B00CH3ARG0 EBOK

by Christie Meierz

  The Sural’s empathic presence faded from Marianne’s awareness as he shut his barriers; she could sense him only through their bond.

  “Thank you,” Laura breathed, lowering her arms. She looked into his face. “You should tell Marianne.”

  “Remarkable,” he said. “Her sensitivity is ... unusual.”

  “You’re like a sun,” she whispered. “Like a horseman of the apocalypse. Like a volcano inside a hurricane...” She sighed and passed out.

  The Sural fixed Cena with a look. “What can you do for her?”

  Cena shook her head. “I am uncertain,” she replied, as she ran her scanner over Laura. “She is merely unconscious.”

  “You said she reminded you of the Jorann,” Marianne said.

  “The Jorann was closed to me during the time I was in her cave, but something about Laura is reminding me of her.” Cena tapped her chin, lost in thought for a moment. “If there is a functional reason why the Jorann lives in an ice cave...” She searched a nearby cabinet and pulled out a small, rectangular bag.

  “What are you thinking?” the Sural asked.

  “Perhaps cold numbs such sensitivity.” She pinched a corner of the bag, which rapidly became covered with frost. “It seems to be driving her into a kind of delirium. This cold may help her to regain some lucidity.” She laid the bag on Laura’s forehead and ran a scanner over her again, keeping an eye on the bed console. “Her metabolism is quite high.”

  “That might explain why the Jorann likes it so cold in her cave,” Marianne said.

  The Sural nodded, rubbing his chin. “Laura’s presence does feel very like hers,” he said.

  Laura stirred again. She put a hand up, felt the icepack, and pressed it hard into her forehead with both hands. “That’s better, thank you,” she said in a strained voice. She avoided their eyes. “I’m sorry for what I said.”

  The Sural gave her a warm smile. “How do you feel?” he asked, his voice gentle.

  “Like a fool,” she said, flushing pink. “It’s so hot in here. Every nerve in my body is jangling.”

  “It causes difficulties to chill these quarters, but I will have the temperature in your guest quarters lowered,” Cena said. She called a servant to order it done. Running her scanner over Laura’s forehead, she added. “The empathic nerves are not yet fully formed. They look otherwise normal, in number and size.”

  “What does that mean?” Laura asked.

  “It is likely your sensitivity will increase over the coming six to eight seasons, as your transformation progresses.”

  She groaned. “What have I gotten myself into?”

  “We’re all in this with you, Laura,” Marianne said.

  Laura heaved a sigh. “I know.”

  “Perhaps Storaas can be of some assistance,” the Sural said.

  Cena raised her eyebrows. “He will have to resign himself to being read quite thoroughly.”

  “We all will,” Marianne added.

  “I guess it’s a good thing we have my whole visit to figure this out,” Laura said, her mouth set in a pained frown.

  “Imagine if you only had a few days left here, and me busy with a new baby.”

  “It’s like ... someone turned on a new channel in my head and the volume is set too high. Your feelings are shouting at me. I don’t even have to think about it – I just know.”

  “You can even read the Sural with his barriers closed,” the Sural said. “Remarkable. Only the Jorann can do that.”

  “I’m jealous,” said Marianne, feeling mischievous.

  He shot her a fond look. “If you want to read me, beloved, all you need do is take my hand.”

  “Uh-huh. Then what was Laura referring to when she said you should tell me something? Tell me what, hmm?”

  He flashed his enigmatic smile.

  “You should patent that smile.”

  “I’m sorry,” Laura whispered.

  “For heaven’s sake, Laura, stop apologizing,” Marianne snapped.

  The Sural raised an eyebrow at her.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” she said. “I’m going to have my baby by tomorrow. I’m allowed to be cranky.”

  “Are you indeed?” he replied with a glad smile, leaving Laura’s bedside to sit on the arm of her chair.

  “That’s what Cena tells me.”

  His smile turned affectionate. “As the humans say, ‘I will clear my schedule.’”

