The Pursuit

by Diana Palmer

  “At least, that is something for which to be grateful.”

  Mekashe nodded. He felt the weight of grief like a living thing. He would leave the ship tonight, with the emperor’s permission, and bring Tresar and the others with him back to Memcache on a military transport. With luck, the Morcai would be near enough to rendezvous with the cruise vessel.

  Mekashe told his cousin good-night and went back to his cabin to arrange everything.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  JASMINE AWOKE THE next morning with something of a hangover, and a raging embarrassment for the scene she’d made in front of Mekashe. Two scenes, she amended. The first had been at his virtual home, where the equally virtual galot had been housed.

  She recalled that Mekashe had asked her to wait outside the gym, but she’d disobeyed him and walked right into a nightmare. Had he known that the creature was in there? Was it sentient? It had to be, because it had spoken to him in some strange, incomprehensible tongue. Perhaps he’d had to speak to it for his job. She’d screamed her head off like a child and embarrassed him. How could she have done that? Her behavior shamed her. She’d have to do a lot of apologizing to make up for it. But he’d forgive her. She was sure of it. He wanted a future with her. He had to love her, as she certainly loved him. It would be all right. She’d apologize when he came to get her, as he had almost every morning after breakfast.

  Dressed in a flattering tan skirt and blouse, with her hair brushed and her long nails polished, she went out to the dining room, where her father was already sitting at a table.

  He looked devastated. She wondered if he’d had another communication from the embassy. Those messages always seemed to disturb him.

  “Good morning!” she said brightly.

  He looked up and managed a faint smile. “Good morning, Jasmine.”

  “I’m so sorry about last night,” she said as she sipped fresh coffee. “I acted like a child. Mekashe is going to be irritated with me. I don’t know what we’ll do today, but I’m sure it will be something exciting!”

  He didn’t know how to tell her. He couldn’t tell her the truth. He’d have to find some reason for Mekashe’s sudden disappearance, something that wouldn’t hurt her too much.

  “I have some sad news.”

  She stopped with the coffee mug halfway to her lips. “What is it?”

  He grimaced. “Mekashe was recalled by his superiors last night,” he said. “He’s very sorry, but he couldn’t disobey. It’s something...important, that he had to deal with.”

  “Oh.” She felt the words. “He didn’t say goodbye?”

  “He couldn’t,” he bit off.

  “Oh. Of course.” She laughed and sipped her coffee. “I was out of it after the intern sedated me. I was unconscious.” She brightened. “But we’ll see him when we reach Memcache. Daddy, he said you’d deal with the emperor himself when you take up your duties!”

  That would have been an honor, Ambassador Dupont thought. But it wasn’t going to happen now. There would probably be a hearing or meeting of some sort about Jasmine’s outburst, and then he’d be sent home. He recalled that some offenses against the Royal Clan could result in death. He prayed that Jasmine’s wasn’t one of them. When he was judged—because it would be the ambassador, not his child, who was judged—it was going to be devastating news to the embassy back home, and to the politician who’d appointed him. He was the first ambassador ever sent from Terravega to Memcache. And now it looked as if he might be the last. His superiors back home were going to crucify him.

  “Daddy, you look positively morose!” Jasmine exclaimed.

  “Sorry. I’m just dwelling on things I shouldn’t. Here. Have some more coffee,” he said, and tried to appear undisturbed. No need to upset her now. There would be ample time for that at the end of their journey.

  * * *

  MEKASHE DIDN’T MINGLE with the crew aboard the Morcai. He kept to his cabin and brooded, grieved, anguished over his profound loss. He was grateful that he’d kept enough sense not to present her with a gift. That would have triggered the mating cycle, and no power in the universe could have stopped it.

  But losing Jasmine was like losing a part of himself. He’d had plans for the two of them. So many plans. A home, children, a future growing old together. Well, she’d grow old. That would have been a profound sadness, to watch her age and have her realize that he never did. His life span, with the genetic modifications he had accepted, would probably stretch to three or four hundred years.

