Tethered

by Pippa Jay

  She slowed her breathing and heartbeat, pushing herself into dormant mode. The trip would pass far quicker in that trance-like state, and should sync her body clock to standard Terran time on the Seclusion.

  ***

  Her mind drifted as her body flashed through warp space.

  Mirsee.

  Flawed Su. Terran co-delegate and bondmate to Zander D’joren. All through her debriefing, the hologram had stared at Tyree as it hovered above the data pad, the face a perfect mirror of her own. As she expected it to be. Her long, straight black hair was worn differently, of course, and her expression far more placid than Tyree had felt at that moment, but essentially her double in all respects. Blue-eyed, black-skinned, a narrow face with a pointed chin, high arching eyebrows and a broad, curving forehead. The only fascination now was the knowledge that both she and her deceased twin came from bonded Inc-Su parents rather than a single entity. Could she see either of those unknown parents in their shared face if she stared hard enough? Unlikely. The majority of Inc-Su were similar in form—tall and lanky, with slight variations in coloring—as all those in Refuge were cloned from the thirteen council members. The only thing she could be reasonably sure of was she wasn’t one of M’roc’s grouping. She’d seen those around before and they were unmistakable with their heavier build, brown eyes, and caramel skin.

  Of the remaining twelve, there was little to distinguish between them. The passage of time had wiped all distinctive features and color tones from the faces of G’vorek, Tawn, and Shivis—the three most ancient—leaving them gray and wrinkled. Tyree could potentially be from any dual combination of them, although sallow-skinned, brown-eyed Pexie or white-faced and diminutive Mishkel paired to one of the more common ancestors seemed unlikely.

  Concentrate on the mission...

  She pulled herself away from idle musing. The process of renegotiation took an entire Tier-vane solar year—nine months in Terran time. Within moments of the official ceremony to inaugurate the two human delegates—synchronized to the exact same ceremony among the Tier for their own diplomats—a sniper had taken out three members of the delegates’ entourage and injured D’joren before being eliminated. The assassin had been human, of course. No Inc-Su would have failed so dismally, and with unnecessary casualties to boot.

  Barely a month later, a bio-weapon had been released into D’joren’s household, killing most of the staff. Both delegates had been absent at the time.

  Idiots, Tyree sneered inwardly.

  That perpetrator had never even been identified, but they wouldn’t have been Inc-Su, either. None of her kin were that sloppy. They certainly wouldn’t have resorted to a filthy bio-weapon, not with all the risks of cross-contamination it entailed. So who had ordered the attempts?

  Human extremists? They were an urban legend, and even if some human group wanted the treaty ended, a war against a superior force was insane. Not that it would necessarily stop someone from trying it.

  What about the Tier-vane themselves? Their military had raised a protest over the last negotiation, but the treaty had still gone through, perpetuating another century of peace. If they were so against the treaty, then why all the preparation for renewal?

  And now, this final attempt. She’d been shocked to discover it had taken place six months ago. The delegates’ ground car had been attacked in transit. Tracker mines had followed the craft and snuck in under the defenses, attaching themselves to the car faster than security could pick them off. Three had exploded in total. Both humans had been severely injured, but because of their status were rushed to a nearby military stronghold rather than a medical center. When it became clear Mirsee was unlikely to survive her injuries, they’d gone into security lockdown and the condition of both delegates kept secret. Mirsee had died, though D’joren hadn’t known until days later when he regained consciousness himself. As a diplomat, he had understood the situation, though she couldn’t imagine what it had cost him.

  The Terran Assembly, in a panic over the whole affair, had supposedly whisked both delegates to the Seclusion and were maintaining the illusion that both were injured, but recovering, as they desperately tried to come up with a solution. That solution was her.

  The select few already placed on the Seclusion knew about the planned deception. Tyree would be smuggled aboard, and she and D’joren would spend a few days getting to know each other and perfecting their act. They would reappear in public for the official reinstatement as co-delegates before transportation to the neutral meeting zone between the Territories of the Galactic Commission and the systems of the Tier for a pre-treaty introduction to their Tier-vane associates.

