“We’re supposed to wait here. The connecting room is the pillar set computer. This is the watchroom for the Nualan civil defense. Jaacav is the first officer in charge,” Moran whispered. “Interplanetary Communications is over there—and Interstellar Communications, Scope and Navigation. They’re one of the most efficient in the Axis.”
“One of? The best, First Officer.” The tiny, dark-haired woman had broken off with the Atares and turned to them. Lyte was stunned, and dropped his usual mask.
“You! Mercury 7!”
“Yes,” Jaac answered, a faint smile curling at the corner of her full lips. “We are familiar with the edifice tables, are we not?” She turned back to Braan and Roe and continued speaking softly in Nualan. “There has been no replacement for the Io, and no explanation for the move. The Atare, Tal and the Prime Minister have the facts and the nuances, and the twins and Liel have an inkling of what has happened. I am not concerned enough to attempt to reach the Ragäree, Deenn or your sisters. The synod has not yet been informed. That is all.”
“I cannot believe they would allow anything to happen before the feast. If there were any ‘accidents’ involving guests of their rank, the Axis Forces, not Nuala, would be blamed,” Braan replied. “But afterward? Who knows?”
“We are safe until the festival. I have a—a premonition?” Roe shook her head, disturbed. Then she smiled at Jaac. “You never told me you knew Lyte.”
A secret smile behind those almond-shaped eyes ... “You never asked. If you will excuse me, I need to get back to work.” Nodding to the Atares, Jaac turned back toward the communications board. Lyte unintentionally caught her line of sight—her gaze settled on the object of his scrutiny, the scope. For a moment their glance met, and Lyte sensed worry. Was it shared concern of what they both suspected, or was she anxious that he had seen the scope at all? She was too perceptive a warrior not to realize the wrongness. And Lyte feared he now knew what the whispered Nualan words had been about.
Gesturing to Moran and Lyte, Roe swept out the door, Braan following. As they slowly made their way to the surface and back toward the palace, Lyte found a moment to speak to Moran alone.
“That’s an extremely sophisticated set-up. Why do they need it? The surrounding protection ships take care of almost all of that. They don’t need to watchdog the Axis Republic.”
“Quite simply, the Nualans trust everyone else about as far as they can throw them. And it will take more than good standing in the Axis Council to change their minds.” Moran had a look on his face that was at once knowing and distant. Lyte did not voice his other thought—that from the scope he could see, it appeared the two major guard ships were too far out. One ship always moved in at the same speed as the departing ship. Something did not fit, and Jaacav and the Atares were aware of the missing pieces, but it was not yet time to ask questions of their hosts. They had hours before the feast was to start, and everyone had individual plans. Later.... He followed Moran back into the palace, unaware that Moran was thinking the same thing.
oOo
The right wing of the palace had been the Atares’ home for generations uncounted. Not only the family of the current Atare but of his sister as well, for her children would be the next to reign. The progeny of both families were raised with a strong sense of duty, although other outside relatives kept that force from becoming the overriding influence of their lives. When the children reached an age of majority, they left the palace, even if they did not leave the planet, and remained away for five Nualan years. After that time, if not yet married, they could return and live under the family roof.
The older Atare siblings all had homes of their own nearby. Ronüviel and one brother, Deenn, had both returned from their various cover trades single and had elected to remain under the sprawling dynasty roof. Although the atmosphere was occasionally stifling, Ronüviel had never seriously regretted the move. Otherwise she would never have known her younger sister and brothers so well, or known her mother as woman and not merely Mother. After all, the thought lazily occurred to her, where else could she get such a spacious room, so close to the capital, so cheaply? Roe managed to chuckle, and cast a quick glance at Moran, fearful she had awakened him. Unlikely—she could feel his sleep pattern synchronizing with her healing waves, a deep and total relaxation. He almost always slept on his back, the light native blanket and sheet drawn up to his ribs and held with one arm, radiating a tousled contentment. Roe lay on her side, drawing the sheet up to her shoulders to shield from the over-active air cooling system. Her gaze traveled from the glow pits buried in the walls to the numerous thermapane windows and finally rested on the slow, deep rise and fall of Moran’s chest, light reflecting off the soft brown hairs and drawing gold from them. They became a golden blur and then merely light, fading as drowsiness stole over her.
