by S. L. Viehl
“A suicide assassin would never have used a damaged grenade,” Reever countered. “They are too unstable and apt to detonate at any moment. The one Jarn removed was leaking arutanic fluid.”
Duncan Reever was biologically Terran and, like me, had little notion of what that meant. Reever’s xenobiologist parents had abandoned him as a child to the care of the alien natives of the many worlds they had visited. A born telepathic linguist, Reever could absorb most alien languages through mind linking, so perhaps they felt he would be safe. Years of full immersion in alien cultures and societies had instead destroyed his humanity. Eventually Reever’s parents had retrieved him and brought him back to Terra to be educated, but it had been too late. Duncan had never learned things like human emotions and social skills, nor did he care to.
My ClanBrother was not a stupid man, and he had seen much of battle and warfare. He knew the tactics of terrorism. Without careful handling, it would not take long for him to come to the conclusions that Reever and I had.
There was one benefit to my husband’s emotional handicaps, however. Reever could misdirect and deceive anyone, even a veteran soldier like Xonea.
Some of the lines around Xonea’s mouth eased. “As you say, Duncan. What more can you tell me about this grenade?”
“It matches nothing on the Jorenian weapons database,” Reever said. “I am inclined to think it was salvaged and rebuilt. Perhaps one of the slave-trader species meant to send a message to HouseClanTorin for their involvement in ending the Faction’s slave raids.”
“Slavers.” Xonea scowled. “They are cowardly enough to do something like this.”
“Indeed.” Reever put an arm around my waist. “My wife is weary after the hours in surgery, Captain. I would like to take her to the guest quarters to see our daughter, and have a meal and rest interval.”
Xonea gave me a sharp look. “You should have said something.”
“You two were so busy talking I couldn’t get a word in edgewise.” I started to smile at him, and then pressed my fingers against my runaway lips. Reever’s memories of Cherijo had helped me make peace with my former self, but I would never feel at ease with hearing Cherijo’s words come out of my mouth. “I am a little tired and hungry.”
“Very well.” Xonea made a quick gesture. “Until we find those responsible, you, Duncan, and Marel will be escorted and guarded by HouseClan warriors. “
I started to protest—I was tired of being constantly watched over and guarded and followed— but my husband caught my eye and shook his head.
“I thank you, ClanBrother,” I said, and noticed the militia allowing the medical staff back onto the ward. “Please have one of the nurses signal me when the patient regains consciousness. I will need to perform the post-op scans while she is awake and responsive.”
One big, six-fingered blue hand made a sharp, negative gesture. “When the female awakes, I will first interrogate her.”
“No, you will not,” I said, with just as much force. “She was made into a bomb. I have just cut open her body and removed half of her stomach. You will leave her alone.”
Xonea gave me an exasperated look. “I will not harm her, Cherijo, but she may be the only one who knows those who made this threat against our House.”
“She won’t be able to tell you anything if she’s hemorrhaging,” I snapped. “Until I decide she is well enough to speak to you, she will remain isolated, in recovery, and you will not go near her.”
“I must agree with Healer Cherijo, Captain.” Healer Tarveka joined us. “The patient’s recovery time will be no more than two days.”
Xonea’s gaze went from my face to Tarveka’s, and then he sighed. “Very well. But until I can question her, she is to remain in isolation and under constant monitor.” He went over to speak with the warriors questioning the ward staff.
“The drugs I gave her before surgery will wear off in a few hours, not days,” I murmured. “She will be awake and alert by nightfall.” I met Tarveka’s gaze. “You lied to him. Why?”
“I said nothing untruthful about the recovery time.” He smiled down at me. “In some rare cases, two days are required for a Jorenian patient to regain full lucidity after surgery.”
“Why mislead him, then?” I asked.
“I owe you a debt for saving my patient, and the Omorr believes that you and your bondmate will need this time to make preparations.” Tarveka handed me the relay pad. On it was the text of an open relay from an anonymous free trader offering an enormous bounty for capturing me alive.
