The Tigrens' Glory (Soul-Linked Saga) (Volume 9)

by Laura Jo Phillips

  “Neither,” Jung Del replied. “If you’ve no objection, I can transport us up to the yacht in just a few seconds.”

  “Excellent,” the Director replied grimly. “The faster the better.”

  “Indeed,” Jung Del replied.

  “I must admit, I’m very excited at the prospect of seeing a Xanti,” the Director said. “No one even knows what they look like.”

  “They resemble a class of creatures common to Earth called arachnids. They have more legs, and are quite a bit larger of course.”

  The Director grimaced with obvious distaste, a reaction Jung Del understood and concurred with. The Xanti in their natural form were truly disgusting creatures. He’d actually shuddered the first time he’d seen one.

  Jung Del rose and turned at the sound of the door opening behind him, hiding his satisfaction at the sight of Mark Baza and a very young military guard. Mark closed the door and crossed the room to stand beside the Director, giving himself away. The guard followed Mark’s example and took up a position on the other side of the Director. Jung Del moved to stand beside the guard, then pulled his sleeve back and pressed a few buttons on his watch. After a brief moment of nauseating disorientation, the Director, the guard, and Jung Del were standing in a transport room aboard the newest Marrazon battle cruiser, the Megalodon. They all waited a few moments for the brief discomfort to pass.

  “This way, Director,” Jung Del said when he was sure his guests were steady enough to walk.

  “Excuse me, Director, sir,” the guard said. “Where is Mr. Baza?”

  “Mr. Baza is a Xanti,” the Director said calmly as he followed Jung Del out of the room and up a short corridor. “Do they truly look like spiders?” he asked Jung Del.

  “Yes, they do,” Jung Del replied, leading the way through another door into a narrow room with one transparent wall. The wall was actually one side of a room sized tank filled with water. Standing on the bottom of the tank was a furious and frantic Mark Baza.

  “The Jasani have learned much about the Xanti and their bio-suits in recent months,” Jung Del said as they watched Mark Baza through the armor shielded wall. If Mark Baza happened to have a weapon on him, it wouldn’t do him any good. “The moment this one was transported into this holding tank, he was hit with low frequency sound waves and a high intensity electromagnetic pulse which effectively shut down the power of his bio-suit, and destroyed the signal beacons implanted in both his true body, and the suit.” Jung Del glanced at his watch. “His air supply will run out in a couple of minutes.”

  “How did you discover that Mark was the traitor?” the Director asked as he stared dispassionately at his longtime aide, who was now banging on the wall of the tank with both fists.

  “That I did not receive notice from you of Ellicia’s passing was one clue,” Jung Del said. “That you didn’t respond to messages I’d sent you, another. But the first, and most important clue was something Loggia said before he died. He referred to the idiot Xanti, Mark, who confused the descriptions of the Daniels women.”

  “I owe you much, Jung Del,” the Director said. “I don’t know how he managed to fool us for so long. Fool me for so long. It’s an embarrassment, to say the least.”

  “The Xanti have had thousands of years to perfect their ability to infiltrate races not their own,” Jung Del said. “They also have technology beyond that of the rest of us. Technology they steal from subjugated races. This is how they’ve managed to conquer untold civilizations and worlds. Not by battle, courage and might, but by stealth and subterfuge. There is no reason to be embarrassed, my friend. Nor do you owe me. Ellicia loved you, and I honor her.”

  “I can’t imagine the amount of damage he must have caused over the years,” the Director said.

  “Assuredly,” Jung Del said. “Most recently, we believe he was responsible for the escape of a prisoner, Eric Kick, who very nearly murdered Faith Meyers.”

  “Is Faith all right?” the Director asked.

  “Yes, Director, she is perfectly well,” Jung Del assured him. “She is Arima to the Admirals of the Jasani Navy, and quite happy. I understand that Eric Kick is now the sole resident of a small planet at the far edge of the galaxy.”

  “Outstanding,” the Director said, nodding sharply.