  Cena turned to Marianne. “If you can, you should eat. It will give you strength for the birthing process. Then sleep as much as you can before it begins.”

  Marianne struggled out of her chair, with the Sural’s help. “I am a little ... peckish. If you don’t need me for anything?” Cena shook her head and turned back to Laura. “Then I’ll just go to the refectory and get something to eat.” She looked up at the Sural. “Coming?” Then she waddled out of the room with studied grace, toddled down the hall, and entered the refectory.

  * * *

  She launched her offensive as soon as she took her place at the high table. “So what is it you haven’t told me?”

  The Sural raised an eyebrow and studied her. He hadn’t told her any number of the painful memories he’d accumulated over the course of 290 of the humans’ standard years, and he couldn’t be sure to what Laura had been referring. He wasn’t prepared to tell her about the ships he’d been informed were on their way from the Earth Fleet base at the star they called Epsilon Indi.

  “Stop staring at me!” she said testily, biting into a grain roll at him. “Damned Tolari stares,” she mumbled, in English, with her mouth full.

  He was hard put to conceal his amusement.

  She squinted at him. He hadn’t succeeded.

  To mollify her rising ire, he searched his memory and chose a deep, personal hurt to reveal. Considering what Laura had been revealing about his apothecary, it was as likely as anything else to be what she meant. “It may be,” he said, shifting to English, “that Laura was referring to matters which I have mentioned to you, but not in any detail.”

  “Such as?”

  “My sons who did not survive the great trial.”

  “Oh,” she said. Her mood shifted. “I’m sorry for your loss,” she said in a soft voice, continuing to eat in silence.

  When she finished the roll, he took her hand. “It was long ago,” he said. “When the deaths occurred, I was alone in my grief. Perhaps I should have shared it with you before now, but—” He stopped and shrugged a shoulder.

  “You’re used to being strong.”

  He shrugged again and reached to brush her hair away from her face. “Are you certain this is the time you want me to tell you about it?” he asked, lowering his hand to her swollen midsection and giving an empathic caress to the glowing life within her. The baby started to hiccup.

  She looked down at her belly with a doting smile. “No, I guess it’s not really the best time for it. She’s coming soon. I’d better get some rest.”

  He helped her out of her chair and escorted her down the corridor to the family wing. “Marianne—” he began, as they came to the heavy and ornate door of his own quarters.

  “Yes, beloved?”

  “Your daughter ... should be born in the Sural’s quarters.”

  She stopped and gave him her best approximation of what she called a Tolari stare. He was successful in masking his amusement this time.

  “All right, but why?”

  “She will be ruling caste, and Terelia will need a ruler. If she is to be the Terelia, she should be born where rulers are born.”

  Marianne’s mouth dropped open. “Well,” she said. “Well,” she said again, looking preoccupied.

  “I will explain my reasoning to you another time, beloved.”

  “Well then, I had better sleep there now, because I think I’m beginning to have contractions,” she said. “Cena said I should try to get as much sleep as I can before the show starts. I know I won’t want to move once it does.”

  Ch
apter Eighteen

  Marianne napped between contractions through the night. The Sural used the time to work in his private study and get ahead on reports. As dawn approached, he received an alert: a diplomatic vessel from Epsilon Indi had arrived, accompanied by an Earth Fleet command carrier. Both ships were holding position outside the cometary belt. He uttered a low growl. Marianne heard it from the next room and woke.

  “What is it?” she called.

  He went to her, pocketing his tablet. “An annoyance,” he answered, as he knelt next to her, sitting on his heels. She wrapped her arms around his waist, her sharpening discomfort pricking at him. “Shall I send for my apothecary?”

  She nodded. He gestured at a servant.

  “This is getting uncomfortable.”

  “Breathe,” he said. She scowled and threw a punch at him. He caught her wrist in a gentle grip before it landed.

  “Phooey,” she said. He chuckled.

  When Cena arrived, followed by a nurse and an aide, he tried to leave, but Marianne tightened her grip around his waist.

  “You’re not going anywhere,” she said.

