Star Trek: The Original series: Rihannsu: The Bloodwing Voyages

by Diane Duane

  Research went on, while the travelers, eager to stop traveling, decided the questions of who should live where. No logical method could be approved by everyone, especially since there were several pieces of especially choice real estate that one or more groups had their eyes on. There was also concern that people should be sufficiently spread out so as not to overtax the resources of any one area in the long term. After several months of extremely acrimonious argument in ships’ Meetings, S’task wearied of it all and suggested that the ships merely choose areas to live in by lottery. To his extreme surprise, the complements of the other ships agreed. Some ships preferred to go into the lottery as entire units, others divided up along family or clan lines, so that septs of clans scattered among the four surviving ships would all go to one area together.

  The two planets were duly named ch’Rihan (“of the Declared”) and ch’Havran (“of the Travelers”). It was rather odd that the results of the lottery left many of the more “reactionary,” Vulcan-oriented houses living on ch’Havran, since the name more recalled the journey than its end, as ch’Rihan did, and ch’Rihan became the home of the more “forward-looking,” secessionist, revolutionary houses (S’task’s own house was placed on ch’Rihan by the lottery). Notice was taken of this, perhaps more notice than was warranted, perhaps not. A people who have come to speak an artificial language will naturally be preoccupied with the meanings of words and names. The results of the lottery were taken as a sort of good omen, that the language fit the people, and vice versa, that this was indeed the place where they were supposed to be, the place to which they had been meant to come. Who the Rihannsu thought was doing the “meaning” is uncertain. Vulcan religion had changed considerably over the years of the journey, and would change further.

  It is also interesting to note that the “troublemaker” groups, those clans and tribes who had been pressured by one faction or another to make the journey, almost all ended up on ch’Havran, and on its east continent—remote, rugged, and poorer in resources than the others. There have been suggestions among both Rihannsu and Federation historians that the lottery was rigged. There is no way to tell at this remote period in time. The computers in which the lottery data was stored and handled are long since dust.

  If the lottery was, in fact, rigged to this effect, then evil would come of it later. The cultures that grew up unchecked on the east continent, mostly out of contact with those on ch’Rihan and the other parts of ch’Havran, grew up savage, exploitative, and cruel, even by Rihannsu standards. Those east continent factions would later instigate and finally openly provoke the Rihannsu’s first war with the Federation, and the crews of ships from the Kihai and LLunih nations would commit atrocities that would adorn Federation propaganda tapes for years to come. It is mostly these nations that the Rihannsu have to thank for horrors like the abandonment and “evacuation” of Thieurrull (tr: “Hellguard”) and the capture and rape of innocent Vulcans—atrocities that the Senate and Praetorate would have severely punished if they had known they were being planned and carried out by eastern-based and easterner-commanded ships, and secretly backed and funded by eastern praetors. Punishments there were, indeed, but much too late. The whole business was later taken, by people who believed that the lottery was rigged, as more evidence of the desperate correctness of Surak’s statement that beginnings must be clean.

  Other peculiarities set in as a result of the scattering of the populations of the many ships across two planets. Vulcan society has always had a distinctly matriarchal cast: this tendency came out strongly in several of the nations on ch’Havran, and most strongly in the Nn’verian nation on the north continent of ch’Rihan. It was the nation in which S’task came to live (the short while that he did), and by virtue of that the seat of government and the seat of the first and only Ruling Queen of the Two Worlds. T’Rehu (later Vriha t’Rehu) seized power and set her throne in the newly built Council Chambers, in front of the Empty Chair; she spilled the first blood in those chambers—regrettably, the first of much—and declared the rule of women (or at least woman) over men returned again. The Vulcans had tried this some thousands of years before, and had only indifferent success with it: women were generally not interested enough in war for the Vulcan nations of that time to support such rule for long. T’Rehu was cast down, and the council returned to power after ch’Rihan’s first war. But from then until now women have held more than seventy percent of all positions in the government, and about sixty percent of those in the armed forces.

