by Kate Elliott
Lily sighed. “Deucalion, has anyone ever told you that you’re sanctimonious?”
He stiffened. “That’s unkind, Lily. That’s the same word Adam used to use. But I refuse to be labeled a hypocrite.”
Lily chuckled, laying a hand on his arm in a gesture meant to be sisterly. “I’m sorry. I don’t think you’re a hypocrite. But you have to trust me, Deucalion. Hawk belongs on this ship. When we reach Turfan Link, will you help me?”
“I can’t promise that unconditionally. You must understand that. I have certain duties as a member of the bureau. I’ll have to look into his records. And interview him. What was the charge on your bounty?”
She hesitated, but it would be impossible to hide the truth from him when he could discover it himself easily enough. “Aiding and abetting—”
“—a dangerous fugitive.” He shook his head. “I will give you the benefit of the doubt and assume that you didn’t know what you were doing at the time.”
“Thank you.”
Deucalion was clearly oblivious to irony once he got going.
“That will give you some immunity. Once I’ve seen Hawk, if at that time I can make a case for it, and I promise to review the data with as much impartiality as I’m capable of, then I’ll plead your side once we reach Concord.”
“Once we reach Concord?”
“Of course.” Deucalion looked surprised. “As soon as Akan is past critical disaster response, we must get your news of Reft space, and the recovery of this vessel—as amazing as that is—to Concord. Didn’t you tell me that is where you were headed in any case?”
“Deucalion, why would you plead my case if you believe Hawk to be dangerously unstable?”
He blinked, looking surprised. “Because you’re my sister.” The “of course,” although unspoken, was too loud to be unheard.
“I should tell you, then, that it was Yehoshua, not me, who said we were headed to Concord. To settle salvage rights for this ship. If it’s Concord that put the bounty hunter after me, I’m not sure I want, or ought, to go there.”
“But where else will you go?”
“How about The Pale?”
“I wouldn’t advise it. Not with a ship whose frame is good but whose software is one hundred years out of date. You can’t afford that kind of disadvantage there.”
“That is a good point.” Lily paused. It was amazing how much like Adam he looked. Only when he spoke did he betray himself. “We’ll see,” she temporized finally, to satisfy him. “But whatever happens, I’m—glad to have your company. I never had much chance to get to know Adam.”
“Adam was a rather wild youth, I’m afraid,” replied Deucalion, but a smile tugged up his lips as he said it, and a certain gleam of nostalgia lit his eye.
“He took after Father, I suppose,” said Lily, but before Deucalion could agree she realized with a sudden weight of dread that he did not know about Heredes’s—Taliesin’s—death.
“What’s wrong?” Deucalion asked.
“Nothing,” said Lily. “Let’s finish the tour and then we’ll have something to drink in my cabin.”
Deucalion looked at Yehoshua, as if asking him to explain her sudden change of tone. But Yehoshua only shrugged.
It took them over an hour to walk through the makeshift wards, but Deucalion seemed satisfied with the disposition of the casualties, and Dr. Bisayan, seen again briefly, was quite pleased with the addition of Flower to his severely shorthanded staff. Afterward, Lily suggested that they break at the captain’s cabin. Jenny offered to fetch drinks. While she was gone, Lily checked in with Bach, on the bridge, about their countdown to the next window.
“We have over two hours,” Lily said as Jenny returned with a tray of drinks and set them down on the small table by the couch.
Deucalion sighed and slid gratefully into the one chair. “They made these exploratory ships to be both utilitarian and yet luxurious enough so that the crew wouldn’t go crazy on the long trips out. Those were the days. How did you get a hold of her?”
“We found her.” Lily picked up a cup, but turned it round and round in her hands rather than drinking. “Quite by accident. The Forlorn Hope was the ghost ship of Reft space for generations: other ships would pick up her distress beacon and then lose it. We stumbled across her. We still don’t know how she got where we found her.”
“Her original crew?”
“Gone. Without a trace. As if they’d all simply vanished.”
