by Diana Palmer
He scowled. “Their leader?”
“Yes. An elderly Cehn-Tahr, very tall, with white hair. He was sitting on the ground and a Rojok officer was about to chasat him when I intervened.”
“Translation?”
She shrugged. “I attacked the Rojok, the old Cehn-Tahr officer kicked the chasat away and I knocked the Rojok out with an injection.”
“And?”
“I fixed the break in his leg.”
He started to speak, his eyes a stormy-brown.
She held up a hand. “I asked permission first. He gave it. But he was still unable to walk properly because I had only minimal supplies with me.”
“Komak said you went into battle with the group.”
“Sir,” she told him, “I didn’t tell Komak...”
“What group was it?”
She bit back a sharp reply. But she hadn’t been ordered not to mention the encounter. “I’ve never heard the word before, and I can’t translate it. But he said they were a squad of kehmatemer.”
He got to his feet and moved to the door in a blur of motion. He locked it, activated a mute screen from a console on his desk and then stalked back to Madeline.
His hands shot out, cupping her face. While she was getting over the shock of his touch, he added, “Show me.”
It was no use pretending she didn’t understand what he wanted. She replayed the episode in her mind, trying not to notice how warm his hands were, that there was an odd, spicy, clean scent to his skin that made her giddy. She wasn’t supposed to be able to notice these things, much less feel them.
After a minute, he lifted his head. But he didn’t release her. “You led them into battle,” he said slowly.
She nodded. “Their leader said that Holconcom always command, regardless of the rank of other officers. I led them into battle. Then I created a diversion so that they could scale the walls of the fortress and clear it out.”
He let go of her and moved away. His breathing was slow and labored. He searched her eyes quietly. “You must never speak of this to anyone else.”
“I won’t,” she assured him. She studied him, trying to understand the implications of what he was saying. “Who was he, sir?” she asked. “He was wearing more medals than Lawson.”
“He is a career soldier of some considerable power on Memcache,” he said after a minute. He seemed troubled.
“Memcache. The home planet of the Cehn-Tahr.”
He nodded.
“He knew of me,” she said, meaning it as a question.
“That is not surprising. He was the most vocal of my critics when I announced your appointment to the Holconcom.”
“Really? Perhaps he’s changed his mind.”
“Perhaps.” He didn’t elaborate on just how vocal the old one had been.
He was watching her, very closely. “You did not carry a weapon with you?”
She glared at him. “You’d have seen it when I left the ship, sir. As it was, I had to attack an armed Rojok barehanded...!”
“Barehanded?” he exclaimed.
She grimaced at his expression. “Sir, he would have killed the old fellow if I hadn’t intervened. I had no weapon and no choice.”
He was scowling, as if the possible consequences of her actions were playing out in his mind. He looked troubled.
“I came to medicine as a combat veteran,” she reminded him. “I know how to disarm people.”
His eyes narrowed. “You are no longer a young cadet.”
Her high cheekbones flushed. Her eyes blazed. “Are you insinuating that I am too old for combat?”
His eyebrows arched. “Madam, in any other branch of the military, you would be sitting at a desk.”
Her fists clenched at her sides as she reacted to the insult. “Why don’t you ask the kehmatemer how I diverted a Rojok squad and facilitated their entry into the enemy camp?” she asked hotly.
He stared at her with that pale blue inquisitive stare that touched her mind. His face hardened. “You take chances,” he said curtly. “Far too many.”
“I belong to the Holconcom,” she began.
“You are a physician,” he shot back, interrupting her. “You have no business in combat!”
She glared at him. “I was an Amazon captain, sir,” she reminded him in an icy tone.
He cocked an eyebrow and his eyes flashed green for just an instant.
“I amuse you?” she demanded.
“At times, yes.”
“You sound very superior, sir.”
He locked his hands behind him. “You know nothing about us,” he said quietly.
“I’m a specialist in Cularian medicine...”
“Which gives you knowledge of blood and bone and cell structure. Nothing more.” His eyes darkened. “We reveal nothing of ourselves to outworlders, and little even to you humans who serve with us in the Holconcom.”
She didn’t want to react to that. She’d heard stories, of course. All the services had their gossip about the fearsome Cehn-Tahr. But she’d seen them fight.
“You have seen us fight,” he agreed out loud. “But in controlled situations.” His eyes took on that odd color that gleamed from them in the dark. “You are children, playing at war,” he said in a soft, dangerous tone.
“If you have such contempt for us, why ally yourselves with us in the first place?” she asked.
“The Rojoks would have decimated your numbers, after which they would have taken over whole star systems in the New Territory,” he said simply. “We have a long history with them, both as allies and as enemies. Your people and, consequently, the allied worlds, stood to lose precious worlds of resources. We had to intervene.”
She was too wary of more detention time to say anything aloud.
He saw that. Her spirit amused, and touched him. She was so beautiful. So brave. So foolhardy. She acted without thought. Her actions had saved the old fellow on Ondar, certainly, but could so easily have ended her life. It...disturbed him, to think of seeing her dead. Not for decades had he permitted himself to feel such things. Nor could he afford to, now. She was not for him. The differences were far too dangerous to her. But, still...
