Crimson Rain

by Jaye Roycraft

  “Alec, you know it’s not for the riches I do this.”

  “Aye, only the chase.” It was an old joke between them, and it said everything Kyl could never put into words.

  “Right. Are you sure they’ll go for the Tisiphone?”

  “Aye. Even if they’re not sure where I am, they’ll go for the sure prize—the ship itself.”

  “I’m going to miss her. She’s served us well.”

  “I’ll miss her, too. Don’t forget to dump the computer records,” Kyl said, locking the final container into place on the Megaera.

  “Warning. Countdown. Ten minutes remaining.”

  “I won’t.”

  “There. Naught to charge you with now except piloting an unregistered ship.”

  Sandy grinned. “You’d best hurry. Every minute counts.”

  Kyl nodded, then clasped the young man by the back of his head and pulled him close. “Thank you, brother. Speed of the Gods.”

  “Luck of the Roven.”

  Sandy ran back to the airlock, and Kyl boarded the Megaera. When Sandy signaled he was back on the flight deck, Kyl sent the command to depressurize the bay. Two minutes later, the outer bay doors opened, and the Megaera dropped out of the Tisiphone like a newborn babe from its mother.

  Kyl stared at the magnified image the aft camera gave him and shifted his gaze to the girl. She, too, was staring at the view screen, and in her eyes he could see her hope fading as quickly as the visual of the ship they left behind.

  Playing God again, Alec? The memory of Sandy’s words rang in his head. It was another old joke between them. There was a measure of truth in the jibe. He unquestionably had enough power over men like Captain Bhrenth. But he hadn’t been able to prevent the Crimson Rain. He hadn’t been able to make things right in the years since. And he hadn’t been able to replace Axial.

  He engaged the main engines and wondered if he had just made the second worst decision of his life.

  Chapter Two

  Rayn

  RAYN DREAMT OF the desert. Like a great hawk, he rode the waves of heat that swelled and crashed over the dunes. The setting sun perched on his shoulder, whispered hot nothings in his ear, and dared him. He accepted the challenge, folded his wings, and like a sandspout, whirled with ever-increasing speed until he settled on the glittering sea in man-form. Shimmering air currents danced around him, forming a mirage that flashed light at him, blinding him, until the heat rollers steadied at last.

  A lone figure appeared before him, a golden woman who put the light of the desert to shame with her blazing beauty and silver eyes. He called to her, and she answered. He called again, summoning her, but another force, more powerful than he, bid her to stay. He commanded her and compelled her, but she backed away from him until he no longer saw anything but the mirror of molten heat all around him. She screamed at him, but her words were as lost to him as cinders on the wind.

  Rayn awoke, shaking. He remembered the dream well, for it was one he had had often, but it wasn’t the familiarity that disturbed him. It was the feeling of loss. It was the first time in the dream Dina had failed to come to him.

  He told himself it was only a dream.

  Rayn sat up in the bed in the spaceport and rolled his shoulders forward, the points of his collar bones drawing invisible circles in the air. He hated hypersleep, and his first natural sleep following the hypersleep hadn’t been any better.

  It had been two days since his deportation ship had docked at the orbiting spaceport, and he was still working the kinks out of his body. Almost as bad as the pain and stiffness in his limbs was the fetor that clung to him and filled his nostrils like a cloying cologne. It was his body’s own exertions to purge itself of the hypersleep chemicals, a natural by-product of the awakening process, but that made it no less unpleasant.

  He closed his eyes and stretched his mind as well. B’harata. It had been more than twenty years since he’d left his homeworld, yet the flux of memories made it yesterday. It had been his haven and hell. He saw the clouds of light as his mother performed m’riri, the ancient ritual of meditation, in the soft mist, and the clouds of darkness as his brother Flyr was executed in a torrent of hatred and blood rain. He saw his success at that which he hated—the killing arts of the dens—and his failure at that which he loved—the teaching of young minds to the good in the world.

