by Chris Reher
By that time, Tharron suspected, a change of climate would not be objectionable. The trouble with his Rhuwacs was that they tended to foul their own nests, murdering, vandalizing and destroying until they started to turn on themselves. Then it would be time to pack them all up again into huge freighters and ship them to another place. Like restless children, Tharron thought indulgently, whining and squabbling until allowed to go play.
He chuckled to himself, rubbing his large hands together. "Bring me the Delphi!" he roared.
Two silent Rhuwacs approached, shoving before them the prisoner. Tharron grinned when he saw that someone had taken a knife to the blue hair and hacked a long tress from it. To a Delphian, the height of humiliation. Bound at the wrists, the prisoner stood before Tharron, his expression closed to him.
The K'lar leader observed the man with some surprise, having expected a cowering and bedraggled petitioner for mercy. This specimen, however, stood before the most despised rebel in all of Trans-Targon without a trace of fear, his arrogance blazing. He had been handled by the Rhuwacs, his long vest was torn and he bled from a fresh cut on lips already swollen from previous blows. Still, the blue eyes shone with defiance.
Tharron shifted uncomfortably. He motioned to his guard to force the Delphian to kneel before him. It made little difference. Kneeling, the man still seemed to tower over them all. Tharron hated Delphi and all that prospered on her lush soil.
"Do you know who I am?" he said in a low voice.
"Yes." The Delphian did not give him the satisfaction of reciting his titles and deeds.
Tharron's hands balled into angry fists. He had been warned that these people were able to feign an outer calmness through a trance of inner meditation. He curbed an urge to smash that tranquil face. "Do you know why you're here?"
"No."
"I have asked you here, my friend, to tell me a story." Tharron leaned forward, his hands gripping the chair's armrests. "Tell me what truth there is to what you call the Tughan Wai."
The Delphian recoiled as if slapped. Tharron's men nodded to each other, confident that all would be revealed as a children's tale. I was almost embarrassing that Tharron would go to these lengths to hear it. But then, this Delphian would not live to tell others about their leader's gullibility.
"Well?" Tharron prompted.
A small smile played over their captive's cold lips. "It is a legend."
"I have heard that it's a legend!" Tharron snapped. "And I don't believe it for one minute. Talk or you will die. I will hand you to my guards for amusement!"
The Delphian glanced at the Rhuwacs. Some of them sneered, showing their teeth. "The Tughan..." he began haltingly, as if afraid to pronounce the name. “The great Tughan Wai is the protector of all Delphi. He will guard our people against the evil wrought by you and that which the Union brings. His powers will shake the mountains and boil the seas..." he faltered.
Tharron had propped his chin into his palm and his other hand tapped idly on his armrest, bored. When the Delphian had interrupted his tale, Tharron bent close to him. "Boy, I believe that I told you that I know the legend. I am not interested in your borrowed prophecies and doomsday-crying. You see," he leaned back and stretched out his arms to encompass his entourage, "we would all like to know the real story." He turned to his men. "Would we not?"
Those assembled nodded half-heartedly. Real story? Comori directed a nervous glance at Pe Khoja. Pe Khoja shrugged but, as usual, did not look particularly concerned.
Tharron faced the Delphian again. "Talk."
"He will destroy your armies and fling your ships from the sky–"
Tharron struck the Delphian with a force that would have killed a lesser man. He snapped his fingers. "Comori!"
The small man, heavily robed despite the midday heat, hurried forward. His movements were quick and the Delphian, stunned by Tharron's blow, was slow to react. The doctor's instrument forced a pale liquid into his veins, heating his body from within, at once dulling his mind.
Tharron smirked. "Nothing like a bottle of wine to loosen your tongue, eh? Except, perhaps, for a little something from Mr. Comori." His harsh laughter chased what remained of peacefulness and tranquility from the garden.
The others waited, some apprehensively, for the drug take effect. Not even Comori knew how his truth serum would affect a Delphian.
"Now, Delphi, hear me," Tharron said companionably. "Talk or die, it's up to you. Tell me of the Tughan Wai."
