“Perhaps,” she continued, “it requires something more…intimate…before the mental neutering’s pain response is activated.”
That amused him and released his taut muscles. She heard a soft, deep chuckle. “Ruszel,” he said softly, at her ear, “if you expect something more intimate on the preserve of a temple, with religious Cehn-Tahr behind every tree, I may have to send you to Hahnson after all, with orders for psychoanalysis.”
She burst out laughing, and the spell was abruptly broken. She drew away from him, suffused with delight as she looked up into dancing green eyes. It was as if, in those few moments, a change had taken place in their relationship.
He smiled as well. “As we have already agreed, tempting fate is unwise. We must go.”
She followed him out of the woods, past the temple, past the robed figures who were smiling with something like amusement, and back to the skimmer.
She hesitated at her door and looked across at Dtimun. “It was a wonderful day. Thank you, sir.”
His eyes sketched her face. “You have never used my name,” he said suddenly.
She blinked. “It would be improper,” she said. “Besides that,” she added with twinkling eyes, “I have no idea of the proper pronunciation. I know that names are pronounced differently by each acquaintance, depending on the depth of kinship or affection or even enmity. Your language is still a puzzle to me. I had asked Komak for help, but as you might recall, his attempts to educate me were disastrous.”
He laughed. “So they were. What curses he taught you!”
“I’m amazed that you haven’t gone howling mad, having him as part of the bridge crew, sir,” she replied, laughing, too.
The laughter animated her, made her even more beautiful. He drew his eyes away from her. “We must get moving.”
She got in beside him.
She could not know, nor could he tell her, why there was no hope at all of anything physical between them. Ever. Just touching her had been dangerous. Exquisite. But deadly. He should never have allowed Caneese to tempt him into bringing her here. And she still had not divulged what Caneese had told her in secret.
All the way back to the Morcai, hardly a word passed between them. There was a new sense of comradeship, and something much deeper, that Madeline didn’t dare spend too much time thinking about. But she knew that her life had changed forever in those few hours.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Madeline had thought that she could separate her professional identity from the woman who suddenly harbored feelings she couldn’t control. But she couldn’t. In the weeks since she and Dtimun had gone to Memcache, everything had changed. She found herself watching him, flushed and flustering when she was around him, nervous as a cat. In turn, he had begun to avoid her. Caneese had warned her, for reasons still not understood, to avoid being alone with him. But that was simple. He never permitted himself to be alone with her. Now, even when she had to consult him on assignments, the door to his office was always left open.
The distance between them was new and disturbing. She didn’t challenge him, as she used to, or defy him. She had become quiet, intense, fascinated with the new emotion that was overwhelming her. Even as it grew, he became more elusive and his temper deteriorated even more. Things were bound to come to a head, and they did, at a called meeting of all Tri-Galaxy Fleet officers in the huge council chamber conference hall.
Lawson had called an informal briefing to update the officers of the various fleets on the newest Rojok technology being thrown at them on the battlefield. It came complete with holo images and tech specifications which were displayed on an enormous virtual screen, rather than on the implanted corneal screens worn by all personnel. Probably, Madeline thought wickedly, to give the admiral an opportunity to show off his new virtual toys. He did love high tech.
As they watched the information being screened, which had already been seen by the Holconcom, she found her thoughts wandering unintentionally toward her commanding officer.
Dtimun was leaning against one of the stone pillars, the epitome of relaxed elegance. She thought, and not for the first time, how regal he seemed in any pose he adopted. Ever since their outing on Memcache, her thoughts had been confused and disturbing. If it was a capital offense to have base desires for a comrade, it was twice damned for her to have them for an alien commander. Unwilling, her eyes went to his broad shoulders, to the hair as black as a Meg-Raven’s wing, contrasting violently with the red of his uniform. She remembered falling from the cliff, when he caught her. She remembered their day on Memcache, with the rain falling. She’d danced in the rain, and Dtimun had told her things about himself that no one else knew. The memory was the sweetest of her life. She knew that she shouldn’t succumb to the weakness. She tried not to. But that one, wondrous day was the happiest she’d ever known…
Inevitably, she felt the probing of her mind, accompanied by a sense of irritation. Dtimun abruptly turned his head and she felt the impact of his eyes halfway across the room, dark with anger.
She turned away, flushed, and tried to camouflage her loss of control with mathematics. This time, it didn’t work.
“I will see you in my office when the presentation concludes, madam,” she heard in her mind. His tone was not pleasant.
She grimaced. Komak was watching her with an amused expression. Odd, she thought, how he seemed to know when she was communicating with their C.O. mentally. She must be hallucinating. She turned her eyes back to Lawson and tried very hard to pay attention to whatever it was that he was saying. Her heart was racing like a wild thing. What she felt was growing more painful by the day. She only wished she knew how to control it. Today’s lapse was proof that she was losing her battle with her own feelings.
The silence in Dtimun’s office was freezing. She stood at parade rest, her eyes on the wall ahead of her, her hands locked behind her, her breath catching in her throat as she waited for him to speak.