  The memory of Flyr was still raw, even after so many years. As a young man, before he’d mastered the killing arts, Rayn had been bullied by a group that included his former best friend Tiryl. Rayn’s older brother Flyr had come to Rayn’s aid, killing Tiryl. Tiryl’s friends later killed Flyr in revenge. And Rayn had been trying to escape the guilt of the past ever since.

  He stemmed the flow of images from the past and turned his mind to the future. It would be different now. He had a mate. Dina . . . He couldn’t wait to get to the surface, to learn news of Dina’s flight and to prepare for her arrival.

  The shuttle landed at his native city, Sha’haran, and Rayn was escorted to Port Authority by dour officials who neither greeted him home nor seemed the least bit inclined to answer any of his questions. Thankfully, they allowed him to bathe before the debriefing began, but Rayn had the feeling it was more for the benefit of the many port and customs officials than his own comfort. With the stink of hypersleep finally cleansed from his pores, he held his impatience in check for several more hours while he went through customs and the tedious deportation debriefing. There were no criminal charges pending, but he was officially notified by the powers that be that he was banned from Glacia, the mining colony of Exodus, and all the major Synergy System Worlds. Further, they droned, if one Raynga D’anthara should be found in the future on any of the above heretofore mentioned worlds, he will be in violation of criminal trespass laws of the highest jurisdiction and subject to arrest and prosecution by local or interplanetary officials.

  The entire proceeding was recorded for posterity, and Rayn had to swear to the notification. Customs updated his citizen status, but notified him that the update was only temporary. He had two months to attend a mandatory series of classes on citizenship and the strictures that were law. Failure to attend all the classes would result in his citizen status being revoked. Lastly, Customs issued him the permanent arm ring that would serve as identification and allow him use of all public access data terminals and communication ports. It would also alert the authorities to his location should he fail in his obligations to the state.

  Rayn fingered the slim ring encircling his right wrist, and the cool silkiness of the alloy exterior summoned the memory of the bittersweet satisfaction he’d felt twenty-four years ago when he’d removed his original issue ring. Only one day outbound from the Deorcan Grid, the removal of the ring had symbolized the cutting of the final tie to his homeland. He’d embarked on an uncertain nomadic journey, not a quest with a goal or destination, but he’d nevertheless found what his heart had been unknowingly seeking—a lightning storm named Dina who had blazed a path for him to follow.

  With the meaningless formalities finally over, Rayn’s mood lifted, and he hurried to Port Communications and asked for the message center. He was directed to a terminal, and having had no code number to give Dina, simply entered his name. RAYN DESTAR. He held his breath as he waited for the search routine to bring up the data.

  YOU HAVE NO MESSAGES

  No! Disbelief suspended his thought processes and snatched the breath from his windpipe. He stared at the screen as if his eyes were lenses for his compelling mind, through which he could focus a power strong enough to change the words that wavered before him.

  Of course. He’d promised Dina he would use his true name. He felt tightness in his chest, and his hands trembled as he keyed the name he’d abandoned so long ago, the name his mother vowed would bring him good fortune someday.

  RAYNGA D’ANTHARA


  YOU HAVE ONE MESSAGE

  He squeezed his eyes shut in a silent prayer of gratitude, then fixed them on the screen. The memory of Dina’s voice sang to his mind as the words danced across the display.

  RAYN, LEAVING GLACIA CARGO SHIP PALLADIA OUTBOUND 3.137.15. ARRIVAL B’HARATA 3.138.6. SEE YOU THEN. ALL MY LIGHT AND LOVE ARE WITH YOU. DINA.

  He let out a long breath and printed a copy of the message. In spite of what she’d said to him when they’d parted on Exodus, he’d worried that once gone from her life, she would move on and forget him. He fingered her ring—the ring with the exodite eye and pearl tear—for a countless time. Suspended on a gold chain, it had rested over his heart since Dina had given it to him on Exodus.

  Three months. The shadow of time, inescapable as ever, clove to him and laughed in his ear. Three months before she was scheduled to arrive. Three months. So long. He’d known that after they’d parted, Dina planned on traveling to Glacia to spend time with her father before coming to B’harata. She knew she might never see her father again, and Rayn could hardly deny her that small amount of time. But what seemed then like a brief span seemed like an eternity now. Three months. It would feel like three years.

