Operations Log - Hermetios, via automatic writing - Lamia orbit

Please begin scribing, Solon.

I have emerged in an empty barracks berth. From the porthole I can see the operations of the fleet against the forces of the rebel governors.

As Biblia's message indicated, the armada's strategy has a gaping flaw, in that it assumes the rebel forces will be unable to coordinate their attacks. A few well-placed telepathic suggestions have dealt with that shortcoming. All rebel forces are now aware of the chink in the flagship's armor and are presently converging upon it. I predict the admiral will begin countermaneuvers...

Now. The red alert has just gone off. I have perhaps three minutes for everyone to reach battle stations before things settle down. Solon, please image for me Biblia's location.

The ship banked a little sharply to starboard while I was in transit. I emerged into real space in a side corridor.  There appears to have been some damage to the ship in a nearby section, as there is a strong wind. The bulkheads have sealed, and the wind stops.

Two guards run past ahead of me. I flatten myself against the wall, but one appears to have noticed the movement. He is coming toward me. I dare not risk discovery, so I step sideways without calculation.

The thalassa is cold. Many souls are being extinguished all around me, the wind of their passage driving the currents into a frenzy. Lamia is a whirlpool of death.

I feel a presence. I look over my shoulder. There is nothing there - nothing but the shapes one sometimes sees within the eddies, an optical illusion caused by the human mind’s inability to process the input of the eyes in non-euclidean reality. I ignore it and take my bearings. The ship is listing and drifting out of alignment. I recalculate where Biblia’s cell should be and step out of the streams.

"What took you so long?"

"My apologies. My navigator did not compensate for the ship’s movement."

"Never mind the excuses. Get me out of here! I heard buckling from the section bulkheads, there’s a 98.2% chance that this section is going to blow out within the next two minutes."

There is an explosion nearby, the sounds of shouting, and the shriek of distorting metal.

"Make that one minute and twelve seconds."

"As you say. Grab ahold."

"Wait. We have to rescue Cassandra first."

"Who?"

"Lys’s sister. Precog of sorts, very bad, but second-rank, and she wants to help us. Can you carry two with you?"

"Has she ever teleported before?"

"Unknown. Probably not."

"It will be difficult, but possible. Do you know where she is?"

"No. Is the fogey listening in?"

Solon, please scan Biblia for the identity of this person and image me her location.

We step into the thalassa. Biblia turns noticeably green as we do so, as the overload of sensory data instantly stimulates her appetite suppression reflexes. I take a bearing from Solon’s mental image and we step out as quickly as possible.

"Biblia! Did he hurt you?"

"You seem awfully considerate of someone who introduced herself to you via a dagger to the throat. Hurry. This is Hermetios, he’s getting us out of here."

"But what about-"

A sudden explosion throws us all across the room. There is a whistling sound and the door begins to buckle outward.

"Hull breach.  Pardon me, ladies, but we must go. This will be slightly uncomfortable, Miss Cassandra.  Please endeavor not to think about it."

"What are you-"

"No time to explain. Just... hold on to him and don't under any circumstances let go."

We step into the stream. It takes a moment for Cassandra to realize where we are, and I make the most of those few subjective seconds.

There is no time, only duration.

There is no time, only duration.

There is no time, only...

She realizes where we are. The currents of the thalassa suddenly change from quick-flowing water to the consistency of viscous treacle. I can feel her trying to scream, but sound does not travel here. I imagine she does not realize that, the blood pumping in her ears sounding like the crash of waves on this infinite sea. I assert my talent to try to override her panic, but it is too strong to affect greatly. Worse, rather than moving forward, something appears to be pulling us back.

I feel the uncanny presence again, and as I do, I feel Biblia’s breath catch. I settle my concentration on our swimming direction, then turn around.

There is a black shape in front of me. It is huge - the most colossal thing I have ever seen, with great wings like a moth but with infinitely recursive edges, and it reaches out toward us with long black feelers like the legs of a spider and I can feel my mind reacting instinctively with a combination of fear and - expectation? familiarity? and as I glance to either side I see my own shape and that of my passengers waver and distort and begin to darken, lengthen, become indistinct and I have to get away, I must, I must... Solon, wake up! WakE up! Do noT lEt it taKe you tOo! pLEaSe wAKe uP!

Biblia’s journal, recorded mentally until it can be transcribed when I'm not being held at swordpoint by illiterate thugs - Lamia orbit

There are six thousand, four hundred and eighty-four rivets securing my cell.