  But did they really think she could pull this off? This wasn’t anything like the jobs she was used to. While supremely confident of her abilities as an assassin, she seriously doubted her capabilities as an actress.

  Then there was D’joren himself. His file listed him as in his fourth decade. Humans didn’t live as long as Inc-Su, but that still only put him in his first quarter, while her thirty years made her a relative teenager in comparison. An impressive list of commendations, both as a G-Comm Warden and in the diplomatic corps, dominated his file, with few interests outside his career even being touched upon. But there was no description or picture in his file. That struck an off chord. Sure, he wasn’t a target so she couldn’t expect his file to be like those she normally received, but why no image?

  First impressions count. Maybe he wants to see how I react?

  No doubt his many skills would include accurately assessing someone on their first meeting. Unless he’s so hideous he thought I might pass on the mission?

  She considered that. Of the fourteen targets she had been assigned, most had been male and not particularly attractive. Not that it bothered her. Both the physical and auric release during sex were a bonus in her profession, and that was all that counted, although she had to admit to taking her time more with those she had found handsome in some way. Her last assignment had been devastatingly gorgeous and extremely skilled, in his fashion, but it still hadn’t earned him a reprieve.

  Not that it will make any difference. I am not going to sleep with D’joren.

  She’d had the odd lover among the Inc-Su during her quieter periods when the physical need for sex outweighed her natural aversion to her own kind. After all, Inc-Su didn’t need to breed. They were deliberately sterile, and immune to any of the possible infections transmitted by exchange of bodily fluids: a necessary defense in her profession. But sex with her own kind was a completely different experience, where auras were shared, not taken.

  What had it been like for D’joren with his Su mate? It was possible for a human and Inc-Su to have sex without it killing. She’d never tried it herself, other than to practice and intensify her control of her abilities, and to prolong the experience for herself. What would it be like?

  Sudden heat coursed through her veins and pooled in her abdomen, shaking her from dormancy. Mentally, she slapped herself and pushed back under. She wasn’t going to take Mirsee’s place in his bed, no matter what. She’d agreed to act the part and be his bodyguard, but that was all.

  ***

  Bright light burst across her vision, and a breath of cold air huffed over her skin. She shivered.

  “Are you well, lady?” The husky feminine voice sounded nervous. Most humans finding a Su in their delivery would’ve probably run screaming or died of fright on the spot.

  Tyree drew a long, deep breath, shaking off her dormancy. “I think so. And you are?”

  “Visaya, lady.”

  Well, that was to plan. At least she’d made it to the right place and person.

  Tyree levered herself out of her padded cocoon. Visaya stood beside it; a tiny woman with golden-tinted skin, dark almond-shaped eyes that slanted, and a snub nose. Her long black hair had been gathered up into ornate braids around her head, as though sculpted from jet.

  Tyree tried to wriggle her legs from the padding at the end of her casket,
but when that failed she simply Misted them out and floated through the coffin and the trolley it rested upon. The sudden widening of Visaya’s eyes and her step back told Tyree she’d made a mistake. Mirsee wouldn’t have been able to do that. And few humans who witnessed it lived to tell the tale about that particular ability.

  “Sorry,” she said to the woman. “Sometimes I forget myself.”

  “No matter, lady.” Visaya inclined her head. “But please do not attempt that in public.”

  Ouch.

  Chastened, Tyree smoothed down her Su shift. “Well, I guess we should get started. Where’s D’joren?”

  “The master asked me to attend to you. He hopes to meet you shortly, but felt that we should start with your preparations.”

  So he’s blown me off on the first meeting?

  Irritation prickled down her back, but that was hardly Visaya’s fault. “And these preparations involve?”

  “Your hair and clothing. The master felt we should begin as we mean to go on. I will arrange your clothing and your hair for you each day. I am to give you every assistance.”