  Before he left the Port Communications, he visited the reference room, sat before another terminal, and brought up the directory of registered ships. Rayn keyed PALLADIA, and a graphic offering specifications, registry information, data on the captain, cargo, and shipping route all came up. Rayn scrolled through all the detailed screens, swearing softly as he did so. Why would Dina book passage on a small cargo ship like this?

  His unease grew when he read the brief data on the ship’s captain, Captain Bhrenth. A Glacian, of course. Relatively young and inexperienced, he’d been piloting the Palladia for only eleven years, a very short span of time for anyone who works in the vastness of space, but especially a pilot. B’haratans, with their long life spans and usual patience with the slow passage of time, made excellent spacers, but the Synergy, in their fear and ignorance, had banned B’haratans from their system long ago, counting them among the hated “dark outworlders.”

  The Palladia, according to the data, was contracted by one of the larger high-end stores in Sha’haran. The store imported numerous luxury items from other worlds, including, ironically, art glass and exodite from Exodus. Shipping route, Glacia to B’harata, and back. Current status, outbound from Glacia, expected arrival, 3.138.6. Rayn printed out all the information on the ship and its captain.

  Next, he accessed the city directory. The residential listings were organized by M’nage, or House, and recorded information on every direct descendant, through the males only, of the House name in question. When Rayn entered the M’nage of D’anthara, his name appeared, along with the names of his parents, his brothers, and his father’s brothers and sisters.

  Rayn’s mother and father, both deceased, were listed, as was Flyr, killed at a young age. Rayn noted, with a smug quirk lifting one side of his mouth, that neither a bonded mate nor issues were listed for his surviving brother, Ryol. Viperous bastard, he thought. It looks like he hasn’t changed. Rayn hadn’t been on good terms with his brother. Their relationship had always been as rimose as the crumbling mortar walls of the ruins far outside the city that the ancients had inhabited, ages ago, but it had worsened when Flyr was killed. Ryol had blamed Rayn when it had happened and had never forgiven him. It had been one of the reasons Rayn had left B’harata.

  Rayn queried for related M’nage, those houses which, through the bonding of a member to a D’anthara, were now part of the extended family. Some of the related M’nage names were unfamiliar to Rayn, but he brought each House up and scanned the given names of each family member. Finally, under the M’nage of Z’andarc, he saw a name that brought a smile to his face. Cousin Cyonne.

  Cyonne and Rayn had been friends and had remained so even after Flyr had died. Cyonne was one of the few who hadn’t blamed Rayn for his death, and she was one of the handful of people Rayn had truly missed after his departure from B’harata. She’d been a fiercely independent young woman when he’d left, feisty but not foolhardy, and he was glad she had survived the passing of years. And bonded. Good for her, he thought. Her wild spirit must have found a soulmate. Just as I have. Rayn studied the name of Cyonne’s mate. Saynt-Aage Z’andarc. Rayn printed out the listing that showed their comm code and home coordinates.

  Having done all he could at the port complex, Rayn exited the building. His upturned face wasn’t greeted by natural sunlight, nor did his lungs fill with fresh air. The cool filtered light from the domed ceiling high above him mixed with the many artificial lights below and colored the city before him. He drew on recycled, conditioned air that was set for optimum comfort in temperature and humidity, but even compared to the dry manufactured atmosphere of Exodus, this air seemed as flavorless as space paste.

  He closed his eyes and stretched his mind to hear the rhythm of the rain hitting the dome high above him. He wished he were outside the domed city now, much preferring the rain to the artificial perfection of the city built to shelter the wealthy. Perhaps he equated the rain with the teachings of the ancients. Perhaps it was just the memories of youth.

  He remembered living outside the domes as a child, and he, as his mother, had loved the rain. He’d loved the sound of it, the feel of it, the colors it painted on the landscape, and its ever-changing personality. Some days it was soft, a mist floating in the air, and some days gentle, wet kisses blown at him by the wind. Sometimes the rain was a fierce avenger, sweeping from the sky and lashing mercilessly at the land. It was a creature that donned a different face every day.

