by Viehl, S. L.
It took my vocollar a few moments to relate all that to me in the language I could understand. Not that I understood it. “Do you mean to say that I am too crazy to shield the Trellusans?”
“No,” Reever said, his eyes never leaving Xonea’s face. “He is saying you need a member of HouseClan Torin to approve your decision.”
“The Healer’s closest blood kin, to be precise,” Malaoan clarified.
Reever spared him a glance. “My wife is not Jorenian by blood or birth. Her only blood relative is deceased. Under Terran law, as her husband, I am her closest relative.”
“Once my ClanBrother Kao Chose her, Cherijo became Torin,” Xonea said. “After he embraced the stars, my House assured that she would remain our kin by granting her citizenship and formally adopting her.”
I felt bewildered, as I often did when being confronted by actions I had never taken. All of these things had happened to Cherijo Grey Veil, the woman who had inhabited my body before dying on Akkabarr.
“I do not consider myself Terran or Jorenian,” I reminded them. “I was born on Akkabarr, among the skela of the Iisleg. According to their laws, I am the property of my husband and subject to his will alone.”
“You may consider yourself whatever you wish, Healer,” Malaoan said kindly, “but your citizenship has never been revoked by you or your HouseClan. As such, it takes precedence over this claim of Akkabarran citizenship.”
“Very well.” It seemed obvious that they weren’t going to allow me to escape this special consideration. “So who do you define as my closest blood kin?”
“That”—Xonea kept his gaze locked with Reever’s—“would be me.”
If I was not crazy now, I soon would be driven to that unhappy state. “Then, Captain, would you please give me your approval?”
At last he turned toward me. “First you will provide more information so that I may know you are making a wise choice.”
My limited experience in dealing with my adopted Jorenian brother had not been terribly successful. On a previous occasion, when he had tried to prevent me from attending to the victims of a plague that was destroying the Hsktskt homeworld of Vtaga, I had been forced to threaten to take away his command in order to stop his interference.
Now, it seemed, he had the upper hand. My former self had referred to this sort of situation in her journals. She had called it payback time.
I resigned myself to dodging more questions. “What do you wish to know, Captain?”
The big male sat back in his chair, seemingly at ease now. “I want the name of the offworlder who harmed the female patient you operated on just before you and Duncan departed Joren. I want to know why you concealed the fact that the explosive device implanted in her body was mounted with a trigger specifically designed to detonate upon contact with your DNA. I want to know who is trying to assassinate you.”
Xonea didn’t care for my request for time to verify the medical facts behind his last barrage of demands, but I felt sure he wouldn’t accuse me of stalling in front of the other Jorenians. He didn’t. Nor did he protest when I suggested we reconvene the meeting at HouseClan Torin’s medical facility in the morning. I think he knew he had me right where he wanted me. I think my husband’s cold, unwavering stare also may have played a part.
Volea and Malaoan, who also sensed the rising tension between Xonea and Reever, quickly agreed to an adjournment, and after making polite farewell gestures, departed. As my ClanBrother left the conference room, he paused for a moment to loom over me.
“If the true reason for this fact-finding delay is to provide time for you and Duncan to leave Joren,” he said, a muscle twitching under his eye, “you will find that you must also obtain my permission for travel offworld.”
“Why would I want to do that?” I made my expression bland. “According to you, I am a mental deficient, and you have seen to it that I will be treated like one. My freedom has been taken away and my decisions will be made for me. Life could not be easier unless I were brain-dead.”
“I will have the name of the one responsible for this, Cherijo,” Xonea promised, glancing once more at Reever before he strode out.
After the door panel had closed and we were alone, my husband put an arm around me, and I allowed myself to lean against his shoulder.
I felt as weary as if I had spent three days fighting in a bloodsports simulator, until I formed a new link with my husband and his strength came flooding through it. How much do you think he knows about what really happened to us on Trellus?