  Tyree made a noise of disgust. The prospect was as appealing as eating raw fish guts. As long as she was clean and decently attired, as prescribed by the Rules of Decorum, and her hair didn’t get in her way, she was done. She’d never seen the point of the extravagant lengths some people went to, but if it was necessary... “Let’s get on with it then.”

  ***

  Tyree gazed at her image with a sensation akin to horror. That wasn’t her. She’d never looked like this. Like some gloss painted, surgically enhanced Skiv putting herself up for sale.

  She touched the elaborate coils of her hair in wonder, watching the alien reflection do the same.

  “Is it to your liking, my lady?” Visaya asked, her voice quivering.

  “I...I’ve never worn it up like this.” Tyree continued to stare.

  “It was how the Lady Mirsee liked it.” The woman’s voice broke, and she sniffed. Tyree turned to look at her, stunned to see tears flowing down the attendant’s face. Was she so offended by Tyree’s reaction?

  “I didn’t mean to be rude.” The apology snagged in her throat. It was a first, but in this situation she didn’t want to make too many mistakes around these humans.

  “No, lady, it is not that. It is very strange to see another in my lady’s clothes. Someone so alike, and yet you are not her.”

  “It freaks you out a bit?” Tyree stared at her reflection again. “Yeah, I can understand that feeling.”

  Visaya sobbed harder, and discomfort ran down Tyree’s spine. What was the woman so upset about? Su never cried, and certainly never mourned anyone. Talented Inc-Su could be cloned again, and there were few emotional attachments in Refuge.

  “Do you miss Mirsee?”

  Visaya wiped her eyes. “She was a great lady. And we grieve for the master’s loss.”

  Hmm. The master, huh?

  Tyree straightened. It might be his title, but Zander D’joren was no master of hers. Not even if he Tethered her.

  “Then perhaps it’s time I met him. I’m sure he’ll want to see how I compare.”

  And a visual comparison is all he’ll be making, or I’ll snatch the aura right out of him.

  Visaya gestured to the door. “This way, my lady.”

  ***

  Visaya passed her to a majordomo, who gave his name as Pevanne. Despite his wrinkle-etched face and grayed hair, he moved with an ease someone half his age might have envied. Had he been modified? While Inc-Su chose genetic revision to maintain youth and longevity, many humans resorted to pharmaceutical treatments, nanotechnology, and cybernetic enhancements to prolong their useful lives. The concept sickened her. Why accept such alien invasions into your body when it could’ve been prevented at conception?

  He led her to an anteroom and then excused himself. The room formed a glass hemisphere overlooking the blue-green sphere of Terris. Sunlight gave the glowing world a brilliant halo that would’ve been blinding without the grayscale filters in the metaglass that dampened the glare. Black and white checked tiles covered the floor, with a single pseudo-marble topped table at the center. Ornate metal gold legs curved out from under the surface like the coiled roots of a petawi tree.

  Trepidation strummed along her nerves in a way she hadn’t felt since her first assignment. Sweat dampened her palms, and she tried to wipe them on the formal robe without being seen. The material, in folds of copper satin, refused to accept the moisture and she clenched her hands into fists. How much longer? She didn’t want to wait in this anteroom, in an ornate, full-length dress, and her hair gathered into braids on her head and drawn so tight she felt as if her face had been pulled back several inches into her scalp. Why did they have to go through with this poxy charade? Why couldn’t she and D’joren just go for a capprey together and say hello. It shouldn’t take a whole frigging performance for a single greeting.

  Stop fidgeting! she told herself.

  This was more than nerves. Perhaps it was the shielding the council had provided her to protect her from the influx of auras. In Refuge, the Inc-Su lived in harmony with each other—well, relatively speaking—and shielding wasn’t necessary. Out in the field, they could control it for a time, long enough for the job, but it was draining. Having to maintain that shield for the foreseeable future would’ve seriously impaired her ability to function, but the nanotech device seemed to play on her nerves. Like a subliminal buzz at the edge of her mental hearing.