“Four million stan credits?” I could not believe a bioengineered life-form would be worth so much. “Who would pay such a sum for a female?”
Tarveka looked at our sleeping patient. “Perhaps the more pressing question is, who would try to keep everyone else from collecting it?”
A squad of armed warriors escorted Reever and me when we left the medical facility, and most of HouseClan Torin were waiting to greet us when we arrived at the Torin pavilion. We did not have a private moment to talk until later that night, after we had put our daughter to bed.
“I like it here, Mama,” Marel said through a yawn, her eyelids drooping. Fine curls of golden hair framed her small face and spilled over the side of her pillow. “All the food is made of flowers, and there are so many kids, although they’re all bigger than me.”
Jorenian children did not stay small for long. Fasala, Marel’s favorite playmate and the only ClanDaughter of our friends, Salo and Darea Torin, already stood six feet tall.
“Small females are faster than large ones,” I told her. “Their size slows them down; they can never catch us.”
She giggled and then sighed. “I like the silver grass and the way the plants sing, too. And ClanUncle Xonea smiles at everyone here.”
Her ClanUncle would not be smiling when he discovered that someone was hunting me.
“I am glad.” I bent down and kissed her brow, concealing the fear I felt for my child. My former self had eradicated all material evidence of our daughter’s existence in order to protect her, but if they had found me here on Joren, they might well find her. Before I left, I whispered one of the old Iisleg charms to her. “Dream of rain, daughter.”
Reever chose to sit and tell Marel stories until she fell asleep, so I went out to the front room and prepared two servers of Omorr tea. I didn’t like Jorenian brews, which were far too sweet, or the bitter, dark teas my husband favored. Squilyp’s mate, Garphawayn, had given me a mellow, Omorr blend that tasted faintly of mint and spice; it was one of the few teas that Reever and I both found palatable.
Two small, four-legged felines emerged from under the table and came to stand before me. One was a large silver-furred male with luminous blue eyes, named Jenner after an ancient Terran physician my former self had idolized. The other, his black-furred mate, inspected me with her gold-green gaze. Reever called her Juliette.
I had wanted to kill them and eat them, several times. I was not permitted to slay living things for food, however, and the ensleg were especially fond of living things they called “pets.” Reever convinced me that the two cats were harmless, and provided much entertainment and companionship for him and Marel. I still did not trust them; the felines on my world did not entertain or keep company with people. They were usually too busy ripping out their throats and feeding on their dead bodies.
“I know the child fed you after our meal,” I advised them. “You cannot be hungry.”
Jenner rubbed his head against my leg and uttered a deep yowl, as if to say, Your ankles seem appetizing.
“You should be out hunting your own food.” I eyed Juliette, who chimed in with a higher, more plaintive sound. Her little belly seemed to hang lower than the last time I had looked at her. I reached down to slide my hand under her, feeling a small, clustered mass inside her abdomen. “Do not tell me you are . . .” I took a scanner out of my medical case and passed it over her, and groaned when it detected five distinct heartbeats; one strong, four
faint. “How did this happen?”
Jenner plopped down on his haunches next to his mate and showed me his sharp little teeth as he yawned. How do you think it happened?
We had just found homes for the felines’ last litter; now there would be another. I uttered the most vicious Iisleg obscenities I could think of under my breath as I took out a container of the dried, smelly bits of protein our daughter called “cat snacks” and opened the lid.
“I should make a snack out of you,” I told the felines as I dropped a handful on the floor between them.
“You agreed not to kill the pets.” My husband came up behind me and encircled my waist with his arms. “The tea smells good. So do you.”
Since leaving Akkabarr, I had been obliged to follow the ensleg custom of cleansing my body at least once a day. Such self-indulgence had never been possible on my homeworld, as drinking and cooking used up most of the meltwater. At first Reever forced me to bathe so often I thought my skin would peel off, but I quickly became accustomed to the curious sensation of being clean all over every day.