"Of course," the Delphian said, his unfocused eyes seeing into the middle-distance. "As you know we Delphians have certain capacities within our minds that never developed in your own races. We have limited telepathic abilities, as you call them, and we can attain several distinct levels of consciousness and awareness. Most of you differentiate only between the conscious and the subconscious. Waking and sleeping."
"Get on with it."
"Yes. There is among us a sect called the Shantirate, something for which I, too, am being trained. My initiation was only two years ago."
Pe Khoja heard a groan escape the Terran doctor beside him. He winced at the grim justice of having taken a country bumpkin only to have him turn out to be a god-cursed Shantir acolyte! Karma, my dear Mr. Comori, he thought. He turned his attention back to the prisoner.
"Shantirs are those that have attained a deep understanding of how we may use our minds. They are our physicians, healing without surgery or medication. The mind cannot only heal itself but also the body that supports it. The Shantir are at once our doctors, our seers and our religious leaders. It is all very complex–"
"How does this affect the Tughan?"
"The Tughan Wai is an experiment. Many generations ago, the Union Commonwealth was a threat to us. As we saw it take hold of the part of our galaxy which you call Trans-Targon, we needed a way to defend ourselves. Traditionally, we do not bear arms. The Shantirs set out to create the Tughan Wai." The Delphian halted his monotonous narrative. An uncertain expression stole over his face.
"Comori?" Tharron murmured.
"He'll go on," the little physician said.
"Continue, boy," Tharron prodded.
"The Tughan is a person. It is also a weapon. We do not make guns and warplanes but the Shantirs can direct a mind to suit their purposes. Shortly after birth, a young mind can be influenced through a procedure called a khamal. Behavioral patterns can be created by the more powerful mind of a trained Shantir. I, too, was thus influenced at birth; my destiny was dictated to me. I will be a Shantir. Moreover, I want to be a Shantir. You are fortunate to have captured me, only the Shantir guild knows of the Creation. Others know only of the legend, which, of course, is nonsense."
"What did they do to the Tughan?"
"The Tughan Wai was their ultimate ambition. Many experiments failed, killing each candidate. There was too much power, too much knowledge..."
"Go on, what is the purpose of the Tughan?"
"Er, the Tughan is...The purpose of the Tughan is to destroy...things, people. Thought energy channeled in ways I do not yet understand. Terrible power...planets burning... Worlds exploding..."
"We're losing him," Comori warned.
"Worlds exploding!" Tharron scoffed. "Keep talking, Delphi, and skip over that apocalyptic nonsense. This is the last polite warning you'll get from me."
"But the children died," the man continued. "They died from the collective powers given to them by the Shantirs. Some went mad. Then it was discovered that such powers could remain hidden, lying dormant until the young mind reaches maturity and has been trained. New experiments showed some promise..." The Delphian closed his eyes tiredly.
"Give him another shot," Tharron ordered.
Comori shook his head. "It would not be effective. We can try again later. This drug was not designed for a Delphian."
Tharron stood up, looming over his captive. "Did they complete the experiment?"
"There were some successes." The Delphian's voice seemed strained, far away. "But more out of
curiosity than any real need. Our leader, Phera, then ordered the Shantirate to stop their experiments. The Union is no threat to Delphi. It protects us against you..." the man's body convulsed and the muscles of his face clenched to keep his lips from speaking.
"But they didn’t stop, did they? Does he live?" Tharron roared. "Does the Tughan exist?"
"...the Tughan lives."
"Does the Union have him? Do they plan to use him? How can I find him?"
"Sire," Comori warned.
The Delphian farmer tensed his entire body, his mind frantic in its efforts to overcome the drug and remain silent. "No Tughan for Tharron!"
Tharron lifted the youth to his feet, shaking him roughly in his insane desire to know the name of the man chosen to be the Tughan Wai. "Who is he?"
The Delphian hung weakly in Tharron's grasp. A whisper escaped him. In the tense silence, everyone heard the name he revealed. The name of the Delphian who would bring the entire Union Commonwealth to its knees before Tharron!
