Before long, the riptide of Krinata’s own emotions scoured her nerves like a sandstorm driven by the fury of Dushaun’s sun. Ponderous inevitability thundered through her bones. She forgot Jindigar, barely knew there was music, and lived within the sphere of her loss and the hopeless future.
Her mouth opened, and low moaning sobs issued forth in short, harsh barks her own vocal cords should never have produced. Helplessly, she listened, overwhelmed with pity for the poor creature who suffered so. She didn’t know how it happened, but from the peak of that agony, she came down into a deep, clear pool of crystalline eternity. Here was not the happiness she had lived to achieve, but a radiant peace in which every disturbance could only be felt as a joy.
Warm, relaxed, aching with drained tension, she heard a lapping silence, the barest hissing echo of music. Her hands on her face were slick with tears. She felt the presence of the room about her as an increasing pressure on the skin of her arms, a burgeoning image in her mind’s eye. And she felt Jindigar’s eyes on her now. She couldn’t raise her head.
A scurry’s arm thrust tissues into her hands. She buried her face in them. Her suppressed hysteria of the last two days was gone. She’d finally finished grieving for her old life, her old self. But she wasn’t anybody new yet. She lifted her eyes and met deep indigo ones.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you’d come in.” Jindigar cast his eyes down to the whule, caressing its sounding bowl with one finger. “This was Lelwatha’s whule. He… that was his last composition. I render it badly.”
“I don’t think I could live through a better rendering!” She deposited the sodden lump of tissue in the scurry’s grip and rose to approach Jindigar. “Actually, I think you apologize too much, for things that aren’t your fault.”
He fondled the whule as if it contained the memory of his friend and mentor. “I’ve displayed a lot of faults lately.” He looked up at her and She sat down on the edge of the platform he occupied. “Krinata, debriefing never revealed how it was my fault Taaryesh died.”
“That’s nonsense. The tornado killed her.”
“I was Receptor. I missed the signs of the weather pattern. Dinai warned me, but it was too late for Seum to get us out of there. Krinata, if I hadn’t been careless, Taaryesh—and six of our Lehiroh Outriders—wouldn’t have died. We’d have still been in the field when Trinarvil pulled Dushaun out of the Allegiancy, and Kamminth’s would have been picked up intact by the retrieval team. Instead, I’m the sole survivor of one of the best Oliat teams ever. And I’ve ruined your life, too.”
She wondered if this was clinical depression, or if this was just a normal guilt reaction from a very responsible individual. The pattern of the thought was all too human, and the only cure she knew was human. “You didn’t ruin my life. / decided to get you out of that horrid place. I’m not sorry I did it, either.” For the first time, that was really true, and it felt good. “Did Seum, Dinai, Fedeewarn, Lelwatha or Kamminth blame you for Taaryesh’s death?”
“No. Kamminth insisted she’d once missed a brewing hurricane. Lelwatha maintained I was the keenest Receptor he’d ever Emulated for.” He toyed with the whule bow. “Maybe that’s why I blame myself—because they refused to blame me.” He looked up. “I am good in Oliat. That’s why it hurts so. I’ve never… killed anyone before.”
The Dushau species was not descended from hunters, but from carrion-eaters. They never killed their meat, or each other. “You haven’t killed now.” Krinata took the bow from his fidgeting hands and captured his eyes.
“Listen. If I’d had documented proof that you’d missed the weather signs because you were drunk on duty or whatever, I’d still have gone into that hospital after you. You want to trade guilts? / let myself get carried away during that debriefing. I was so busy imagining I was Taaryesh, I didn’t think what might happen when I asked for dangers. I didn’t research what had killed her. I didn’t make a point of avoiding that issue. / didn’t do my job properly, so you were dragged away as a saboteur of an imperial project! What did I do about it? I let them haul you out of my office, then I dithered for days before Arlai jolted me out of it. By then it was too late to save Dinai and Seum. Lay their deaths at my feet. Lay your whole situation at my feet!”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“No more ridiculous than what you’re saying!”