  Another interesting thing happened over which sociologists are still arguing: Rihannsu women began to get interested in war. Many of the high-ranking east continent officers responsible for the Hellguard atrocities were women. The etiology of this change, and the question of why it should happen so soon after the end of the journey, is still a puzzle. Of the other “matriarchal” or female-oriented species in the galaxy (some seventy-five percent), only one other, the Bhvui, has done anything similar, and the histories of the two species are too different to make comparisons meaningful. But in any case, Rihannsu women warriors have become almost as much of a legend as pre-Reformation Vulcan, and there are countless gossipy stories of “Romulan”-dominated worlds ruled by suave and sophisticated warrior princesses with harems full of good-looking men. The only thing to be said about these stories is, if they were true, the Rihannsu would not have had to enter into so many destructive deals with the Klingons to keep their economy afloat. They could have done quite nicely from the female tourist trade.

  But again, these developments were in the future. The eighteen thousand remaining travelers slowly left the ships over some three years, cautiously establishing support bases for themselves, until there were very few people still living in the ships. Some did choose to remain, mostly those people who had become agoraphobic over the long journey, or had been born in the ships and wanted nothing to do with open skies and planets. The Ship-Clans, as they came to be known, lived quite happily aboard their great echoing homes, looking down on the Two Worlds around which they coasted in asynchronous orbits.

  The ships were resupplied and repaired over some years from planetary resources: people would return to the ships for holidays, out of nostalgia or curiosity. Over many more years this sort of thing came to an end, as the population turned over and there was no one left who had been born on Vulcan, or on shipboard during the journey. The long run through interstellar night became something sung about, but not a thing anyone wanted to have experienced. Ch’Rihan and ch’Havran were the real worlds now, not those ancient ones with metal walls and skies that echoed.

  Though they slowly dwindled, the Ship-Clans maintained the four ships of the journey, and evening and morning they could be seen low above the planets’ horizons, bright points in the sky. They did not stay there forever. Some hundreds of years later, due to neglect, government squabbles, economic troubles, and war, one at a time the stars fell: and the Two Worlds orbited Eisn, their “Homesun,” cut off from the rest of the universe in the beginning of their long isolation. It was an unfortunate paradigm for the loss of sciences and technologies that began during that time and would continue for a thousand years to come. But the songs of the Rihannsu still recall the evening stars at sunset, and the breath of wind in trees, and the love of starlight seen through evening rather than through the hard black of space. “The journey is noble,” said one bard’s song, “and adventure and danger is sweet, but the wine by the fireside is sweeter, and knowing one’s place.”

  Chapter Seven

  H’daen tr’Khellian was gazing out of the antechamber window when Arrhae came in to answer his summons. He didn’t turn around, merely twisted somewhat and watched over his shoulder as she gave him the customary obeisance. He looked thoughtful and somewhat ill at ease.

  “Fair day, hru’hfirh,” she said as usual, straightening.

  “After a poor night.” H’daen looked her full in the face, as if searching for something that might give him an answer before he
had to ask any questions aloud. Apparently he saw nothing, and shrugged. “Arrhae, is there truth in what I hear of you and Maiek tr’Annhwi?”

  “My lord?” Arrhae had no need to pretend surprise. She knew that one of H’daen’s body-servants was on intimate terms with Ekkhae, who had been among those cleaning the dining-chamber last night, but she hadn’t expected the gossip to travel quite so fast as this. Nor had she expected anyone to give credence to it.

  “The subcommander sought me out before he left, and apologized at some length for his behavior. Then he asked if he was forgiven, if he would be permitted to enter my house again—and if I granted him the right to visit you. He told me that you wanted him to speak on this matter.” H’daen crossed the room and sat down at his desk, pouring himself a cup of wine rather than asking her to do it. He had been drinking more of late, and earlier in the day, but with Eisn not yet clear of the horizon this cupful was more a continuation of last night’s drinking than a new day’s start. He swallowed perhaps half the cupful and refilled it before saying any more, and when he turned to face her again, his face was troubled. “It was my impression that you already visited with Lhaesl tr’Khev. Was I mistaken?”