  “Yes, I agree,” Jung Del said. “It is also believed that Baza is responsible for all of the information the Brethren received on berezis for decades, and for the kidnapping of two women from one of your military bases, one of those being Hope Bearen.”

  “It will probably take years to discover all that he’s done,” the Director said with a disgusted shake of his head. “I now realize my office is unsecure, even though it’s scanned a dozen times a day. How did you know?”

  “As I said, the Jasani have learned much of late. I have a few gifts from them that will help you in detecting whatever Xanti technology may be secreted around your offices.”

  “That will be very much appreciated,” the Director said. Mark stopped banging on the tank wall and went still. “Will the Xanti die in there?”

  “That’s up to you, Director,” Jung Del said. “If you want a live specimen, we will provide it with air, cage it, and transfer it to whatever location you choose. If you wish it dead, we will allow it to drown. It’s the best way of killing it without causing damage to the Xanti or the bio-suit that might hinder your scientists later.”

  They watched with horrified fascination as the front of Mark’s designer shirt began to move, slowly at first, as though testing resistance. “You must make up your mind quickly, Director.”

  “Do you have the current data on the Xanti from the Jasani?” he asked.

  “I do, and Prince Garen instructed me to turn a full copy of it over to you,” Jung Del said. “It includes detailed findings of a full autopsy on a Xanti, as well as every second of recordings taken during a period of time when one was held prisoner before it was killed by a Xanti explosive device.”

  “I know our scientists would love to have this thing alive, but regretfully, I must ask that you kill it. It knows too much about the inner workings of the Directorate.”

  “Understood,” Jung Del said with a slight bow. The shirt covering Mark’s chest tore open and a huge black spider-like creature with ten legs and three segments scrambled out of the bio-suit that so perfectly mimicked a human man. It stared at them with hatred in its tiny red eyes, its stinger raised high as it scrambled frantically toward the top of the tank in a vain search for air.

  “I’ve seen enough,” the Director said, turning his back on the tank. The guard did the same, his face pale and sweaty. Jung Del opened the door and they all stepped out into the corridor.

  “If you can remain here for another couple of hours, I’ll have a secure area prepared for the Xanti, and the bio suit,” the Director said.

  “I thought to remain for another day,” Jung Del said. In truth, he’d never expected to trap Baza so quickly and easily. Even counting the two day delay waiting for the offices to reopen, he still had a full twenty-four hours before he had to leave Earth in order to make his rendezvous with the Jasani task force. “After that, however, I’m afraid I must leave in order to fulfill another obligation.”

  “We’ll have something suitable prepared by this afternoon,” the Director promised.

  “Send me the coordinates when you’re ready and they’ll be transported down.”

  “You’re sure you don’t want the remains yourself?” the Director asked. “Your scientists might enjoy studying it, and I do feel as though I owe you.”

  “That’s very generous, Director, and I thank you for the thought. However, we don’t study our enemies in that manner. The data generously provided by the Xanti are all we need, or want.”

  “Thank you again, Jung Del,” the Director said. “I will send a message to Prince Garen as soon as I return to my office thanking him, and his people. I would like to thank you more personally, though, if you will allow. Would you like to join me fo
r dinner tonight?”

  “Yes, I would very much enjoy that,” Jung Del replied, leading the Director back to the transport room as they made plans. Once the Director was gone, Jung Del headed for his private quarters. He needed to let the Jasani know that the Xanti spy had been neutralized, and that he was on schedule, and expected to meet them as planned. It still amazed him that he’d been able to travel from Terien to Earth in less than a day. Or, even more amazing, from Jasan to Marrazo in less than three days. As unbelievable as it sounded, he’d done it himself when he’d gone home to trade his yacht, the Predator, for the Megalodon.

  It hadn’t been easy to refrain from telling the Director how close the Xanti were to being neutralized. But he’d given his word, and he would never betray the Jasani, or dishonor himself by breaking it. He promised himself that he would return to Earth and personally inform the Director of the outcome of the upcoming battle as soon as he possibly could.