“The female has something in her belly.” I turned around, pressing myself shamelessly against him as I sought the comfort of his body. “And do you know? It is not a grenade.”
“I am happy to hear it.” Reever bent his head and kissed the outside curve of my ear. At the same time, his voice spoke in my head. Jarn, the Torins have put at least two recording drones in the room. His eyes shifted first to the huge cluster of flowers left in a jar in the center of the room, and then up to the emitters over our heads. Do not say anything about the patient or the bounty.
If I concentrated, I could speak inside my husband’s mind just as clearly. Why are they monitoring us? I thought we were allies.
Xonea will claim it is a security precaution. Reever brushed aside my hair and trailed his fingers down the side of my neck. I fear we did not completely dispel his suspicions.
Cherijo had once been Chosen to be the only wife of Xonea’s ClanBrother, Kao, now deceased. Unlike Iisleg men, who were permitted at least two wives, and could kill them and replace them as was necessary, Jorenians mated with one spouse for life. My former self’s brief engagement to Kao was what had led to my adoption by the Torin. It also made me Xonea’s ClanSister, a relationship he regarded as seriously as if we had actually been born from the same womb.
Xonea would do anything he thought necessary to protect me. Even if it meant spying on me and Reever.
Under the circumstances, I could think of only one solution that would protect our daughter and stop the Jorenians from going to war. Duncan, we have to leave Joren.
My husband swept me up into his arms and carried me into the chamber where we slept. Ensleg insisted on having separate rooms for eating, sleeping, and cleansing, and to insure they were not disturbed at such activities, put locks on the doors. Personal privacy was one of their concepts that I had found difficult to fathom, but being monitored without our permission made me see some of its merits.
As my husband stretched his long, lean body out beside me on the sleeping platform, I unfastened his tunic and pushed it back, baring his chest. His skin, several shades darker than mine, felt smooth and resilient under my palms.
We can leave Joren tomorrow. He covered my hands with his. But we cannot take Marel with us.
Every muscle in my body tensed at the prospect of being separated from our child. I had never thought I would form a close bond to any person, but since discovering that Marel was the child of my body, I had become fiercely, almost irrationally attached to her.
The Torins will have fewer suspicions if we leave her behind. I pressed a hand over my eyes. I know it is best, but I hate to be parted from her, Duncan. It is a blade, piercing my heart. If something were to happen—if she were hurt or fell sick, and I was not here to care for her—
I know how you feel. When PyrsVar took her on Vtaga, I thought I would go mad. A thread of dark, ugly redness colored his thoughts. We cannot ever risk her being captured and held hostage again.
Agreed. I rolled on top of him, straddling him before looking around the room. Did Xonea put one of his spy machines in here?
He shook his head, his eyes darkening as I settled against him. “I thought you were tired,” he said out loud.
“I am weary,” I murmured as I bent down to put my mouth on his. “Not dead.”
I was not a very good human, and still had much to learn about the ensleg among whom I would live. Coupling, on the other hand, I had mastered quite soon after agreeing to be Reever’s woman.
Coupling did not require much in the way of manners, words, or even thought. Our bodies had been fashioned to fit together, and the fitting of them provided an endless variety of sensation and satisfaction. Among the Iisleg a woman would never dare do the things I did to my husband in our bed, but I had never been a very good Iisleg, either.
I tore at his garments and then my own, trying to bare as much skin as I could before the need overwhelmed me. Since Reever had introduced me to the pleasure we could give to each other, I welcomed any chance to take his body into mine.
Thanks to what my creator had done while meddling with my genes, I did not scar, and despite receiving many serious wounds my skin remained as flawless as a young girl’s. Reever’s flesh, however, bore the scars of many battles. He had once been an arena slave, forced by the Hsktskt to fight other captives to the death. He had held back those memories from me, but I had watched him fight, and knew my fearless husband possessed frightening speed and inhuman agility.
Yet Reever actively avoided violence.