They put Lysimachos and Aeolus down on the moon's surface a few hours ago. They did not discuss the purpose of Lysimachos’ mission with me, but I can calculate their intent. Lamia - or more accurately, the fortress station above the moon - is of no real tactical value in their presumed goal of seizing Athens' planetside mineral wealth and the iron and tin deposits in the asteroid belt. It does correspond with their stated goal of rescuing the beleaguered Antipater, but there have been plentiful opportunities to extract him with a surgical strike prior to this. The only logical explanation is that the fleet leadership wishes for Antipater to remain where he is. As Athens would at this range only be lightly toasted by the energy required to terminate an archon of Antipater’s age, I conclude that Lysimachos has been sent to kill the diadoche of Arkadia and make him look like a casualty of the conflict.

Only one rivet in five is on-center.  The team that assembled this room consisted of one master and four apprentices.

I am seventy-eight percent certain that Lysimachos has never had to terminate a first-rank archon before, and while he is certainly academically familiar with the physics involved in doing so, he probably does not realize that there is no conceivable way he can survive the requisite blast. Merely blowing up the station will not suffice. Detonating the station’s power core within the moon’s atmosphere would have an eighty-eight point three percent chance of killing the diadoche, but automating a disaster of that scale would be difficult at best. Either way, all life on the Lamian surface would be eradicated by the event, and weather patterns on Athens and possibly the other inner worlds in this satrapy would be severely disrupted for years to come.

The faulty riveting has allowed a family of rats to take up residence in the walls.  One pops its head into the cell every thirteen minutes and forty seconds, remembers that I am here, and scurries away again.

I am not terribly concerned. Without strong persuasion Lysimachos could not be induced to carry out the assassination in any event, and without either myself or Hermetios to advise him, he is simply not clever enough to devise a reliable plan. It is possible that he considers the threat to me a sufficiently strong incentive - with Aeolus no doubt reinforcing that assumption - but as I imparted just before my solitary incarceration, this ship has a sixty-eight percent chance of falling victim to a flanking maneuver before the end of the battle. I expect Aeolus’ rash approach to a problem will get them captured either by the rebels or Antipater's home guard before they can infiltrate the station, raising this probability to a certainty. At this point, my concern becomes extracting myself and Cassandra from the ship - even if her talent is useless, she is still a second-rank archon and thus significantly more durable than most of our cadre. She’d make a useful shield if nothing else.

There are seven rats, judging by the echoes.

I know Lysimachos is worried about Hermetios and Solon. If I were able, I would counsel him not to be. I have been running through a dialing algorithm in my head since we entered the system, and a few minutes ago, I felt a trace of pressure inside my skull. My chance should come - I hate being this imprecise - any minute now.

Transcript of bridge activity logs, tetreme Charybdis, Lamia orbit

P: ... entering lunar orbit, trion wing moving to intercept rebel fighters.

K: Maintain holding orbit. Launch fighters in defensive screen. Let Seleucis’ boys pick off the mosquitos, then engage the capital ships when the scrum has cleared.

P: Aye, admiral.

L: Your opinion, Ponty?



L: Oh, come now. Stop sulking. We’re here to put down a rebellion in the name of the divine Alexandros, aren’t we? I would think you would approve of that.

K: Charge catapults. Fire!

B: Your compensators are out of alignment. I suggest a thirty-one point eight lateral drift.

L: Silence!

A: I’d take her advice if I were you. She’s very good at this.

P: Sir? We are listing, about what she says.

K: ... Make it so.

B: Also you are failing to take the strategy of Celimarchos into account. If there are any enemy forces in reserve, your rear and lower flanks are wide open.

L: I said, silence. You are a prisoner here, madam. Leave the strategy to the strategoi or I will have you removed from the bridge.

B: Suit yourself. Your funeral.

A: Ours too, don't forget.

Lm: What do you expect to accomplish by this? Apart from ego stroking, that is.

L: I would have thought it obvious. We are liberating this satrapy from the chaos of mob rule.

Lm: Yes, I know you’re making a power grab. I meant, why are you wasting time at Lamia when you could seize Athens with a fleet this size, if all you really wanted was the silver mines.

L: You know why. It is our duty to release poor Antipater from his troubles.

B: Lamia lies at the extreme edge of the termination zone of a first-rank archon. I assume that has something to do with it.