“But there must have been some record on her log.”
“It was gone as well.”
Deucalion smiled. “It makes a good mystery. Most of that first major exploratory fleet never returned. The return of the Forlorn Hope will just add to the hard-luck fleet’s legend.”
“Deucalion,” Lily began, determined to break the news of his father’s death to him before she lost her resolve.
“Which reminds me,” he replied, as if she had just said something else. “Based on what little I’ve had a chance to look at, your records and log confirm that you have indeed come from Reft space. Therefore, I have to assume you are unfamiliar with League covenants. This matter of your bringing a je’jiri family on board, for instance. Besides the usual respect for foreign cultures and habits and needs, there is a very serious aspect of je’jiri human relations that you aren’t aware of. Very serious. Which is why I recommend that you not take them on.”
Lily set down her drink. “I already gave my word. And I know what the prohibition is.” She had no trouble recalling La Belle’s words. It was impossible to forget that scene, the terrified man begging for mercy at her feet—mercy that was so utterly denied him. “‘No human will mate or have intercourse in any sexual or sensual fashion with je’jiri,’” Lily quoted. Deucalion’s obvious surprise at her knowledge did not gratify her at all: it was too hard won. “I intend to keep them isolated, and to warn my crew of the full consequences of such—relations with them.”
“What consequences?” asked Yehoshua, but already, exchanging a look with Jenny, he was beginning to form some conclusions.
“How does Finch work into this?” Jenny asked.
“Finch? The comm operator?” Deucalion looked from Jenny to Lily.
“We’ll leave him out of this for the moment,” said Lily. “I’ll hold a general assembly of crew once we’ve off-loaded the casualties at Turfan Link and have a moment to breathe.”
“Let me give you a piece of advice,” began Deucalion.
“Please,” murmured Lily, but she could not refrain from grinning a little and, seeing Yehoshua’s expression, she had to look away.
“Evidently, you have five paired adults in this family of je’jiri. But the adults aren’t the ones you need to worry about. They have their own methods of staying isolated from members of the opposite sex, especially nonje’jiri, those who might be foolish enough to attempt sexual relations. It’s the adolescents who are dangerous.”
“They’re violent?” asked Yehoshua, glancing at Lily but thinking of Hawk.
“Violent?” Deucalion mused over the word. “I’ve never thought of the je’jiri as particularly violent. Certainly not as violent as humans.”
“You’ve never seen the end of a hunt,” said Lily grimly.
“Yes, I have,” he replied smoothly. “But je’jiri don’t have a history filled with wholesale murder justified by personal greed, national security, and religious intolerance.”
“You sound like you admire them,” said Lily with a shudder, unable to reconcile his calm tone with her recollection of their brutal murder of the man on La Belle’s bridge or of Kyosti standing over the bloody corpses of Vanov and his soldiers.
“Why shouldn’t I admire them? Like any wild predator on Terra or Sirra, they might have their territorial quarrels, but they don’t murder their own kind and they don’t kill indiscriminately. They roam in small, equalitarian packs and live by a few straightforward customs that govern them all equally.”
“I thought you weren’t a
xenologist,” said Yehoshua, sounding suspicious.
Surprisingly, Deucalion grinned. “I’m not, and I admit to being prejudiced in their favor. I saw a lot of them when I was young, and I came to respect them. They can be vicious fighters, and they have customs—or behaviors—that seem savage to us.” He nodded at Lily. “The hunt being one of them. You’ll find other people who think them little better than beasts, and some who’ve even repeatedly tried to have them barred from League space entirely. Frankly, most people are indifferent to the whole subject.”
“They give me the creeps,” muttered Jenny.
Deucalion chuckled. Somehow in the last few minutes he had lost something of the officiousness that otherwise marred his personality. “It’s funny,” he mused. “I never saw my father flustered by anything, under the worst circumstances, not even the time I sabotaged his operation at—well, never mind that. But I’d swear that je’jiri made him uncomfortable. Not to show it—he was an actor before and skilled at hiding his true feelings—but still …” He trailed off, paused, and then looked directly at Lily. “When did you see him last? How was he?”