His chin lifted as he studied her with something like arrogance. “You must learn to control your impulses,” he said flatly. “It would give me no pleasure to have you urned for burial.”
Her eyebrows arched. “Are you certain, sir? Because you’ve threatened to make soup out of Komak, and I know I irritate you more than he does.”
A short laugh escaped his throat, and she flashed a grin at him.
“Only marginally,” he confessed.
She frowned. “Why does Komak run my names together, when none of the other Cehn-Tahr did?”
“The coupling of names among us indicates affection,” he told her gently. “Komak is fond of you.”
She smiled. “I’m fond of him, too.” She laughed. “He seems so...well, so human, sometimes.”
He frowned, as if the thought hadn’t occurred to him before.
“He isn’t, of course,” she added, but her mind went back to the sensor readings at Ahkmau, when she’d fought to save the commander’s life; the ones that found human elements in Komak’s blood. They must have been glitches, she told herself.
Dtimun’s eyes narrowed. “Of course,” he said aloud.
She grimaced. “Sir, it’s not ethical for you to read my mind,” she protested, as she had once before.
“By all means, let us speak of ethics. You brought Mallory aboard my ship after I ordered you not to.”
She shifted restlessly. “We have to have backup,” she said. “What if the Rojok had been quicker on Ondar?” she asked. “You’d have been without any Cularian specialist aboard.”
The thought was like a knife in him. He turned away abruptly, all amusement gone.
He removed the sound locks, and turned back toward her. “The next time I give you an order, I will expect it to be obeyed. Especially concerning sidearms.”
She saluted him.
He glowered at her.
“I’ll try to improve, sir,” she said formally.
He didn’t reply.
She paused in the open door. “The Altairian Space Service requires their medics to be armed,” she began stubbornly.
He closed the door in her face.
She threw up her hands and jogged back down the hall. “You bend over backward to help people and they serve you up fried every time,” she muttered to herself.
“What is fried?” Komak asked, jogging up beside her.
She glared at him. “You sold me out, you traitor,” she accused. “And just how did you know what happened on Ondar? I didn’t tell you.”
He thought for a moment and then grinned. “I have listening devices.”
“You do? But I didn’t say anything out loud!”
He only laughed. He ran off before she could continue.
She wandered back into the Cularian medical sector, where a flustered Edris Mallory was trying to contend with a wounded Cehn-Tahr who was attempting to leave the unit untreated.
“Get back in there,” Madeline told him firmly, “or I’ll flash the C.O. and tell him you filched the last of the entots fruit out of the galley on a midnight raid,” she added smugly, as he flushed. “The C.O. is partial to entots fruit and was very unhappy that they went missing, I hear.”
The officer frowned. “You would not do that, Ruszel?”
“Let Edris heal that wound and I’ll reconsider.”
He sighed. “Very well,” he said, and went back to the treatment cubicle.
Edris gaped at Madeline. “How did you know that?”
“I have spies,” she whispered with a grin. She whistled. “Boy, did you miss an engagement,” she added as they moved into the space set aside for their medics. “I almost got fried by a Rojok.”
“What happened?” Edris asked.
“Tell her, and you can explain the coffee to Admiral Lawson,” Dtimun said in her mind.
“Damn!” she thought furiously. The voice went away. Flushed, she glanced at Edris, who was all eyes. “It’s classified,” she gritted. “Sorry, Edris.”
“No problem, ma’am,” the other woman said with a smile. She sobered. “But it seems that it was a good thing the C.O. sent you to the council chambers instead of me.”
Madeline considered that for a long time afterward. Yes, it was a good thing. She’d had an experience that she would have been loath to miss. It had improved relations between her and at least a few of the Cehn-Tahr, and she’d saved a life. In her place, Edris might have folded at the most crucial moment, due to her lack of combat experience. But the voice in her head that had warned her about the Rojok attack, and the mysterious destruction of the ship that was strafing her—that was a puzzle she wondered if she’d ever solve. She’d have liked to. It had saved her life.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE STAFF MEETING had none of its usual passion. Probably, Madeline thought, because they were just past the difficult mission of rescuing the diplomats from Ondar and with no new objective in sight for the time being. Lawson was massing for a new offensive, and he never advanced without proper supply and communications lines. It would probably be weeks before the Morcai saw action again.
“We are within easy reach of Dacerius,” Komak spoke up. “Would shore leave not be a fitting reward for our latest ordeal of combat?”
“Hear, hear!” Madeline seconded.
Everyone else agreed, all at the same time. Hopeful looks claimed the faces that turned toward Dtimun.
He sighed, sitting on the edge of his liquiform desk, his arms folded across his broad chest. “Dacerius is far too dangerous a destination for shore leave,” he told Komak. “Rojok forward patrols have recently erected bases in the desert regions.”
“There’s always Benaski Port,” Stern suggested.
Dtimun glowered at him. “The most notorious port of call in the galaxy and, as you know, off-limits to Tri-Fleet personnel because of the war. I would turn my back for five standard minutes, and Komak would have sold Ruszel into slavery.”