L: You had your warning, girl. Take her away, put her in solitary confinement.

Lm: What’s the matter, brother? Afraid of your crew hearing what you really have planned for Antipater?

L: ... It is of no concern.

K: My crew is loyal, spy. Nothing you can say will sway them.

Lm: It’s you I really don't understand, Krateros. You were one of Alexandros’ closest friends.

K: And I would be still, were
he still among us. I seek only to rescue his empire from the serpent Perdiccas and see the true heir take the throne.

A: Are you out of your mind? Even if you manage to beat him, it won't stop there. There’s a conspiracy at work. Maybe even some of your so-called allies are in on it.

Lm: Be quiet, Aeolus. He doesn't want to hear.

K: But I do, spy. I would be very much interested in what evidence you have managed to collect. It will help narrow down the next traitorous diadoche to meet justice.

Lm: What do you mean, 'next’?

L: I do apologize. The theatrics of the situation overcame me before I could give you all the details.



...

...

..........

Lm: .... sure about this?

K: As certain .... possible.

L: Few had the knowledge .... such a feat. Not since Aristotle.

Lm: I see. You should have told me before.

L: You are finally with us, then?

Lm: If I agree, will you release Biblia?

L: I think not. No offense, dear brother, but you have rather been lying to me about what you actually do for a little over two thousand years, so you must forgive me if I don’t find you entirely trustworthy. The girl is our insurance that you will uphold your part.

A: You son of a bitch.

Lm: Aeolus, watch whose mother you’re insulting.

A: Sorry, boss.

Lm: He does have a point, though. Hiding behind a girl is hardly appropriate behavior for a diadoche, let alone a royal bodyguard.

L: These are trying times. Honor must take second place to necessity.

Lm: The day those who rule it let honor take second place to necessity, brother, is the day this empire is no longer worth preserving.

Lysimachos' Log - Makedon Gate, Thrace

I have made the greatest error of my life.

It was a natural mistake, but I do not excuse myself on those grounds.  In our profession, one should not take anything for granted, not even - or should I say, especially not - blood ties.  We have all of us been alive too long and separated by such great distances that 'family' has become a political rather than a social concept for us.  I assumed that my brother would be my ally in this, and forgot that while he may be my brother, he is also a diadoche.

And because of my mistake, Biblia and gods know how many others may die.

I will put down the sequence of events so that I may remember, and I hope, learn from my errors.  We arrived at the Thracian gate later than I would like.  Hermetios would have said that this was because I was so impatient to get there, but I had sent him to Athens to collect Solon and was spared his overweening intellectualism.  I spent most of the time running scenarios past Biblia, and narrowed down the possibilities for our next move.  While both I and Aeolus were initially convinced that we should attempt to infiltrate Alexandria and find out the cause of the blackout, Biblia pointed out that while Alexandria may be the throneworld, it is relatively isolated and events there - barring the Megas Basileus' proclamations - have very little effect on the rest of the cosmos.  Babylon, on the other hand, is the central hub, and any event that significantly impacts its traffic will send ripples throughout the Empire.  In light of this, I concluded that we should set our sights on the crossroads and Perdiccas.  If we are correct, and there is a conspiracy among the diadochoi, then Perdiccas may well know what has happened to Alexandros - and if nothing else, we can attempt to liberate Alexandros Mikros from his clutches and ensure a proper line of succession should the worst prove to be true.

Upon our arrival, we discovered we were not my brother's only visitors.  Several small fleets hung in space above Thrace, keeping a substantial arc of the gas giant between themselves for safety against itchy trigger fingers.  Lysimachos' own fleet was assembling over the secondary moon, where he has his palace.  Under the circumstances, I felt it was unsafe to use my security access codes, so I played the family card - slightly slower than top-level clearance, but I did not want to leave a logometer record of our actions.  Nevertheless, we were quickly passed through to my brother's major-domo, who authorized our passage to the moon.  While I considered that it would be prudent not to take our stolen shuttle to the palace hangar, Biblia noted that it would appear suspicious if we did not take full advantage of the diadoche's hospitality.  In hindsight... well, there is little point in hindsight.  Suffice to say that in future, caution will overrule other considerations.