  Cena’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “An Earth custom?” she asked.

  “She has told me that human women customarily choose a birthing partner,” he answered. “It is often the man who fathered the child. Clearly,” he looked down at Marianne, “she has chosen me.”

  Cena nodded. “You may stay.”

  “Oh thank you so much,” Marianne said, her voice thick with sarcasm, “but it’s not up to you.”

  The healer looked into Marianne’s face but said nothing.

  “Beloved, will you allow me to attend to a pressing matter?” he asked. “I will return as quickly as I can.”

  She raised her head to look at him. “What could possibly be pressing at this hour of the morning?” she demanded. Then her eyes narrowed. “Oh, you’re kidding me.”

  “Even so.”

  “If I ever see Addie again, I’m going to kill her,” Marianne said, baring her teeth. She let go of him. “Go, get out of here.” She pushed at him pettishly.

  He went.

  * * *

  The order was on the Sural’s lips as he entered his head guard’s quarters. “Tell me.”

  “The diplomatic vessel has moved to a position just outside the orbit of the tenth planet,” his guard said. “The command carrier waits farther out, in the cometary belt. The diplomat is signaling on the channel used by the Marann’s communications unit.”

  “Accept the connection. Talk to them.” He paused. “Do not speak English.”

  At a tap on the console, a well-groomed human appeared on the monitor. The guard gave a polite nod. “I am Vidar, head guard to Suralia.”

  “I am Gallagher Wallingsby,” the human said in fluid, almost unaccented Suralian, “Lord of New London and Special Secretary for Interstellar Affairs, Earth Central Command. I would like to speak to someone with authority to negotiate for the return of Marianne Woolsey.”

  The Sural frowned. It was an interesting ploy. He nodded to Vidar, who switched the monitor’s focus. On the monitor, Wallingsby’s eyes widened, but he remained silent.

  Well-trained, the Sural thought. “Speak,” he said.

  “You honor me, high one.”

  “Why are you trespassing here?” His tone was flat. “I have not lifted the interdict.”

  “High one, you are holding one of our citizens on your planet—”

  “I have no unwilling guests here.”

  “We understand that, high one. We understand that Citizen Woolsey does not wish of her own accord to leave Tolar. It’s a known psychological phenomenon among us. She has come to identify with you and your people. The colloquial term for it is ‘going native.’”

  The Sural raised an eyebrow and remained silent.

  “If you will allow me to speak with Citizen Woolsey personally—”

  “No.”

  Wallingsby paused, thinking. “May I know the reason for your refusal?”

  “She is otherwise occupied.”

  “If she could be informed that I wish to speak with her—”

  “No.”

  “How may I communicate with her?”

  The Sural waved a hand. “She does not wish to be disturbed at this time.”

  “Why would she not want to know that her people are concerned for her welfare?”

  He paused to stare at the human. Pushing him a little off-balance might prove enlightening. “She is in my quarters.”

  Wallingsby looked a little startled, then uncomfortable. Suppressing a smile, the Sural finished, “Giving birth.”

  The human opened his mouth. Closed it. Then a broad smile split his face. “Earth offers Citizen Woolsey sincere wishes for a safe delivery and congratulates her on the birth of her child.”

  The Sural nodded.

  “We’ll be in touch.”

  “No.”

  “High one?”

  “You will leave now.” It was a command. “You are not welcome to return.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t comply with that, high one,” Wallingsby said with a smile. “Central Command insists.”

  The Sural stared. “You defy me?”

  “No, high one, we only want to have our citizen returned to us, when she’s recovered from the birth, of course. As soon as we have her, we’ll leave. Her child will be welcomed as a citizen of Earth.”

  “Her child is a daughter of Suralia and under my protection. Marianne does not wish to leave, and I will not compel her. Nor will I permit you to take her against her will.”

  “With all due respect, high one, that’s not for you to decide. She’s safer with us. It’s for her own good, and in accordance with our laws and policies.”

  “You are aware of the fate of the Earth ships that preceded you?”