Lily bowed her head. She was no actor. She could not disguise her sorrow. Her silence itself was statement enough.
“Are you trying to tell me he’s dead?” demanded Deucalion. He sounded suddenly furious. “I don’t believe it.”
“I’m sorry,” murmured Lily, willing herself to look up so that he could read the truth on her face.
He stood up. He had trouble setting down his drink because his hands were shaking. “Excuse me,” he said in a tight voice, and moved to the door. Once there, he paused, reluctant but dutiful. “If you need anything, I’ll be in the quarters you assigned me.” And left.
The door sighed shut behind him on the same breath as Lily muttered, “Damn. I could have managed that better.”
“I don’t understand,” said Yehoshua. “I met your father, the Sar, at Ransome House, and he was just fine. And he would never have been in League space anyway.”
Jenny laid a stilling hand on his arm, but Lily shook her head slowly—not at either of them—and sighed, echoing the door. “I have two fathers, Yehoshua. One is blood, the other is spiritual, but in a way he is—was—closer to me than the one who fathered me biologically.”
“I see,” replied Yehoshua, not sure that he did. He was terribly distracted by the fact that Jenny was still touching him, her strong hand cool on his upper arm.
“Lily.” Jenny, as if on an after thought, removed her hand and took up her cup with it instead. “What is so serious about this prohibition with the je’jiri?”
“In one sentence? If you sleep with a je’jiri, their mate will—must—kill you.”
“Must kill you?” Yehoshua looked doubtful, “That sounds barbaric.”
“But what if they’re not mated when you sleep with them?” Jenny asked, ever practical.
“They mate for life, monogamous. Once they do mate, the mate will track you down and kill you. That’s what we meant by a hunt.”
“But how can they possibly know?”
Lily shrugged. “Their sense of smell is—developed in a different way than ours. I’m not sure how.”
“But years might have gone by,” Yehoshua protested.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“And Finch was your lover before—” He hesitated, not sure this was acceptable ground.
But Jenny, always quick to see the absurd, laughed suddenly. “Hawk smelled Finch on you? That’s disgusting, Lily-hae. How bizarre. That must be why these je’jiri singled you out back at Akan Center.”
“What do you mean?” asked Yehoshua, feeling more and more strongly that this was not a conversation he wanted to be participating in. Jenny had a certain bluntness about her that sometimes made him uncomfortable, and he was afraid that they were veering onto subjects he did not feel intimate enough with either woman—and certainly not with both together—to be discussing. The realization made him wonder if he was not perhaps, as well as being dull, a prude.
Jenny laughed again. “They must have smelled Hawk on her. If their sense of smell is that subtle, and you’ve been someone’s lover for long enough, it must be pretty obvious.” She grinned. “I’m liking them more and more. And if Hawk really is half je’jiri, it would make sense to approach Lily.” She turned to Lily. “Isn’t that right?”
“If you add in that honor compels a relative, which I vaguely qualify as, to help those in need, then yes,” she nodded, “it is. Or at least, it was my impression at the time that the Dai, the female who approached me, expected that as the—the mate of a je’jiri—”
“Even if he is only a half-breed?”
“Even so, that I would without question help them. What could I do?”
Jenny smiled. “Combined with your unfortunate habit of taking in strays, I don’t suppose there was anything else you could do.”
“I suppose,” said Yehoshua, eager to change the subject, “that you ought to get a full set of the—what did he call them?—obligations regarding je’jiri-human relations from min Belsonn. If we’re really going to “take them on. What do they do, anyway? Once they’re crew?”
“I’m not sure,” Lily admitted. “Which reminds me, how did you end up at Akan Center in the first place?”
“We had a bit of surreptitious help from min Thaelisha at Diomede.” Yehoshua smiled in his turn. “I think she felt sorry for us, ignorant and rude barbarians from the outer lands.”