To the best of my knowledge, my brother was only dimly aware of the duties I perform for the Megas Basileus.  All of us have our role to play, according to our archon talents, but I have always cultivated the impression that I was only made an archon due to being immediate family of one of Alexandros' bodyguards, rather than for any particular virtue of my own.  Such arrangements were all too common in the early days, before the full extent of the process was known, and the transformation reserved for truly essential individuals or those on the brink of death already.  Those with less impressive talents were shuffled off into the bureaucracy or given lesser political posts, and I have gone to great lengths to appear to be one of these.  My talent is so subtle that no others but my cadre, my king and the magos Aristotle even knew what it is, so this was not difficult.  Regardless, in spite of the family tie, I was not considered important enough to be invited into the council, and was asked to wait in the anteroom until the assembled generals had concluded their discussion.  At this point, Solon's talent would have been invaluable, but Hermetios had not yet returned with my missing telepath, and in the circumstances, I was beginning to worry.

I had Aeolus with me, disguised as my valet.  Biblia had, much to her disgust, been given the role of a servant and instructed to mingle with the other girls to find out as much gossip as possible, or if she could, to catch the eye of someone important who might be disposed to talk when his guard was down.  Despite her generally foul attitude, Biblia is a very good actress when she has to be, and the fact that her archon transformation took place at age fifteen makes her especially talented at loosening the tongues of men easily tempted by pretty faces.  It is a sad fact of human nature, though an incredibly useful one for our profession, that those with power do not really regard those below them as worthy of attention, and many a state secret will be spilled to a listening servant who the speaker regards merely as a piece of furniture.

Aeolus is not a very good actor, and it usually requires a direct order to actually keep him silent for more than ten seconds, but I think this day he felt something of the urgency and danger of our situation, and so stood perfectly to attention while we waited.  At last, the doors opened, and my brother entered, with the major-domo at one shoulder and the much more welcome sight of our sister Cassandra at the other (if you are reading this, Hermetios, and wondering why no such person appears in the genealogical records of my family, it is because her real name is Talia.  'Cassandra' is a nickname).  She came forward immediately to greet me, with a huge kiss on both cheeks, which I happily returned.  I saw out of the corner of my eye that Aeolus looked disappointed not to be similarly welcomed, but he bore it as stoically as is possible for him.  Lysimachos came forward once Cassandra could be convinced to release me, and we clasped arms.  I noted that his touch was a trifle firmer than it usually is, but at the time I attributed this to the same tension that afflicted myself and my team.

"You've chosen a remarkably inconvenient time to come for a visit, Ponty," he said to me.  (Hermetios: 'Ponty' is short for my childhood nickname, 'mouse.'  As in 'quiet as a.'  This is not a reference to my height, posture, or any other physical characteristic, and I will take it kindly if you do not attempt to psychoanalyze me on the basis of it).

"I hardly had a choice," I said.  "It wouldn't have been safe to remain at Sokrateia."

"True, true," he said.  "At least you managed to get out before the gate went dark.  Good thinking.  Bad business, this."

"What's going on?" I asked.  "With all the firepower up top, I mean.  I was afraid I wouldn't be allowed in, with all the warships."

"Oh, that?" said my brother.  "Don't suppose you'd have heard, of course.  There's been a revolt on Athens, can you believe it?  Drove Antipater right off his own planet.  Now there's talk of Lamia being besieged, and so the old bastard's swallowed his pride and put out the call for help.  The generals are meeting here to hash out the details.  Boring stuff, military.  Nothing to interest a scholar like you, I'm sure."

I gave a self-deprecating smile.  "Well, you know, history is my subject, and you may well be making history here.  I wouldn't be bored if you let me observe - just to document the event for future generations."

He looked a little uneasy.  "I don't know," he said.  "It's all very top secret.  What with his godship out of commission, as it were, everyone's a trifle jumpy.  I wouldn't want to give the rest of that lot the wrong idea."

I threw up my hands placatingly.  "I quite understand.  All those guns would make anyone nervous."

"Oh, you boys," cajoled Cassandra.  "Always talking about war and business and the business of war.  I, at least, am pleased to see you."

"Likewise," I said.  Lysimachos was still shaking his head.

"Blasted inconvenient," he muttered.

"Lys," said Cassandra archly.

"Well, of course I'm happy to see him," he said, with a pained expression, "but where are we going to put him?  There's a dozen generals and satraps and their servants taking up all the guest suites.  I assume you came with a retinue and not just this unsightly beanpole?"  He waved a hand idly at Aeolus, who managed with an effort visible only to me to dampen his reaction.  I have trained that boy well in some respects at least.

