by S. L. Viehl
“Acquisitions,” Orjakis said, and Tamor stood. The tall male hunched over slightly but kept his eyes on the Kangal. “The notch tells us that no tithe has arrived from the surface. You may inform us as to the present location of our tithe.”
“I see Janzil Ches Orjakis, Kangal of Skjonn, but I regret that I do not have an answer for the Kangal.” Tamor, who had a high, rather feminine voice, swallowed before he stumbled on with, “The rebel blockade—”
“Close your mouth. Return to your place.” He turned his head to regard the next ranking adviser. It was unlikely that the man had gone insane, but one never knew for certain with those outside the species. “Provisions, have you disobeyed our orders?”
“I see Janzil Ches Orjakis, Kangal of Skjonn. I have followed the Kangal’s orders and stopped all transfer of supplies to the surface, Kangal. As have all the Kangal of all the other skim cities.” Magnu, a dwarfish ex-slaver, moved his shoulders back. His habit of squinting as he talked annoyed Orjakis to no end, but it seemed to be a nervous habit that the man could not shake. “Not a crumb has been dispatched, on this I swear.”
“That is all that preserves your hide at the moment.” Orjakis tapped a fingernail against his teeth as he thought. “Defense, what has been done to eliminate the interference with our tithe?”
Gohliya, the general in charge of Orjakis’s army, did not move from his position on the floor. “I see Janzil Ches Orjakis, Kangal of Skjonn. I would ask if I have the Kangal’s expressed permission to rise and to continue to speak?”
“Of course you do,” Orjakis snapped. “We asked you a question. Answer it.”
“Nothing has been done about the interference, Kangal.” The old man said it with a queer sort of relish. “The Kangal’s last orders regarding the matter were to starve those who have created it into submission.”
The general had been an adviser since Orjakis’s father had ruled as Kangal of Skjonn. “You knew what was ordered had not restored delivery of the tithe?” Gohliya nodded. “Yet you said nothing to us.”
“I was ordered by the Kangal not to speak or rise until the Kangal’s displeasure with me had abated.” Gohliya removed the long blade at his side and placed it on the inlaid stone floor. The gesture had some sort of ceremonial meaning, one Orjakis could not recall. “I am shown unworthy, and beg the Kangal release me.”
The old man wanted to step down; that was why he had laid his blade at his feet. Only Orjakis could grant his request; he could use the sword to dispatch the general, or bestow it on his replacement.
He might indulge the old warmonger, but not until the matter of the tithe was resolved. “You are not released. Pick up your weapon.” He waited until Gohliya had obeyed him. “Defense has displeased us. You will do whatever is necessary to restore delivery of our tithe.”
Gohliya had the effrontery to break eye contact with him. “That would require we go to war with those who once offered tithe to the Kangal.”
The insult was deliberate. Had Gohliya ever once looked away from Orjakis’s father, Stagon would have snatched his blade and beheaded the old man on the spot. Orjakis could easily imagine doing the same, this very moment. Then again, a headless man could not lead the army.
It was quite the dilemma.
“I see Janzil Ches Orjakis, Kangal of Skjonn.” A drone cleared to bring important business to Orjakis entered the reception room, ablaze with high-alert indicators. “Official inquiry has been made.”
There were only a handful of dignitaries with enough rank to activate the drone’s urgency protocol, so Orjakis rose from the throne. As was proper, shoulders hunched and heads bent to insure that the Kangal stood tallest in the room. It also enabled him to see the drone at the entryway.
To the drone, Orjakis said, “Elaborate.”
“Allied League of Worlds Colonel Stuart, Andrew Robert, has arrived and requests a private audience with the Kangal,” the drone stated. “Encrypted access to further details has been provided.”
An offworlder? No appointments had been made; no ships were in orbit. “Who brought him in?”
“He flew in alone, Kangal.”