  Chapter Nine

  It was still early evening when Glory lit the last of the dozen candles she’d set around the living room of River House, inhaling their unfamiliar, but soothing scent. She’d spent the entire afternoon on the vid-terminal, reading. She’d learned so much in those few hours that her mind reeled with it. Lariah had not exaggerated. Women had as many rights on Jasan as men did, and knowledge was free to any who wanted it. By the time she’d turned the vid-terminal off she’d made up her mind about a couple of things. First and foremost, she would never again allow herself to be barred from knowledge--she would never become a part of any society that banned knowledge from people because of their sex, their beliefs, or their race. If she ever saw King Bashir again, she decided, she would thank him for banishing her from Ramouri.

  She lit the last candle, then went to the center of the room and lowered herself gracefully onto the cushion she’d placed there beside the mosaic Hope Bearen had given her. She ran her fingers over the cool surface as she considered what she was about to do.

  When she’d begun training to be a warrior at the age of nine, the first thing her instructor and newly appointed guardian, Pusan-Lo, had taught her was a method of relaxation and meditation called the Garra-Atea. The Flame and the Door. Glory knew, in an abstract, almost clinical way, that her early childhood had been filled with horrors of some sort. Thanks to the door she’d constructed in her own mind, she had no memory of those horrors, which had, of course, been the purpose of the Garra-Atea. She’d hidden bad memories behind the door, and burned overwhelming emotions in the Flame.

  The last time she’d summoned the Garra-Atea, the last time she’d meditated in any form, had been her seventeenth birthday, eight years earlier. Though she didn’t remember why she’d used the Garra-Atea to hide a memory behind the door in her mind, she did remember how difficult it had been to close the door again afterward. It had been a desperate struggle that she’d nearly lost. The thought of what those hidden memories might do to her sanity if they broke free terrified her so much that she hadn’t dared to meditate again in all the years since for fear she’d somehow cause the Door to open again without meaning to, and be unable to close it again.

  For Pusan-Lo’s sake, she’d pretended to continue using the Garra-Atea, forcing herself to hide all emotion rather than risk using the Flame, acting as though she no longer remembered things that had happened since her seventeenth birthday. Things that she only wished she could forget. She rarely smiled and never laughed, nor did she cry. She was dubbed the Ice Princess because, even in the heat of battle, she almost never showed emotion of any kind. Until she’d come to Jasan. In the past day and a half she’d smiled more than she had in the past decade.

  She’d had no intention of ever meditating again until Dr. Honey said it would allow her to speak with the Tigren. She was afraid of the door, and what was behind it, but her growing sense of urgency and fear for the Tigren were greater. Besides, she told herself, all she had to do was leave the door alone, and she’d be fine. The danger was in opening it, and she’d never risk that.

  Glory set the mosaic on the floor in front of her, closed her eyes, placed her hands palms up on her knees, her back straight, head high, relaxing every muscle. She breathed slowly and deeply, drawing the herbal aroma of the candles into her lungs, letting it soothe her. She reached the familiar dark space in her mind far more quickly and with less effort than she’d expected.

  In front of her and to her left, floating in the black emptiness, she saw a thick white candle, the wick burning with a steady blue flame. To her right was a heavy wooden door, bound with thick iron straps. She did not look directly at the door, but its presence caused a cold ball of fear to form in the pit of her stomach. She focused on the flame, feeding her fear, worry, and tension into it. Only when she was completely calm again did she move to the next step.

  After a few moments’ thought, she began building a small valley in the dark space around her. She made the valley narrow with a clear stream running along one side, then surrounded it with hills dotted with wildflowers The grass was blue, and the skies were lavender with puffy clouds that drifted in a gentle breeze. When it was complete, she nearly smiled at her creation. Tilting her face toward the sky and closing her eyes to help her focus, she called to the Tigren.

  “Kyerion. Kirkeon. Cadeon.”

  “Glory?” Kyerion replied, his voice faint, but clear.

  “Yes,” she replied, excited at how easy it had been to reach him. “Can you follow my voice?”

  She actually felt Kyerion as he searched for the thread of her voice in his mind. She sent more of her self along it, strengthening the thread, working on instinct without trying to analyze what she was doing or how she was doing it.

