshin benches and stood at the rear of the House Kurharay's section. Anen touched the grand duke's arm and nodded slightly in Kosh's direction. The grand duke sucked his breath in sharply.

"He didn't die in Ghor," he murmured after a moment. "We heard a 'cast from Gildskoe about an attack of Ghorr and I knew Kosh had been named the Kerarr's pilot..." the grand duke's voice trailed away.

"My House is under siege. That's why you heard nothing from Kurharay."

The two men returned their attention to the Kurharay benches. Kosh was brushing aside the hands of Moaekod soldiers offering help to an injured comrade. He walked slowly down the aisle leading to Moaekod's prep table, every movement that of a wounded, weary man. He bent and whispered something in Lord Astin's ear, straightened and retreated to a cluster of young men on the Panshin back benches. He removed his gold helmet and kept his face turned from the Moaekod table.

Even from across the room, Anen could see the blaze of triumph on Tomok Moaekod's face, and the suspicion on his son's. The duke turned quickly to Gaito and began talking urgently. More and more eyes turned from the speaker to the duke or the mysterious murmurings on the Panshin back bench. Kosh and Anen exchanged small glances, then Kosh slid off the Moaekod jacket. Surprise rippled along the Panshin bench, followed by a sudden rush of Panshin and Bubov men to Kosh's side.

The chairman pounded his gavel on the polished desk top. "Quiet back there! We have a speaker on the floor. What's the meaning of this interruption?"

Kosh stood. "Kosh Bubov, House Bubov, here, milord. I've just brought Lord Astin news that the assassins successfully brought down over Ghorr all the Kurharay flitters they had been sent to attack."

The chamber echoed with the shocked gasps of Congress. Bubov waited for the sound to fade away.

"I did not tell him there were two survivors, milords. Two out of nine. I, Heir to House Bubov, am one and Anen Kurharay is the other one."

All over the chamber, men turned to each other, repeating what Bubov had said, commenting on it, some shouting at others, some standing and shaking clenched fists at House Moaekod.

"Kurharay's already dead!" someone shouted.

Kosh motioned and his Panshin friends closed protectively around him. He raised his head proudly and pointed to House Bubov's front bench. "There! Kurharay lives!"

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Planet Sub-Zero

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