Tharron dropped the limp body, satisfied. "Bring him around. Feed him. I want him on his feet quickly." He paced, grumbling. "I need to know where this Tughan is. Can he be bought? I'll need one of those Shantirs to deal with him. I need..." He turned to the doctor now kneeling beside the prisoner. "I need him on his feet! I have a thousand questions!"
Comori looked up from his examination of the youth. "The Delphian is dead, sire."
Tharron was speechless. His first urge was to tear the physician to pieces. Had the man been anyone but Tamotsu Comori, he would have done just that.
"Dead?" he said finally, his voice hoarse. "How could you have made such an error?"
"This drug does not kill, Sire. This Delphian killed himself."
A startled murmur grew among the men present. Those more cowardly and those more experienced with Tharron's ire began to move toward the building, out of the immediate range of this wrath.
None believed their ears when Tharron let out a raucous bellow of laughter. "Excellent! If this peasant can simply will himself to die, imagine, all of you, the power of the Shantir. And then consider, all of you, the might of this man called Tughan Wai!"
His entourage drifted back together, nearly applauding in hysterical relief.
Tharron sobered. "I want him found! Pe Khoja and his crew will leave for Delphi at once to find out where he is. Is he working as one of those Shantirs? Is he loyal and to whom? Can he be bought? If not, find his family and use them as leverage. Go, all of you!" He waved them away to their collective errands. "Find me a Shantir!"
Comori remained hunched beside the dead Delphian. How he wished to have been able to study the fine mind. A farmer! He would never understand these people. He glanced up at his bellowing leader. Find me a Shantir! Get me the Tughan! Comori knew that it would take more than an army of Rhuwacs to bring the Delphian to Tharron. But didn't Tharron usually achieve what he set out to do? Didn't he know when and how to use people? He even knew exactly how much each of his men hated him and how much each of them needed him. He made men powerful and wealthy. Regretfully, he could make them dead, too.
They had all left the garden now. All, that is, except Pe Khoja. The Caspian lounged in Tharron's chair, a sacrilege that no one but him would dare. His golden, furred face was turned to the sun but his eyes were on Comori, unaffected by the intense light. Ah, that one, Comori thought. That one was different. Tharron did not own him as he owned everyone else here. The scholar, the poet, the murderer. Pe Khoja was, perhaps, the only rebel here that truly was a rebel.
"Looks like we've botched that one, eh?" Pe Khoja said, his yellow eyes alive with humor that so far escaped Comori. He had hooked his legs over the armrest of the chair, dangling large three-toed feet so endowed with fierce claws that few Caspians bothered with shoes. In contrast, his six-fingered hands were delicate and nimble. Most Caspians were amiable, courteous creatures who enjoyed the company of other species. Pe Khoja was not.
The doctor glanced around. "We can still stop it," he hissed.
"Why?" Pe Khoja said. "This is beginning to interest me. Don't tell me that you wouldn't like to spend a few long hours in conversation with this Tughan thing."
Comori looked at the Delphian’s crumpled body and nodded. "Of course. But I'm afraid that..." he cleared his throat. "I'm afraid."
"You? Afraid that Tharron'll blow up another skyranch or two? You've done that much yourself." He chuckled over some unseen joke. "Not with your head, though."
Comori glared at the Caspian. Of course he was afraid. He was afraid because Tharron was dangerous and Pe Khoja was dangerous and neither of them needed another bomb to play with. Yes, he would have liked to meet this wonderful creation. But not ever while it was on Pe Khoja's leash. Because Pe Khoja just might find it interesting enough to let Tharron use it. "I am afraid that Tharron is too obsessed with it to be cautious. He could endanger us all."
Pe Khoja cocked his head. "He's already done that, Mr. Comori. It's what's making us all very rich, isn't it? You'd just as soon work for the Union as you do for him, wouldn't you? But he," Pe Khoja nodded toward the mansion. "He lets you do things, doesn't he?"
Comori closed his eyes, willing this man to go away. Leave, take his murderous habits and knowing, ever-knowing, eyes and go away so that he, Comori could take the Delphian body to his lab and dissect its brain.