He needed sleep. She knew he had been on short night shifts for almost a twentyday, and she did not like it. They would be lucky if he awoke for the feast. He did have some energy left, she reminded herself, smiling gently at the memory of the last hour. And it was partly the hour that had lulled her fears. Lyte’s presence, and his obvious unease ... it was too simple to dismiss it as what it appeared to be. But there was no change, no restraint in Moran. His loving was in complete accord with his entire being; intricate, passionate, unusually gentle and unusually honest. Though she rarely let him know, let alone others, she could read this vulnerable man like a monitor. True, he could do the same with her, but he did not rely on his sensitive training. Nor did she. And they used no blocks with each other. No—if there was something wrong, Moran did not know about it. A momentary chill ran through Roe as she imagined his reaction to being used. Dear God, this man could love—and hate—with passion. An undying friend or lover, he would be a dangerous enemy.
Without thought she ran her hand down her stomach, testing its contours. There did not seem to be much change, no more than lack of exercise or a few sweets might cause. Roe frowned slightly. Her menses had cycled four times in the past year, the average for a fertile Nualan woman. But it had been onehundred twentyday since her last pass. Her mother had been pregnant with her first onehundred sixtyday before a routine physical revealed her condition. Nothing obvious, no discomfort, yet Roe felt ... different. That could mean conception anywhere from an hour ago through—she counted—one hundred days ago. The thought of being a third of the way through pregnancy momentarily stunned her.
Moran stirred slightly but did not awaken. He shifted his body angle and reached out instinctively to the side Roe always slept on, his left. She managed to pull herself back to full consciousness long enough to creep into his embrace, and to wonder, half-guiltily if she should mention her suspicions about a child or confirm it with Elana first. No matter—there was plenty of time.
Chapter Three
PALACE
FOURHUNDRED TWENTYFIVEDAY, VESPERS
Lyte awoke to the sound of furtive rustlings in the room. As his eyes focused, a figure cut off the light in his vision. But the light was pale, as if—as if the star was setting. Damn, I fell asleep.... Lyte gained full consciousness and realized Moran was looking at him. The man looked more rested than Lyte had seen him for a long time. Managing his famous winning smile, Lyte sat up.
“You’re looking good. Have an enjoyable afternoon?” Lyte said.
“Very. How went your exploring?” He replied, turning back to his dressing. His voice was light, amused, and Lyte was certain Moran knew he had never left the room.
“How long until the feast?” Lyte asked instead, getting up and walking over to the shower basin. He recognized the tub and bypassed it, suspecting he’d fall asleep again. The water falling out of the wall was much cooler but effervescent and exhilarating to the touch. His skin tingled as he quickly worked up a lather.
“We can go to the Great Hall at any time. You won’t recognize it.” Moran moved to the mirror and carefully adjusted the starbursts that symbolized the rank of first officer. “Ronüviel wil
l meet us there. I think Braan brought some clothes to the palace, so he’ll also show up quickly.”
“I thought Braan lived in his own house,” Lyte murmured, smearing a depilatory over his cheeks and chin.
“He does but—I thought I told you about his wife.” The face that Lyte turned toward him was puzzled. “Enid is dying,” Moran went on quietly, “and she’s been here at the palace for several years. It was thought too depressing for the children to have it all going on under the same roof. Braan divides his time among the children, his art and his wife’s bedside, although she hasn’t recognized any of them in over five years.”
“There’s a sadness about him. That explains a lot,” Lyte answered. Rinsing off, he stepped out of the shower and dried himself as he walked over to his tackle. The black and silver dress uniform unfolded wrinkle-free, as always. There wasn’t much Lyte hated more than a dress uniform, but protocol demanded it. The sheer number, much less the status of the dignitaries attending, made a simple dodge impossible. He carefully adjusted on his collar the even-armed crosses that were the insignia of his rank, and reached for a hair rake. His hand brushed against his timespot. Intrigued, he picked it up and examined it. A sheen to the finish ... They’re quick here.