  Arrhae lowered her eyes uncomfortably. Lhaesl hadn’t yet been officially snubbed, and was either too enamored or too dense to realize of his own accord that she had no interest in him. Granted that they were physically of an age, the differing metabolism of Rihannsu and Terran—no matter how accurately the Terran might be disguised—still meant that his twenty-eight and hers left him at a behavioral equivalent of fifteen. A pretty child, but a child for all that. “Tr’Khev visits me, lord. I do not encourage him; and though I should, I have not yet discouraged him in whatever way it needs for him to understand.”

  “Oh. Thank you. The situation becomes clearer, Arrhae. Then I was right in what I told tr’Annhwi.”

  “Told him…?”

  “That he could visit with you, that you were a free woman and one with a mind of your own, and that he would learn soon enough if he wasn’t welcome.”

  Arrhae barely kept the strangulated squeak of horror in her throat, when what it really wanted to do was leap out as a full-fledged yell of You old fool!! Two days ago she wouldn’t even have considered addressing the Head of House in any such fashion, but then, two days ago, she had almost forgotten who she was and what had brought her here. “And if I choose not to make him welcome, lord?” she wondered tentatively.

  “I would prefer that you did, Arrhae.”

  “Prefer” indeed! That was an order. I wonder why? She watched him, but said nothing.

  “House Annhwi is strong, wealthy, and well-placed—”

  Question answered.

  “—and the subcommander’s friendship would prove an asset to House Khellian. Arrhae, sit down. Fill my cup again and…and pour a cup for yourself.”

  The invitation was so out of place that Arrhae felt her face burn hot. “Lord, I am hru’hfe only, and—”

  H’daen raised one finger and she was silent. “You are hru’hfe indeed, and a worthy ornament to this house, honored by its guests. Why wonder, then, that I bid you drink with me out of respect for that honor which reflects so well on me and on my House? Sit, Arrhae, and drink deep.”

  She sat down straight-backed, most uncomfortable with the situation but aware of being closely watched, and determinedly did as she was told. Expecting something rough as ale, Arrhae found the wine so much smoother and of better flavor that she put her mouthful down in a single gulp, then grimaced and felt tears prickle at her eyes as the liquid revealed itself correspondingly stronger—when the swallow had passed the point of no return.

  H’daen smiled thinly but without any malice. “It takes everyone that way the first time they drink it. Even me. Now, again. It won’t be such a shock; you might even start to like it.”

  He was right. Arrhae managed to down her second mouthful without spluttering, and actually enjoyed the small fusion furnace that came to life in the pit of her stomach. As for the rest of it, she set the cup down carefully and began to turn it around and around, watching the pretty sparkling of the reflec glaze. She would have watched moisture condense on glass, or paint dry—just so long as she didn’t have to watch H’daen’s eyes on her. At the back of her mind there was a suspicion, no matter how unfounded it might be, that H’daen might be trying to make her drunk in order to pry secrets from her. Only great caution would avoid that; she would appear to drink as she was expected to do, without absorbing any of the powerful toxins in the wine.

  Yet H’daen himself was drinking without restraint, and the first and last rule of making someone drunk to loosen their tongue was not to get drunk first. He was on his third cupful now, and no matter how accustomed one might be to the potent liquor, immunity was a different matter. It wasn’t as if he were drinking from another jug, either. Each pouring, his and hers, came from the same vessel. Arrhae caught him glancing in her direction once or twice, and the glances weren’t furtive—she was used to those by now, and knew how to recognize them—but nervous. As if he were drinking to summon up enough courage to raise some delicate subject.