"I just have my valet and a maid, and then I have two colleagues from the academy following a day or two behind me, or at least I hope they will," I said.  "They are very prominent scholars in their fields, and they have no-one else to turn to in this crisis, so I hope I didn't overstep myself by offering them sanctuary here."

"Not at all," said Cassandra.  "I'm sure Malagos can find rooms for you all, can't you?"  The major-domo bowed.

"I don't need anything special," I said hurriedly.  "I'm used to scholar's quarters.  My man and my companions can lodge with me, and my maid will not mind bunking down with the other serving girls."

"Nonsense," said Lysimachos.  "It wouldn't do for a diadoche's brother to be entertained in less than royal style."

"I'm sure," I said pointedly, "that it wouldn't do to displace a satrap, or even a general, for a mere student of antiquity."  I didn't want to press the issue to far, but I wanted our quarters to be as consolidated and private as possible.

Lysimachos looked about to object, but Cassandra came to my rescue.  "Oh, Lys," she said, "can't you see you're embarrassing him?  Malagos, isn't there something quiet in the east wing, away from all the bustle?"  The major-domo nodded again.  "A small suite, two rooms and a balcony," he said.  "Perfect," said Cassandra.  "And you won't be far from my suite, so we can catch up on the news without being in the way of all these high-and-mighty sorts."  Our brother at last nodded his assent, and I dispatched Aeolus with Malagos to convey our baggage to the lodgings.

"I have another session with the wolves," said Lysimachos, after this had been arranged.  "See you at dinner?"  I nodded, and he departed, leaving me alone with Cassandra.

I will gloss over the details of that conversation, being largely concerned with reminiscences and catching up with family matters, except in one particular that is relevant: the subject of her headaches.  Cassandra is another of those archons created ill-advisedly merely because of their blood relation to one of Alexandros' inner circle, and with her, the process went slightly wrong.  She proved to be unable to control the mild precognitive talent that was bestowed on her by the process, and its exercise always left her incapacitated with pain.  It has only been in the last eight hundred years that medical science has produced a suitable serum to suppress her talent without leaving her in a constant drugged stupor.

"You don't mean that the headaches have started again?" I asked, worriedly.

"They're not so bad," she said.  "I have a very good girl who's a brilliant masseuse, most relaxing.  No, it's not the headaches.  It's the nightmares.  They started a little over two weeks ago."

I pricked up my ears as she described the nightmares.  They were oddly specific.  The first night's misadventure did not make much sense to me - something about giant sea spiders eating ships - but as they went on, snippets of them began to make an eerie correspondence with events as I knew them to have happened.  I learned that the reason for the enthusiastic greeting was that her nightmare of last night had prominently featured my face, screaming, amidst a lake of fire, which combined with the news of the capture of Sokrateia had led her to considerable worry.  Of course, the images she described would make no sense at all ahead of the event, any more than the utterances of the Pythia at Delphi did in the olden days before archons replaced oracles as diviners of the future, but Cassandra's talent had never been this precise before.  It worried me, and I made her promise to consult with Hermetios about them when he arrived.

---

Two more days passed, and Hermetios did not arrive, nor had Solon sent me any mental messages.  Lacking any other recourse, I approached my brother after one of his interminable meetings to which I was frustratingly unable to gain access, or even infiltrate my own people as servants due to the obsessive paranoia of the participants.

"I'm worried about my colleagues," I said.  "They haven't arrived yet.  I fear that the ship they were on may have been detoured through Arkadia."

"What makes you think that?" he asked.

"At the time we left, nobody knew about the revolt," I lied.  "I wonder, if you are indeed sending an expedition there, I might be permitted to accompany you and look for them."  He looked dubious, so I added, "I can take my own ship, of course.  It has sufficient small armaments that I can defend myself if necessary, and I wouldn't get in the way.  I just assume that your armada probably has a better chance of punching through any blockades that might be in place than my little yacht."

He still looked skeptical.  "Your battle training's a bit rusty, little brother," he said.  "I wouldn't want you going into harm's way.  Tell you what, though - I'll give my fellows a description of your men, and they can track them down for you."

I protested that I would much prefer to be involved myself, and that my colleagues might not trust anyone else, but I could not get him to budge on the issue.  Eventually I was forced to give in.

"I'll have a detailed description for you tomorrow," I told him.

"Better make it tonight," he said.  "The fleet may be shipping out tomorrow morning."