  Besides that, her fear of cats and her terrible reaction to Tresar when he was transformed told him that she’d never have been able to adjust to life with him. He’d been living in a euphoric dream. The return to reality was like hitting a stone wall at top speed. He was in shock.

  The emperor had contacted him telepathically, disturbed by Tresar’s description of the aftermath of the incident. It was easy now, because there was no longer a need for the white noise ball since he was aboard the Morcai.

  “Tresar is worried about you,” the emperor’s gravelly voice spoke in his head. “So am I, Mekashe. You have secreted yourself away from everyone.”

  “Forgive me,” he began.

  “It is not a question of forgiveness. You grieve, as I grieved when I lost two of my sons, when my mate left me decades ago, when my only living son hated me. I survived. So will you.”

  “I should never have taken her with me to the gym where Tresar was practicing. I knew that he never adopted humanoid features.”

  “Blaming yourself will change nothing.” The emperor’s voice hardened. “The insult was one which I cannot forgive. You must understand. A ruler must enforce certain constants. We cannot lose face, as a Clan, because of a human’s insensitivity. Such an outburst, which was overheard by a Rojok who was also using the gym, would diminish us if it was reported that we accepted such a racial slur and did nothing about it.”

  “I understand,” Mekashe replied in a subdued tone. “I did not see her again. Her father was devastated. The embassy told him a few things about us, probably the fact that we shape-shift, as well.”

  “It will be difficult for him. I have already spoken to the human on Terravega who is responsible for the recall of the ambassador. He will go home in disgrace. Also, he will never be able to tell his daughter why. That is a breach of protocol which none of us will allow. She knows enough about us already.”

  The last sentence had a faint accusatory content. “I confided in her, because I had planned to bond with her,” Mekashe said heavily.

  “I had not thought to ask about the extent of your genetic modification,” he replied suddenly. “Your grandparents refused it, as I recall.”

  “Yes,” he said solemnly. “So did my parents.”

  “That would have made it simpler for you, had the bonding been possible...”

  “I had the full sequence of modification, many years ago, when I first joined the military,” Mekashe interrupted, which was a measure of his misery, because no sane person would dare interrupt the emperor.

  There was a faint inhalation, just audible in the psychic connection. “Mekashe, I am not permitted to speak to you of such things, despite our Clan affiliation. But I urge you to tell Hahnson what you have just related to me. It might...comfort you.”

  “Sir?”

  “Just tell him,” came the reply. “I will see you soon.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And, Mekashe, on your behalf, I have lessened the penalty to expulsion. There will also be no retaliation on his daughter.”

  “I am most grateful.”

  “It is the least I can do. The law must be enforced, or the state will fail.”

  “I know that as well, sir. Thank you.”

  “Farewell, for now.”

  “Farewell.”

  Mekashe stood up, feeling morose and anguished
as never before in his life. He had to do something to lighten his mood. Perhaps a strenuous match with Tresar with the Kahn-Bo might help.

  He left his berth and jogged down the familiar long, wide corridor, where the Morcai’s complement of humans and Cehn-Tahr worked in perfect harmony. None of the Cehn-Tahr were disguised aboard ship, not since Dtimun, the emperor’s son, had commanded the Holconcom and was coaxed by Dr. Madeline Ruszel, his mate, to trust the humans with the true form of the Cehn-Tahr. Now it was accepted without comment.

  But on the way to the sparring area, Mekashe slowed. The emperor had wanted him to confide in Hahnson. Why?

  His curiosity drove him into sick bay, where Hahnson was just finishing a resection on a human arm that had been damaged.

  “All done, Jones,” Hahnson said with a grin. “And I salute your devotion to duty. Rhemun will be proud of you.”

  Ensign Jones flushed a little, pushing back his blond hair. He was a favorite of the Holconcom’s commander, also a member of Rhemun’s personal bodyguard. He was a little slow, but the whole crew liked him.

  Jones looked up. “Mekashe!” he exclaimed, his expression one of pure joy.