  Her fingers drifted to her right collarbone and brushed the slight ridge beneath her skin where the control had been grafted into the bone. As a general rule, Inc-Su shunned any kind of cybernetic enhancements, already being genetically specialized. Most traveling outside Refuge wore a shielding device for convenience, but in her role as Mirsee the device needed to be hidden. Submitting to the insertion of such tech into her own body had been like ingesting a disgusting parasite. Raw.

  “My lady?” The majordomo called to her from an open door behind her. In her agitation, she hadn’t even heard him coming. Damn it, what good would she be as protection if she couldn’t keep herself under control? D’joren had her behaving like an untutored newbie.

  Her anxiety focused into a fine beam of resentment for her co-delegate. This was all his fault!

  She drew herself up, sucked in a long breath, and willed the turmoil in her gut still as she trailed Pevanne into the main room. Calm seeped through her as she let the breath back out in a slow sigh. D’joren was only human, and she was fully-trained Su. She outranked him, and she could kick his co-delegate behind with both hands tied.

  A hunched figure, dressed in brown, sat with his broad back toward her, and irritation threatened her newly-reclaimed composure. Damn it, didn’t he know any basic personal safety measures at all? If she’d come as his assassin instead of his co-delegate, he’d have been a dead man already. A thought warmed her. She might be here as his protection, but she could damn well beat some sense into him in the guise of training. The prospect forced a small smile onto her face as she imagined him on his back and at her mercy.

  She stalked across the floor, but with her stealth shoes on only the rustling of her robes announced her presence. If D’joren heard her, he made no move or acknowledgement.

  She swept around the table, barely allowing the majordomo to voice the invitation to sit before she plumped herself into the chair that faced D’joren. He had his head bowed over a data sheet and his face half-hidden by a fringe of fine, brown hair streaked with gold. His right hand rested against his cheek.

  “Master D’joren,” she said briskly. “I am Tyree of the Su.”

  His head rose and his eyes met hers. She gasped, and her gaze snatched to the side of his face that he’d kept covered until now. Scars twined across his cheek and threaded into his hair. They had pulled up the corner of his eye—which was clearly cybernetic, judging by the fine silver threads through the white.

  “Striking, aren’t the
y?” he said. His voice reminded her of sweetened capprey: smooth, soothing, and yet with a hint of bitterness at its heart.

  She forced herself to meet his gaze squarely, although the heat over her skin told her she was blushing like a scolded youngster. Had he done this deliberately? To test her?

  “Very striking,” she said, holding her tone steady. Her pulse raced more ferociously than in the aftermath of euphoria, and she kept her fingers clenched tight. Concentrated her gaze on him, as if assessing a target. A broad, triangular face, but with a strong jawline. A cleft in his chin. Eyes a shade of golden brown she’d never seen before. “Couldn’t regenerative surgery fix—?”

  “Oh, it could.” D’joren folded his long fingers together and rested his chin on his clasped hands. The shoulder-length brown hair fell forward, once more partially obscuring the scars on the side of his face. “I doubt many would even notice after the work was done. But I refused it.”

  “Why?” She bit her lip as the word escaped. G’vorek called her forthright. Most of her peers went with damn rude.

  “Several reasons. For one, I wish the Tier-vane to see what I’ve gone through in order to perpetuate the truce. Their society appreciates such gestures. And, not that I would ever forget, but it reminds me each day why I have to keep going. Why I am here. Someone wanted the truce broken, and I will not permit that no matter what they may try. Lastly...” His voice trailed away, and Tyree saw a shadow of fear darken his expression. He loosed one hand to brush the scars on his cheek. “...but that’s a subject for another day, perhaps.” A smile warmed his face, and Tyree couldn’t hold back an answering grin.

  By the Mothers, he was handsome even with those scars. More so perhaps. He’d faced death and survived. She could admire that trait, even in a human.

  “Forgive me, but I’m forgetting my manners. Welcome to the Seclusion, Tyree of the Su.”

  Again, that faint hint of bitterness edged his voice. He’d been here for six months after all, a virtual prisoner. His dark eyes remained fixed on hers, and the intensity of his look unnerved her. Was he comparing her to Mirsee? “Thank you, Master D’joren.”