At least now I had a deadline.  That evening, as I was attempting to work out a way of somehow getting Aeolus into the expedition secretly, Biblia came into the room in the guise of my maid.

"Seleucis is here," she said bluntly.  I looked up from my notes.

"He sent a general to the fleet?" I asked.

"No.  He's here," she said.  "In person."

"You're certain?"

"I have a fresh bruise on my posterior to prove it," she said with acid in her tongue.  "Why do we never go to any Amazonian worlds where the men have to wear the skimpy outfits and wait on the women?"

"To the best of my knowledge, such places don't exist, thank the gods," I said.  "What is another diadoche doing here?"

"It would seem that there is more at stake here than just the rescue of Antipater," she said.  "All in all, Cassander, Leonnatus, and Ptolemaios have sent strategoi to these meetings, and Krateros and Seleucis came themselves."

This was unexpected news.  As commander of Alexandros' navy, Krateros should have been on the Megas Basileus' flagship when it disappeared, and Seleucis as diadoche of Parthia would, I would have assumed, have been far too worried about a possible invasion from Babylon to be able to devote his attention personally to a mere revolt, several satrapies distant.  For half an hour I quizzed Biblia for every last detail she had been able to glean about the meetings, until by the time Aeolus returned from the errand on which I had sent him, I had formulated a few disturbing suspicions.

"Boss, your sister keeps watching me," said Aeolus as he came in.

"Wonders will never cease," said Biblia, automatically.  I shushed her.

"What do you mean?" I demanded.

"I mean, whenever I go anywhere, I catch a glimpse of her out of the corner of my eye," he said.  "If I turn my head to catch her at it, she ducks behind a wall or a pillar.  If I pass her in the hallways, she always glances at me sideways with a funny look in her eye, like she's trying to remember where she's seen me before.  Then she walks away nodding thoughtfully to herself.  It's creepy."

I knew Aeolus had never been to this satrapy before, and what he was describing gave me even more cause to worry.  She had seen me in a possibly precognitive dream, although the precise events she described had not, in fact, come to pass.  Maybe she had also seen Aeolus, and with her unpredictable talent, she might have figured out what we really were.

However, I was reasonably certain that, even if she knew and did not keep silent, nobody would believe her.  Lysimachos always thought of her as a silly little girl, for all that she was only twenty years younger than he - nothing at all to a lifespan of nearly two and a half millennia - and anyone else who had known her that long frequently remembered the drooling and mumbling wreck that she used to be, to whom no heed need be taken.  At the moment, I had a much more pressing concern to deal with.

"Never mind about her," I said, "and I do mean never mind."

"Boss!" he protested, "I would never..."

"I'm sure you wouldn't," I said.  "I have another job that requires your particular skills."

"It doesn't involve sewers again, does it?" he said, with a grimace.

"Quite the opposite," I said.  "I need your help to burgle a satrap's bedroom."

---

There was a great deal of complaining involved in the ascent of the wall, which required all of my talent to counter, and I fear that I was not entirely successful.  Aeolus does not like to take passengers, even ones as slight of build as myself, and is never shy about declaring his grievances.   Under other circumstances I might have relied on Biblia to get the information I needed, but time was short and I could not rely on her limited reportoire of seduction techniques to sway Krateros should she be discovered lurking in his room late at night.

We landed on Krateros' balcony, and the danger of the situation finally sank in on Aeolus enough for him to close his mouth.  I motioned for him to wait at the balcony while I crept inside.  The bed was occupied, the sleeper apparently fast asleep.  Taking no chances, I made my way forward, and saw that it was indeed Krateros.  His breathing was deep and steady, so I slowly moved back, leaving my talent on simmer - I doubted it would be necessary.  I went quickly to the desk and began to go through the documents.  Not for the last time, I wish I had Biblia's talent instead of (or additionally to, although I know it doesn't work like that) my own: a quick glance and the contents of the papers could be recorded indelibly in my memory.  Lacking that capacity, I skimmed each sheet as lightly as I could, giving greater scrutiny to what I deemed more important.  Most of the documents were dull logistical reports concerning the disbursement of Krateros' fleet - I did not pay close attention to the details, although I did note that a substantial part of the satrap's forces appeared to be here, including several ships that were almost never seen outside of the escort of Alexandros' flagship.