The few offworlders who knew how to traverse the upper atmosphere piloted slaver ships, yet this male claimed to be a League officer. The League publicly condemned slavery, but select members of its militaries often came to Akkabarr, seeking discreet solutions to personal difficulties.
It could be that this Stuart person worked for one of them.
“Drone, notch, you will stand by and remain. The rest of you, get out.” Orjakis sent for proper garments and his headdress before accessing the remaining data the drone carried. “Good. Very good. We will see this man now.”
The drone departed and returned with a Terran dressed in the drab brown garments of League military design. The Terran dropped into the formal presentation position without being instructed to do so.
“Rise.” Orjakis was pleased to see his new allies had at last briefed their officers on how to show some proper Toskald protocol. He took a moment to admire the Terran, who was tall and fair-haired. Although he was perhaps a little old for Orjakis’s personal taste, he possessed the physique of an experienced warrior.
The eyes, too, were incredible.
Such men were as delicious to seduce as they were to bring to heel. A pity we cannot collar him. “We are the Kangal of Skjonn. You are the Colonel Andrew Robert Stuart of League Intelligence. Your data and credentials are in order.”
Colonel Stuart did not make the common offworlder error of responding to Orjakis’s remarks, but waited in silence, his gaze steady.
“You show startling and intimate knowledge of how to behave in the presence of Toskald royalty. We are enchanted.” Orjakis gestured to the notch to enable his recorder and returned to the throne. “You may now make your request of us, Colonel Stuart.”
The League colonel angled his head up, but not enough to disturb the eye contact between him and Orjakis. “I see Janzil Ches Orjakis, Kangal of Skjonn. I thank the Kangal for providing me with this opportunity to speak in the Kangal’s presence,” he said in fluent Toskald. “The Allied League of Worlds Intelligence Division has sent me to request permission of the Kangal to search the surface of Akkabarr to locate one of our vessels.”
The man could have been a native, lifelong courtier, such was his command of Toskald and proper address. Disconcerted by this, Orjakis frowned. “You know our language.”
“Before I joined the League, I piloted a Garnotan vessel.”
So he had worked for slavers. An interesting switch of careers. “You said the League sent one of your ships to our planet?”
“The missing vessel was scheduled to dock at Bharova,” the colonel said, referring to a nearby skim city that belonged to one of Orjakis’s cousins. “It never arrived.”
“Why not make your appeal to the Kangal of Bharova?” Orjakis asked.
“The last registered coordinates show the vessel within Skjonn airspace when it vanished.” Stuart produced a datapad. “Simulations indicate it would have crashed in territory belonging to the Kangal of Skjonn.”
At last, a show of some ignorance. “Nothing that crashes on the surface survives, Colonel. What is left is immediately scavenged by the things that dwell there. Your efforts are in vain; you will find nothing.”
The colonel’s eyes seemed to change color from green to a light gray. “My superiors believe that a slave being transported may have survived the crash. It is for this slave that I wish to search.”
The absurdity of the request pulled a laugh from Orjakis. “You search for a single slave? What is it? Hsktskt?”
“It is a Terran female. A physician.”
“A human woman physician? There are such things?” At this rate, his mirth would never end. “This becomes more intriguing by the moment. Colonel, tell us, what female—physician or otherwise—could possibly merit such an effort?”
“This slave female has knowledge of certain events which, if manipulate
d by our enemies, could prove damaging to League treaties,” the colonel said. “I have been ordered to find her and bring her to Intelligence Headquarters for interrogation and detainment.”
“Certain events?”
“The Jado Massacre.”
“Ah.” Orjakis vaguely remembered the debacle, which had nearly drawn Joren into the League-Faction war. He would not have paid any interest to it if not for the Jorenian involvement. He had only ever owned one himself, a prime male that he had been forced to have put down.