  He chuckled at the enthusiasm. “Hello, Jones. It’s good to see you.”

  “Good to see you, too, sir. Going to give up being captain of the Imperial Guard and come home to the Holconcom, are you?” he teased.

  Mekashe just shook his head. “We never know what fate has in store for us,” he said enigmatically.

  “I’d better get back to my post. Thanks, Doc,” he told Hahnson. He grinned at Mekashe and darted out the door into the corridor.

  Hahnson closed the pressure door behind him. He turned to Mekashe. “The emperor wants me to speak to you.”

  “Yes. He told me.”

  He looked uneasy. “You might want to sit down.”

  Mekashe’s old humor flashed in his face. “Is it that bad? Do I have some incurable disease?”

  Hahnson didn’t laugh, as he was expected to. He perched on the side of the raised bed and waited for Mekashe to sink down onto the stool beside it.

  “I didn’t realize that you had genetic modifications,” Hahnson said solemnly. “I don’t deal with Cularian types, as you know—that’s Tellas’s department, now that he has his certification.”

  “Yes,” Mekashe replied. “I accepted the full complement of them when I joined the military, decades ago. I wanted every possible enhancement. My mother encouraged me,” he added, remembering her with sadness and affection. “She was always terrified that I might not return from a mission.”

  “You said that when you first started going with Jasmine, that you broke her fingers.”

  Mekashe winced. “Yes. I had no idea. She wouldn’t tell me, for fear of wounding me emotionally. She was...gentle.”

  Hahnson could see the pain of loss in the other male’s features. He knew from what the emperor had told him that the human ambassador was going to be sent home in disgrace, along with his daughter, Jasmine. Poor Mekashe. He felt the officer’s anguish.

  “The emperor thought that if you knew the truth, you might be able to accept the loss with more grace,” Hahnson said.

  That got Mekashe’s attention. “The truth?” he asked, scowling.

  “I told you that I was bonded to a Cehn-Tahr female.”

  Mekashe nodded. “Yes, I remember.”

  Hahnson smiled sadly. “My original—of which I’m a clone—didn’t know how strong modified Cehn-Tahr actually are, and how fragile humans are, by contrast. When we attempted to mate, she broke my spine in the first few seconds. She called for aid. Dtimun managed to find an ambutube in time, got me into stasis and transported me to a medical ship. He saved my life.”

  Mekashe was beginning to see the light. It was shocking. Horrible. He lowered his eyes. “I...didn’t know. I had to use such caution with Jasmine, the doses of dravelzium, the nanobytes to prevent true contact...” He looked up. “I had no loss of control.”

  “That was fortunate,” Hahnson said flatly. “Because you would have killed her, Mekashe. Modified Cehn-Tahr cannot mate with humans. There’s only one case on record of a successful mating, and that was Dtimun and Madeline Ruszel’s; but it was only successful because Madeline had advanced genetic modification. The sample was used up in the process, and no one has yet been able to reconstruct it.”

  Mekashe was looking paler by the minute. “I could never have mated with her,” he said in a dull, shocked tone.

  “No.”

  Mekashe looked up. “Your mate...that was why she commited suicide?”

  Hahnson swallowed. He was a clone, but the emotional pain was just as deep. “Yes. She killed herself, when she realized the truth.”

  “I am most sorry for you.”

  “I loved her very much,” Hahnson said. “I never got over it. Which is why I never mated again.” He smiled sadly. “I have her memory, which is bittersweet. She was an extraordinary person.”

  “I think you must be, too,” came the unexpected reply. “We all know what you did at Ahkmau. You saved your crewmates, including me, and our emperor’s son, with your sacrifice. You made an escape possible that had never happened in the history of the prison camp.” He spoke of Hahnson’s original, who died in Ahkmau. This Hahnson was a clone, whom Dtimun had created for Madeline Ruszel and Holt Stern, who were mourning him.

  Hahnson looked mildly embarrassed. “Well, yes,” he said. “Ahkmau is a painful memory, as well.”