They stared at each other for a long while before Jindigar gave in. She smiled and handed him back the bow. “When the Kings have had time to analyze all this, they’ll stop Zinzik, depose him if necessary, and pick his successor. With a little sanity on the throne, Dushaun will come back and everything will be normal again. Jindigar, it can’t take very long. When it’s settled, my family will be able to get me a pardon, and I could even go back to my old job. I’m just not sure I’ll ever want it back. And I’ve no idea what to do with myself in the meantime.”
He set the instrument aside, and turned to confront her. “You really believe this is just a minor disruption, and eventually everything will be as it was?”
•‘Of course.” Now that she’d calmed down, she could see it clearly. When they came to their senses, they’d see she hadn’t really committed a crime.
“Krinata, you know I’m not an Historian, though the talent runs in my family. Yet even I can recognize the deaththroes of a civilization. Nothing can stop Zinzik now. Nobody wants to. They know they can’t solve these problems, so they’re intent on slaughtering them, and we are the symbol. Anybody and anything remotely touched by us will be torn apart by this kill-frenzied mob. You can never go back. That’s what I’ve done to you.”
The last shred of hope dissolved before his certainty. But this time, it didn’t hurt. “All right. I can accept even that. There’s nowhere for me to go.”
He searched her face as if reading a map. Then he uncurled his long, muscular legs and paced across the room. He moved more easily now, the sinuous glide of an acrobat. Then he turned and inspected her from across the room. She felt as if she were on trial for some quality of soul.
He swept some small items from the top of a scurry and half-sat, half-leaned on it, one knee bent to hook his heel on the edge of the flattop, hands clasped about that ankle. “I’ve lost my confidence in my own judgment,” he confessed. “But I’ve nothing else to go on. So I’ve got to ask you. If you had a chance to pioneer an eminently livable planet—a first implant colony—would you take it?”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to find, a place between here and Dushaun where you could drop me off and be rid of me, on your way home. But…”
“No, Krinata. Listen. Nobody who’s ever done me a good turn, ever worked with me, ever done business with me, is safe now. And there are a few dozen such people scattered about the Allegiancy. For them, as for you, there’s no Allegiancy planet where they can live. But I know a planet that would be a marginally comfortable home, though not suitable for commercial use—far, far outside the Allegiancy sphere. It’s rugged: no amenities waiting, no pre-implant spadework done, no further tech support coming after you get there. I can’t even promise you Oliat support. Just a few refugees of various species, lots of arable land, and nothing too hostile to live with. Its only virtue is that the Allegiancy doesn’t list it as open, so nobody will look for us there. Would you be interested?”
SIX
Distress Call
Krinata eyed Jindigar nervously, thinking that Zinzik had accused the Dushau of not reporting colonizable planets. But one commercially useless planet known by one individual didn’t make a conspiracy to strangle the Allegiancy.
Jindigar misinterpreted her silence. “Or I’d be glad to drop you off at any planet you name, before I try to rescue any of the others. I owe you that, and more.”
“You don’t owe me,” she said. “I was just thinking your planet sounds like what I’ve been looking for.”
“I expected you’d feel that way. There’s a lot I don’t know about this planet, though. Survey was never completed.
There are tremendous risks.”
“None greater than being executed for treason to the Crown because of a loyal attempt to prevent a mistake. How do we find these other friends of yours?”
He turned to a large wallscreen decorated in moving swirls of light. “Arlai, put up the itinerary I compiled.”
The screen filled with symbols Krinata couldn’t read. Then in one comer, a list of planets appeared: Onerir, Cassr, Khol, Razum Two. Atridm, Canbera. Beside each one was a list of names. Cassrians, Lehiroh, Holot, human, and Treptian, Under each name, there was a location.
“You want to go back to Onerir? Why!”
“I must, Krinata. The bodies of Kamminth’s—”
“Jindigar,” interrupted Arlai softly. “I have a confession. The bodies of all your zunre are aboard. I acted without instruction, but…”
Jindigar’s face lightened.
“You’re not angry with me?” asked Arlai.
“I remember changing your status controls. Your initiative is not wholly at odds with graytime status. But, were you detected?”
