On one of their occasional fishing trips she'd been unable to stand that scene, and she'd tried to pick the creature up and put it back into the water. George Fralick stopped his daughter, of course. Told her that doing so could make no difference, because the minute an ulupod's body lost the Kesran global ocean's support its vital structures started collapsing. He'd spoken to her kindly enough, but he went right on chuckling at the gyrations of the suffering ulupod. And he'd called his daughter “Mads” then, as he often did when he was trying to explain something that he thought about as one of life's important (and possibly unpleasant) lessons.
Perhaps hearing Farren Kourdakov call her by the same pet name, when no one but her father ever had before, was what pushed her over the line. She'd rehearsed a speech to use if she found herself unable go through with tonight, after all; words she would use to tell her betrothed that she had no intention of giving herself to him physically. And that if he took her anyway, by force, he had better go away afterward and never come near her again. Because if she found him sleeping after that, she would see to it that he never woke up.
She hadn't anticipated the way he'd grabbed her, at first opportunity. And now she astounded herself fully as much as she surprised him, when she drew back an arm and then slapped his face.
She used every ounce of strength her slim body possessed, putting all of her weight and all of her energy behind the blow. And then she turned, unlocked the door while he was still gathering himself to react, and burst out through it just ahead of the hands that reached out to pull her back.
She heard his curse, and knew what her betrothed husband was calling her because she'd been a diplomat's child. She knew a lot of bad words, in a great many languages. She also knew, from his furious tone, that when he got her back inside (which he inevitably would), he was planning to make her sorry. Both for hitting him, and for humiliating him by opening the door and letting the guards outside it know that she'd tried to refuse him his rights.
As he no doubt thought about tonight—and that, by itself, proved he was no decent man of Narsai.
Maddy ran straight into the arms of Cabanne Barrett. An amazed, worried-looking Doctor Cab, who caught her close and held her sheltered; and who said to Farren, over the top of the girl's bowed head, “That's far enough, Councilor Kourdakov.” She stressed the syllables of the boy's title and surname, emphasizing that she wasn't addressing him as “governor"—and most certainly not as “senior chair holder,” either. The latter job, to no one's surprise but Farren's, had gone to a councilor with thirty years of service to her credit. “I came to chaperone you, since your own parents seem to have forgotten all about that requirement for a young couple's nights together! But now it won't be necessary, after all, because Madeleine is coming home with me. Good night, Farren. We've got time to make it to my place before curfew."
* * * *
He could send people after them. People like Aline and Noel, who hadn't hesitated to kill Uncle Trabe and Aunt Cabbie; or the Embassy guards who were still standing on either side of Cousin Katy's front door, pretending they'd heard nothing and seen less, but nevertheless ready to do his bidding. But Farren didn't want to do anything that would hurt Maddy ... not really hurt her. Which, of course, he'd had no intention of doing a few moments ago! He'd only meant to scare her a little. Just enough to make her compliant, to get her past the fit of reluctance that overcame her as soon as they found themselves alone.
Maybe he should have remembered that young couples, betrothed but not yet married, never retired to a bedroom together unless an older family member (or close family friend) was in the house or apartment with them. Maybe if Dr. Barrett had arrived on time, or if he'd been expecting her and waited instead of demonstrating his eagerness so emphatically, his bride wouldn't have panicked. But she was gone now, and—no, he didn't want to have her hauled back at gunpoint.
She would come around eventually, and then they could try again. He had just decided that when the mobile commlink he hadn't yet taken off started whistling urgently.
* * *
Chapter 17
“What do you suppose Bill Tanaka wants me to do about any gen rebellion that's going on back in the Commonwealth?” Katy spoke of that geopolitical entity as if it were located as far away as another galaxy. As if she'd never thought of herself, although first and always a Narsatian, as one of its citizens, too; and certainly not as if she'd once commanded its military. “I still can't figure out why he risked sending that message to me, Linc."