That particular execution had broken Orjakis’s heart; none of his other slaves had the physical beauty that one had possessed. Acquisitions should have warned him that, like the Hsktskt, the species was unsuitable for life in bondage. Yet such were the difficulties and deprivations that he endured as Kangal. “We are sympathetic toward our allies, as always, but your slave has doubtless gone the way of your missing vessel.”
“My superiors understand that I may not find this slave alive.” As he produced a small sack, the colonel’s tone remained even and as colorless as his eyes now were. “If I may, the League offers a small return for the Kangal’s generous gift of time and patience.”
“You offworlders have such bizarre priorities.” Orjakis made a languid gesture, and the notch took the sack from the League colonel. “We find we are in a mood to indulge you, Colonel, as long as your compensation proves adequate.”
The notch emptied the contents of the sack—a dozen large, flawless black diamonds—onto his recorder, and scanned them. He nodded toward Orjakis, silently verifying they were genuine.
Such gems were rare and coveted by many for their beauty and technological value; a single black diamond could purchase one hundred choice slaves. Orjakis found the size of the bribe even more intriguing than the colonel. Who is this female, and what does she know that compels the League to offer so much simply to look for her?
Colonel Stuart was not telling him all. He would have to be watched.
“We grant you permission to search on the surface for your missing vessel and slave,” he told Stuart, “but you are to go with one of our pilots. A weapons trader who is familiar with conditions in the lower atmosphere and on the surface.” He smiled, knowing precisely whom he would send. “To insure your personal safety, of course.”
“I would be glad of the escort,” the colonel said. “The Kangal’s generosity is greatly appreciated.”
He watched the Terran’s mouth as he spoke, and thought of how it would look above the silver alloy of a slave collar, or filled with something more interesting than diplomatic lies. What color will his eyes be when I take him? “We will remind you of this when you return, Colonel. You may take your leave of us now.” He extended his hand, palm up.
Stuart hesitated, and then bowed over the Kangal’s hand.
Orjakis knew then he would have to die.
FIVE
On the day after she found the people, the one called Hurgot gave her a name.
“Resa.” He touched her shoulder. “Resa.”
At first she thought he would make the gestures and facial expressions to help her understand the meaning of what he said, as he had before. He only prodded her again and repeated, “Resa.”
She understood name words, although her name remained, like almost everything, lost to her. “Hurgot.” She pointed to his sagging shoulder, and then her own. “Resa?”
He nodded and said more words. She didn’t understand their meaning, but eventually she would. The language he and the people spoke sounded like something she had perhaps known once, in the time before she woke up on the ice.
Resa did not remember anything of that before-time. A black shroud enveloped all that had been before the ice and the cats. When she tried to see into that suffocating darkness, her head hurt, her wrist throbbed, and her stomach wanted to empty itself. The pain and nausea convinced her that whatever had happened in the past was best forgotten.
The only word she remembered—dahktar—seemed to be one that Hurgot did not know, or that frightened him. He gave her the strangest looks when she said it, so she kept that word to herself.
Resa did not think much of what had been, anyway. Everything was new to her. Hurgot, the shelter, the robe she wore, the food she ate. Even the water tasted strange. And there were so many things in this place of people, things to eat and drink and wear and hold and look at and listen to and smell.
Not all were pleasant, but even those things unpleasant were better endured than being alone out on the empty ice.
The people’s shelters did not seem much like the caves of the cats. Many things had been fastened together to make them, from hard flat things the color of dirty snow to dried animal skins. They also contained so much heat that Resa felt stifled at times, but that, too, was more tolerable than the cold.
Resa did miss the cats, but she did not want to go back to live in their cave. She had felt small and helpless there, and while she did not know who she was or from where she had come, she knew that she did not belong with them. Her body told her that she was the same as the people. Surely she was meant to be here, with her own kind.
She only wished the people were not so strange to her.
Listening to Hurgot speak to her and mutter to himself taught Resa many more words. She learned the way his face looked when he was asking something of her. Very quickly she learned the meaning of “yes” and “no” as well as what Hurgot and the people called water, food, and leader. The leader word—rasakt—was the one she noticed that Hurgot spoke without his face changing.