"I must be going," Pe Khoja sprang lightly from his perch. "I'll leave you to your doctoring, doctor, and see to my piloting. I think I'll head over to Delphi to see if I can't figure out where they keep this awesome personage. I seem to remember hearing something somewhere about that Delphian. It'll come to me, I'm sure."
Chapter Four
Neither Tychon nor Nova was in a particularly good mood when the ship’s system woke them on the next morning. Nova was unsure of how she ended up on the lounger instead of her own cabin and her recollection of the previous day was hazy. He told her most of what had happened on Feyd and she felt angry at having come through it like a greenie. Not only that, but he had jumped toward K’lar unassisted and without even jarring the ship enough to wake her, making it clear once again that her presence aboard his ship was unnecessary.
Tychon was more taciturn than ever. He flew the Eagle manually and needlessly and barely glanced at her while she sought to keep herself occupied during the long flight. No doubt he was irritated by her stupidity that could have delayed their mission, perhaps even endangered it. He finally left the cockpit when she asked him if he wanted to eat, which he did not.
He dug through some bins. “Just got confirmation and changed course for K'lar. It's on. Going to bust out a friend who was kidnapped by Rhuwac rebels. Make sure that your guns are working properly. We will be running into trouble."
"So you do have friends?"
"What does that mean?"
"That someone will put up with your quite unpredictably fluctuating levels of rudeness," she said pointedly. “You haven’t spoken to me all day. Then again, that isn’t so very different from most days.”
He scowled. "I am not paid to be nice to you, Captain."
She glared back at him, refusing to yield. “And I’m not paid to be ballast around here, Major!”
His eyes narrowed and for a moment Nova wondered if she had gone too far. She had never spoken to a superior officer like this and she was well aware that outward courtesy was something all Delphians valued.
He took a deep breath and his tense shoulders relaxed visibly. “You are not heavy enough for ballast. And my name is Tychon. Do not use my rank when we’re down there. In fact, don’t use it at all.”
“As you wish,” she replied, barely mollified.
"We'll be on K'lar soon. Have you ever been there?"
"Once, briefly. Desert, isn't it? Salt flats?"
He nodded. "One big dried up lake system. Not like Targon, though. Gravity is a bit light but that will give us an edge."
“What is your plan?"
He motioned her to follow him
to the map table in the center of the room. The slide he selected was at once illuminated from below. A rough, hand drawn map appeared on the surface of the table, altered here and there and marked with notes and landing coordinates. He bent over it, tracing a line with a long, blue-nailed finger.
"I hope that this is still pretty accurate. I am sure that I can get a few friendlies to create a diversion over here. If I have the correct information here, they are keeping him in one of these buildings. With luck we can do this quietly. We are building an orbiting station over K'lar and I don't want Tharron deciding that he doesn't want it there. I don't know who is being more audacious: The Union for putting a base over Tharron's home planet or Tharron for holding a Union member captive right under our noses."
"Maybe we're crediting the rebels with too much organizational skill," Nova said. "They might not even know what we're building up there. I mean, look at the layout of this compound!"
"Not unusual for Tharron. Most of his stations are no more than garrisons. What cities and airfields he holds he took by force from either our people or neutrals. He does not care for niceties. It will not be difficult to find Anders."
"Anders?"
"Anders Devaughn."
"Devaughn, like the General?"
"His son. He works as a liaison on the Union base on Delphi. Xenologist and language expert, ranked Captain. Any of that makes him valuable enough to be bartered."
"You think he's still alive?" Nova doubted that Tharron would bother to keep a hostage in good condition. All of his own men were expendable.
"He better be or they'll pay for that, too."
She studied his face. "What else are they paying for?"
His shuttered expression cautioned her to mind her own business. She stood her ground.
"Kiran's mother," he said finally, his eyes finding some object of interest across the room. "We were both regular Air Command pilots back then and escorting some settlers to a new colony in the Outlands. Easy assignment. Practically a vacation. We had to stop over on K'lar Four." Tychon paused to examine his nails.