Free Primary Inversion by Catherine Asaro

conquered nearly a thousand worlds. And he had hated my family. Gods, he hated us. It infuriated him that we, the ultimate providers, not only lived free from his power but had the audacity to build a civilization rivaling his own.
           In English, Jaibriol translated into Gabriel. The Allieds, however, used our spelling and the soft “J.” I once asked a receptionist in an Earth embassy why they avoided their own translation. She told me the name Gabriel came from one of their holy books, that he was an archangel whose name meant “God is my strength.” She thought Jaibriol Qox should have been called Lucifer instead, after the fallen angel who had sunk from heaven to hell. It made a lot of sense to me.
           “At least this Qox has a redeeming quality,” Taas said.
           Helda snorted. “His only redeeming quality would be to fill a coffin.”          “He has no heir,” Taas said. “Twenty-five years of marriage and no children.”
           “You would think he would divorce the Empress for a more fertile wife,” Rex said.
           “Why?” Taas said. “All the Hightons need are her eggs and his sperm to make a baby.”
           “They are not allowed divorce anyway,” Helda said.
           “Actually, he could divorce her if she’s refusing him an heir,” I said. “Deliberate infertility is grounds for dissolving the royal marriage. The only grounds, in fact, except for adultery.”
           “You think he actually loves her?” Taas asked.
           “Am I wearing a ballet tutu?” Helda asked.
           Rex smirked at her. “I’d like to see that. A pink tutu.”
           Helda crossed her arms, her bulky muscles rippling under her regulation pullover. “Pah.”
           I smiled at my image of Helda in pink. “He needs a Highton as his heir.” Hightons were fanatical about keeping their bloodlines “unpolluted.” No child could be recognized as part of their caste unless numerous genetic tests verified his parentage. Of course the Qox line had to be the purest of all. If Ur Qox didn’t soon produce an acceptable heir, he risked losing his claim to the throne.
           “At least our people don’t have to worry about that,” Taas said.
           “We don’t?” I asked.
           “I mean, the Assembly is elected,” he said. “It doesn’t depend on heritage.”
           “Not the Assembly, no,” I said. “The Kyle-Mesh does.” At his puzzled look, I added, “Imperial heirs have to be Rhon psions.” I couldn’t help but notice Rex as I spoke. Why was he so pale, as if I had punched him in the gut? Surely he knew our children would never be in the line of succession.
           Rex spoke carefully. “I had never realized bloodline was so important to the Imperial family.”
           I wanted to kick myself. I had become too comfortable with him, assuming he knew me better than he had reason to. Why should he be aware of something so personal? My family guarded our privacy, all the more so given how much our lives fascinated the rest of the universe.
           Block Moroto and Bjorstad, I thought. As my awareness of Helda and Taas receded, I tried to reach Rex. He blocked me.
           “It isn’t that way,” I said. “We need to widen our gene pool. Too many dangerous recessives are tied to the Rhon genes. But if we cut them out, it removes what makes us Rhon.”
           “What I don’t get,” Taas said, “is why—”
           Helda interrupted. “I just remember, Taas. We didn’t close our accounts after we check mesh-mail in my room.”
           Taas glanced at her. “Yes, we did.”
           “No, I think we forget. We better make sure.”
           He frowned at her. But then he said, “Oh, all right.”
           After they left the room, I smiled wanly at Rex. “Subtlety was never her strong point.”