Enough to justify an attack on the colony. Out loud, Reever said, “Marel is waiting for us with Salo, Darea, and Fasala at the pavilion. They arranged for us to have a private meal with them.”
I hated that we could not speak openly and freely, but Reever and I both suspected that the Jorenians were keeping us under constant drone surveillance—on Xonea’s orders, no doubt. “Then why are we standing here?”
After spending all my life on the frozen, wind-torn surface of Akkabarr, then weeks in the crowded, utilitarian envirodomes of an airless rock like Trellus, I could better appreciate the vivid charms of Joren. Above our glidecar, the sky, streaked with a multitude of colors, looked down at its beautiful reflection in the wide, gleaming fields of silvery yiborra grass. Flowering plants, the main staple of the Jorenian diet, grew everywhere, and in more colors than I could name. Nor did I mind the warmth and mild climate, although I suspected I would never feel at home anywhere but on the ice fields.
“It is lovely here,” I said to Reever. “Did Cherijo like it?”
“She did, although we never had the chance to spend very much time on Joren.” Reever maneuvered the vehicle around a slower-moving transport conveying cargo containers and some strange-looking equipment. “Do you remember anything of Terra?”
“I have your memories of North America and France.” I did not wish to insult his natal world, but both regions had seemed sterile, boring, and overpopulated. “We will never return there, will we?”
“No.” He sounded grim. “It would be too dangerous. We . . . Cherijo and I barely escaped with our lives the last time we were on Terra.”
The only blood family my former self could claim, aside from Marel, were the other products of Joseph Grey Veil’s illegal experiments in genetically engineering humans. I knew from her journals that Cherijo believed she had several “brothers” who, like her, had been made in Grey Veil’s laboratory, although something had gone wrong with each of them. One in particular, a disturbed young male named Rico, had captured and tried to kill both her and Reever as vengeance for how cruelly he was treated by their “father.”
I had no desire to visit Terra, and I could not think of returning to Akkabarr, not after experiencing the freedom of living among the ensleg. Offworld species like the Jorenians respected and valued their females; they were considered equal to males. The rebellion had changed how females were regarded on Akkabarr—we had gained much status while caring for the wounded on and off the battlefield—but if I ever returned to live among the Iisleg, I could still be beaten to death for something as minor as questioning an order issued to me by any male. So, for that matter, could Marel.
It struck me then how dangerous this situation with Xonea was. If I did not make peace with him, he might repudiate me, Reever, and Marel from HouseClan Torin. I did not know the laws governing those who had been thus expelled, but I doubted I would remain a member of the Ruling Council or be permitted to make a home among the Jorenians here unless I also remained a ClanDaughter of the Torin.
If I did not settle this and secure our place among the Jorenians, we might have no homeworld.
Like the Iisleg tribes on Akkabarr, the Torin resided together, only in much larger numbers than the people of the iiskar I had known. Each HouseClan occupied a native pavilion, a massive complex of adjoining structures in which every member of the HouseClan dwelled under one roof. The Torin pavilion, built of glowing white stone, was so large that it resembled a s
mall range of ice cliffs.
The only time Torins left their pavilions was when they selected mates, joined the crew of a HouseClan vessel on a sojourn, or traveled to visit friends or blood kin who resided elsewhere. Females were obliged to Choose a husband from an outside HouseClan, and leave their natal HouseClan to reside with their bondmate and his blood kin after their joining ritual; this likely to prevent inbreeding.
When Reever and I had departed Joren the last time, we had asked Salo and Darea Torin to keep Marel and watch over her.The parents of Marel’s favorite playmate, Fasala Torin, Salo and Darea had taken our daughter with them on an extended journey to visit other HouseClans. Reever and I never wished to be separated from our child, but after Marel had been abducted with me and Reever on Vtaga, we were determined to take stronger measures to protect her from harm—even if that meant leaving her behind to be protected by our friends.