Finally, he perched on the edge of his desk and pulled a small round white ball from the drawer. He activated it and placed it beside him. Its white glow would drown out any AVBDs that might be trying to eavesdrop. They were everywhere in the Tri-Galaxy Fleet, even in the offices of Admiral Lawson himself.
His eyes were still dark with anger as he stared at her. “I need not tell you how many protocols you have broken. It will suffice to tell you that it must stop.”
She bit the inside of her lip. “Yes, sir.”
“I should never have taken you to Memcache,” he said stiffly. “It has encouraged you to dwell on matters which can never have a resolution, tempted you to indiscretion.”
She started to speak, but a slice of his hand silenced her. His lips made a thin line. “I am not blameless. I agreed to take you to Caneese. But your lack of control over your…feelings for me,” he bit off, “may provoke a tragedy. There is no future in this.”
“Sir, I never…!” she exclaimed, shocked and humiliated by his blunt statement.
He stood up and moved toward her, stopping an arm’s length away. “There are reasons why we never mate outside our own species,” he said bluntly. “You will never repeat what I tell you here. Is that understood?”
She felt a cold chill. “Yes, sir.”
He drew a harsh breath. “Ruszel, you know the old gossip, that the Cehn-Tahr are descended from Cashto, a pack leader of the great cats, the galots, of Eridanus 3.”
“Yes,” she replied, fascinated.
“In a sense, it is true. Our emperor, in the early days of his rule, decided to improve our race. He employed the best scientists in the three galaxies to that purpose.”
She began to understand. “The canolithe,” she said, recalling his comment about their DNA being used to give the Cehn-Tahr eyes that changed color.
He nodded. “But it goes much further than that. The galots are sentient, did you know?”
“No,” she said, surprised. “That isn’t in any of the scientific studies…”
“There a
re no genuine scientific studies, because the galots tend to eat scientists who arrive to study them,” he replied with faint amusement.
Her eyes widened. “Eat…them?” She gave him a speaking glance.
He glowered at her. “The Cehn-Tahr do not eat humans.”
She cleared her throat. “I knew that. Sir.”
“However, the combination of enhanced galot DNA and our own produced genetic anomalies,” he continued quietly. “The mutations were encouraged when the scientists discovered that our latent psiabilities were so improved that we became telepaths, that our strength and speed increased exponentially, that we developed a third eyelid and additional cones in our optic makeup, so that we could see great distances in the dark. We could also hear and smell things that normal Cehn-Tahr could not.” The odd remark went right over her head, she was so intent on what he was saying. His eyes searched hers. “Our genome was changed forever, mutated into something neither feline nor humanoid, but in between.”
“That explains how you were able to rescue me from the cliff,” she guessed.
He nodded. “We can leap like the great cats. The clones of the Holconcom have also been modified to produce metallic-strong claws in combat.”
“Like yours.”
“I am not a clone,” he said. “My enhancements are far greater than those of your shipmates. The clones require microcyborgs to augment their physical abilities. I do not.”
“But we used them on you at Ahkmau,” she began.
“Yes, because I was unconscious and my control over my own health was diminished,” he agreed. His eyes narrowed. “But we digress. You recall what Ambassador Taylor said to you at the Altair reception some time ago, that if I attempted to mate with you, I would kill you.”
She flushed. “Yes. Nobody would explain it to me. Not even you.”
“My normal strength is five times that of a human male,” he explained. “I cannot control it under certain circumstances,” he added delicately. “I injured you gravely on the planet in the Dibella system simply in the act of saving your life, and I was completely in control of myself.”
She began to understand what he was implying. It was devastating. It meant that, even if the interspecies acts were revoked, it would make no difference. It wasn’t a cultural problem that separated them; it was a very physical one.
“During the Great Galaxy War,” he said softly, “Hahnson became involved with a Cehn-Tahr female, an outcast. I tried to warn him, but he was infatuated and refused to listen.” His face clenched. “She attempted to mate with him. When she realized what was happening, she called for assistance. If we had not been able to obtain an ambutube, he would have died. She broke his back in the first few seconds.”
She thought she knew Strick Hahnson very well, but she’d never known that about him. Poor man! Poor, poor man! But the implication of what Dtimun was saying made her sway with shock when she realized what he was saying.
His hands shot out and gripped her, stabilizing her, but he withdrew them at once and moved away. He went to the window and stared out it, fighting for control.
She understood now. Hahnson was a strong man. If a Cehn-Tahr female could snap his spine in the heat of passion, when she was out of control of herself, what could Dtimun, with his enhanced strength, do to Madeline in similar circumstances?
“Indeed,” he said aloud, having seen the thoughts in her mind. He didn’t turn. “My Clan was affected far more extensively than some of the others. Our…enhancements…make us dangerous. Especially to humans.”
She was feeling worse by the second. In all her imaginings, she’d never considered that their differences were so extreme.
“Your body exudes potent pheromones whenever you look at me,” he said in a subdued tone.