“I doubt it.” Arlai’s simulacrum ghosted over the symbolic display, and he seemed hesitant. “I left records indicating the bodies were taken by Trinarvil, with Seum and Dinai having been cremated without autopsy. If they suspect me, they might be able to detect the forgeries, but I don’t think they’ll believe a Sentient could do such a thing.”
Krinata’s heart was relieved Zinzik could make no grotesque examples of those Dushau bodies. She was beginning to suspect he’d stop at nothing to feed his mob following.
Jindigar frowned. “If we move fast enough, we may be clear before anyone thinks to inspect the records.” He launched into a technical discussion of the transit time between the planets on his list, and Arlai’s best estimate of the urgency of the situation on each planet.
Krinata listened with growing dismay. Following Onerir’s lead, it seemed every planet of the Allegiancy was rounding up Dushau sympathizers for brutal questioning, brief public trial, and mass execution. She couldn’t believe it. Such things were surely against the law.
When she threw that question into a momentary silence, Arlai answered, “Just as we were leaving Onerir, I picked up a newsflash that, for the purposes of this emergency, the Dukes of the Allegiancy were empowered to write new laws to handle the expected masses of traitors who must be tried and disposed of. So far as I know, the Dukes have acted well within the Emperor’s guidelines for such laws. But way out here, I can only get smeared fringe beams. I’ve been tempted to snatch up passing capsules to sample the latest news.”
“Don’t do that yet,” said Jindigar while Krinata was swallowing her shock at yet another impossible ability. “You couldn’t handle a modern detuned capsule without leaving traces. While we’re in orbit at Cassr, maybe you can learn how to do it. It could be a useful skill for us.”
“I think you underestimate me.”
“I don’t. You’ve been constrained from maintaining such skills by your Allegiancy programming. There’ve been some spectacular advances lately.” They stared at each other for long moments, but then Arlai lowered his eyes.
“I’ll let you know after I’ve investigated.” With a mischievous smile, he added, “Care to lay a bet?”
Jindigar smiled back, silently expressing a fondness for Arlai while saying, “I never bet against Sentients. But I’m not willing to bet all our lives that you’re right.”
Arlai put his hands on his hips in a businesslike pose, and said gravely, “I’ll check it out thoroughly. But I’m going to tap the beams as we move in. Things are happening fast out there now.”
“Right,” agreed Jindigar, planting himself firmly on the platform beside his whule. “Now, if we’re going to penetrate Cassr traffic control, Truth will need a temporary identity. She looks Dushau, but old enough to have been sold off long ago.” He turned to Krinata, speculation lighting his indigo eyes. “Would you be willing to go aground as a Pesht merchant, working for Zavaronne Importers? Most Cassrians can’t tell humans apart, much less their bloodlines from a vague resemblance. Arlai can dress you for the part…”
Her heart leaped to her throat. She’d listened calmly to plans to rescue prisoners of the Crown, and never visualized how it might be done. Absurdly, the only thought that came to mind was that she’d be breaking the law.
“You’re right.” Jindigar nodded. “There’s no reason to send you into such danger. I’ve no business even asking.” He turned back to Arlai. ”You can fit me out to pass as a Skhe merchant captain. Trassle exports pharmacogenetics. I could be looking for him because he owes me a cargo.”
“You can’t go into a city!” blurted Krinata.
“It has to be done.”
He’s depressed! Suicidal! But she couldn’t think of a reasonable argument. “All right, I’ll go.”
Puzzled, he stared at her silently. Then he seemed to shove aside his curiosity. “Krinata, you can’t go in my place. I only wanted you to deal with the authorities, to divert attention from me. so there’d be less chance I’d be recognized. But Trassle can be a very suspicious Cassrian, and he has a female and young to protect.”
Cassrians with family could be paranoid, she knew. “Arlai, can you estimate the probabilities of success if only one of us goes, or if both of us go?”