“Isn’t it funny how everyone here uses the Ridani ‘min’ as an honorific?” Jenny said. “I never, ever heard anyone but tattoos use it in the Reft. No one would ever consider using a tattoo word, especially not as a courtesy. I think that more than anything else has made me realize how different it is here. That, and that you see so very few old people.”
Lily was silent for a moment. Finally, she looked up, at each in turn. “Are you happy you came?” she asked quietly.
“Yes,” said Yehoshua, surprising even himself at how easily the answer came to his lips. “Yes, I am.”
Jenny did not answer for a long, long time. Lily simply regarded her without expression, intent and. concerned. But Yehoshua felt nervous; he knew she was thinking of Lia, and he was afraid at what her answer might be.
But when she moved, she reached to take first Lily’s hand, and then his. The simple ease with which she included him took his breath away.
“Yes,” she said. “I’m glad that Gregori and I are here, with you.”
10 Turfan Link
THEY ARRIVED AT TURFAN Link at almost the same time as the casualty ship—the requisitioned passenger liner—that had by Deucalion’s calculations left Akan Center half a day behind them. The ship Hawk had presumably been on had already left, having discharged its cargo and, according to Link traffic control, returned to Akan to render further assistance.
Gregori sat drumming his toes up onto the underside of the tac table while the captain discussed these facts with Pinto and the Mule. Except for the Ridanis left guarding the link bubble, everyone else had been detailed to help unload the casualties, under the joint direction of Yehoshua and, of course, Deucalion.
“Anyone from the crew is capable of spotting Hawk,” the captain was saying. “And they know not to approach him. But if the bounty hunter got here on the liner, I have to be cautious.”
“If they find him?” the Mule asked. It did not look up from the three-dimensional chart displayed in the table: the vector routes available from Turfan Link to Concord.
“Jenny will notify me and shadow him until I can get there. Deucalion did promise to see if Windsor had checked into Link traffic control. Evidently bounty hunters are required to do so at each station or planet they come to.”
“Do you trust him?” asked the Mule.
“What? Windsor to check in or Deucalion to tell me the truth if he did?” The Mule hissed appreciative laughter. “No to the first, a fairly hopeful yes to the second. We don’t have much choice but
to trust him.”
Pinto yawned. Gregori watched the tattoos around his mouth stretch and collapse at the movements. “He asked me what orthodox sect I belong to,” Pinto said. “Orthodox sect? He’s the fourth person to ask me that. Do you have any idea what it means?”
The captain shrugged. “None.”
Pinto shook his head. The beaded braids of his hair clacked quietly and stilled. “I’ve looked over this chart five times,” he said, a little grumpily. “I’m tired. Can I go?”
The captain smiled. The Mule continued to peruse the display, ignoring this complaint. “Go ahead,” she said, and Pinto sighed ostentatiously and got up and left. She followed him out with her eyes, as if something about the way he walked interested her, and then with a start and perhaps the finest blush of pink in her cheeks, she turned her attention to Gregori.
“Dr. Bisayan mentioned to me that you had been a great help to him, running errands and guiding his staff when they got lost. Thank you.”
Gregori smiled, pleased to be the object of her praise. But her attention quickly shifted away. She studied the table in silence, but Gregori sensed her thoughts were elsewhere. He felt, like a fourth presence in the quiet room, one of the ghosts of the Forlorn Hope’s previous crew enter and settle into the seat beside him to study with equal intensity but an overpowering emotion of grave alarm some unseen manifestation on the tac table.
“Mule,” said the captain. Her voice sounded uncharacteristically tentative to Gregori. “While I’m waiting for news of Hawk, I need to go down and interview the je’jiri. You were there this morning when I spoke with the Hope’s crew about their—background. I want to see if you might in fact be the ideal person to serve as—I hope this won’t offend you—general liaison to them.”
Now the Mule looked up at her. Its crest raised slightly in an expression Gregori could not interpret. The stillness in the room seemed charged with some emotion. The ghost at the table evaporated under its force.