Reever and I were greeted by every Torin we passed at the pavilion, so it took some time and many promises to meet again before we could go to the private room where our child and friends were waiting. But Marel found us before we reached the dining chamber; she rushed around a corner and threw herself into her father’s arms, pressing noisy kisses against his cheeks.
“ClanFather! You’re back. I’ve missed you so much.”
“As I have you, avasa.” Over her head Reever exchanged a glance with me. The activation and translation from my vocollar indicated that Marel had spoken to him in flawless Jorenian.
I did not mind if she preferred to use the language of Cherijo’s adopted people over her cradle tongue. From what Reever had told me, Terrans had not done a great deal to distinguish themselves among the sentient species of the galaxy—other than becoming hostile isolationists and xenophobes who liked to start wars.
“Was I not missed as well?” I asked the wall panel.
Bubbly blond curls bounced as wide, clear blue eyes fixed on me. “ClanMother.” She wriggled until Reever set her down on her feet, and then gazed up at me solemnly. “Your pardon, Mama,” she said in Terran. “I know you don’t speak Jorenian.”
“I have no doubt they will force me to learn it someday soon.” I crouched down in front of her and performed a quick visual assessment. My small, delicate daughter didn’t weigh much, but she practically glowed with good health. “You have behaved well for Salo and Darea while we have been gone?” I watched her nod. “You have studied your lessons and attended your teacher’s directions faithfully?” Another nod. “Did you kill anything interesting during your journey?”
“Mama, I told you before, we don’t use animals for . . .” Dimples appeared in her soft, round cheeks. “You know I didn’t kill anything.”
“I thought I should check, just in case.” I touched my brow to hers in Jorenian fashion. “Daddy and I missed you every day.” As her arms encircled my neck, my love for this small, beautiful creature clawed beneath my breastbone, tearing at my heart. I had never known such sweet pain as this, and I would do anything to keep feeling it forever.
It was not possible, I knew. While Reever and I had been physically altered to be virtually immortal, Marel had not. Our child would keep growing and aging until she reached the end of a normal Terran life span, when she would die—unless I did as Reever had asked me to and altered Marel’s body with chameleon cells, which, as they had for her father, would repair any cellular damage she acquired from age, disease, or injury.
I had refused to do it. Immortality had been a curse on my former self; because Cherijo had been created with an immune system that didn’t allow her to become ill or age, she had been experimented on, hunted, imprisoned, tortured, and otherwise abused. As much as I wanted Marel as a part of our lives, I would not deliberately inflict the same fate on my child.
My husband rested one of his scarred hands atop our daughter’s head. It seemed strange that two such unlikely parents had created such a glorious being. I had no memory of her, and before meeting my daughter I had existed in a strange, frozen state that did not allow me to care for anyone. Reever’s childhood, spent on one alien world after another, had deprived him of feeling or showing true human emotion.
Marel and the love she had brought into our lives were slowly righting the terrible wrongs done to us.
“Come,” I said, standing and holding out my hand. “We should not keep Salo and Darea waiting.”
Unfamiliar with the pavilion’s interior, I expected to walk into our friends’ quarters, but instead Marel led me into an enormous area well able to entertain a thousand. It had been decorated with cascading showers of purple, gold, and green flowers; baskets of fruit; and several small trees.
In the center of a web of woven yiborra grass, a single table draped with a densely embroidered cloth stood packed with enough food to keep an Iisleg hunter and his family fed for an entire season. Salo and Darea were at a prep unit, filling servers with hot, fragrant tea, and their daughter had just set down yet another platter of golden, intricately shaped breads.
“Is the rest of the HouseClan joining us?” I asked Marel as I admired the bounty.
She grinned up at me. “They wanted to. Everyone is happy that you’re home, Mama.”
The three Torins greeted us with smiles and fond embraces. Like all Jorenian children, Fasala had grown quickly, and now stood almost as tall as her regal-looking warrior ClanMother. From her ClanFather she had inherited a calm, thoughtful demeanor that often made her seem older than she was. Only when she grinned and chatted with our daughter during the meal did I remember that she was barely halfway through adolescence.