  The man leaned forward toward the monitor. “We scanned your system carefully before we approached, high one. Whoever has been protecting you is nowhere in the vicinity. As Special Secretary for Interstellar Affairs, I understand and respect your authority, but I really must insist. We fly a diplomatic flag. We carry civilians on board, even children. Any aggressive action taken against this ship will be considered an act of war.”

  The Sural didn’t speak for a long moment, outrage seething in his gut. Suppressing it, he forced his voice to be mild. “You shield yourselves with children?”

  Wallingsby smiled engagingly. “Of course not, high one. This is a diplomatic vessel. The crew is accustomed to traveling with their spouses and children. Why should they be left behind when we can trust any civilized leader to value innocent life?”

  He stared at the man. With a small gesture, he signaled to his head guard. Vidar busied himself at his console. “You will find that your engines and weapons are disabled,” the Sural said. “Perhaps the Kekrax will assist you.”

  Vidar broke the connection. Shaking his head, the Sural left to return to Marianne.

  * * *

  “Took you long enough,” she muttered, sparking with irritation as he entered the sleeping room in his quarters. He lowered himself onto the mat beside her. She leaned back against his chest and pulled his arms around her. “Rub my belly,” she ordered.

  As he complied, he cast a pointed look at Cena, who was sitting on her heels near Marianne’s knees.

  “She is progressing quickly now,” the apothecary said.

  “Not half fast enough!” Marianne cried as a contraction peaked.

  “Breathe,” the apothecary said.

  Marianne glared through the pain. “If you weren’t increasing yourself,” she grunted, “I’d kick you.”

  “If I were not increasing, I would permit you,” Cena replied in a mild voice. “Relax, high one.”

  “I am relaxing!”

  “No, you are not.”

  “Yes I am! If I say I’m relaxing, then by God I’m – gaaaaaaaaahhhh!”

  The Sural rubbed.

  * * *

  “And y
ou say the recordings clearly show the Sural ordering the ship disabled after being informed that we’d consider it an act of war?” the voice asked.

  “He didn’t order it explicitly,” Wallingsby answered. “He told us after it had been done.”

  A hand banged on something hard. “Damn it all, we were well within the window of opportunity! Enough of this – it’s time for stronger measures. Send in the Macedonia.”

  “Sir, Admiral de Causans informs me that an attempt to reach Tolar is unlikely to succeed. Their mysterious protectors appear capable of concealing themselves from our scans. And they do appear to be more technologically advanced than we are, as Citizen Woolsey originally asserted.”

  “The V’kri trade restrictions make it imperative we develop a base in the Drift – and the Beta Hydri system sits, unclaimed, right in the middle of it. The Tolari will bargain with us, or they won’t, but we will have that space. In the meantime, I want Woolsey back in our hands, and I won’t be embarrassed in front of the Trade Alliance over a matter of securing our own citizens.”

  “I—” Wallingsby swallowed. “I’m afraid it’s too late for that, sir.”

  There was an icy silence. Then, “What did you say?”

  “The Terosha and A’an’ governments insisted upon placing their regional representatives on board this vessel, sir. If we attempt an extraction now, it will be very hard to hide it. Given time, I may be able to negotiate the terms we’re looking for, or we may have to wait until the Tolari ambassador is of age to treat with us. And we might still be able to get the information we want – either from Woolsey or … other sources. But…”

  “But?”

  “Sir, where’s the profit in this? I’ve read Woolsey’s file. Why are we risking so much for a schoolteacher?”

  A long silence greeted that question. Wallingsby went cold, wondering if he’d made a mistake.

  “She’s the only human being who’s been around the Tolari for more than a week,” the voice said, finally. Wallingsby’s stomach unclenched. “And she’s been there nine years. She has to know by now where their damned camouflage comes from. If we had that, it would let us put our agents in a hell of a lot of more places, not just the Drift. Once we’ve pulled all the useful information out of her, we can figure out the key to managing this Sural. And if controlling him fails, we’ll know who to work with to unseat him.”