I knew why. When he had freed himself of the killing sands, he had vowed never to fight again. Still, he had fought for me, more times than I suspected I knew. He had gone into battle on Akkabarr, never wavering, so that he might find me again.
I bent to his chest, and as he slipped inside me, I kissed each mark, the silver-white keloids like tear trails against my lips.
“I am yours,” I whispered between each caress. “I am yours.”
Three
Of all the Jorenians I had come to know on board the Sunlace, I trusted Salo and Darea Torin most. Darea had been the first to call me by my chosen name, Jarn, and had supported my decision to avert another war by going to Vtaga to help the Hsktskt combat the plague of memory. Salo had stood by me when I went against my husband’s and Xonea’s wishes to the contrary.
I signaled them that evening, and met with them in our quarters early the next morning. They agreed to care for my daughter while Reever and I went to inspect some nearby planetary systems for evidence of black crystal infection.
Not that either of them believed that to be the reason we were leaving Joren, but they were true friends, and did not question the excuse.
“Reever has gone to secure our transport,” I explained as I served them tea. “We have both left recorded messages on the room console for her. We thought it best not to say farewell in person, to avoid having her again attempt to stow away and go with us.”
“A wise decision,” Salo said wryly. “Your ClanDaughter can be quite determined.”
“Xonea mentioned you will be leaving the pavilion tomorrow,” I said to Darea. “Will having Marel with you change your plans?”
“It need not, unless you prefer we stay here,” she said. “Whenever we return to Joren, we fly to the eastern provinces, to see friends and my natal kin. It is not a lengthy journey by glidecar, and I believe that Marel will enjoy meeting children from other HouseClans.”
“I agree. Nothing pleases her more than exploring new places and people.” I looked at Salo. “You must take the usual precautions, ClanCousin. There can be no photo images or vid recordings made of her. Our names must never be mentioned. No offworlder can know that she is our daughter.”
He nodded. “Duncan has created a protective identity for her, which we will use. We are to say that she is blood kin to HouseClan Kalea.”
I frowned. “No one will believe that o
ur child is Jorenian. She is too small, and the wrong color.”
“Kalea’s ClanLeaders, Jakol and Sajora, are half Terran,” Darea explained, “and they both have the same color skin. I signaled them last night, and they have agreed to verify the claim, should any inquiries be made.”
“That is very kind of them.” I forced a smile. “Marel should eat and sleep well for you, as long as she is not given too many treats between meal intervals. There is a cloth toy that she clutches when she goes to sleep; she sometimes misplaces it, so I put it under her pillow during the day. Her hair must be brushed twice daily, or her curls become tangled—” I stopped, aware that I was babbling.
“You need not worry, Jarn.” Darea put her hand on my shoulder. “Your Marel is as dear to us as our Fasala. We will never allow harm to come to her.”
“I thank you for that.” I heard the door chime. “That will be Squilyp; he is to take me to Reever.” I pressed Darea’s hands between mine, and nodded to her bondmate. “I thank you, ClanSon Torin.”
“Healer Jarn,” Salo said, his deep voice gentle as he performed a formal bow. “Walk within beauty.”
I was not given the chance to walk anywhere. Squilyp escorted me to a glidecar, one of the ground vehicles the Torins used to travel around their land. I was made to climb inside and sit in it. I tried not to look back at the pavilion as the Omorr engaged the engine and drove away.
“I am not leaving for Omorr until Namadar,” Squilyp said, referring to the Jorenian’s annual planetary festival to honor their central deity. “I will make routine inquiries with Salo and Darea and assure that Marel is well. Did you pack everything you might need?”
“Reever assembled the supplies and the equipment he requires for performing surveys for black crystal. I have all the emergency medical supplies we might need for the journey.” I opened the top of my medical case and took out a tan-colored blob sitting atop my instruments. The Lok-teel, an intelligent mold that among other things absorbed organic waste and sterilized surfaces with its body fluid, crawled up my sleeve and slipped inside my collar, where it nestled between my breasts. “Do you think the child will miss us?”