EarthRise by William C. Dietz Page A

“Thank you, eminence, but you are too kind. Even the least of your warriors is much more graceful than I.”
    Hak-Bin, who was used to such lies, and expected nothing less, waved a pincer. “Thank you for agreeing to come.”
    Had the Kan warriors extended some sort of invitation? No, Tog couldn’t remember any . . . But maybe they were supposed to and forgot. “Thank you for the invitation, eminence. It was my pleasure.”
    Hak-Bin nodded as if the answer was completely believable. “I’m sorry we won’t be able to spend much time on the ceremonial aspect of your investiture—but these are pressing times. Construction has slowed, the temples have fallen behind schedule, and every unit counts.”
    Tog was mystified and mustered the courage to probe. “Investiture? Would your eminence be so kind as to explain?”
    “Sorry about that,” Hak-Bin replied with wave of a pincer, “I assumed my staff had briefed you . . . It seems rumors have started to fly, nonsense for the most part, but fire sufficient darts and one will hit something eventually. According to one such story the entire Sauron race will die and give birth at the same time. Have you heard anything of that nature?”
    The fact was that Tog had heard of something like that, from the scalawag Fra Pol no less, and refused to believe it. Until now that is . . . and his audience with Hak-Bin. Tog was a lot of things, many of which were less than admirable, but he wasn’t stupid. Suddenly, armed as he was with the information that Pol had overheard, plus the evidence in front of his eyes, the cleric knew the undeniable truth: The Saurons were not only going to die, just as Pol claimed they would, but Hak-Bin had already started to change. That’s why the Zin was living in zero gee, that’s why his body was swathed in fabric, and that’s why he smelled. The thoughts raced through his mind at incredible speed, and the prelate would have sworn that his face was expressionless, but he must have been wrong. Hak-Bin clacked a pincer. “Ah, so you have heard the rumors?”
    Tog considered his options. A “yes,” would indicate that he had heard things which should have been reported. A “no,” would come across as a challenge. The cleric decided to gamble. “Yes, eminence. I heard the rumors and did everything in my power to quash them.”
    “Yes,” Hak-Bin said easily, “you did. Which has everything to do with your presence in my chamber. Even after hours of what the painmaster describes as a most rigorous regimen of torture, your subordinate, one P’ere Has, continued to speak of your devotion. A most remarkable session indeed. Perhaps you would care to thank him.”
    There was a sudden gust of colder air, the sound of sequenced air jets, and a small stretcher floated out of the darkness. Retros fired, and it coasted to a stop. Has, his features slack, lay as if dead. One ear had been burned almost beyond recognition, the other was badly singed, and who knew what lay beneath the crudely applied bandages.
    The prelate shivered. To suffer yet remain loyal to a superior . . . Not only was Has stupid—he was crazy as well . . . Something for which Tog was extremely grateful. But what to say? That it was kind of the Saurons to let the cleric live? That they never should have tortured him in the first place? That they were scum? No, none of those alternatives would go over very well, and that being the case, Tog attempted something neutral. “Yes, well I am most grateful for the manner in which Has sustained the truth.”
    Hak-Bin stomped a foot in approval, remembered where he was, and clacked a pincer instead. “Yes, it’s important to show loyalty to those who are loyal in return. Especially when one occupies an extremely important position.”
    The words brought Tog’s ears up and forward. “Position? What position?”
    Hak-Bin savored the slave’s eagerness and raw lust for power. The whole thing was so easy—almost too easy. “Why the