She honestly hadn’t known that it did. “But you couldn’t smell those,” she protested. “Your olfactory process…”
“My sense of smell is many times more developed than a human’s,” he said. “I have what you would call a Jacobson’s organ, which processes scent into sensory information. Even from a distance, your pheromones provoke a response which is becoming far more unmanageable by the day. Eventually, it will be beyond my control.” He did turn now, and his eyes met hers across the room. “I told you once that nothing in the three galaxies is more dangerous than a Cehn-Tahr male when he is hunting. You have become prey. No other male is safe if he comes near you. I would kill Stern, Hahnson, even Komak just for touching you.”
Her breath left her in a rush. It was far worse than she’d thought.
He moved back toward her, stopping an arm’s length away with his hands locked behind his back. “Perhaps now you can understand why I have tried to distance myself from you.”
“Yes.” She felt a sadness that permeated her very soul. She hadn’t realized how deeply she was involved until now. She looked down, noting idly how very polished his black boots were. “Is there no chemical means of controlling the…behavior?”
“None that ever worked,” he said flatly. “Caneese and I discussed this at length when we were on Memcache. She thinks the prophecy concerns you, but it also involves a child born of a human mother and a Cehn-Tahr father. That is impossible.”
Her heart jumped at the remark. Hopeless yearning came, and went, in her mind. She nodded slowly. “Is it?”
“In four hundred years, no Cehn-Tahr has found a way to mate with a female of any other species.”
She looked up. “Four hundred…years?”
“The genetic tampering, and an unprecedented solar flare during the time of experimentation, mutated our life span as well. Our emperor is over four hundred years old,” he told her. “He may live to be eight hundred years old. Our scientists think so.”
She was astonished. Her eyes searched over his face. “Will you live so long?”
“I am two hundred and fifty years old, by your measure of time,” he told her.
“You told us you were eighty-seven,” she burst out, and realized now that it was, like many things he had told the humans, a modicum of the truth. He could live to be eight hundred years old. A human life span was still a little over a hundred years, and many diseases and conditions of old age had not been eradicated. Dtimun would still be young, comparatively speaking, when she died naturally.
She had truly never realized how different their species were until now, when she knew the extent of the difference. A wave of something like grief washed over her and was reflected in the eyes that sought his face.
“So many differences,” she said hesitantly.
“More than I can even tell you, some of which have nothing to do with physical dissimilarities,” he returned flatly. “You must know that, under ordinary circumstances, I would never harm you. But my nature is savage, predatory.”
“If Hahnson could do a short-term memory wipe on me,” she began, “and take away the memory of Memcache…”
He touched her long hair, lightly, briefly, and withdrew his fingers at once. “The memory of that one day is all we can ever have of each other,” he said bitterly. “And removing it would make no difference. Not now.”
“But you said that the pheromones triggered the behavior,” she said.
“Once it begins, there is only one way to stop it,” he said with subtle meaning.
She saw the traces of stress in his expression. “Then, perhaps, if you…with a Cehn-Tahr woman,” she tried to put it into words.
“You are the prey,” he repeated simply. “It is not possible to make substitutions, if that is what you are suggesting.”
She bit her lower lip. Talk about impossible situations. The atmosphere in his office was so thick with emotion that it was almost tangible. She didn’t want to think about the loneliness of the years ahead, because her days with the Holconcom had to be numbered, now.
“At least temporarily, they are,” he answered the silent thought. “In the close confinement of a ship in space,” he added with a flash of faint green humor, “it wo
uld probably become noticeable quite rapidly if I began to murder male crewmembers who brushed against you in the corridor.”
It took her a minute to realize that he was joking. She looked up and managed a smile. “Maybe I could take vitamins and work out,” she suggested, tongue-in-cheek.
He chuckled softly, despite the gravity of the discussion. “An interesting thought, but it would make no difference.”
“Microcyborgs?” she persisted.
His eyes were a deep blue with sadness as he studied her lovely face in its frame of long, waving red-gold hair. “Our technology is not adequate to solve the problem,” he replied. “Many scientists have spent whole careers, covertly, trying. I have kept cells from Hahnson’s bonded consort all this time, in the event that a solution could be had.” He shook his head. “It is unlikely.”
“Edris Mallory will have to replace me on board,” she commented.
He actually groaned aloud.
“Don’t do that. She’s smart,” Madeline protested, “and she knows her job. She just lacks self-confidence.”
“I can never find her when I have a problem with a crewman.”
“She hides. You scare her,” she said. “If you could just temper your attitude a little…”
“My attitude is what it is,” he gritted. “I have never modified it, not even for you.”
She sighed. “How are we going to explain leaving me behind?”
He was wondering the same thing. It was going to be noticeable to the entire base.
She brightened a little. “Altairian flu is going around,” she said. “I’ll inject myself with a mild case of it.”
“A drastic solution, surely?”
“A mild case,” she repeated. “And then what?”
“And then,” he said heavily, studying her, “we will see if your absence alleviates my symptoms.”
She was frowning, thinking. “Isn’t there really any way to reduce them?”
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