“I would never...!” Komak exclaimed.
“In a heartbeat,” Madeline interrupted, glowering at him.
“If I did, I would ask a very high price for you,” Komak assured her merrily.
“I thought we might visit Memcache,” Dtimun said quietly.
There were looks of utter delight among the Cehn-Tahr. It was their home planet. Even Hahnson and Stern looked interested. Madeline was, too, but she tried not to show her enthusiasm.
Dtimun glanced at her. “One of the religious in the Mahkmannah compound has expressed a wish to meet Ruszel,” he said. “They are a private sect who live far away from cities and civilization.”
Madeline’s eyebrows arched. “But how would they know about me, sir?”
“A question which had also occurred to me,” he replied. “I have no answer.” He straightened. “A female of our species has the gift of prophecy. She is elderly and important. She wishes to speak with you. The request was passed to me by a high government official and condoned by the Dectat itself.”
“I would very much like to go,” Madeline told him.
“The rest of us could proceed to Kolmahnkash,” Komak suggested. “It is a beautiful city. It has the most fascinating exhibitions of cyberart...”
Hahnson and Stern raised their hands. “We love art,” they said almost in unison. “We’d love to see the cyberart exhibitions!”
Dtimun glared at them, and at Komak. “Gaming domes do not deal in cyberart,” he returned. “Kolmahnkash is notorious for them.” He stared pointedly at Stern. “As you well know.”
Stern grinned sheepishly. “Sir, we haven’t had liberty for months.”
“Hint, hint,” Hahnson added.
“My whole department is depressed,” Lieutenant Higgins interrupted. “I know a little gaming would improve their efficiency.”
“My whole department is more depressed than his whole department,” Lieutenant Jennings added.
Dtimun held up a hand. “Very well but Stern will be held responsible for any problems that occur,” he added, looking at the grinning human.
“We won’t have a single problem. I swear it on the lives of my children,” Stern said.
“You don’t have any children,” Hahnson reminded him.
Stern put his finger to his lips, frowned and said, “Shhhhhh!”
Even Dtimun laughed. “All right. You can rotate departments for R&R and use the scouts for transport. Ruszel and I will take the skimmer to Mahkmannah.”
Madeline hardly heard the rest of the briefing. It had always amused her that the somber Cehn-Tahr could conceive of and build a virtual reality complex as intricate and exciting as Kolmahnkash. The complex boasted hundreds of virtual gaming sites with tech so cutting-edge that the scenarios were virtually undetectable from reality. Engineers used them to configure fantastic designs, soldiers to test weapon concepts. No one knew what the Cehn-Tahr themselves used the tech for. Perhaps they were, like most of the soldiers, secret gamers who coveted the latest innovations in gaming.
She wondered how many of her crewmates would tag along with Dtimun and herself. She was curious about the request and the elderly woman who had made it. She must be a person of some authority if her request was approved by the Cehn-Tahr Dectat itself. She still wondered how the woman knew about her.
* * *
SHE JOGGED DOWN to the flight deck when she was called, a few hours later. She was ex
cited about her first visit to the Cehn-Tahr home world. She’d seen vids of it, but they were never much like the real thing.
When she arrived, it was to find Dtimun waiting beside a small scout ship, the series that Cehn-Tahr referred to as “skimmers.” They were all-terrain vehicles as well as spaceworthy transport. Only one of them was assigned to each ship, and only the commanding officer was allowed its use.
He motioned her inside. She buckled up in her seat, surprised that it appeared to be only the two of them making the trip.
“It’s curious, isn’t it,” she asked on the way down, “that a stranger would know about me?”
He glanced at her with dancing green eyes. “Caneese is a seer,” he replied, his hands flashing over the controls. “One of the few we recognize as infallible.”
She bit her lip. “Has she seen something terrible in my future, I wonder?”
He didn’t look at her. “A question I have been asking myself.”
He turned the skimmer in the general direction of the capital.
Madeline glanced at him. “Sir, isn’t this the way to the city?” she asked, having studied maps of the planetary capital.
“Yes. I have been asked to meet with an official at the offices of the Imperial Dectat. It will only mean a slight delay,” he added.
“Of course.” One could hardly refuse such an order, she thought. She remembered that the kehmatemer were headquartered here and wondered idly if she might get a glimpse of the old soldier she’d met and ask about his injuries.
* * *
MADELINE HAD NEVER set foot on Memcache. The Cehn-Tahr capital was like a softened contour of Terravegan architecture. The buildings here were so far conformed into the ecology that they seemed to be a part of it. There were no skimmers allowed in capital airspace. The avenues were wide and paved with natural stone, the sidewalks grassed and groomed. Pedestrians and motorists traveled in one-and two-person conveyances, which caused no pollution as they moved around the city.
The headquarters of the Cehn-Tahr military was taller than the buildings around it, glowing in muted blue and gold imperial colors. The transports inside moved freely, arching up to the second floor when they felt added weight. They reminded Madeline somewhat of the old moving sidewalks of ancient Earth that she’d seen in vids.