I was about to close up the desk and move on when I saw, out of the corner of my mind, a flash of light.  I hurriedly doused my own handheld glass and turned the full force of my talent on the bed, urging its occupant not to see me as I ducked hurriedly toward the balcony.  Suddenly, I stopped in my tracks, turned, and stared at the man I had assumed had been sleeping.  He was now sitting on the edge of the bed, sword in hand, staring straight at me.  I made a sudden dash for the balcony door and his eyes tracked me, and in them I saw the glimmer of recognition.  With a scowl, he raised his blade, leapt forward and charged at me.  I pulled open the door and threw myself into Aeolus startled arms, sending us both toppling over the ledge.  As we fell, and Aeolus' summoned air currents caught us and bore us down gently, I saw Krateros standing at the edge.  The faint light of the red planet above gleaming dully on his sword, giving it and his naked torso a blood-spattered look.

"Get us down," I hissed to Aeolus, "as quickly as you can."

"What in Hades happened up there?" he whispered back.

"He saw me.  I don't know how."

"Well, make him forget!" exclaimed Aeolus, panic edging into his voice.

"I'm trying," I said through clenched teeth, as I pushed 'forget' into Krateros' mind as hard as possible.  He remained standing at the edge for a few moments, and then appeared to shake his head and return to his room.

---

Aeolus and I crashed, exhausted, onto the balcony of our own suite.  The lights were off within.  Another time I would have assumed that Biblia had completed her task and had gone off to her bed in the servants' quarters, but tonight I was rattled.  I put a finger to my lips to prevent Aeolus from speaking, and slowly opened the balcony door.

Inside, I could just make out an amorphous shape near Aeolus' bed.  I quietly pulled a dagger from my boot and whispered, "Biblia?"

"Sir."  A light was kindled, and I saw Biblia sitting on the bed, another figure beside her with its head completely covered by a sheet and Biblia's knife at where I assumed was its throat.  "I caught this person snooping outside," she explained.  "I thought I'd better hold her here until you returned."

"Her?  Who is she?" I asked.

"I have no idea," Biblia replied.  "I can tell from the tone of the voice that she is female, but it was too dark when I apprehended her and this necessary muffling has prevented a positive identification."

I sighed.  "Take the sheet off.  Let's see what we're dealing with."  Biblia complied, and I was astonished to discover that her prisoner was my sister, Cassandra.

"What are you doing here?" I demanded.  She gulped and coughed.  I snapped my fingers at Aeolus and pointed at a carafe of water on the nightstand, from which he hurriedly poured a cup and delivered it into Cassandra's hands.

"I came to warn you," she sobbed, when she got enough of her voice back to be coherent.

"Warn me of what?"

"I overheard the others talking," she said.  "Krateros knows who you are.  He said he recognized you as one of Alexandros' spymasters.  Don't bother to deny it, I know it's true.  It explains the visions.  Ponty, you must get out of here, quickly.  If you don't, they'll take you away!"

"Slow down, girl," I said.  "What visions?"

"The burning lake.  Your face, screaming, as ships fly past overhead.  The great fortress at Lamia hanging in the sky.  Please, Ponty, they're coming for you!  You have to go, now!"

"I thought you said her visions were unreliable," Biblia said, the dagger still at Cassandra's throat.  I waved my hand, and she removed the blade with some reluctance.

"The visions may be, but the warning isn't," I said.  "Krateros saw me up there - saw me, through my shroud.  I think I made him forget, but if he already knew me - gods know how - our cover is blown.  You go with Aeolus, see if you can steal another shuttle.  I'll make for the hangar and see if I can draw the search away from you two."

Biblia began to protest, but I held up a hand.  "The mission needs that brain of yours more than it needs me.  Go."  Aeolus put a hand on her shoulder, and with a backward glance at me, a wind swept them both out of the balcony door.  I turned back to Cassandra.  "I'm afraid I'm going to have to impose on you a bit, sister," I said.  "Please believe I would never actually do you harm."

"Wha-" she began, as I quickly moved behind her and twisted her arm up her back.  "Move," I said.  "As fast as you can.  If we're apprehended, you're to pretend to be my hostage.  I don't want them to think that you're in league with me."

"Lysimachos, take me with you," she pleaded.  "Whatever you're doing, I can help."

"Too dangerous," I hissed in her ear as we left the suite.  "No offense, but you can't reliably see the future and you'd be about as good in a fight as Biblia is good at tact.  Stay here.  Let everyone think you're just a harmless madwomen.  With what's coming, it's the safest thing for you.  Now, shut up.  We don't want to attract attention."