“Where do you know Jaacav from?” Moran suddenly asked.
Lyte, masking his surprise, did not look at him. “I don’t, really. A couple of furloughs ago I played against her in a high stakes edifice game on Mercury 7. There were maybe a half-dozen of us. Never did catch her name,” Lyte replied, attaching the timespot to his cuff.
“Don’t sound so casual about it. You obviously recognized her.”
Lyte glanced at him. Was Moran fishing or teasing? He decided he was getting paranoid. “And she recognized me. There aren’t many people capable of holding their own in a game like that—especially in the military. A good-looking woman, a great gambler, of course I remember!” Lyte hoped he didn’t sound defensive.
“Yet you didn’t follow up on her while you were there.”
“I couldn’t—she left mid-game and had left the tratore by the time I had finished.” That was the truth. He hoped Moran would leave it at that. The warrior seemed unperturbed.
“Well, now you have a chance to follow up on it. She’ll be here tonight.”
“I have a lot of things I plan to follow up on,” Lyte finished, flashing Moran what he hoped looked like a confident smile. “It’s time to explore a bit. See you there.” He started for the chamber door.
“Don’t get lost!” Moran called by way of parting.
Lyte ducked out the door of their chamber and into the spacious hallway. He had no desire to pursue the subject of Jaac—now, or at any other time. He found her disturbing, just as he had on Mercury 7, and that was a rare response on his part to any woman. He had no time to think of this, however, for he realized he had forgotten a turn. He saw a figure up ahead enter the corridor, and hurried to catch up.
“Hey, can you tell me—oh, hi.” For a moment he had not recognized Braan. The man had changed into more formal clothes; deep brown, loose-fitting mandraia pants and a pale yellow gauze shirt which was embroidered in a rich brown on the cuffs and pointed collar. “I’m lost. How do I get out?”
“Follow me.” Braan glanced at Lyte’s dress uniform. “Do they never let you out of that thing?”
“Depends on what you mean. My swimming string is blue and I sleep in the raw. Does that count?” It was all he could think of to say. The truth was, he owned three regulation uniforms and a dress suit—nothing else.
“I suppose it is some sort of freedom. I have to make a stop. Come.” Braan turned and started back down the corridor. Lyte did not mind retracing his steps; he was thankful Braan did not ask why he had left without Moran, or at least remark on his being lost. Lyte decided to increase his observations. Moran had a lot of respect for this man. Again, as earlier, he felt something different about Braan. Something elusive. His feet made no sound on the stone floor, though he wore boots.
Interesting ...
They suddenly stopped before a door.
“You may wait here.” He opened the door and walked in. Braan had said may—a choice. Lyte looked in. He was not prepared for what he found. It was apparently a study which had been converted into a bedroom. A dark man he did not recognize was present, passing a small, flat instrument about a meter above the bed. Lying on the bed was a woman. At least he thought it was a woman; she appeared no bigger than a ten-year-old. She was tiny, so incredibly tiny, and very pale, with a mass of dark curls. Lyte noticed a young woman sitting in a nearby chair. She had been reading a tape console, but now raised her head, startled by Braan’s presence. She glanced quickly at the window, and Lyte saw a sundial.
“Go get dressed. You will not be late. Thank you for staying, but you should be out more—your vacation is almost over.” She managed a lovely smile, and then slipped out past Lyte into the corridor. She was small and slender but properly endowed, with long, thick hair the color of raw bee’s honey. Lyte never missed the essential elements of a pretty woman, no matter how young. Looking back, he saw Braan had moved next to the bed.
“No change,” the healer offered. “I am staying the next shift.” His voice did not indicate he had ever expected any change. Lyte studied the tableau; Braan was expressionless. He slowly reached out toward her face, just barely touching a curl. Then he turned abruptly and moved to the door. Lyte quickly backed up.