The rasakt dwelled in the largest shelter. Hurgot had taken her there and made her disrobe and crouch down before him. She did not understand why, but it seemed to be important to Hurgot.
While Resa was there, the rasakt and his beautiful woman said words that sounded familiar, too. Yet Resa did not feel comfortable near them, especially the woman. That one’s mouth had stretched and curved while her eyes burned, and she had not made her mouth so when she had come alone to speak to Hurgot.
Resa also did not wish to be left with the strange women in the shelter where Hurgot took her the third day after she found the people. When she tried to follow him out, he pushed her inside the shelter and said words that sounded angry. Hurgot had given her water and food, and she did not wish to make him angry, so she stayed.
The women within the shelter stared at her for a long time. Some of the older ones gestured toward her and said things that sounded strange. Others only made the huh-huh-huh sound. When Resa wondered if she would be made to stand there all day, one of the youngest ones came up and touched her hand.
“Resa, come.” She tugged on her hand and gestured toward the glowing thing in the center of the shelter that made warmth.
Resa went with her, and sat as she did, close to the warmth. She waited until the younger woman was looking at her face, and then touched her own shoulder. “Resa.” She pointed to the other woman’s shoulder.
“Ygrelda. That is my name,” She looked into Resa’s eyes as if to see understanding. “Ygrelda.”
“Ygrelda-that-is-my-name.” Resa ignored the low huh-huh-huh sounds made by the other women. “Ygrelda.”
“Ygrelda is my name. Resa is your name,” the younger woman explained, making more gestures and speaking in a slower fashion.
Resa mimicked her again but understood that she had to reverse and separate the words. “Resa is my name, Ygrelda is your name.”
Ygrelda’s mouth stretched and curved. “Yes, very good.”
That day Resa learned that “yes” and “very good” indicated that she had done something to please one of the people. “No” and “you must not” meant she had made a mistake. There were many mistake words at first, but never for the same thing.
The women of the shelter did not sit and talk and make the huh-huh-huh sound for long. After sharing food from a pot, of which Resa was given a bowl, they rose from their places and went to the snarled things piled between flat, raised p
latforms.
“Salvage,” Ygrelda called the snarled things. “We sort them.”
That which Ygrelda wished Resa to do was not difficult. Salvage-we-sort-them meant work. The work was untangling one thing from the pile, examining it, wiping it dry and clean, and placing it in another, new pile with other things like it. Before Resa was permitted to do the work, Ygrelda showed her things she was not to do, like pressing buttons or removing pieces of the things. Those not-to-do things were “dangerous” and “forbidden to us,” whatever those words meant.
Resa stood at Ygrelda’s side and did the work while she listened to the women talk. She could remember and repeat everything said to her since she had come to the people, even if she didn’t understand the meaning of the words, but she did not speak. Absorbing the talk seemed more important now than attempting to make it herself.
“Resa, come,” Ygrelda said after a time, and led her by the hand to the source of warmth again. The women did not sit around it, but they stood as close as they could while they ate different kinds of food.
“You must eat now.” Ygrelda accepted a bowl of steaming liquid from an older woman and placed it in Resa’s hands.
The smell made Resa’s mouth water, and the warmth soothed her chilled fingers, but she waited until Ygrelda had her own bowl and drank from it before she did the same. The liquid contained flesh and plant matter that had been rendered soft. Resa would consume anything edible, but thought the contents of the bowl tasted much better than the raw, bloody food that the cats had brought to her.
She looked at Ygrelda and raised the bowl a little. “Very good.” She made Hurgot’s asking face.
The younger woman nodded. “Very good soup.”
“Yes, very good soup.” She recalled the words one woman had said to another after receiving assistance with two badly snarled things, and wondered if they would be appropriate now. “I thank you.”