  But many things had changed as he grew older, and his communion with the rain had ceased. His childhood and innocence had ended when Flyr died, and it seemed to Rayn then that the Gods were intent on scouring the earth of its evil, and, dissatisfied with the results of one cleansing, tried again and again, with ever more impotent fury.

  There was no rain, cleansing or otherwise, inside the dome, yet it sparkled with a just-washed cold splendor and a perfection of immaculate order. Rayn shuddered and cleared his mind of the musings of the past. His pressing needs demanded his attention. He took an air taxi and ordered it to drop him at the center of the business district. He stared up at the buildings, almost dizzied by their height. Ground space within the domes had always been limited, but the spires were taller and narrower than he’d remembered. They sprang from the earth and shot toward the domed ceiling like plants in a hothouse, but there was no life and nothing of natural beauty in the metal and glass stalks. He already missed the simplicity of the Exodan desert.

  The first thing he needed was a place where he could open an account and exchange the Glacian credits he’d brought with him from Exodus. The Synergy, after a great deal of insistence on Dina’s part, had reluctantly awarded him a substantial reward for his role in bringing to justice the killers of eight miners on Exodus. Rewarded him, and then with the typical hypocrisy of governmental agencies, promptly deported him.

  Rayn had no problem locating such an institution, and soon after, with his financial affairs in order, he turned to the next order of business. He needed a place to stay, and he needed news of Sha’haran. He located a public commport, passed his arm band across the scanner, and entered Cyonne’s code. A voice promptly answered.

  “Rayn? Is it really you?” The image of a beautiful woman with hair the color of a savannah grasslands and eyes the color of sea foam filled the small viewscreen.

  “It’s really me, Cee. The sky trotter is home.” Home. He rolled the word around in his mind. It still had a strange feel, as if he were sampling an exotic food and wasn’t sure if he liked the taste.

  “Oh, Rayn, I can’t believe you’re here! I thought I’d never see you again. I didn’t even know if you were still alive. Did you just get in? Can you come to see me?”

  He laughed. “
Yes to all. I have lots of catching up to do and news for you as well.”

  “I can’t tell you how happy I am you’re here! I’m in the hand dome on the westing arm. It’s officially called the Dome of the Golden Bough. Do you have the coordinates?”

  “‘Dome of the Golden Bough.’ I’m impressed, Cee. And yes, I have the coordinates.”

  “Our home is very modest, believe me. Take an air taxi. It’ll be quickest. And don’t bother stopping for food. I’ll fix all your favorites for you.”

  He laughed again. Dear Cee, how he’d missed her! “Yes, Cyonne. You have my permission to pamper me unmercifully. Until then.”

  “Until then, Raynga’cha.”

  Rayn smiled at the endearment and disconnected the call. He located an emporium and entered the large store. It was a newer one he wasn’t familiar with, and he paused a moment to sweep his gaze over the aisles of merchandise. He needed clothes, first and foremost. All he had was the poorly made gray outfit that the officials aboard the spaceport had given him upon release from his hypersleep.

  A young pup just out of puberty approached Rayn. Though the boy’s expression remained impassive, Rayn easily caught the flicker of appraisal in the whelp’s eyes and the slight flare of his nostrils as the boy caught the residual sickly sweet odor of the sleep, which, like sweat, clung to Rayn’s clothes.

  “Wetland outfits are two levels down,” the boy intoned, his hooded eyes and ever so slight tilt to his chin speaking measurably more than his voice did.

  Rayn stared at the stripling, having learned more about the current state of B’haratan society in the past moment than if he’d listened to a lengthy newscast. He narrowed his eyes and knew the knife-edge sharpness of his gaze was not lost on even so ignorant a youngster as this. Rayn was tempted to touch the boy’s mind and teach him a lesson he well needed, but resisted the urge. He wasn’t sure what strictures were currently law, and besides, this was hardly more than a child. But not so young that he can’t learn.