They swiftly left the room and continued on down the corridor. Braan was still impassive, and Lyte refrained from comment. The woman had to be Enid, and it was clear her condition was deteriorating. Such a contrast; what Braan appeared to be and what old stories, now almost legends, had to say about him. Years of watching his woman die; yes, Lyte supposed it could wither a man.
“Her name is Shinar,” Braan said quietly. Startled, Lyte glanced at the man. The Atare smiled slightly. “The little blonde you were admiring. Her name is Shinar reb^Elana—the daughter of Elana.”
Lyte watched as the tension in the man slowly dissipated. Fascinating, the control this Nualan had over his body. Almost like a commando. Amazing that he’d noticed anything beyond his wife. Shinar ... smooth on the tongue. Where had he heard the name Elana?
“I ... prefer blondes,” Lyte offered vaguely.
“So did I, but I married a brunette.”
The conversation faded as they reached a set of bronze doors. They were now in the Hall of Mirrors. Darkness was falling fast, and the mysterious light source flared brighter, as if in response to the coming night. Instead of being in isolated wall pockets, each firegem was over a window, reflecting eerily in the mirrors on either side.
The two men quickly reached the dome and, as of yet, had met no one. The sound of music and voices could be heard coming from the Great Hall. Braan took hold of the chamber door and swung it inward.
It had been transformed. Lyte found it hard to believe this room had been the dark, empty chamber of a few scant hours ago. The normal light sources were supplemented by blazing torches. They revealed a ceiling almost as tall as the dome, its face resembling interlocking tetrahedrons. The huge tables he had seen earlier were now covered with soft beige cloths and heaped with food both native and imported. All of the visible food containers or supports were blown out of glass or trine gold. Music was provided by one of Amura’s excellent chamber ensembles. Lyte took it all in and quickly dug in his pocket and pulled out his next pill. As he popped it in his mouth, Braan noticed the movement.
“You will regret that,” he warned. Lyte could not cover his grimace. Even polished, the pill had quite an aftertaste. “You would think a technology like ours could do something about that. I suggest you get—” Braan broke off as a waiter passed and grabbed one of the tall glasses of saffra. “Here.” Lyte did not protest, gratefully gulping the drink.
Someone chuckled behind him, and Lyte turned his head. A dark, handsome young man about his own age silently waited, amusement sparkli
ng in his eyes.
“Be honest, Braan. Did you purposely wait to warn him about the pills?” the man asked. Braan’s face took on an air of total innocence. The off-worlder’s interest sharpened; this Nualan addressed an Atare by name.
“Lyte, I would like you to meet my Moran—Gid reb^Tinyan. This is Second Officer Lyte, Moran’s alter ego,” Braan said, dismissing the Nualan’s questions with a gesture. Still unable to speak, Lyte nodded a greeting. “I thought you decided not to attend this night?”
“I wished to meet Lyte before I left for Tolis,” Gid answered. “And I have accomplished my task. I also need to speak with Arrez. Have you seen him yet? I saw Shinar in the hall a few moments ago, but she had yet to dress for the feast.”
“Does this feast have any special significance?” Lyte asked when he had regained his voice.
“The harvest is in full swing. During the festival we reap by day and give thanks by night. This is a fruitful planet, but not without great effort on the part of the planters. The year will be good—already the deep grain vaults are full, the vegetables and fruits sealed.” Pride seemed to radiate from Gid as he spoke. “We have great hopes for the grape and berry crops of both the coast and the desert.”
“Perhaps you would like to sample a few things,” Braan said casually. “Go light on the food, but if you normally hold your liquor the wines will be no problem. Do not eat any of that.” He pointed to a tray heaped with a type of meat or meat substitute rolled in red leaves. “Even the pill cannot counteract a few of those yet.”
Lyte nodded his understanding and then gestured for a cantinamaster to pour golden fire into a green-stemmed glass. Braan’s head suddenly shot up, and he strained to see past the crowd. “Arrez and Elana just came in. Come, we shall introduce you, and then, feel free to mingle.”
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