“I can't figure out why he did it, either, Katy. But I don't think there was a whole lot of risk involved.” She felt her husband's gentle amusement, as they lay together in their bed in the Nah Trang/Fort household and waited for full daylight before rising and going out to join the others in the kitchen that was (other than the sanitary) this cottage's only common room. “After all, who was going to intercept that kind of a transmission? One that traveled from mind to mind?"
“You're right, I suppose.” Romanova sighed. She nestled her head against her lover's familiar shoulder, and tried not to think about how she'd believed—in her first moment of wakefulness—that she was back in her house in MinTar. She tried even harder not to let herself wonder when, and even if, she would sleep under that beloved roof again. “But damned if I know what I'm supposed to do about it, either!"
They'd been on Mistworld for ten days now. Long enough to find out where the others they knew personally, who had arrived here with them, were quartered. Long enough to meet with more of the Human colony's leaders, not just Nadja Nah Trang (who still held her old title of “Administrator"), to discuss work assignments—and more permanent living arrangements, too. Long enough for people numbed by their abrupt exile from Narsai to start feeling their losses, but nowhere near enough time for them to come to terms with them.
If I ever do get used to mine! Katy thought, in sadness mingled with defiance. She still didn't want to let herself believe this was going to last forever. Even if she'd brought Maddy with her as planned, preparing for the day when they could go home would have preoccupied her no less strongly.
“Are you so sure this is the wrong place to spend the rest of our lives?” Linc asked, after he'd bent his head to kiss her temple. “I never thought I'd enjoy living again on a frontier planet, because I hated Sestus 3 so much while I was growing up there. But Mistworld's entirely different! I know it's not Narsai, Katy, but—are you absolutely certain you could never be happy here?"
She took her time before she answered. She made herself think about it, and in order to do that she had to force herself to imagine the possibility. To grope her way through the years of life that likely remained, for a healthy Human woman in what by her society's current standards was only vigorous middle age ... to envision living those years, all of them, right here. And then dying, without setting foot on Narsai again.
“Only if I knew I truly couldn't hope to go back home someday,” she said at last. “Because Narsai itself was gone, or because no ship capable of reaching it would call here ever again. As long as there's hope, Linc, I can't turn away from it.” She sat up, moving her body away from his in frustration, as she realized (with sadness, and with a small shudder) that this was one of the few topics on which even their deep empathic and telepathic bond couldn't create perfect understanding between them.
Someone tapped at their door then, and for once Katy felt glad for the interruption. Before either of them could offer permission to enter, Cash Nah Trang's still boyish voice called from outside: “Linc! Matushka! Your three Misties are back!"
* * * *
Ishi Sanibello, Chad Thorne, and Dram Andersen embraced first Katy and then Linc as unselfconsciously as if each young man were greeting his own parents after a short separation. Romanova found that she'd grown so used to seeing these faces, and hugging these bodies, that—incredibly—she no longer experienced a visceral shock at interacting with her sons in these incarnations. Instead, she'd started to think about
them as if this was how they'd always looked. Her, “Oh, it's good to see you, boys!", came out honestly today. She didn't have to force it in any sense.
“It's good to see you, too, Mum.” Ewan, taking the lead as always, answered for all three. “We needed some time at what's home for us now, though. And our hosts needed to be in their bodies by themselves, and with their own families; without us around to spook the corporeals."
So much for gladly allowing herself to forget that her sons were now disembodied entities who thought of Mistworld's upper atmosphere as their true “home,” and who could come to her on the planet's surface only in borrowed flesh! Romanova stifled a sigh, counted chairs, and was thankful their hosts had made themselves scarce despite their blood ties (that of mother to son, for Nadja Nah Trang; and that of half-brother, for young Cash) to Ishi Sanibello.