We made our way in silence through the corridors toward the hangar, ducking behind pillars to avoid the notice of night watchmen.  The few who glanced in our direction were hit with the full force of my shroud and instantly forgot that they had seen us.  All seemed well until we reached the bay door.  "Keep watch," I told Cassandra, and used my knife to lever the casing off the door control.  I'm nowhere near as good at hotwiring systems as Aeolus, but I can hold my own.

"Someone's coming," she hissed at me, and I hurriedly grabbed her, put the knife as threateningly to her throat as I could, and ducked as far back into the shadows as I could.

"Release her, Pontikos," said my brother's voice.  "We both know you won't hurt her.  These men, however, have no particular qualms about shooting you through her."  He stepped out of the shadows, flanked by men wearing Krateros' and Seleucis' livery and carrying heavy bolt throwers, the blast chambers crackling with barely contained lightning.  One shot from one of those would go right through Cassandra, me, and probably go a fair way through the blast shielding of the door behind us.  After a quick glance at each of their eyes to confirm that Lysimachos was telling the truth, I hurriedly released Cassandra and raised my hands above my head.  Bracing myself, I pushed with my talent.  The guards didn't even blink.

"Your so-called shroud won't work, dear brother," said Lysimachos with a smirk.  "Surely you remember my talent, which served the great Alexandros so well?"

I nodded.  Though in the early days the secret of creating archons was known only to Aristotle and his closest students, the possibility of rebellion or unauthorized use of the power was always firmly in the Megas Basileus' mind, and so when one of his somatophylakes was awakened with the power to cancel out other archons' talents, Lysimachos' position at Alexandros' side was doubly assured.


"How could you turn against him, Lysimachos?" I demanded.  "He is our king, the bringer of law and peace, the Emperor of the cosmos.  You fought at his side from Anatolia to India.  You were his witness when he tore the crown from the Inca's head.  You've stood behind his throne for millennia.  What's happened to you?  To all of them?"


"An opportunity, brother," he said.  "And don't be so sanctimonious.  I was as loyal as the next man... while the King of Kings lived.  But he has moved on.  Alexandros the Man is now truly Alexandros the God, and has no more interest in this mortal plane.  Without him, the Empire will fall apart.  It's up to us to grab as much of it as we can, before the others do."


"How do you know he's dead?" I demanded, my pulse racing with fear.


"My dear boy, what other explanation can there be?" he laughed.  "His ship went into the thalassa and never came out of it.  The Empire has lost the feeling of his touch over us.  Even if he were to return tomorrow, the seeds of destruction have already been sown.  All that remains is to pick up the pieces."


"I don't believe that," I said, although in truth it was hard to fault his logic.  "Help me, Lysimachos.  I aim to find Alexandros, and stop his Empire from becoming a corpse picked over by these vultures."


Lysimachos shook his head.  "Too late, brother mine.  In a few hours, I and my allies set sail for Arkadia.  We will subjugate it once more, and then with its resources we will be able to retake Babylon.  We have already arranged the division of the Empire once Perdiccas is overthrown.  Join with us, and you can have a satrapy of your own.  Refuse... well, let us just say, you would envy Sisyphus if you refuse me."


The blast door began to open behind me.  I had a momentary surge of hope, until I heard the familiar voice behind me wracked with the tones of disappointment.


"Sorry, boss.  They were waiting for us."


I looked over my shoulder.  Behind Aeolus and Biblia stood Krateros, a sword in each hand with the edge against each of my agents' necks.  Behind him was a full squad of his men, blocking every exit.


"Come up to my flagship, Pontikos," Lysimachos said.  "Whether you join the cause or not, we have a mission that your particular talent will be invaluable in accomplishing.  Well, you and your flying boy there."


"What's that?" I said, my teeth clenching.

He leaned forward and whispered in my ear.  "You're going to kill Antipater for us."

---

Krateros insisted on bringing Cassandra as well, to ensure not only mine but my brother's good behavior.  Obviously the members of this so-called 'alliance' did not fully trust one another.   My mind raced for a way to exploit that, but Lysimachos made it painfully clear that at the slightest hint of treachery from me, his men would kill Biblia.  We now stand ready to embark at the Makedon Gate, the rest of the fleet behind us, bound for Lamia - ostensibly to relieve Antipater, in reality to usurp him.  And unless I can pull a miracle out of my arse, I am condemned to be his assassin.