  Mekashe was processing the information he’d been given. It was a shock. He knew that it would haunt him for the rest of his life, the memory of what he could never have. He’d loved Jasmine with his whole heart. Now he must go home to Memcache, assume his duties and maintain dignity while Jasmine and her father were ordered home. It would be done at the reception. Jasmine would be there, and Mekashe could not look at her or speak to her or indicate in any way that he had feelings for her. It would be a test of his will, his endurance.

  “I thank you for your words,” he told Hahnson when he rose. “The grief will not ease for some time. But knowing what could have happened, and did not, is at least a little comfort.”

  “I’m sorry that I can’t do more,” Hahnson said. “I know how you feel, if it helps.”

  Mekashe clasped forearms with the burly surgeon. “In fact, it does.”

  “If you need anything, anything at all...”

  Mekashe managed a faint smile. “I need time. Just time. I will recover. So will she. She has a strong will.”

  * * *

  JASMINE WAS COUNTING the minutes until the great ship docked at the space station above Memcache. She was so excited that she could hardly wait for the shuttle to pick them up and transport them down to the Terravegan Embassy. She was planning her wardrobe for the social function that would introduce the new ambassador, and anticipating a joyful reunion with Mekashe.

  Ambassador Dupont saw that joy and felt deep pain at her happiness because it would be short-lived. He was going to be sent home. The official at the Terravegan Ambassadorial Department had been almost beaming with pleasure as he imparted the news. There would be a public reception for the four new ambassadors, at which Ambassador Dupont would be duly snubbed, and then informed of his recall.

  It was going to be humiliating, for many reasons. He was forbidden to speak to Jasmine about it, just as he was forbidden to tell her that Mekashe was the same species as the “creature” she’d been horrified by in the gym. She was walking into tragedy, happy and unknowing. He would never be able to tell her why he was losing his important position, one that was historic in the extreme.

  It would reflect badly on Terravega, and no other ambassador had yet been selected to replace him. It was unlikely that one would be, at least in the near future. The insult had to be forgotten, fences had to be mended, before the emperor would even consider all
owing another human to represent Terravega on his world.

  All that, because he’d been lenient and overly protective of his only child, who’d had episodes of uncontrolled hysteria all her life and never been corrected. If he hadn’t sheltered her, if he’d accustomed her to facing her fears without screaming and behaving like an infant, it might all have been avoided. He and his wife had been overly permissive. Now he was reaping the reward for his failure as a parent.

  Jasmine was so happy that she didn’t notice his reticence, or his misery. He wasn’t able to hide it. But she had always looked inward instead of outward. She was used to having her own way, doing what she pleased. She tended to be insensitive to other people. She had a faint superiority complex, as well. She had wonderful traits; she was kind and gentle and pretty. But she was selfish at times. This was one of them. Her mind was purely on her own circumstances, not on anything else. She was so self-absorbed that she hadn’t noticed that her father was barely eating, that he couldn’t sleep, that he looked haunted. Even a fellow passenger had noted his dismal demeanor and asked if he could help. Jasmine sat at meals with him and noticed nothing.

  “I wish they’d hurry up!” she said, glaring at the porters who were filing in with the luggage as they landed in the spaceport on Memcache. It had an unpronounceable name, which was written in Cehn-Tahr script on the entrance. She had no idea what it meant, nor could she read any signs that were placed around the spacious building.

  Finally, the luggage was secured and placed in a hovering transport outside. In the city, their driver remarked in perfect Standard, no polluting vehicles were allowed. Only hovercars or hoverbuses were permitted, and they were strictly regulated. They shared space with pedestrians, so they had to be cautious about where they ran.

  The city was beautifully rounded, contoured, and the buildings glowed with a pale blue light. The driver told them that the reactors that powered the city gave it that color. The streets were wide and paved with natural stone. Many of the buildings outside the city were also built in such a manner.

  “You never build with wood, do you?” Jasmine asked.