The screen cleared and figures glowed. ‘If both of you go, and take Imp, there should be only one third the risk. Skhe always have piol under foot, and Zavaronne is known to favor Skhe spacehands. No Cassrian would look twice at such a group, especially because I can provide you with a cargo of Camidani shielded intronic parts.”
“Where would you get intronics?” asked Krinata. They were Sentient components, and the Camidani shielding made them useful on the high-radiation planets such as Cassr.
“I don’t have much in stock,” admitted Arlai. “But all you’ll need is a sample and a manifest which I can create.”
She examined her feelings. She couldn’t refuse to go, however much she felt out of her depth. “Well, I always wanted to be a spaceship captain. What’s my ship’s name?”
“Think of a good, old Pesht name,” said Jindigar.
“Bettina,” said Krinata. Thousands of Pesht ships were called Bettina. It had been the name of the first colony ship to Pesht from Terra. “Roving Bettina.”
“A good choice,” said Arlai. “I’ll get to work immediately. When do we start for Cassr?”
“Now,” said Jindigar quietly. For a moment, Krinata saw a grave shadow darken his expression. Then he stood, cinching his yellow tunic in with a cord belt. “Come, Krinata. You must be checked out on your ship’s controls. You have a lot to learn in the next three days.”
She spent most of that time in Truth’s control room. Jindigar gave Arlai permission to obey certain classes of commands from her. He wasn’t giving her his ship, but if he were killed, Arlai would take her to safety.
Gradually, the Truth’s logo disappeared from the Truth’s interior bulkheads and accessories, replaced by the Zavaronne emblem in black and red. She assumed the same new emblem now graced the exterior as well as their broadcast identification beam. It was eerie watching the character of the ship change around them. Arlai’s efficiency was awesome, and his imagination unparalleled among Sentients. By the time they entered the well-traveled shipping lanes, she felt she was actually on a family-owned tramp freighter.
Her captain’s uniform, just worn enough to be authentic, fit her loosely, so she appeared to have lost weight from the worry of hard times. The ship’s history Arlai fabricated and placed into her unadorned leptolizer gave her good reason for the graying hair and worry lines Arlai’s makeup scurry imposed on her. Looking at herself, she could almost believe she was an adventurous, moderately successful businesswoman.
But her transformation was nothing compared to what Arlai did to Jindigar. First Arlai built the Dushau up into the lumpy, flat-headed shape of a Skhe using extruded forms. Over the padding wenta mil thick, br
own and black pigmented shrinksuit designed to protect the sensitive Skhe skin from ultraviolet, hiding all trace of Jindigar’s dark indigo coloring. The sheen of his skin’s nap was also hidden, so he appeared to have the mucous damp, warty hide of the Skhe under the film. Over this he wore the crossed harnesses, jingling with status bobs and charms typical of a Skhe first mate.
His legs were wrapped in the bilious green leggings a lower class Skhe would wear. As an afterthought, Arlai added a waist-length cape of krisl fur, telling Jindigar “Rndeel, mate of the Roving Bettina” had won it in a littre game in Port Arthur on Pesht.
Jindigar said, “Since that’s exactly where Kamminth got it, I think she’d be honored to have us use it.” He swirled, letting the full cape flow around him as he inspected his image in the screen where Arlai mirrored him, and Krinata tried to imagine a Dushau gambling in a spaceport dive.
“But there’s something missing,” said Krinata pondering the effect. And then she knew. “The smell. Skhe always smell like the bay when the tide’s out.”
“No problem,” said Arlai. “And if we’re boarded, the whole ship will reek of Skhe, especially the cabin I’ve furnished for Rndeel.”
“You’ve thought of everything,” approved Krinata. They had six hours to get used to their personae before they’d have to answer the Approach Authority’s hail. They returned to the control room to rehearse.
Krinata took the captain’s chair, glancing behind her at “Rndeel” as he squatted on the stool Arlai had installed before the astrogator’s station. She was amazed to see how the Dushau moved with the fluidity of the Skhe, and the quick head mannerisms typical of the species.
She praised him, adding, “Now, since we won’t always have translators overhead while on the streets, you’d better practice letting me do all the talking. At least my accent backs up our story.”
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