  “McCoy,” he said at last, and gave it Federation rather than Rihannsu inflection.

  “He still sleeps, hru’hfirh,’” she said. “Or so I presume. I answered your summons before visiting his quarters.” She made pretense of sipping more wine, barely allowing it to moisten her lips, even though she “swallowed” and made the appropriate small sigh of enjoyment.

  “You grow accustomed faster than I did.” H’daen swerved off on another tack as if frightened by the two syllables he had previously uttered, and he sounded almost envious.

  “After drinking ale, lord, even coolant fluid becomes palatable.” A dangerous thing to say, with its possible insult of his preferences in wine, but a joke if it were seen as such. It was; H’daen laughed quietly, forcing it so that it sounded more than it was, but genuinely amused for all that.

  “Indeed so—especially if you drink it without water.” There was a swift, small silence before he pushed both cup and jug aside halfway through yet another refill. “Enough of this. The Terrans call it small talk. Around and around like a bloodwing gathering its courage to settle on a dying hlai. Always around, and never to the point.”

  “And the point, lord, is Mak’khoi?”

  “Yes. I…I have told you in the past that I trust you both with private words and with the honor of my House. That trust has not yet been misplaced.” H’daen’s stare was undisguised now, and he was trying to read her face as he might read charactery on a viewscreen. She met the stare for as long as seemed suitable, saying nothing, then demurely lowered her head in a bow of gratitude. “Now this Starfleet officer is given into my hands for safekeeping until the Senate brings him to trial.” He pushed back from the desk, stood up, and began to pace.

  “That Fleet Intelligence entrusted him to you is surely a great sign of favor in high places, lord.”

  “If it was widely known among my ‘friends,’” H’daen said bitterly. “More probable that he was left here as the least likely place any rescuer would begin to look. You know how House Khellian fared when you came here. I owe you thanks, not as master to servant, but as one who appreciates the effort and effect of hard labor.”

  For all his dismissal of small talk, he was using it again, deferring the evil moment when he would have to say something that Arrhae was coming to expect might be treasonous. If it was, she didn’t want to hear it; if it was spoken aloud under this roof, she wanted away from the house; and if it was spoken by H’daen, she would as soon be out of his employ and a beggar on the road before he said it. Surely he didn’t think that Intelligence would leave so important a prize here and not leave some means of watching him…?

  Perhaps he did.

  And perhaps this disdained old thrai was wilier than any gave him credit for, because he closed relays on his reader’s keypad so that when the thing’s viewscreen unfolded from th
e desk, it was already emitting a white-noise hum that set Arrhae’s teeth on edge. And which would almost certainly make nonsense of any audio pickup hidden in the room. If a visual scan had been installed, H’daen played for its lenses by starting to work, in a most realistic fashion, with various electronic probes and fault-finders on the reader which had plainly “gone wrong.” After a few minutes passed, he “gave up,” sat down, and began to ponder about the problem—and his pondering seemed lost without at least two fingers and more usually a whole hand near or over his mouth. Only then did H’daen dare start to speak.

  “There are those on ch’Rihan,” he said, “who would pay more than a chain or two of cash to lay their hands on an officer of the Federation vessel Enterprise. And there are those who would look most highly on the man and the House who made such an acquisition possible.”

  “My lord…!” said Arrhae, shocked. “Commander t’Radaik—”

  “Jaeih t’Radaik is of an ancient and noble House. To one like that, hardship and dishonor are words without meaning. Whereas to me…” He let the sentence hang, not needing to finish it.

  “I—I understand, my lord.”

  “Yes, and disapprove. Good.”

  “My lord…?”

  “Do you think, Arrhae, that I would have taken you into my confidence where this plan is concerned if I suspected you were other than honorable? You’re shocked, of course—but since mention of this would bring me, you, and the House you serve into still more disrepute, you’ll say nothing and disapprove of me in private.”