There were seats enough, food hot and waiting in a pot on the stove, and a roasted-grain substitute for coffee. She could manage to drink that local beverage, in lieu of her beloved hot chocolate. Real coffee, brought from Terra to every colony-world that could produce the genuine beans (and often grown in greenhouses, if local conditions were hopeless), the former Fleet Admiral couldn't abide.
Like many other societies in remote, dangerous places, Mistworld's Human communities practiced a strong hospitality tradition. Romanova didn't have to wonder whether or not she should offer to share the morning meal with these unexpected guests. She knew that her own hosts would be mortified if she did anything else. “Are you hungry? Linc and I are going to have breakfast while we talk with you."
They were young men. Of course they were hungry. Linc dished up the ubiquitous Mistworld morning porridge (which made Katy miss its Narsatian version because this stuff was never properly sweetened), and the five of them sat down and started eating.
“Something's happened on Narsai, Mum.” Ewan waited, kindly, until Catherine had filled her stomach before he came to the visit's point. Until then he and his brothers made small talk, asking for Dan and Rachel and the babies—providing news about other recent arrivals, people their mother and stepfather knew—and debating whether or not they would soon look for other hosts, since the Fralick brothers agreed that Sanibello, Thorne, and Andersen had already contributed more of their lives to the task than anyone might reasonably have expected.
That part of the conversation made Katy shudder, because she hated the very notion of having to get used to a different set of faces and voices as “belonging” to her sons. But now she shuddered at Ewan/Ishi's tone, because whatever had happened on Narsai couldn't possibly (if his studied casualness meant anything) be good. “How can you know about anything that's going on back there?” she asked. “Did we leave behind a Morthan I didn't know anything about?"
“No, Mum.” Ewan chuckled. “But Narsai's got interplanetary comm service back now, and Mortha never lost it. And there's a Mistworld SHIP on Mortha, helping the people there learn how to defend themselves. There aren't any real Misties on board it this time out, but it's easy enough for our friends in the clouds to talk to paired Humans/Used to be Humans like, well ... me."
“Oh.” So the news she was about to hear came secondhand, then. From Narsai to Mortha via an ordinary commlink, and then from Mortha to Mistworld's cloud-dwellers by telepathy that treated physical distance as if it didn't exist. From there to her Ewan's disembodied, death-surviving consciousness, and finally from his host Ishi's mouth to her ears—no, that was a least third-hand. And yet, she saw no reason to doubt that whatever he told her would be the truth.
She waited. After pausing for another swallow of ersatz coffee, Ewan/Ishi said, “They were using the SHIP's weapons like those of a shore battery, shooting at some Commie raiders in high Mortha orbit. Not trying to hit them hard enough to penetrate their shields; just learning how to do it, you understand. An ex-Star Service medic who was there, not participating because he couldn't—but standing by, in case anyone got hurt—picked up on someone's thoughts, aboard one of the raiders. The lieutenant commanding one of them."
This made perfect sense. Any Morthan medic could “find” a patient or former patient, easily, as long as there wasn't too much physical distance separating them.
“The medic remembered something important about that particular lieutenant. Rachel Kane was the first gengineered Star Service command officer, but I guess we ought to have known she couldn't be the last. This guy's name was, is, Randall Kane. She wouldn't have known about him, because HR Solutions kept his existence secret. He knew what he was, his doctors knew, and HR Solutions knew. And that was about it, I believe."
“So they learned something from what Rachel had to go through, did they?” Linc's golden eyes shone with fascination. “I take it that the medic had your, um, friends on the SHIP grab Lieutenant Kane."
“Right out of his command chair. Now that we've figured out how to combine Morthan mental energy with direction from people like us, to use those Mistie ‘porters just as well as the Misties themselves can use them.” Ishi's mouth curved in Ewan's wry smile, and he nodded to include his brothers and their hosts in the phrase “people like us.” “Scared hell of the poor man, of course! But once he got calmed down enough to talk sense, and listen to his old medic, he used his command codes to try to call Benedon's flagship again. He'd talked to her, as the nearest flag officer who might be able to come to his rescue, just before the SHIP's ‘porter caught him. When she answered him that second time, he got one hell of an earful."