  “There you are,” he said softly, finding her thread. She felt him moving toward her.

  “Kyerion?” Kirk called. “Who is that?”

  “Glory,” Kyerion replied. “She has come to us.”

  “Glory is here?” Kirk said doubtfully. “How? Is this a trick?” Kyerion hesitated and Glory’s heart skipped a beat. Without their cooperation, she’d never be able to find them.

  “This is no trick,” Glory said. “I’ve just learned how to speak with you while I’m awake. Please, come to me so we can talk. It’s very important.”

  “I’m going,” Kyerion said resolutely. “If you wish to join me, Kirk, bring Cade with you.”

  “I’ll try,” Kirk said.

  Kyerion moved more quickly as Glory continued to feed energy along the thread until she felt his presence with her in the valley. She opened her eyes and looked toward the far side of the valley, then swallowed a gasp at her first sight of Kyerion in human form.

  He was, quite simply, stunning. Seven feet tall at least, maybe more, and broad shouldered, with skin the color of burnished mahogany. He had straight, waist length black hair with thin, randomly spaced stripes of gold that glittered in the bright light of her imaginary sun. His nose was broad and rather flat, his mouth wide and thin lipped, his cheekbones high beneath metallic gold eyes that tilted up at the corners much like her own, giving him a cat-like appearance. A spiral design consisting of three sets of three curved arms joined at the center graced his left cheek, reminding her of Lariah’s lau-lotu. He wore low slung black leather pants that laced up the front, black, calf high boots, and an open black leather vest that revealed a chest and abdomen that rippled with muscle. A wide band of hammered gold wrapped around each enormous bicep, and a heavy gold torc circled his neck, each end bearing a snarling tigrenca head.

  Glory took in every detail as he walked toward her, each movement of his powerful body smooth and graceful, his gaze intent as he studied her in return. Before she’d drunk her fill of the sight of Kyerion, two more men shimmered into being just behind him. They were exact copies of Kyerion down to their clothing, except that Cade had copper eyes, copper streaks in his hair, and a copper spiral pattern on his cheek, and Kirk’s eyes, streaks, and spiral marking were all silver. She barely wondered how she knew which was
which because, for the first time in her life, Glory was overwhelmed with a rush of unfamiliar physical sensations that she could not identify.

  Her mouth went dry, her nipples hardened to points, and heat pooled low in her belly as little shivers of excitement raced up and down her spine. She felt confused, off balance, and entirely unable to control her physical responses, which was both foreign, and disturbing. She was glad when Kyerion stopped and turned to face his brothers because it gave her a few moments to regain some semblance of composure.

  The men stood in a small circle and spoke quietly to each other, nowhere near loud enough for her to hear them. It occurred to her that the valley was her creation, and that there should be a way for her to listen to them, but before she could figure out how, they all turned to stare at her. She swallowed hard, fighting to keep her feelings from showing as they began stalking toward her, all three sets of metallic eyes fixed unwaveringly on her. Her heart began thumping so hard she could actually hear it banging away in her chest.

  They stopped a few feet in front of where she sat, making her feel small and vulnerable for the first time since her childhood. She leapt to her feet, one hand automatically going to the hilt of her sword without thought, even as she reminded herself that here, in this place created by her mind, she could not truly be harmed. She forced herself to meet Kyerion’s gaze straight on, surprised at how far up she had to look to do it.

  Just short of six feet herself, she was considered abnormally tall for a woman of Ramouri. Few men were as tall as she was, and even fewer were taller. Her height, like her metallic eyes and a few other not so obvious traits, was just another mark of how different she was from her own people. For the first time in many years, she felt almost small. The top of her head didn’t quite reach their shoulders. They were even taller than the Dracons, the tallest men she’d ever seen in her life until now.

  All of this went through her mind in the instant before her eyes met Kyerion’s. Then, everything stopped. Her breath caught in her throat, her heart forgot to beat in her chest, and her mind stuttered to a halt as she lost herself in their golden depths.