“Fasala was Marel’s size when we first met Cherijo,” Darea said as she, too, watched the girls. “Soon she will be a woman, walking her own path. During our journey she told us that she wishes to go to Omorr to study planetary engineering. She wants to someday help build new worlds for those who have lost theirs.”
World building had become a critical industry since the war between the Hsktskt and the Allied League of Worlds. Both sides had decimated and destroyed hundreds of planets during their battles; thousands of species had been displaced as homeless refugees.
“That is a noble and useful ambition,” I said. “Just before we left Trellus, the colonists gave us an Aksellan planetary mining map. It is handmade and very old. Perhaps Fasala would like to see a scan of it? I can transmit a copy to your quarters.”
“That would be of great interest to her. She spends most of her time studying maps and star charts.” Darea’s mouth tightened before she took a sip from her server of tea.
I knew that look. I saw it on my own face whenever Marel did something to worry me. “You are not entirely happy with Fasala’s plans.”
“In truth, I cannot bear to think of her so far away from us,” the Jorenian woman admitted. “If something were to happen to her while she is studying on Omorr, it would take weeks for us to reach her.”
I would have pointed out that the Omorr were an honorable species, and especially protective of children, but I knew she didn’t distrust them. “When Reever and I left Marel with you, I could not relax. Even as I know you and Salo regard her as if she were Fasala’s sibling, the little one is my child. My head knows that she was safe with you, but my heart still believes that no one can protect her as well as I.”
“Yes. That is exactly what I feel.” Darea set down her server with a small thump. “We create these children in honor, and bring them into our world so that we may fulfill our Choice. Then but a few, paltry revolutions later, we must allow them to leave us and walk their own path.” Her jaw set. “How did our ClanMothers manage to do it?”
“I cannot say.” I did not have to remind her that neither I nor my former self had been born to a living woman, for she immediately remembered and made an apologetic gesture. “No, Darea, I am not offended. I was never a child except in my mind. Our headwoman, Daneeb, would tell the new skela who were cast out of the iiskar and came to us to live in the now rather than memory or hope. That to dw
ell on what was, or what may be, diminishes our appreciation for what is.”
The tight lines around Darea’s mouth eased, and her expression turned thoughtful. “She was right. All we truly ever have is what is.”
Neither Reever nor I were particularly hungry, not after the troubling reception we’d been given at Main Transport. Still, I tried to eat as much as possible. On my homeworld, to waste food was unthinkable. I was gratified to see that the Torins, with their enormous Jorenian appetites, made short work of the feast.
Darea spoke only of their journey until the two girls excused themselves to attend to feeding the small cats, Jenner, Juliet, and their new litter of kittens. When we were alone, she nodded to Salo, who secured the outer door panel before setting two devices on the table and switching on the smallest of the pair. It projected a semitransparent field of pale green light that enclosed the table and the four of us.
“We may speak freely now,” Darea said, and nodded toward the device. “Salo brought this signal jam mer after he noticed several recording drones had been planted in this room. You know, of course, who arranged for us to meet here.”
Reever’s expression darkened. “Xonea.”
Salo made an uneasy gesture. “Duncan, neither Darea nor I condone what our ClanBrother is doing. Spying on you and Jarn is an unpardonable intrusion. I will challenge Xonea to explain himself before the HouseClan . . . if that is your wish.”
“No,” I said, before my husband could respond. “That is what Xonea wants: to provoke us into a confrontation, during which he can force us to disclose what happened to us on Trellus.”
It seemed ironic that Xonea was doing all this—monitoring us, having me declared incompetent, threatening to destroy the colony—in order to get what he wanted. Aleksei Davidov had been equally inventive and ruthless when he used similar tactics to force us to help him draw out and kill the Sovant.