* * * *
Randall Kane no longer felt frightened, but he still wondered if everything he'd experienced since leaving the Fortunate's command chair might not be a dying man's fantastic dream. Freed from his owners, by powerful beings who'd decided (without being asked) to rescue him and then give him a new life ... no, he knew it wasn't a dream. Because it was too fantastic for that! He couldn't be imagining what his mind could never have conceived in the first place. So being here on Mortha's surface, in the company of a physician who'd cared for him during his last pre-Fortunate assignment, had to be real. As did the alien vessel (impossibly alien, like nothing he'd seen before) surrounding him, and the people (apparently other Humans, but claiming to house “Mistworlders” temporarily) who'd been answering his questions, and volunteering information that he needed but wouldn't have known how to request, during the hours since he arrived here.
Calling Admiral Benedon again seemed like a small thing to do for them in return. He had no thought, as he waited while the Morthan communications network established the necessary interplanetary link, that just a little while ago he would have bristled at the thought of someone asking him to obtain tactical information from a Star Service flag officer and give it to an avowed Commonwealth enemy. A little while ago, he had neither tasted freedom nor hoped for it. But everything in his universe was different now.
“Lieutenant Kane? Why the hell are you calling me again?"
Lita Benedon's voice surprised him with its roughness. Admirals could and did speak rudely to their juniors, sometimes; but she sounded as if she were talking to him from the heart of a battle zone. Which she couldn't be.
“Never mind. I need you to relay a message to Fleet Command, so listen carefully!” Benedon continued, without giving Kane a chance to answer. “I'm cut off from the rest of the Aragon. Sealed up inside my quarters. There's a mutiny in progress, and I have to assume that it's affecting more than just my flagship because otherwise it couldn't have gone on this long. I've still got enough sensor access to know there are only 102 other beings alive on board with me, and every damn one of ‘em is a gen."
“Ma'am, are you sure that's true?” He'd been a Star Service officer until just a little while ago. Technically, of course, he still was one. Yet Randall Kane's heart started pounding with joy, savage and unreasoning delight such as he'd never before experienced, at the thought of what he'd just heard. Gens, taking over a dreadnought! Lower deck gens, “tars” who supposedly didn't have the necessary initiative, intell
igence, or just plain guts bred into them, and who'd been conditioned to obey since infancy.
He should be grieving for all those dead officers, noncoms, and ordinaries. For his brothers and sisters, as he'd been taught to regard his fellow Star Service Academy graduates. But he couldn't. At least, not with more than a very small (and mysteriously ashamed) part of his mind, and of his spirit.
The rest of him wanted to dance, and could hardly keep from shouting, as he listened to the curse (a gutter obscenity, this time) that prefaced Benedon's answer. “Of course I'm sure! And it's a lucky thing you got through to me when you did, because we've left Narsai orbit. I don't know where these things are taking me, but I'm pretty damn sure it's not back to Terra! I'm surprised you could get through at all, when I've been trying to call out for hours and haven't been able to raise a soul. Tell Tanaka...."
The commlink went dead then. Far too suddenly for slipping beyond range of Narsai's interplanetary transmitter to be the reason for that cutoff.
* * *
Chapter 18
“Maddy, I am so sorry I stopped you from going with your mother to Mistworld.” Cabanne Barrett had been silent during the ride from Catherine Romanova's home to her own apartment building. They were cutting curfew fine, and after what had happened to the first two people who violated it—not to mention all but three occupants of the building from which those two had emerged—the streets and skies of Narsai usually emptied some minutes before each evening's deadline. Maddy had heard of no equal atrocity related to curfew-breaking since then, but she knew that other people caught outside at night had been vaporized instead of “merely” marked. She also knew that she didn't want to join either group.
Mistworld Page 14